Sam checked the monitor, and it was Walston, again having sex with a different woman, this time clearly identifiable as Rachel Jenner.
Her voice brimmed with satisfaction. “She was telling the truth all along, and Walston lied.” She spoke again to the team leader. “Put it on a separate memory stick. It may be required as supplementary evidence. Are there any other surprises on there?”
The team leader shook his head, but as he was about to start the download, Czarniak pointed to another file, dated early in August, prior to the murder of Barbara Shawforth.
“Isn’t that the date that Kylie Griffiths went missing, boss?”
Sam shrugged and nodded to the CSI leader who began to run the file.
It showed a young woman lying prone on the bed in an unidentified room. She was completely naked, and obviously dead, a thin, black belt wrapped around her neck. As they watched, a stocky, stout individual came in. He was obviously in some distress and gestured at the woman on the bed. And then Neville Trentham, undisguised this time, followed him into the room. The video, like all of them, was silent, but Trentham appeared to be reassuring the other man, and as they watched, they rolled the dead girl onto a carpet, and began to bundle her up.
“Tom Hacton.”
Czarniak’s interjection caused Sam to turn sharply to him. “What?”
“That’s Tommy Hacton, guv, and he’s with the chief super.” Czarniak suddenly realised what was happening on the video, and his features flooded with horror. “Oh, God. Tommy must have killed Kylie.”
Sam spun to the CSI team leader yet again. “Download that video onto the same memory stick you stored Barbara Shawforth’s murder on.” She felt a sense of triumph, but resisted the urge to grin. “We’ve got the bastard.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Sam was almost drained of energy by the time she stepped into the interview room at nine the following morning.
She had spoken to Iris Mullins late the previous evening, and then, for the second night in succession, she spent most of the time catching only the occasional nap at her desk, while waiting for the necessary reports to come through from forensics.
Time was short. Trentham had to be charged before the twenty-four hour deadline was up, or they would have to approach the magistrates for an extension, and even then she would be granted only twelve hours.
Iris agreed to be in Landshaven by half past eight so that the interrogation could be picked up at nine o’clock.
She was there on time, and joined her and Drake in Sam’s office, and over a necessary cup of tea, Sam outlined the evidence racked up against Trentham, evidence which included the video of Barbara Shawforth’s murder, the video of Hacton and Trentham spiriting Kylie Griffiths’ body away from the hotel, and the analyses of the blood on the forensic coveralls (which was proven to be Barbara’s) and other traces on the inside of the coveralls, which had been matched to Trentham’s DNA fingerprint.
Notwithstanding the overwhelming finality of the evidence, Iris demanded to see the video, even though Drake – who struggled to suppress the memory of the violence involved – advised against it. Iris was horrified at what she saw, and they could see she was visibly steeling herself to sit through the five-minute film.
Afterwards, Sam and the DCC made their way to the interview room, armed with a laptop computer, the coveralls and preliminary, handwritten analyses.
Maskin, the solicitor, immediately demanded the release of her client. Both officers rode out the tirade, before Sam went into the recording setup, and then took both the suspect and solicitor by surprise.
“Overnight, we’ve come across incontrovertible evidence that you, Mr Trentham, murdered Barbara Shawforth, and before we finish today, I will be charging you with that offence. In addition, I will be charging you with assisting Detective Constable Thomas Hacton in the disposal of the body of a young woman named Kylie Griffiths. But before we get to that, I’m going to show you the evidence and give you the opportunity to confess.”
Trentham looked to his lawyer for guidance. Maskin seemed uncertain, but shook her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trentham replied.
“All right. Let’s see how you react to this.”
Sam inserted the memory stick in a USB slot on the laptop, and after reporting to the recorder, started the video, and turned it to face Trentham and his lawyer.
The chief superintendent’s colour drained, and after less than a minute, Maskin looked away, absolutely horrified by what she saw.
“For God’s sake, stop it.”
Sam did so.
“How do you answer that, Mr Trentham?”
“That wasn’t me. He looks like me, true, but whoever it was, had his face hidden behind the mask.”
Iris Mullins took over, and consulted the written video analysis. “According to our experts, the killer on that clip, stood six feet one inch tall. According to our personnel records, Mr Trentham, you are six feet one and one quarter inch tall. He is of the same build as you. Admit it. It is you.”
“I deny it.”
Sam reached to the floor and collected an evidence bag containing the forensic suit.
“We found these in a secret room in the Bellevue Hotel.” She showed them the bloodstains, and reported as such to the recorder, then went on, “The blood covering the exterior of the coveralls belongs to Barbara Shawforth. However, inside we found traces, body hairs, skin scales, which have been positively identified as yours.” She waited for a response, but Trentham declined to answer. “Very well, you choose to ignore the scientific evidence. Let’s see how you react to this. I am now showing the suspect a video recording of him assisting Detective Constable Thomas Hacton in the removal of the body of Kylie Griffiths from the Bellevue Hotel.”
She ran the video, and turned to face the suspect and lawyer again. Trentham’s face fell, and Maskin stared in wide-eyed disbelief.
Sam stopped the video.
“This time, Mr Trentham, your face is clearly visible, and you cannot deny that it was you.”
Trentham was about to speak, but Maskin cut him off before he could say anything. “Deputy Chief Constable Mullins, Chief Inspector Feyer, I need to consult with my client privately.”
Unlike the previous night, Sam allowed a smile of triumph to cross her lips. At a nod from Iris, she addressed the recorder. “Interview suspended at nine twenty-three to allow the suspect to take legal counsel.”
She stopped the machine, rejected the CD and gathered her equipment. As she and Iris stood, ready to leave, she glowered at the defeated chief superintendent.
“We have you, Neville. You’re going down for the rest of your life. Your only chance of any leniency is to confess, and hope you get a judge who’s had his leg over the night before your trial.”
Chapter Forty-Five
“People imagine that once you achieve my rank, life is easy, when in fact, it’s anything but. I enjoy a good life, with an excellent salary, but it’s never been enough.”
During the break, Trentham had been persuaded by his brief to make a full confession, and as he rambled into it, notwithstanding the active recording, Sam began taking notes.
“I came here from Hull about fifteen years ago. My wife was very ill. Cancer, you know, and because of the demands of my work, I had to arrange care for her. Expensive. All right, I was earning a top salary, but those fees were crippling, and within a couple of years, I was looking at bankruptcy. Then, the gods decided to smile upon me, in the shape of Alex Walston.”
“Using drug money to fund his business?” Sam demanded.
“Yes. I knew him, you see. I knew him from Hull before I moved here, and before he went to Europe to make his living. He came to me, and asked if I could make the problem go away, and I saw a means by which I could pull back some of the appalling money I was spending on my wife’s care. I charged him ten grand, and when John Jenner approached me, saying we needed action from the fraud squad, I sat on the reque
st for a week, and then told John that they had come back to me saying there was no case to answer.” Trentham smiled easily. “But Walston didn’t realise what he was getting into. He paid me the ten thousand, but I held onto the evidence, and that would cost him a thousand a month for the rest of his life… Or, at the very least, the rest of my life. At first, I was ashamed. I was an honest man; I’ve been honest all my life, and suddenly I was a criminal. Worse than that, I was a crooked police officer. But I rationalised it. Gerda needed care, I had to pay for it, and I had to have the money.”
He paused and sipped from a plastic cup full of water.
“After Walston, it didn’t take me long to find others. I knew Leonard Pearson from Hull, too. I was a young constable when I first reported him for stealing women’s underwear from washing lines. He also confessed to being a peeping Tom. He enjoyed watching others having sex. His parents were God-fearing folk, and their shame was almost unbearable, hence, the reason they sold their boarding house and moved to Landshaven, where they bought the Bellevue Hotel. They were dead before I moved to this town, but soon after I got involved with Walston, I also came down on Pearson. He was renting rooms out by the hour to harbour prostitutes, of which we’re all aware, but what you may not have learned yet, is that he was blackmailing some of the girls’ clients. I could have had him sent down for years, but instead I chose to take five hundred a month from him, and he readily agreed. Dominic Larne, I come across quite by accident, when I caught him taking money from a drug dealer. He had two choices. He either toed the line – my line – or I would prosecute him. He was a bit of a simpleton, and he knew how badly he would suffer if he went to prison. All police officers dread going to prison.” Trentham sneered in Sam’s direction. “You should know that better than anyone after sending your husband down for life.”
Sam did not rise to the bait. “Can we stick to the point, please, Mr Trentham?”
“My final target was DC Hacton. The prostitute, who claimed he was a client, was telling the truth. A few bribes here and there managed to silence her friends, and get the allegations dropped. But Hacton was mine, and it cost him five hundred pounds a month too.”
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes glazed, revelling in his memories.
“So there I was, making an extra thirty thousand a year, and doing absolutely nothing for it, other than enjoying my power over others. A wonderful feeling, Ms Feyer.”
Sam was tired of listening to the unashamed and disgusting nostalgia. “Barbara Shawforth?”
Trentham tutted with a smirk. “You’re jumping the gun. Kylie Griffiths was the first problem. I’m sure Drake made you aware that the client she was meeting on that last night was in favour of erotic asphyxiation. He enjoyed half-strangling the girls. In his infinite wisdom, Drake never realised that the client in question was Tom Hacton, and yes, he went too far and killed Kylie. He rang me in a panic, I told him to calm down, and we would sort it out. As you’re aware from the video, we wrapped her in an old carpet, carried her to my boat, and left her there for twenty-four hours. Then I sailed out of the harbour, out to sea for a couple of miles, weighted the carpet down, and dropped her in the sea, where she rests, hopefully in peace, to this day.”
The truth dawned on Sam. “Barbara Shawforth followed her out of the Trafalgar. She saw something, didn’t she?”
“Yes. She saw Tom and Kylie go into the Bellevue, and she recognised him immediately. She was that kind of busybody. Not just a high class whore, but involved with so many charities that she knew most of the CID officers and the prostitutes by sight, if not by name. She was making her way to the Simla Tandoori House on Town Hill, and she cut through Harbour Passage to get there. Hacton and Kylie were coming out of the top end when Barbara turned the final corner in the passage. An hour later, she saw my car pull up outside the hotel, and witnessed me going in. Things might not have gone any further, but when Kylie’s disappearance hit the newspapers a few days later, she started asking awkward questions, and somewhere along the line, someone told her two men had been seen carrying a carpet to a boat on the harbour. Naturally, Colin Ranworth knew it was me, but I knew about his predilection for prostitutes like Olivia Bradley, and I ordered him to shut up.”
His anger was building up, and he took another swallow of water to rein it in.
“I wasn’t aware at the time that Shawforth kept his wife deliberately short of money. Two weeks after Kylie disappeared, she approached me, under the pretext of collecting for charity. She told me what she’d seen, and made a simple demand. Fifty thousand pounds. In cash. I told her I didn’t have that kind of money, but she insisted that I shouldn’t have any problem raising it. If I refused, she would speak to you, Mrs Mullins, tell you what she’d seen. Naturally, it would mean the end of my career, and Hacton’s, and we could likely end up in prison. So we got our heads together and came up with a plan. I’d already decided that Jenner would take the blame. I never liked the woman. Too snappy for my liking, too sure of herself. She deserved a good hiding.”
“So you had Walston take her to the Bellevue the day before Barbara was murdered?”
“Yes. I asked Barbara for time to get the money, and she agreed. In the meantime, I ordered Walston to get involved with Jenner. He was good at that. A few weeks later, we were ready. As a matter of interest, Walston also managed to collect a sample of her sweat. Scraped it off the bed while she was in the shower, I think. It was a hot day. Regardless, it was enough to place the blame on her when Shawforth was murdered. On the morning of the ninth, I sent the text message to Jenner, knowing it would cause an argument. That the argument took place in The Kettle on the Hob was a bonus. I fancied she would confront Barbara at home, and the nosy old neighbour, Grace Chivers would testify to that. I ordered Walston to take the Shawforth whore to the Bellevue on the afternoon of the ninth. I put pressure on Pearson to ensure that I was there before her. Pearson let me know the moment Walston had left, and I went into her room, and battered her to death. I left Jenner’s sweat, and collected a sample of the blood, and later that evening, while Jenner was being questioned by Larne and Barker, I took her keys from the envelope in reception where they were kept, let myself into her house and spattered a little blood on her blouse. I never thought for one moment that it would lead to a conviction, but I was convinced that it would lead to her dismissal from the police service, and the investigation would close there.”
He smiled smugly at his interrogators.
“So there you have it.”
Sam disagreed. “Not quite. The evidence Hacton buried?”
The smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Yes. That was awkward. I knew about the fingerprint, of course, and it was me who suggested that Oxley should leave the routine administration to our CID officers. It was also me who suggested Hacton should deal with it. In private, I told him to destroy that piece of evidence. Crafty little so-and-so.”
“He hid it in his will because he was frightened that you might crack altogether, and kill him, didn’t he?”
“Probably.” Trentham was quite matter of fact. “It was never likely. I had all these people over a barrel, but by the same token, they had enough evidence to destroy me.”
Iris Mullins asked, “What about Rachel Jenner’s pistol?”
Trentham grinned. “I told you I never liked her. When her firearms authorisation was revoked, I was practically wagging my tail in pleasure. Larne, as I said, was under my control, and when I sealed that gun into the container, I made sure it wasn’t properly locked. Later in the day, when Larne was looking after the reception desk, I ordered him to steal it, lock the container, and then bring the pistol to me when his shift was over. He did as he was told. He always did.”
Sam frowned. “Why bother? I mean, why not just drop the empty container into the dispatch bag? Come to that why bother switching to a firearm at all?”
Trentham’s face was a picture of superiority. “Risk assessment, Chief Inspector. Something you should be aware of.
With Barbara Shawforth, it was easy. I left the weapon in the room because, as you know, I was wearing a forensic suit. I couldn’t wear one on Sunday night, because I was out in the open, and as you should be aware, the more you use a weapon like that, the bigger the danger of you leaving traces of yourself behind. So I dropped the billy club in the harbour, where it sank to the bottom. Regarding the gun, I had to put it in the container. If the desk sergeant had handled the box, he would have realised it was empty. Later, when Larne was on duty, it didn’t matter so much, especially since he was the one who handed over the bag to the driver from York.”
Trentham shuffled into a more relaxed and comfortable position.
“I had that gun for about eight years, but I never used it. Not until this week, and that, I’m afraid, is your fault Chief Inspector, and yours, Deputy Chief Constable. If you hadn’t sent that nosy so-and-so, Drake here, this lot may very well have been swept under the carpet in a matter of days, and Jenner would have been back behind bars where she belongs, for the murder of Olivia Bradley.”
Sam had to suppress her anger again. “Whereas it was you who murdered Olivia, after she stole the billy club from Ruth Russell.”
Trentham laughed aloud. “I said I’d pay her fifty pounds if she could get it for me. It was antique, and everyone knew. Can you imagine her face when I actually battered her with it?”
Sam felt her anger boiling up again. “You don’t have one ounce of remorse, do you?”
“Dog eat dog, Ms Feyer, and I’m the bigger dog. Who was she? A common little prostitute.”
“She was a human being, Trentham, and she had a right to life, no matter how mean.” Sam sucked in her breath and forced herself to calm down. “I can understand you disposing of Walston, Larne, and Pearson. They were all a direct threat to you, but why kill Shawforth?”
“To pin it on Jenner, what else? Walston, I decided was a callous and uncaring man. He used women. He has a wife with a debilitating condition. Alcoholism. She can’t help it. What did he do? Slept with any woman he could find, that’s what. His wife needed care, the same as my Gerda. No matter what I’ve done wrong, I never skimped on my wife’s care. He did, so he proved useful in trying to place the blame on Jenner. As for Shawforth, well he was more use dead than alive. As with Rachel Jenner, I never liked the man. He went into Parliament for no other reason than to serve himself.” Trentham chuckled again. “And he was so easy. So sure of his security in that vast garden. I’ll remember his face for as long as I live.”
The Frame - from the author of the Sanford Third Age Club (STAC) series (A Feyer and Drake Mystery Book 2) Page 27
