by David Carter
‘Yes, they were knackered.’
‘You shouldn’t burn things, dad. It isn’t good for the atmosphere. You could have binned them.’
Greg sighed, stood up, and headed for the garage at the side of the house.
‘Where are you goin’?’
‘A few jobs need doing in the garage. You stay put and relax and enjoy yourself.’
‘Oh, okay.’
Greg was happy to be away from her questioning. He’d assembled a fresh set of tools and equipment in a new canvas bag and wanted to check it. Claw hammer, small grade rope, black bin bags, big nails, a tenon saw, strong weed-killer, and a small but powerful pair of hedge loppers.
In the front room, Haley switched back to the Australian idyll. The kids were cuddling koala bears and laughing at kangaroo poo, and she didn’t think about Wednesday night and Thursday morning again, until teatime.
IT WAS AN HOUR BEFORE Braxton stepped out of the interview room; making it known they had finished.
Walter and Karen received the message they could continue and Walter wandered down there. Braxton was standing outside the interview room, hands jammed in his tan-coloured trouser pockets, looking real bored.
Walter said, ‘Ready?’
Brax nodded and muttered, ‘The tea was great.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I was being sarcastic!’
Walter grabbed a passing DC and said, ‘Can you rustle up tea and biscuits for four?’ and he pointed to the interview room.
‘Sure,’ said the kid, and he headed for the kitchen.
Two minutes later, Walter, Karen, Jago, and Brax were back round the table, and three minutes after that the kid returned, bearing a tray of teas and a plate of mixed biscuits.
‘So?’ said Walter, ‘what have you got?’
Brax slid Jago’s statement across the desk without comment.
Walter picked it up and started reading, Karen peering over his shoulder, reading to save time.
I, Jago Caspian Wilderton, make the following statement regarding questions put to me about three murders.
I have no recollection of ever meeting Peter Craig. On the day he was supposedly murdered, I was out of the country serving in the army, as I have told the police on several occasions, and this fact can be easily checked. The police have offered no evidence to the contrary.
Regarding the sad death of Kelly Jones, as I said, I did meet the girl on several occasions. But I did not kill her and was not present when she was killed or buried. The sketch in my father’s diary I only saw for the first time when Inspector Darriteau came to the house in Plough Lane. I can’t explain why such a drawing should be in my father’s diary, and I am not convinced it has anything to do with Kelly, or her death.
Regarding the man Shane Fellday, I repeat that I have never knowingly met this man, and had nothing to do with his death. I am not a member of any secret societies as I have told the police several times. There is no evidence whatsoever to connect me with him, or his death.
I have cooperated with the police at every turn, including volunteering a DNA sample, and if there is nothing further, I request that I am released without further delay.
Jago had signed and dated it, and Braxton Soutar had endorsed it as a witness, his vast ugly signature jumping off the page like a giant black spider.
Walter tossed it on the desk and said, ‘This is bunk!’
‘Come again?’ said Brax.
‘You heard me. Bunk! Your client has lied to us on several occasions, concealed information, obstructed our inquiry, and at the very least, is looking at a charge of wasting police time.’
‘Oh, come on, Darriteau,’ said Jago. ‘It’s best to give up when you are sinking.’
Walter ignored the man and said, ‘I want to talk more about Kelly Jones.’
‘What about her?’
‘I want to know what happened to her.’
‘How would I know?’
Karen said, ‘You knew her very well. You were sweet on her, weren’t you?’
Jago exhaled and said, ‘Yes, I admit that. She and I got on swimmingly.’
Walter said, ‘You visited New Ferry a lot, didn’t you?’
‘It’s true I went there more than I should have.’
Karen said, ‘What did you think when you discovered she was dead?’
‘I didn’t know she was dead at the time. As you know, she was missing for years before they found her.’
‘But you missed her, didn’t you?’ said Walter, ‘missed her a lot. None of the others could quite do it for you, could they?’
‘Kelly Jones was the best, I’ve told you that several times. When you’ve had the ultimate, second best doesn’t cut it.’
Karen said, ‘Did she ever go to the house in Plough Lane?’
Jago went to speak but stopped himself, as he thought of his words.
Walter said, ‘She did, didn’t she? She went to the house in Plough Lane. You took her there in your car, collecting her from New Ferry. Isn’t that the truth of it?’
Jago didn’t reply. It was as if he’d reached a fork in the road, and whichever route he took he knew it would encourage more tough questions.
‘How many times did you take her back to Plough Lane?’ asked Karen.
Walter said, ‘Why did you take her there and not to your flat? Ashamed to be seen with her, were you? Plough Lane, with its big grounds, would be more spacious and private for your purposes, wouldn’t it?’
‘Did you kill her in the Plough Lane house?’ asked Karen.
Brax held up his hand.
‘Come on, guys! Steady, steady. Ask questions, yes, but give my client the opportunity to answer. Firing them staccato like is getting us nowhere.’
Walter nodded and Karen repeated her question about taking Kelly to the Plough Lane house.
‘About four or five times, maybe more.’
‘I’ll bet it was more,’ said Walter. ‘Right little love nest you two had going on there, didn’t you? Your father out at work, and you two busy at home, in his house, most afternoons, munching rice-paper, and god knows what else, having a whale of a time.’
‘Last time I looked,’ said Brax, smirking, ‘eating rice-paper, or garments made from such material, is not a criminal offence.’
‘No, but it’s what it leads to,’ said Walter. ‘Because soon afterwards that young woman was brutally murdered, and it isn’t looking good for you, is it Jago? And tell me this; were these home visits off the book?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know full well what I mean! Did the brothel boss know you two were meeting out of hours in secret?’
‘No, it was a private arrangement we made.’
‘I’ll bet it was. Gee whiz, lucky you, and lucky for her too, because she’s cashing in, pocketing all the money, and I’ll bet you paid her plenty.’
‘Just to be clear,’ said Brax, ‘It is not illegal to sell or pay for consensual sex with someone over the age of eighteen. My client admits he did that, but there has been no criminal offence committed. My client regrets his actions, but that’s where it ends.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Walter.
‘Did your father ever eat Kelly’s clothing?’ asked Karen.
Jago said, ‘Don’t be disgusting! He was in his mid seventies, even back then.’
‘What about a nice little racy ricey threesome?’ suggested Walter. ‘Two Wildertons and an enticing tart performing steamy tricks on home visits, hot afternoon sessions, lots of munchity-munchity going on, and maybe it all turned sour. Somebody did something out of turn, and overstepped the mark, and it turned violent. That’s the truth of it. Someone lost their temper and poor Ms Jones, stuck in the middle, paid the ultimate price. The pair of you bundled her into the back of the Jag, drove her to Malpas at the dead of night, dug a shallow grave, tossed her in, filled the hole, and off you pop, back into the good life, because she’s just one more piece of expendable vermin. Torquers’ language
not mine, and your father sketches a nice little pic in his diary to celebrate the event. And to top it all, your silly-billy club of vile vigilante idiots were due another fifteen-year culling, and she fitted the bill in every way. Was it your turn to be initiated, Jago? Was that how it panned out? That’s how you were accepted into the creepy weirdo club, was it?’
Braxton sighed hard and said, ‘Ever thought of writing kitchen sink bodice-ripper blousy lousy novels, Darriteau? You’d be quite good at it. I can see a whole new career beckoning for you in your fast approaching retirement.’
Karen stared at Brax and said, ‘It’s Inspector Darriteau to you, Mr Soutar. And I’d remind you that your brief here is to advise your client on legal matters, not to make sarky unhelpful interruptions. Any more of that and you can do one...’ and she nodded at the door.
Brax looked stunned, sat back, and didn’t say a word.
Walter said, ‘I’m still waiting for your reply, Jago.’
‘I’ve forgotten the question.’
‘No you haven’t! You are stalling. Did you have a threesome in Plough Lane with your father?’
‘No, never. Of course not!’
Karen said, ‘Did your father and her, ever... get it together?’
‘Not to my knowledge. He was well past it by then.’
‘He wasn’t!’ said Walter. ‘He was still making passes at the women at his club as recently as two weeks ago.’
‘It was all talk with him. He was acting out the part. Kept him going, I reckon.’
A knock came to the door. It opened and one of the new young guys stuck his head in. Walter glanced at him. He passed across a note. Walter read it, nodded at the kid and he disappeared. Walter slipped it to Karen, before saying, ‘This interview is suspended. We will reconvene in two hours.’
‘Oh, come on, Darriteau, you can’t do that,’ said Jago.
‘We don’t have time to waste here all day,’ moaned Braxton. ‘We’re busy people.’
Walter said, ‘So are we! And as the best qualified legal brain in the county, Jago, you will know, that we can delay matters for two hours and plenty more besides.’
Karen stared at Braxton and said, ‘Not a problem for you, Brax, is it? Your personal time clock is ticking fast. Imagine the big bill you’ll be able to submit for spending so much of your precious time, assisting your client.’
‘That remark is out of order, and one I shall make a complaint about.’
‘That’s for you,’ she said, smirking, and Walter and Karen left the room.
Braxton and Jago shared glances as if to say, what have you got yourself into, Jago? And from Jago, how are you going to extricate me from this mess, Braxton boy?
Fifty-Nine
George Gornall was placed in an interview room as far away from Jago as possible. He sat in silence, studying his fingernails and wondering what the hell the police had. Where could he have gone wrong? Clues and leads? George couldn’t find them.
The only potential weak link he came up with was Gregory Morrell; though the guy had never given any indication he could be that. The play was to keep cool and not fall into any possible traps. It could be nothing at all. Maybe they had picked up rumours of the Brotherhood and perhaps wanted to join. He wouldn’t put that past the local plod.
Walter grabbed a coffee and sat at his workstation. Karen munched on a hard green apple and swigged lemon water.
‘Pity the DNA on the cloth wasn’t Jago’s,’ said Karen.
‘Yeah, though I can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘So whose was it?’
‘Maybe it’s Gornall’s.’
‘That would be nice. Are we going to interview him now?’
‘No. Let him sweat. Come back in half an hour. We’ll see what he has to say then.’
When they opened the interview room door forty minutes later, he looked up and said, ‘I thought you’d forgotten me.’
‘Sorry for the delay,’ said Walter. ‘Short staffed and busy-busy, you know how it is.’
Karen and Walter sat across the table from him, Karen did the intros, switched on the tape, cautioned the guy, the usual thing, any information you later rely on in court, et cetera, and glanced at Walter, wondering what question he’d open with.
‘We believe you are a member of a Chester secret society. Care to tell us about that?’
Gornall wavered between “no comment”, denying any knowledge of such a thing, or grinning and saying, ‘Yeah? What of it?’ He still thought it could be something and nothing and didn’t want to antagonise anyone, and said, ‘They’re not illegal, are they?’
The exact same voice as on the tape. A good start for the home team.
‘Probably not,’ said Walter, ‘though that would depend what you did. What’s the name of this club of yours?’
Gornall controlled a smirk. They knew very little. They didn’t even know the Brotherhood’s name.
‘I’m sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell you that.’
‘You reckon your rules override British law, do you?’
‘Well no, of course not.’
‘So I’ll ask you again, what name does your society go by?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m asking the questions here, Mr Gornall, not you. What is the society’s name?’
‘I’m thinking I might need a solicitor.’
‘Do you want one?’
Gornall thought for a second. He still hoped he could get out of there in minutes and didn’t want to inflame the situation, and answered, ‘Not at the moment.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Walter. ‘I’d like you to listen to a short tape,’ and he glanced at Karen and she pressed play.
I was just calling to check on progress. Any more feedback on the falling?
They studied Gornall’s face. He pursed his lips but gave nothing away.
Karen said, ‘Is that you, Mr Gornall?’
He half-grinned and said, ‘I have to admit it sounds a little like me.’
‘It is you, Mr Gornall, because that phone call was traced from the offices of Gornall Brothers, your office, and that begs the question, what was or is, the falling?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I need a solicitor after all.’
Walter scratched his forehead, ignored Gornall’s request, and said, ‘Where were you last Wednesday night?’
He made a big effort at thought before replying.
‘I remember now. Playing cards with a friend.’
‘Which friend?’ said Karen.
‘A colleague of mine, his name’s Douglas Fisher.’
Walter thought that came across as contrived. A pre-arranged alibi should one be necessary. Gornall was talking again.
‘We play maybe once a month.’
‘Just the two of you?’ asked Karen.
‘Yes.’
Walter said, ‘What time did you finish?’
‘Quite late. You know how it is, time slides by when one is relaxing and enjoying company.’
‘How late?’
‘Perhaps 3am, or maybe a bit later.’
‘Did you win?’ asked Karen.
‘Pretty even from what I remember. We don’t bet big, only pennies, just to add interest.’
Walter pointed at the tape and said, ‘You rang Jago Wilderton and asked him for information on the falling. What did you want to know?’
‘I’m not sure I can answer that.’
‘Then I’ll answer it for you. The falling relates to a man, Shane Fellday, being pushed off a high aqueduct in Wales, where he fell to his death. Your request for feedback, as you call it, relates to our inquiry into Mr Fellday’s murder.’
‘You’ve lost me, Inspector.’
‘Really?’ said Karen. ‘Did you push him off, or was it Jago?’
‘I’d like to speak to my solicitor now.’
‘I’ll bet you would,’ said Walter, ‘and that will be arranged, but before that happens, you need to think about the following. Shane Fellday was mur
dered and we think you did it, and if you want to avoid a murder charge, you need to think long and hard about it, and come up with a better explanation as to what you were talking about with Mr Wilderton. Because if you don’t you’ll end up in the dock alongside him.’
‘I’ve nothing to add.’
Karen said, ‘Will you provide a DNA sample?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘It’s just routine, to rule you out of our enquiries.’
‘Sorry, that’s one step too far for me, and I don’t have to.’
Walter said, ‘Under the Criminal Justice Act of 2003, we have the power to take and retain a DNA sample from anyone arrested for any recordable offence, regardless of whether they are charged.’
‘Have I been arrested?’
‘Not yet, but you could be if that’s what it takes.’
Gornall shook his head, pulled a face, and mumbled. ‘It looks like you have me both ways. What is the world coming to? This country used to be a free one. Now it’s on a downward path to becoming a police state.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘It’s not what I think. It’s what’s happening.’
‘DNA sample?’ said Karen, producing a swab.
The man held his head back and opened his mouth. Nice fillings too.
Job done, Karen and Walter shared a look. He nodded her toward the door. She said, ‘Interview suspended at...’ and read out the time, and they left him to it, his words following them outside, ‘My solicitor, what about him?’
Back at their workstations, Karen set Martin and Jenny on finding the whereabouts of Douglas Fisher. It didn’t prove difficult. The man worked at Gornall Brothers, and Jenny and Martin were sent to invite him back for a chat.
After that, Walter and Karen took their time with the ongoing interviews, leaving long blank spaces for the guys to stew and mull over what was happening, dropping hints that unless they were more helpful, they could be looking at spending the rest of their days cooped up in tiny rooms, sharing everything going with undesirable characters.
Tea time came and went in line with rising tempers.
Sixty
In the Morrell household, dinner was being served for just the two of them. The boy had gone to watch a football match, while the wife had gone out to see her lover two years before and had never returned.
