Written in Blood
Page 28
Sara sighed to herself. This was supposed to have been a simple exercise: identify if anyone could confirm Michael Kennedy had left Porthmadog harbour on the evening Tom Levine had been killed. A few minutes later she had a scribbled note confirming the names of each boat entering the harbour the night Tom Levine had his throat cut. It didn’t help, as it recorded only vessels over 1.5m draft, which excluded Michael Kennedy’s fishing cuddy. Glancing at her watch, she realised by now the magistrates’ court would be well underway.
She enjoyed going to court, listening to the lawyers summarising in cold, objective terms the evidence taken hours to assemble. It made their job sound easy. She skirted around the quayside to the public house the harbour master had recommended as a haunt for the fishermen he’d mentioned. It was still early, and a cleaner was busy vacuuming the floor while a woman with a severe blue rinse stacked the shelves of the bar.
After showing her warrant card, Sara asked, ‘I’m looking for Harry Austin and David Jones.’
The woman glanced at an old clock on the wall behind her. ‘They should be here in half an hour.’
‘I’ll wait.’
‘Do you want something to drink?’
Sara shook her head, sat down and waited.
Half an hour turned into forty-five minutes. The woman was still busy behind the bar and she rolled her eyes at Sara. ‘Trust them to be late.’
Sara accepted her offer of a cappuccino into which she stirred two teaspoons of sugar. A text from Drake asked for an update. She replied – Nothing yet.
Sara waited over an hour before two men arrived. They sat down on bar stools and the landlady nodded at Sara before tipping her head at both men.
Grabbing her warrant card, she gave each an opportunity for a cursory glance. ‘Which one of you is Harry Austin?’
The blonde-haired youngster replied. ‘That’s me.’
‘I’ve spoken with the harbour master and he tells me you fish regularly. I want to know if either of you can remember seeing any boat leaving on Friday night, 29th March. We’re investigating the murder of Tom Levine, whose body was found in Pwllheli marina the following morning. We want to eliminate anybody using their boat that night.’
Austin turned to Jones by his side. ‘Ti’n cofio noson honno, wyt? Parti Jack ’te.’
Sara caught something about ‘evening’ and ‘party’.
‘Sorry, we can’t help you. We were at a mate’s party. We didn’t surface until Saturday afternoon.’ Austin smiled at the recollection.
Jones beamed his agreement.
Sara shrugged on her coat, grabbed her bag, reached for enough change to pay for her cappuccino and made for the door.
‘It was a Friday night, wasn’t it?’ Jones said.
‘That’s right.’
‘You need to talk to Peter Foster. He always goes fishing on a Friday night. He comes down from Bolton, regular as clockwork. He says it’s the only thing that keeps him sane.’
Sara wanted to believe it was going to be a sensible use of her time to speak to Peter Foster.
‘He’ll be here in a couple of hours,’ Jones added.
* * *
The three magistrates looked terrified. It must have been intimidating having a Queen’s Counsel from London and a senior barrister from Cardiff appearing in their court arguing about bail for another eminent lawyer. Inevitably, it meant they would play safe, refuse bail and that the appeal process would take its course, allowing the circuit judge in the Crown Court nearby to make a decision. Drake could see the clerk mentally twiddling his thumbs, knowing that everybody was going through the motions.
Rhodri Boyd was using the opportunity to practise and hone his address to the circuit judge later that afternoon. He could assess, too, the arguments Howard Allport would advance to secure his client’s release. No doubt the defence would accuse the Wales Police Service of incompetence, citing Selston’s previous unblemished character, his upstanding place in society. Drake consoled himself with knowing they had an eyewitness and the bloodied knife.
Luned’s next message to Drake’s mobile arrived as Rhodri Boyd sat down.
He read the details and his chest tightened; momentarily he felt winded. Tom Levine had sent £50,000 to Kennedy within a few days of Britannia Chambers completing the lease on their offices. Like a rabbit in a headlight Drake sat rigid. He couldn’t tell Thorsen and definitely not Boyd. He needed to get back to headquarters, talk to Price.
But Howard Allport hadn’t finished.
He had barely started. The accent was far back, but authoritative and persuasive, even if it sounded out of place.
‘The charges will be contested with the utmost vigour.’
Drake glanced over at Thorsen, who was staring at Allport, a hurt, pained expression on his face.
‘I should make it clear that we assert that the investigation has been riddled with inconsistencies and irregularities, and the decision to prosecute has been made on the basis of the flimsiest and most compromised eyewitness imaginable.’ He gave Boyd a sideways glance that almost stretched to Thorsen and Drake. ‘And the discovery of a bloodied knife is laughable – it does not belong to Mr Selston and the prosecution has nothing to link him to it. The characters of all those involved will be subject to the most intense scrutiny.’
Had they made the right decision? In the harsh light of legal scrutiny, it was easy for a defence team to score points.
A message from Winder reached his mobile.
Eyewitness saw blue BMW return to Portmeirion in middle of night when NW killed. Have checked records. Kennedy owns vehicle with same colour.
Drake instinctively glanced around at everyone in the courtroom as though Winder had been there sharing secrets with him in a loud voice. He ran a finger over his lips.
Allport’s peroration sounded utterly convincing. He tried to read the faces of the magistrates. He threaded the fingers of both hands together and squeezed tightly. There were probably a dozen BMWs in Portmeirion the night Nicholas Wixley was killed and perhaps more than one in Le Mans blue. But it was a coincidence too far. Drake needed to hear from Sara and more than anything he wanted to hear back from the undertakers he had spoken to first thing that morning.
He didn’t even notice when Allport sat down. Then the chairman of the magistrates stood up, announcing they would retire to make a decision.
As soon as they left the courtroom, tension dissipated and a quiet hum of conversation and rustling of papers took over. Thorsen walked over to Drake.
‘How did you think it went?’ Drake said.
‘Difficult to say. I still think they will refuse bail. I don’t think they’ll be long.’
Thorsen went back to his seat, restarting his conversation with Rhodri Boyd.
Drake frantically scrolled through his emails, hoping he hadn’t missed the message he had been waiting for all morning. Suddenly the screen filled with a series of emails with various attachments that he clicked open in turn. He used his thumb and finger to enlarge the attached lists and focused so hard that the sound in the courtroom faded to a whisper. The lights above him shone more brightly; he could hear his own breathing, sense his throbbing pulse. Finally, he found the surname Kennedy on each list. It was like a knockout punch from a heavyweight boxer. Drake couldn’t work out whether to feel elation or panic or despair.
He did not have time to rationalise his thoughts as the magistrates returned.
Everyone in the courts stood up. Drake struggled to his feet, gripping his mobile tightly.
‘In view of the seriousness of the charge we are denying bail. The defendant will be remanded in custody,’ The chairman announced.
The magistrates left immediately afterwards, the security guards returning Selston to the cells.
Thorsen and Boyd stood by Drake’s side. ‘There will be an appeal hearing this afternoon of course,’ Boyd said.
Drake barely nodded, his whole body stiff with tension. ‘I need to get back to headquarters.’
‘I need to check some papers.’ Drake wasn’t going to share the growing suspicion they had charged the wrong man. The prospect made his insides quiver. He had to double-check and triple-check everything to be certain.
Boyd frowned. Thorsen scowled. ‘Be back here by four at the latest.’
Chapter 47
Friday 10th of April
1.05 pm
Drake crunched the Mondeo into first gear and hurtled towards the junction of the side street near the Crown Court building before turning onto the main road out of the town. He convinced himself he didn’t need to be back by four pm. Andy Thorsen and Rhodri Boyd could manage perfectly well without him. A possibility existed that Michael Kennedy had killed Tom Levine – it meant he needed to reassess everything. The evidence that linked both men suggested Kennedy had taken a bribe to secure a lucrative lease for the barristers’ chambers. Had Turnbull somehow discovered a link between Kennedy and Levine and decided to challenge Kennedy, confront him face-to-face?
Drake broke every speed limit. Once clear of Caernarfon, he floored the accelerator, weaving in and out of the traffic until he reached the dual carriageway that by-passed Felinheli. Within a few minutes he was in the outside lane of the A55 making for headquarters.
Kennedy’s image on the CCTV footage from the restaurant in Abersoch dominated Drake’s thoughts. The man was even drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. What could he be impatient about? Was he late for his appointment to kill another human being?
Drake flashed the headlights of his car, blasting the car horn and gesticulating wildly at various motorists idling in the outside lane. He called headquarters via the hands-free connection. Luned was in the Incident Room; she told him Winder was due to arrive any minute, but she hadn’t heard from Sara.
Drake dialled her number.
She answered promptly. ‘I’m waiting to speak to the fisherman who goes out from Porthmadog every Friday night. I hope he might be able to help.’
Drake braked violently as a car pulled out in front of him. Another blast of the horn reverberated around the cabin. ‘Get back to me as soon as you can.’
Next Drake rang Price’s office. ‘I’m on my way to see the superintendent.’
‘I thought you were in court, Ian?’ Hannah replied. ‘He’s very busy this afternoon—’
Drake ended the call abruptly.
It was a little before two pm when Drake pulled into headquarters and dashed into reception, bounding up the stairs to the Incident Room. Winder slurped on a can of soda.
‘My office, now, both of you,’ Drake announced.
He turned to look at Luned standing with Winder. ‘Are you absolutely certain about the bank that paid Kennedy and Wixley?’
‘I double-checked, boss. I rang the branch to check the sort codes and account numbers.’
‘Get a list of all the guests staying at the Portmeirion Hotel the night before Nicholas Wixley was killed. I want them all cross-referenced with the database of car registrations. Find out if any of them own a Le Mans blue BMW.’
‘On to it, boss.’
‘Have you heard from Sara?’ Luned said.
‘She is waiting to speak to a possible eyewitness.’ Drake read the time on his computer monitor – 14.30. There was no way he would be back in court for the appeal hearing. He’d have to live with Thorsen’s anger.
He booted up his computer and after clicking into his emails, he printed off the sheets he had read earlier. He drew a yellow highlighter through the name Pamela Kennedy on each.
He scooped up the papers and threaded his way over to the senior management suite. Instinctively he knew what the right decision was going to be.
It would be painful, even embarrassing, but immensely better than facing the possibility of an innocent man being held in custody. His job was to get to the truth, and miscarriages of justice often happened, but Drake didn’t want his police career tainted by such an eventuality.
He stood and waited while Hannah buzzed Superintendent Price. He appeared at the door of his office seconds later.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘There is something we need to discuss.’
Price turned to Hannah. ‘No interruptions.’ She nodded back.
Drake sat in the visitor chair looking over at Price. ‘This looks serious, Ian.’
‘One of the similarities between Nicholas Wixley and the alphabet killings is the funeral order of services the killer left. Zavier Cornwell had written in blood the letters of the word ‘death’ on each. When his case came to court it was decided not to make mention of that feature to avoid distress to the families of the bereaved.’
‘I remember.’
‘Cornwell collected the orders of service by simply pretending to be a mourner at his local crematorium.’
‘Where is this taking you?’
‘Only someone with an intimate knowledge of the case could have known about them.’
‘That included Selston.’
‘And Michael Kennedy could easily have read the prosecution file and learned the details.’
Drake passed Price the orders of service found in Nicholas Wixley’s bedroom. ‘The bereaved families asked for donations to be made to various charities. I called the undertakers this morning. They emailed me a list.’
Drake produced another sheet with the yellow highlighting. ‘Michael Kennedy’s wife gifted to each of the charities named.’
‘She knew all the families?’
‘It means he easily got hold of copies of these orders of service.’
Drake’s mobile rang in his pocket and he read Sara’s name on the screen. Price gave him a critical glare, obviously surprised Drake hadn’t switched off his mobile. ‘I need to take this call, sir.’
Drake heard Sara’s voice. ‘I’ve spoken to Peter Foster. He went out fishing early the Friday evening that Tom Levine was killed and when he returned he saw Michael Kennedy scrambling to get off his boat. He hadn’t tied it in his usual place, which struck Foster as unusual at the time. It looks like you are right, boss.’
‘Get back here now.’
Drake turned to Price, who spoke first. ‘Good news?’
‘We have an eyewitness who can place Michael Kennedy in Cardigan Bay on the night Tom Levine was murdered. And another thing, sir. Kennedy received a substantial sum of money from Tom Levine just after Britannia Chambers agreed a new lease for property. It was exactly the same as the premium they paid.’
‘Jesus Christ, you mean he took a bribe?’
‘It looks that way. And Levine and Wixley are close. So Kennedy doesn’t want to risk chambers finding out so he kills Levine. And we know that Kennedy’s car left the Portmeirion Hotel on the night Wixley was killed – we have an eyewitness who saw it arrive back in the early hours.’
Price used an eerily neutral tone. ‘Did you mention any of this to Andy Thorsen?’
‘Of course not.’
Price nodded.
‘They’re expecting me back at court for Selston’s appeal at four pm.’
‘To hell with that. We need to decide what we’re going to do.’
Drake took a long breath. He had thought of little else for the last two hours. ‘We have enough to justify the arrest of Michael Kennedy on suspicion of Tom Levine’s murder.’
Price whistled under his breath.
Drake added, ‘And the possibility must exist that he was responsible for Nicholas Wixley’s killing too. He was treated badly by Wixley, who’d had a relationship with Kennedy’s wife some time ago.’
Price blew out a lungful of breath. ‘You’re overlooking the knife found at Selston’s property.’
Drake heard the superintendent’s comment and his mind focused on something else lurking in the back of his mind. The first time he had learned about Britannia Chambers had been from Holly Thatcher. Then he remembered her comments about attending a chambers party at S
elston’s home. Kennedy would have been there too.
‘Perhaps somebody planted the knife to implicate Selston.’
Heavy silence filled the space between both men.
Drake stared at Price, who stared back. Price spoke first. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘We withdraw our objection to Justin Selston being bailed.’
Price reached for the telephone on his desk and grabbed the handset. ‘I agree. I’ll call Andy Thorsen. Go and arrest that fucking bastard Michael Kennedy.’
Chapter 48
Friday 10th of April
3.00 pm
Drake made two telephone calls. During the first he dictated clear instructions to an inspector at the City of Manchester police force headquarters. For the second he adopted an emollient tone.
‘Is Mr Kennedy in chambers?’
‘He’s in a training event this afternoon and cannot be disturbed. May I ask who is calling?’
‘I’ll call back later.’
He turned to Sara, who was sitting in the visitor chair. Her eyebrows were drawn together tightly, and she pinched the skin at her throat before half choking a comment. ‘What are we going to do about Justin Selston?’
‘Superintendent Price will be calling Andy Thorsen before the appeal is heard, indicating that we have no objections to him being bailed. Until we’ve had time to interview Michael Kennedy, execute a search warrant at his home and the chalet he owns in Porthmadog, we’re not going to make any decisions.’
Sara nodded weakly.
‘In the meantime, we arrest Michael Kennedy and bring him back for questioning tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Incredulity laced Sara’s voice.