by Tony Kent
‘Well let’s just leave that one for the jury, then, shall we, Mr White?’
Michael glanced at the jury as he spoke. He could see their distaste for White’s response. His point was made.
Michael continued.
‘But just so I’m clear, you’re maintaining that the use of Simon Kash’s phone in the hour before 8.45 p.m. – registering as it does on EE’s Mast Twenty-two and EE’s Mast Thirteen, and never in that hour on any of the five closer masts – is consistent with that telephone being at the site of the murder.’
‘Yes.’
‘And therefore consistent with that telephone being in the same place as the telephone of Mr O’Driscoll? Despite the two phones registering on different masts?’
‘Yes.’
‘On the basis of a mast’s limited signal capacity.’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. In that case, just one more thing, Mr White. You explained earlier how a mast will prioritise its own use.’
‘I did.’
‘So the O2 masts we have looked at would prioritise O2 users, and the EE masts would prioritise EE users.’
‘Yes.’
‘There is another aspect to this though, isn’t there? The aspect that comes into play after capacity has been reached. Because the prioritisation continues even then, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Which means that if a mast is at capacity and then a user from its own network comes calling, the mast will eject a user from a different network to make room. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes.’ White was relieved to be back on firm ground. ‘That’s why mobile calls are sometimes mysteriously cut off. Because, let’s say, an EE phone is using up the last space on an O2 mast, then an O2 user tries to “log on”. In those circumstances the O2 mast will eject the EE signal to accommodate the O2 signal.’
‘That’s what I thought. And I’m glad you used that particular example, Mr White. Because, as you’ve told us, Mast Twenty-two belongs to the O2 network, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And it also happens to be the mast closest to the murder site and therefore the mast most likely to be used by a phone user at that location.’
‘If it has available capacity—’ White began.
‘Yes, we appreciate all of that.’ Michael denied White the chance to digress. ‘And it’s right, isn’t it, that Mr O’Driscoll’s telephone was picked up by that same O2 mast on each of its uses in the hour prior to the last use at 8.45 p.m., correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which is why you conclude that Mr O’Driscoll’s phone was at the murder scene during that time.’
‘Yes.’
‘Exactly.’ Michael picked up the telephone bundle once again. ‘Mr White, can we turn to page four of the bundle?’
White did as requested. The judge, jury and all other barristers did the same.
‘If we look halfway down the log of phone uses, we see that two of Simon Kash’s eight uses are almost simultaneous to two of Darren O’Driscoll’s uses. Can you see that?’
White studied the data.
‘Yes.’
‘Mr O’Driscoll made a call at 8.11 p.m. For three minutes. Registered at Mast Twenty-two.’
‘Correct.’
‘And at 8.12 p.m. Simon Kash made a one-minute call, registered at Mast Twenty.’
‘I see that, yes.’
‘Then we look further down. To 8.31 p.m. Mr O’Driscoll made another three-minute call. Mast Twenty-two again. A minute later Simon Kash made what seems to be an aborted call. Registered at Mast Thirteen. A mast that is a full mile away, as we know.’
‘Yes.’
‘And which is an EE mast.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you aware of the phone networks that provide service to Mr O’Driscoll and to Simon Kash, Mr White?’
White stared straight ahead. He finally understood.
‘No, Mr Devlin. But I now think I can hazard a guess.’
‘Let’s not hazard anything, Mr White. It’s a matter of agreement between all parties. Mr O’Driscoll is registered to the TalkTalk network. Simon Kash’s phone is registered with the O2 network.’
‘I see.’
‘So please answer me this, Mr White. If Mr O’Driscoll was in the same place as Simon Kash and made a call from his TalkTalk phone, it could be picked up by the nearest O2 mast if that mast had capacity, could it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘But if Simon Kash then made a call from the same location and the nearest O2 mast was now at capacity, then one of the users from a non-O2 network – maybe Mr O’Driscoll, maybe someone else – would be ejected. Correct?’
‘That is correct. Yes.’
‘Which means what, Mr White? What is the only conclusion we can reach from the fact that Mr O’Driscoll’s call was taken by the O2-owned Mast Twenty-two but that the same mast at the same time did not pick up Simon Kash’s call from an O2 phone?’
White did not answer immediately. The only response he could give undermined him completely.
Hard words to utter, Michael thought. But he’s brought this on himself.
‘Well, Mr White?’
‘It means . . . it means that Mast Twenty-two was not the closest mast to Simon Kash’s phone at the time of those two calls.’
Michael looked towards the jury. He could see that they understood. Still, it never hurt to hammer a good point.
‘Which means, Mr White, that at those times – during the hours that the Crown say the Galloway brothers were tortured and murdered – Simon Kash’s phone was being used in an entirely different location to Darren O’Driscoll’s phone. Isn’t that right?’
‘That’s what the evidence now seems to suggest.’ White could give no other answer. ‘It seems that the phones were not together after all.’
‘Thank you, Mr White.’
Michael took his seat and looked to his left. Simon Kash was facing him. Michael smiled. And, for the first time, Kash smiled back.
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘How many passengers were on board?’
‘It was a capacity ferry, Sarah.’ James Elton’s voice was quiet. Slow. ‘Almost all on the upper deck, so hardly anyone saw the violence. But they caught the chase and then the guy’s dive. And the arrest.’
‘Mobile phones?’
‘What do you think? I’ve seen six different videos already. One on YouTube. The rest on Facebook. Makes you wonder why we still pay for cameramen.’
‘They’ve got their uses.’ Nathan might not be the best cameraman in the world, but Sarah was warming to him. And he was definitely better than some bystander with a smartphone and a shaky hand. ‘So why is this one coming to me? There must be a local team up there?’
‘Personal relations,’ Elton replied. ‘Watch this.’
Elton turned the flat-screen computer that sat on his desk. Halfway, so both he and Sarah could see. Sarah leaned forward as Elton pressed play.
The footage was typical of a smartphone camera. Unsteady in the extreme. People forget that professional recording equipment is shaped as it is for a reason; to provide the cameraman with stability. Reduce that to fit in a palm and the result is what Sarah was now looking at. A recording shaky enough to induce seasickness. That the phone was already on a ferry only worsened the effect.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Just wait. You’ll see it in a second.’
Less than a second, in fact.
Sarah had spotted him before Elton had finished speaking. A large, powerfully built man sprinting to the front of the boat. The camera was on his right to begin with, its view blocked by the ferry’s central structure. But once clear of the obstruction the man was unmissable.
‘Do we know who he is yet?’
Sarah did not take her eyes from the screen as she spoke.
‘Not yet,’ Elton replied. ‘Or what he was wanted for. That’s where you come in.’
> Sarah was about to ask why, but before she could speak the man moved again. This time sprinting towards and then past the camera. For a moment he was lost in the phone’s movement as its owner turned, trying to follow his path. But then he was visible again. Moving fast towards the ship’s rail.
‘What’s he doing?’
Sarah was speaking almost to herself. As she asked the question the man was throwing his bag over the rail, before taking a leap of his own. He quickly dropped out of shot as gravity kicked in. The man fell fast and had hit the water long before the camera could catch up.
‘That’s pretty damned dramatic.’ Sarah looked away from the screen. Back towards Elton. ‘But I still don’t understand what it’s got to do with me.’
‘It’s not over, Sarah.’ Elton pointed to the screen. ‘Keep watching.’
Sarah did as instructed. She looked back at the screen. The footage was now shakier; the phone’s owner was struggling to keep focus. Mainly caused by the movement of the boat but not helped by imperfect equipment.
Sarah could just about see what she assumed was the same man, now in the water. He was not swimming. In fact, he was barely staying afloat.
‘What is it I’m supposed to see?’ Sarah could feel morbid anticipation growing in her stomach. ‘Does he drown?’
‘Just keep watching.’
Sarah did not ask again and just watched in silence, her eye on the footage timer.
One minute passed. The man was still above water. Two. Still there, but weakening fast. As the third minute approached the camera switched focus. It moved upwards, away from the near drowning man and towards a boat that was moving in fast.
The camera zoomed in, losing some definition as it did so. But the important part of the image became clear as the boat came to a stop: Joelle Levy, her gun raised and pointed towards the water.
‘Levy?’ Sarah looked back to Elton, genuinely surprised. ‘Levy was making the arrest?’
‘Looks that way,’ Elton replied. ‘Which tells us what?’
‘That this guy’s got something to do with Longman’s murder. Why else would Levy be there?’
‘My thoughts exactly. Which begs the question, Sarah: why the hell did you not know about this?’
Sarah was startled by Elton’s tone. Her boss did not sound happy.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I thought the two of you had an arrangement. That we’d sit on what we knew for now. In exchange for which she’d keep you updated on all developments. So we’d be ready for an exclusive.’
‘That’s pretty much what we agreed, yeah.’
‘Then what the hell is she doing in Essex? Making an arrest that’s all over the bloody internet without giving you any kind of a heads-up?’
‘It’s not that strict an arrangement, James.’ Sarah had not been entirely truthful when reporting her interactions with Levy. She had made no mention of what was amounting to a fledgling friendship. ‘She can’t involve me in everything.’
‘Then what use is she to us, Sarah?’ Elton was not hiding his irritation. ‘We’ve sat on a big bit of news for her. The crucifixions. The connection between Longman and Blunt. For Christ’s sake, we’ve got evidence of a bloody serial killer and we haven’t reported it. And for what? Because I don’t see anything coming back our way.’
‘It’s a long game, James. It’s—’
‘It’s too long a game, Sarah. I’m through waiting for Levy to throw us a bone. The next information we get, we chase it and when we’re ready we report it. No more keeping quiet to help the police. It’s not like they’ll ever acknowledge the assistance anyway.’
‘But what about what Levy’s already told us, James?’ Sarah could feel her ethical code being dismantled. ‘That was strictly off the record. If we go back on that then we’ll never have any trust with the police again. We can’t do that.’
Sarah knew that her point had been a good one; there were implications to what he had to decide. Both short term and long term.
A compromise was needed.
‘OK,’ Elton finally said. ‘We settle it this way. Anything you’ve been told up to now – anything you’ve discussed with Levy on a promise you’ll stay quiet – we can honour that; there’s no point burning bridges when we don’t have to. But anything new, Sarah. Anything new is ours. Levy is not your partner. You don’t owe her anything. So the next lead – every bloody lead from now on – is ours. And they’re not for sharing. You got that?’
‘There are legs in the relationship I’ve built with Levy, James. I really don’t think we should throw it away.’
‘Then don’t throw it away. Stay friendly, Sarah. And by all means be Levy’s sounding board. Something good might come of it, so discuss the things you already know to your heart’s content. But from now on it’s a one-way street. Understand? Our leads are our leads. Simple as that.’
Sarah opened her mouth to respond. To argue her case one last time. The look on Elton’s face told her it would be a waste of breath.
The conversation was over. And so was her deal with Levy.
THIRTY-NINE
Wisdom Penfold sat behind a small wooden table in the cramped interview room. His arms were stretched out ahead of him, joined at the wrist by solid, leather-covered handcuffs.
On Penfold’s left was a lawyer. Peter Hughes, a local solicitor, called in to advise the prisoner and to protect his interests. On his right was a three-deck audio tape-recording machine. An antiquated relic of the 1980s. The last time a government had properly invested in its police force.
Penfold looked at the two empty chairs ahead of him and wondered when his interview would begin. His injuries had been treated – his dislocated arm re-set, his bleeding eye bandaged – but still Penfold was in pain. He felt like he had been hit by a truck and the discomfort was making him impatient.
Let’s just get this over and done with, Penfold thought. I know where I’m going.
Penfold had no faith in God. So he was unsurprised when his ‘prayer’ went unanswered. The door did not open. His interrogators did not appear. The torment of anticipation continued.
Twenty more agonising minutes passed.
The room offered no distractions. Just pale blue walls, painted who knew how long ago. And Peter Hughes, to whom Penfold had no intention of speaking. He had not asked for a lawyer. He had not refused one, either. But that did not mean he intended to engage with the man.
Finally the room’s only door opened and two people walked in. One he recognised: Joelle Levy, the woman in charge. Behind her was another officer. A tall man in his early thirties. Trim and wearing an expensive suit.
The two officers took their seats. At first neither spoke. The man sat closest to the tape machine and so it was for him to press its record button. A high-pitched tone indicated that the tape had begun.
The male officer turned to Penfold.
‘Mr Penfold, we are now commencing your recorded interview under caution, following your arrest this morning. The interview will be taped and that tape will be made available to you or to your legal representatives if you are charged with an offence at the conclusion of the interview, or are charged with the same at a later date. Do you understand this as I have explained it to you?’
Penfold did not respond. Cooperation now would not help him. It would not result in a shorter sentence. Penfold knew that. He had nothing to gain from answering questions, and so he would not.
The male officer waited a moment before he continued.
‘Can I assume from your silence that you do not intend to answer?’
Penfold continued to stare forward, unblinking. He held the officer’s gaze, but he had no intention of responding to these people. The officer seemed unfazed and simply turned to Peter Hughes.
‘In which case I will ask Mr Hughes to confirm that Mr Penfold has failed to respond to the question just asked of him.’
‘Mr Penfold has refused to respond, yes.’
The officer returne
d his attention to Penfold.
‘Next, Mr Penfold, we need to confirm who is present in the room today. I am Detective Inspector Thomas Chadwick, Major Investigation Team One. With me today is Detective Chief Inspector Joelle Levy, also from MIT One. With you is your legal representative, Mr Peter Hughes. And finally yourself, Mr Wisdom Penfold. Can you confirm that what I have just said is accurate?’
Penfold was determined to say nothing. Not a word. He kept up his stony gaze while the inspector continued to read the required script, informing him of his rights. For all the good they would do him. There wasn’t a right in the world that could keep him from rotting in jail.
‘Mr Hughes?’
‘Yes, Inspector. That is correct.’
Levy leaned forward. An indication to the inspector that she was taking over. The man seemed to understand and sat back into his chair.
Penfold’s eyes shifted to Levy.
Now for the real thing, he thought.
‘Right, now we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about Phillip Longman.’
Penfold’s eyes narrowed. His first hint of a response, brought on by the familiar but unexpected name.
‘Where were you in the early hours of June 16th?’
Suddenly unsure of where this was going, Penfold still did not answer.
‘Let’s put it another way then, Mr Penfold. Were you present at the house of Mr Phillip Longman – 14 Magdalen Road in Wandsworth – in the early morning of the 16th of June?’
Still no verbal response. But increasing confusion. Where the hell is this going?
‘OK. What about on the 18th of June, Mr Penfold? Where were you in the early hours of that date?’
Penfold was shaking his head. He still gave no answer, but now because he simply did not have one.
‘Were you present at the home of Mr Adam Blunt – 11 Mill Lane in Southwold, Suffolk – in the early morning of the 18th of June?’
Blunt? That piece of shit? What the fuck is this?
‘Mr Penfold, these are very serious allegations. Right now you are very much the prime suspect for both crimes. Do you have anything whatsoever to say for yourself?’