by Giles Ekins
‘This commute is ridiculous,’ she said aloud, stuck in a bottleneck on Hanover Street. It was no better along Penistone Road, she only just made it for the morning briefing and vowed to check into the Garside Premier Inn for the duration of the investigation. And stop the imagined conversations with Gary, who told her things she needed to hear. But did not want to hear.
Fifty-Three
Grace had wanted to talk to Terry before the briefing but with the traffic delay and the need to read through the Policy File and her briefing notes, there was no time, in fact she barely had time to grab a cup of coffee.
The team were gathered around the oval conference table, each with an investigation file in front of them containing all the relevant information and photographs from the crime scene.
They were joined by Inspector Roger Jardine from the Forensic Unit and by Roy Moorcroft, the Press Officer.
Grace looks tired, Terry thought, she had bags under her eyes and did not stride into the briefing with the same purposefulness or energy. She simply looked weary. And who could blame her? The pressure was on, the press was on her back and Vickers was doing everything to undermine her. There’s some history there!
Before she sat down, Grace gave him a deep searching look, ‘Shit’ he thought, ‘she’s going to report me for inappropriate behaviour, send me to a disciplinary hearing. Why the fuck had I been so stupid?’ and he could see his career going down the pan. Whatever tale she told, they would take her word over his every time. Shit, she might even accuse him of assaulting her, God knows what’s going through her mind. He sighed deeply and turned away, unable to look her in the eye.
Terry’s still annoyed with me,’ Grace thought, ‘he can’t even bear to look at me. Still, I’ve got a job to do, I’ll try and talk to him later. She took a sip from her coffee, suddenly nervous, her confidence severely dented by recent events, not just the misunderstanding with DS Horton.
‘Good morning, everybody. This is a case conference on day four of ‘Operation Snowdrop, the investigation of the murders of Donald and Janet Jarrett, Is everybody up to speed with the information in the case folders in front of you? Good.’
Grace could feel her nervousness falling away, this was what she did, she was good at it and if Terry Horton was so childish as to take offence at a rejection, then that was his problem.
‘Yesterday, as you know, DS Horton, Terry, and I made a visit to Whitburn-on-Sea to…’
‘You know, the tight buggers didn’t bring me any fish and chips back, even after I’d told ‘em the best, place to go’ Fred Burbage grumbled.
‘Thank you, Fred, your timely interruptions are always appreciated’, Grace responded to a titter of amusement from everybody. ‘The purpose of the visit, aside from enjoying some excellent fish and chips, thank you Fred, was to interview the spiritualist Sebastian Serrano, whose apparent revelations of sexual abuse on Julia Jarrett by her father Donald Jarrett seems to be the catalyst for this entire tragic train of events.
Serrano, real name Stephen Nobbs, undoubtedly did receive a message. Whether the message was from Julia, we shall probably never know. Nevertheless, those allegations of abuse must be investigated. Brian, what have you got?
‘Not much really. Apart from one teacher, nobody at Julia’s school expressed concern about possible abuse, or seemed to give a damn about her troubles. They put her falling grades and attitude issues to a ‘typical teenage thing,’ and ‘all kids go through it’, she was just another problem kid in a school full of failing kids. Social Services had no reports about her and cared even less.’
‘All of which gives us a problem,’ Grace said, ‘apart from the ‘beyond the grave’ message, nobody can offer any insights into possible abuse. Apart that is from David Jarrett who claims that both he and Julia were abused We have to ask why?’
‘Well,’ said Danny Moss, ‘it seems to me that if he is the killer, maybe he’s trying to build up some sympathy, claim the mental stress of it drove him over the edge, something like that. As it did with poor Julia. Just a thought.’
‘Yes’ said Terry, ‘could be, trouble is I don’t believe a word that comes out of his lying mouth.’
‘OK. Give it some thought, guys,’ Grace said, ‘meanwhile let’s move on. Fred, what else do you have?’
‘Yes, Boss…Grace…we’ve heard back from the knot specialist at the Met. A strange thing to specialise to my mind, knots, but there we are. He states that both knots, the knot on the ligature and knot which secured the rope to the beam are generic, neither left or right handed. So, there’s nothing there for us of any significance,’
‘Pity, Erika Berger, the pathologist believes Donald Jarrett’s killer was left-handed. David Jarrett is left-handed, so a left-handed knot would have been helpful. But there again, ten percent of the population are left-handed. Fred, what else?’
‘Yes, Me and Danny Boy here visited the offices of Donald Jarrett accountants and recovered computers and files. Jarrett’s partner, Peter Donnelly, was most displeased with us, full of bluster and threats. I dead sure he’s dodgy, dead dodgy. He’s got something to hide, of that I’m certain.’
‘I agree,’ added Danny, ‘he has definitely something to hide.’
‘Danny Boy here done well yesterday.’ Fred Burbage said, much to everyone’s surprise. ‘Came out with the law and rocked Donnelly back on his heels. You could see his staff enjoyed it as well. I don’t think he’s the most popular guy in the office.’
‘Yay, good on you, Danny Boy,’ Emma said, and Danny rolled his eyes, knowing that forever he was going to be known as ‘Danny Boy’ but took it as a sign he was accepted by the team and nodded his thanks.to Emma.
‘You think there could be financial irregularities, is that it?’ Terry asked, he had been unusually quiet during the briefing, still wondering if Grace was going to have him disciplined.
‘Definitely.’
‘Could he be our killer,’ Terry asked
‘To be honest, Peter Donnelly is such an obnoxious little bastard. I’d like it to be him, but he has strong alibis for the day of the killing. Unfortunately.’ answered Fred.
‘If he’s not our killer, we don’t waste any more time on him, send what you’ve got to the Fraud Squad, let them sort it out,’ Grace ordered.
‘Already have done. But there might be other reasons why Donald Jarrett was killed. He was an accountant, maybe he was laundering money for the mob, he skimmed too much off the top and they did for him.’
‘Fred, you’ve been watching too much telly. this us West Garside, not westside Chicago. We’ve no Al Capone. No organised mob crime here,’ laughed Emma.
‘There’s the Blades brothers.
‘The Blades brothers? exclaimed Terry. ‘Small time crooks getting smaller by the day. Most of the girl trade is now controlled by the Albanians and Turks and Jamaicans run the drugs. What’s left for the Blade brothers, a bit of small-time protection? That’s about it.
‘Maybe, it was just a thought’
Emma then give an account of the interview with Chloe Macbeth, jailed for glassing Kevin Leeds.
‘She was the victim,’ Jessica added. ‘He assaulted her, but she was the one that got done. The system always discriminates against women.’ She was very keen on women’s rights and deplored the misogynistic attitude of some of her male colleagues, including Fred Burbage.
‘Thank you, Jessica, point taken. However, Chloe Macbeth remains a person of interest. She has a history of violence, can’t account for her movements that day and her fingerprints are all over the murder scene. This can’t be overlooked simply because David Jarrett might be the stronger suspect.’
‘Grace, I agree, Emma said, ’she’s lying about something, she reacted to questions about Donald Jarrett, that’s for sure.’
‘You think she’s involved?’
Emma thought about her answer, ‘I can’t say to be honest, but if you’re asking if I think she killed both Janet and Donald Jarrett, no. But there is someth
ing.’
‘Agreed.’ Jessica confirmed.
‘OK, follow it up, dig deeper, we can’t ignore it. right, let’s move on. Roger, what do you have for us?’ Grace asked the Forensic Officer.
‘Yes, Grace. Blood on those clothes found in in the woods behind the Jarrett’s house, is Donald Jarrett’s. The blood spatters on the clothing is consistent with the spatter patterns found as a result of the blows to Donald Jarrett’s head.’
Jardine flipped opened his lap-top and brought up forensic images on the large screen television mounted on the wall opposite the conference table. Emma and Jessica seated on that side had to turn around in their chairs to view the screen.
The first image shown was that of a navy-blue V-neck man’s sweater. Despite the colour of the sweater dark patches of dried blood were clearly visible.
‘These clothes, are they David Jarrett’s?’ Grace asked, it was the crucial question; if the clothes were Jarrett’s, it went a long towards proving him the killer.
‘Obviously there are no name tags on the sweater but DNA from three hairs stuck to the wool and some skin fragments where the wearer has possibly scratched at an itch, are from David Jarrett.’
‘Yes, got the little bastard,’ exalted Terry, punching the air in front of him with clenched fists as the rest of the team all greeted the news with delight.
Jardine then brought up images of the other clothes, a blood-stained polo necked green T-shirt red boxer shorts with a cartoon Tasmanian Devil motif, blue jeans, also with bloodstains. ‘All the recovered items had at least some of Donald Jarrett’s blood. We also tested David Jarrett’s iPhone 4 and the luminol clearly picked up traces of Donald Jarret’s blood. The phone had been wiped, but not thoroughly enough to remove all blood traces.’
‘He was playing games on that mobile when we spoke to him that first afternoon,’ Terry interjected, shaking his head in disbelief, ’Can you credit it, his parents have just been found dead and he sits there, calm as anything, playing games on his mobile.’
Jardine then ran through the rest of the forensic material collected from both murder scenes, the kitchen and the garage. He made no comment as to whether the material proved David Jarrett’s guilt, that was not his job. His job was to compile the evidence for others to judge. He concluded his report with a copy of the inventory of all the items removed from the Jarrett house. It was a long list.
It had been a long session, so Grace called a temporary break, ‘OK guys, ten minutes for the bathroom and to get yourselves a coffee. Then we’ll carry out a review of all the evidence pointing to David Jarrett.’
Terry tried to intercept her as she made for the door, ‘Grace...’ but she cut him off short, ‘Later,’ she said, rather more curtly than she intended but there was too much on her mind. She needed to corral all her thoughts into one cogent presentation, despite the apparent weight of evidence against David Jarrett, the insistent worms of doubt remained. Chloe Macbeth’s history of violence could not be ignored.
Fifty-Four
When everybody was reassembled, Grace handed out folders summarising all the evidence so far collected against David Jarrett. She was about to begin her presentation when Superintendent Claybourne entered. He waddled across to the other side of the table and took the seat next to Grace, which Terry had to vacate to make room for him.
‘Carry on Grace, I’m only here as an observer and see where we are on this investigation.’
‘Very good, sir, glad you could join us,’ she said as she pretended to read her knows, furiously wondering why the hell Claybourne was there, other than to report back to Vickers. ‘And who told him I was about to present a summary of the evidence. ’ She looked around the around the table and Roy Moorcroft averted his gaze. ‘The sneaky little bastard must have scurried right up to Claybourne, just like the little rat he is.’
Gathering her thoughts, she began, determined that Claybourne’s presence would not lead her off track.
‘Sir, this simply a brief review of the case to date and a summary of the evidence which could, could, indicate David Jarrett as the killer.’
‘Oh, excellent, I obviously picked an opportune moment to pop in, didn’t I?’ he responded, a fat smirk hovering about his mouth.
Grace began to count out the points on her fingers.
‘One, David Jarrett cannot account for his whereabout on the day of the murders. We know he visited the library on Sussex Street and looked in some shops before, he claims, he drove out to Dunmore Edge where he apparently wrote some poetry.’
‘Poetry!’ Claybourne exclaimed, ‘Is he having a laugh? I’ve heard some excuses in my time, but no one’s ever claimed to be writing poetry before. Who does he think he is? Shakespeare?’
‘Actually, sir, he does write poetry. Fred, can you find the poem he says he wrote that day?’
‘It’s called Dunmore Edge,’ Fred announced after finding it on his lap-top and read it out aloud.
Black granite crags,
jutting proud,
Stretching across the wind-wracked moors,
On the backbone of broken dreams.
Dark-stern and forbidding.
The edge lies there,
Like the black dog of depression.
The endless wind whistles and shrieks,
Ancient ghosts who sense the residues of pain,
They are the destroyers of hope,
And slay the tooth of tomorrows broken dreams
amid the ashes of yesterdays’ grief.
To stand on the edge,
Is to look down into the abyss of eternity,
Or look, look upwards into the blue void of nothingness.
‘Sounds like pretentious bollocks to me,’ Fred gave judgement, ‘but that’s what he claimed he wrote that day. It’s dated as such in his notebook.’
‘Which means nothing, he could have written it months ago and just added the date to give himself a futile alibi.’ Claybourne said, waving his hands around in dismissal.
‘Oh gross’, thought Jessica as she caught sight of the wedding band half hidden in the flesh of his podgy finger, ‘imagine having that fat slob on top of you’
‘We checked the amount of petrol in the Jarratt’s Volvo,’ Roger Jardine stated, consulting his notes. ‘the tank was half full and had not been re-fuelled the day of the murders. If had been full, he could not have driven out to Dunmore Edge, so the issue is inconclusive.’
Thank you, Roger,’ Grace, acknowledged, but was then interrupted by Claybourne.
‘Grace, it is patently obvious that David Jarrett called at home on his way to Dunmore. He killed his parents, disposed of any evidence and then headed out to write his damned poetry,’ Claybourne insisted. ‘The timings fit,’ he added, pointing at the timeline of David Jarrett’s known movements.’
‘Thank you, sir, it is a consideration that we are investigating’ Grace said and then checked her notes again, annoyed at the interruptions.
‘Two. In the call to emergency services, he specifically points us to a murder/suicide scenario. That Janet Jarrett beat her husband to death because of alleged abuse of their daughter Julia and then killed herself in remorse.’
‘And we are sure that is not the case?’ Claybourne asked, although he already knew the answer.
‘Yes, sir, no doubt, Janet Jarrett was dead, strangled prior to the attack on Donald.’
‘OK, continue.’
‘Three, he made much of the fact there was only one key into the garage, ostensibly to reinforce the notion that Janet had hanged herself, re-creating the classic ‘dead body in a room locked from the inside’ scenario. However, we can prove that there was sufficient time for whomever killed Janet’
‘David Jarrett.’ interjected Claybourne forcibly, ‘David Jarrett.’
‘Sufficient time for whomever killed Janet to activate the remote, throw it down and make their way out of the garage.’
Claybourne grunted in annoyance but Grace ignored him and carried on.
/> ‘Four, the killer is probably left handed. David Jarrett is left handed.’
‘David Jarrett is left-handed?’ Claybourne asked.
‘Yes sir, that was noted when he signed his statements.’
‘He’s looking good for this, isn’t he?
Grace ignored him and continued with her summary. ‘Five, David Jarrett’s fingerprints are on the murder weapon. Obviously, the hammer was part of the household tools and could have been used by David at any time. However, there is a complication, Roger, please.’
‘Yes, the murder weapon does have David prints, as well as Donald and Janet Jarrett’s, however whoever used the hammer to kill Donald was wearing gloves, we think nitrile decorators’ gloves. There was an open packet of blue gloves, a B&Q brand, on the workbench in the garage. The hammer was a steel claw hammer with a wooden handle, the prints on the handle are smudged by someone wearing gloves.’
‘Which does cast doubt.’ insisted Grace.
‘Nonsense, David Jarrett could have worn the gloves, not wanting blood on his oh so precious poetic hands,’ Claybourne stated curtly, determined that nothing diminish the case against David Jarrett.
‘However, sir, no bloody gloves have been found. If we do find them, we can lift the DNA of the wearer from sweat inside the glove, which will resolve the issue.’ Roger Jardine stated, he was not there to support theories one way or another but to present the forensic evidence for evaluation by others.
‘Noted. Grace, what else?’
‘Six. Most critical evidence of all. The clothes found in the woods appear to be David Jarrett’s. The blood found on them is Donald Jarrett’s.’
Surprisingly, Claybourne said nothing, no comment was necessary.
‘In addition, traces of Donald’s blood were found on David’s mobile phone. However, he could claim he got blood on his hands when he discovered Donald’s body , which was then transferred to his phone. We’ll pick this up when we next question him.’