Suspect

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘So what are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?’ asked Pemberton in a friendly tone.

  ‘I’m going fishing,’ said Hadley.

  And so Pemberton, Brennon and Larkin left Hadley’s house carrying two shotguns and his personal diary, all of which would be subjected to some very close scrutiny. Pemberton and Larkin drove away in one car with Brennon in another, but both vehicles eased to a halt about half a mile away.

  ‘So,’ said Brennon, after he had climbed into Pemberton’s rear seat. ‘What did you make of that, gentlemen?’

  ‘He’s either very clever or very honest,’ said Larkin. ‘I think he knew that we had proof of his visit to Turnerville that day, but I thought his story sounded a bit thin. That tale about the fishing tackle shop and a call from a man called Lowe sounded like fiction to me. There is a fishing tackle shop in Church Lane, I know it, but the tale about Lowe sounded a bit contrived, a bit too convenient. You’ll note there’s no way we can check whether or not Lowe exists.’

  ‘I must admit I wasn’t convinced,’ Pemberton had to admit. ‘What did have a ring of truth was the fact that he admitted being in Turnerville on the day of the murder. But his movements after leaving the café are not known — your men lost him, eh? Do you think he lost them deliberately?’

  ‘I’m sure he did, but he did provide us with a reason,’ said Brennon. ‘Harassment by the Newton clan. Is he paranoid about them, I wonder? But whatever his motives, he lost his tail quite deliberately. And once he had lost the tail, he was in a position to carry out his intended purpose — the death of young Hardisty.’

  ‘If that’s true, it was a risky thing to do,’ said Larkin. ‘It smacks either of rank stupidity or total faith in his ability to avoid being seen. I can’t imagine someone going out to commit a murder after losing a tail like he did.’

  ‘It’s a scenario we can’t ignore, especially if he did not suspect it was a police tail,’ admitted Brennon. ‘But I must admit I don’t have any gut feeling about Hadley. You know, Mark, when you meet some killers, you know straight away whether or not they’re guilty, even though they persist in their innocence and produce watertight alibis. But I didn’t get any feeling about Hadley, one way or the other. I would never place a bet on his guilt or innocence, and it’s that that makes me think he is a mighty clever man, Mark. Too clever perhaps for the likes of us?’

  ‘No crook is too clever for us, Barry. If Hadley is guilty, we’ll nail him.’

  ‘Do you think I was right to drop the surveillance teams?’

  ‘Only because he knew he was being followed, whoever he thought it was. If he is guilty, he’s likely to go out and kill another person, especially if he’s not being followed.’

  ‘I find that a very worrying thought,’ admitted Brennon. ‘But I don’t think any surveillance unit could get close to him now.’

  ‘I could always recruit from another force, Barry, bring some strangers in to monitor his movements?’

  ‘I think that would be wise. Imagine the situation if another murder occurred while we suspected Hadley and didn’t have him targeted!’

  ‘One other point arises, Barry,’ said Pemberton. ‘In checking the intelligence records of your victims, Pearle and Hardisty, did you find that Hadley was involved in any way with them? You know, as arresting officer in our patch, court officer if they were at any of our courts, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No, I checked that. Apart from Hadley’s arrest of Pearle years ago, there are no common factors, Mark, other than that they were villains, male villains, who were apparently operating heedless of the law.’

  ‘We still need to find out who would know that, don’t we? Who would know they were criminals who had not been caught? I get the gut feeling there’s some kind of police input into all this. I don’t think the deaths are pure chance,’ Pemberton stated.

  ‘I agree. Some serial killers do kill indiscriminately, but this smacks of some inside knowledge, Mark. Somebody settling scores, protecting the public from villains, acting as judge and jury. We can’t escape the fact that we might be looking for a police officer who’s gone wrong. Or an ex-police officer.’

  ‘We’re going round in circles again, Barry,’ said Pemberton. ‘Well, I must return to my incident room to continue our fruitless search. But I’ve another job for you now, Paul.’

  ‘Sir?’ asked Larkin.

  ‘Delve into Hadley’s background, will you? We haven’t finished with him yet. Start with his file in Personnel — find out what he did before joining the force, jobs, hobbies, general background.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ acknowledged Paul Larkin.

  ‘Great idea,’ said Brennon, leaving Mark’s car. ‘Keep in touch.’

  ‘And you,’ said Pemberton, starting his engine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gaining access to the personal records of police officers is almost as difficult as stealing the Crown jewels. The individual files of all personnel are kept under lock and key in the Personnel Department and viewing of them is restricted, almost without exception, to the staff of that department. Their job is to protect them and to keep them up to date. From time to time, however, personal files have to be scrutinised by the heads of other departments, perhaps when an officer is being considered for promotion or transfer to another department, or when a disciplinary matter is pending. Even then, it is seldom that the entire file is released for examination.

  What is generally offered is the Personal Record Card. This is an A4-sized card printed with boxed sections and it details the officer’s career in a concise form. It bears his or her photograph, and it provides personal details such as date of birth, marital status, number of children, address, previous occupations, date of joining the force, examinations passed and qualifications gained, places at which the officer has been stationed, specialist departments in which he or she has served, any commendations won or medals awarded, any special training or skills acquired, courses attended, disciplinary proceedings (if any) and penalties imposed, driving qualifications with due note of additional skills such as PSV or HGV qualifications, firearms training, underwater section experience, first-aid qualifications — and more.

  What is rarely seen, even by heads of departments, is the actual file which accompanies that record card.

  This contains the history of the officer — it will even contain original documents like birth certificates, a copy of the officer’s fingerprints and his or her application to join the force along with early written references. Those references are checked for authenticity, and there is a record of those checks. The file also contains written reports of the officer’s progress — assessments from courses attended, confidential reports upon work and progress, assessments for promotion by supervisory officers, details of commendations and sometimes newspaper cuttings if an officer has been in the news for any reason. Requests from the officer for a transfer to another department, or for specialised training, or indeed for any career consideration, are kept in those bulky files. They are very personal indeed and are considered most confidential. Even when an officer makes a written request to examine his or her own personal file, it is the record card which is given to them, not the file itself.

  When Detective Inspector Paul Larkin decided to examine Inspector Hadley’s personal file, he realised he would be opposed by the bureaucracy of the civilian staff by whose care it was maintained. He had no criticism of that attitude — it was most important that confidentiality was assured — but when a police officer was under suspicion of committing a crime, particularly as a murder suspect, then it was vital that the file, in its entirety, be released for examination. Detective Inspector Larkin therefore sought an interview with Chief Superintendent Richard Redfearn, head of the force Administration Department. He did not explain his reason over the telephone, but the interview was approved.

  Paul Larkin therefore found himself waiting outside Redfearn’s office at Great Halverton police headquarters at 3.00pm one afternoon. Eventu
ally he was ushered inside the smart, clean office with its deep blue carpets and smart furnishings — a far cry from the CID offices whose desks were battered and whose floor covering was not a carpet, but well-worn linoleum. Redfearn, a heavily built man with a cheerfully pink complexion and thinning hair, rose from his chair with some difficulty and extended a hand in greeting. In his late forties, Richard Redfearn had suffered serious leg and back injuries in a car crash while in pursuit of a stolen vehicle and was now lame. He walked with the aid of a stick, but always remained cheerful. He now worked in Admin, because operational police work would have been most difficult for him. A friendly man with a wealth of practical experience, he made Paul feel welcome by offering him a seat, a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits.

  ‘So what brings the CID to see the paper-chasers?’ he smiled.

  Enjoying the tea and biscuits, Larkin explained the scope of the current murder enquiries and provided Redfearn with details of Hadley’s role and his request for elimination. ‘What we need,’ said Larkin, ‘is a sight of his personal file. We need to know something of his personal history, sir, his previous occupation, sicknesses while serving in the force, any disciplinary hearings, problems he might have encountered during his service, that sort of thing.’

  As Larkin explained his requirements, Redfearn listened intently.

  ‘He always was a bit of a loner, was Hadley,’ said Redfearn. ‘I served with him for a while. He was a strange man in many ways, very deep. He didn’t have many close friends. He seemed to prefer his own company. He was honest, though, I remember that claim of his, about not telling a lie. Something to do with a strict Scots Presbyterian upbringing, I think. When he was a young constable, he told us he would never lie about anything. Very keen, he was, a very able policeman too, I might add. He had the makings of a good thief taker even then, Paul — he’d never let a villain get away with a crime if he could help it. He really did believe that sin and crime should be punished.’

  They chatted about the Millgate supermarket incident and Inspector Larkin revealed Pemberton’s recent suspicions about Hadley; a sight of his file, with any personal or medical documents, might provide some useful leads to the investigation. As they talked, Redfearn realised that if the CID really wanted access to this file, and if such permission was not given informally, then Pemberton could make due representations, in writing, to the Chief Constable. But Redfearn had the sense not to stand in the way of necessity.

  ‘I’ll request his file,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it now. As head of the department, that is one of my privileges — my request will not be challenged. But you’ll have to study it here, in my office.’

  ‘I appreciate that, sir,’ said Larkin with some relief.

  Five minutes later, Paul Larkin was studying Hadley’s personal file on a table in the corner of Redfearn’s office.

  It began with his application to join the force; after his initial approach by letter, written in a youthful hand, there had been a printed form to complete, references to secure and an entrance examination to take. Larkin read these briefly and was tempted to skip the trivia of those twenty-two-year-old documents, but a question caught his eye.

  One section of the application form asked: ‘Have you a police record or have you been the subject of any police investigation?’ It was a true test of honesty because, whatever the answer given on the application form, a check would be made in police records. Even a juvenile conviction would be revealed — and while someone with a juvenile record of minor crime such as vandalism or petty theft might be accepted as a constable, someone who refused to be honest would never be accepted. And the ultra-honest Hadley, then aged a mere twenty-one, had completed that section. He had written:

  ‘When I was eleven, I had to attend the inquest on a boy who was drowned. He was my friend Stephen Bainley aged ten. He fell into the River Keal at Plockwood and I was the only witness. I was seen by PC Oxford and had to attend the inquest. It was accidental death.’

  The entry had been endorsed by the recruiting sergeant of the time as ‘Report checked and accurate’ but no further details were given. Larkin knew the system: at his interview by the Chief Constable, Hadley would have been invited to give a more detailed account of that incident from his childhood, but what he said to the Chief Constable was not recorded.

  He had been accepted as a member of the force, however. There was no date for the incident, but Larkin knew it had to be further investigated if only because Hadley had been involved in yet another death, albeit as a boy of eleven. A report of the inquest would be available or, failing that, a report in the local paper. Larkin was confident that he could locate a full account of the case. He was able to determine an approximate date simply by taking Hadley’s birthday and adding eleven years. He made a written note of the entry and continued through the file. But this turned up another drama. As a young constable, Hadley had shown an aptitude for outdoor pursuits such as hiking, abseiling, rock climbing and mountaineering and so he had been seconded, as an instructor, to a Forward Thrust training school in the Lake District. The students on such courses came from a wide variety of backgrounds, such as industry, commerce, local authorities, the emergency services and even from juvenile detention centres or former approved schools and remand homes, now called community homes. The secondment was for twelve months during which time he would live and work at the training school, not as a policeman but as an instructor in Forward Thrust skills and techniques. He had been twenty-seven at the time and it had been felt that such a background would be useful for the training of police officers in their own training schools. Hadley was clearly destined to be a training officer within a police training centre, but this never materialised. The reason might have been the contents of a thick file which Larkin found among Hadley’s papers.

  He read the report.

  During his secondment to the Forward Thrust school, a sixteen-year-old youth had fallen to his death while rock climbing in Borrowdale. The youth, a juvenile with a string of convictions for stealing motor cars and for burglaries in shops, had been under the supervision of Hadley at the time. The youth, called Darren Johnson, was a habitual offender and all other attempts to dissuade him from crime had failed. The authorities felt that a spell of tough physical activity, of the kind found on a Forward Thrust course among the Lake District hills, might persuade him to adopt other interests and outlets for his energy. It had also been felt that mixing with young people from more secure backgrounds might help him. On the day in question, with other young people in the vicinity plus three more instructors from the centre, Darren Johnson had been rock climbing on a crag with Hadley in attendance. He’d been fully roped and secured, and always under close supervision, but for some unexplained reason, he had fallen. According to Hadley’s statement, which was in the file, the piton had failed to support the weight of the youth as he fell, and he had crashed more than a hundred feet on to some rocks below. Later in hospital, Johnson had died from multiple injuries.

  The inquest had delivered a verdict of accidental death; the rider had been that organisations like Forward Thrust should ensure that their equipment was always in first-class condition, and always checked rigorously before use. Hadley had given evidence at the inquest; he’d said that the equipment was in first-class condition, that he had employed all the safety measures and that Johnson had been under close supervision by him at the time.

  He could not explain why the piton had failed. From the notes of the inquest, and of the police enquiry into the tragedy, it was clear that some blame had been levelled against Hadley. The criticism was that he had not done his job properly. There was a newspaper cutting which highlighted Hadley’s evidence at the coroner’s court, in which he’d said, ‘Why doesn’t the court believe me when I say that everything possible had been done? I had checked the equipment, I had tested everything myself, I did follow the rules…’

  But PC Hadley, as he had been at that time, was sent home to resume normal polic
e duties. No negligence could be proved, and so the death of young Darren Johnson had been written off as accidental.

  As Larkin read this account, he shuddered. Even in this brief summary of Hadley’s life, he had discovered that the fellow had been associated with two deaths, one at the age of eleven and another at the age of twenty-seven, one as a child, the other as a serving police officer. And two years ago, this time as a police inspector in charge of the firearms unit, he had been associated with yet a third — the shooting of Joss Newton during a supermarket raid. He continued to study every piece of paper in the file, including Hadley’s sickness record. Apart from the occasional dose of flu, he’d never been ill, either physically or mentally. Paul found that a full account of the incident at Millgate supermarket was included, along with the outcome of the disciplinary hearing, but it threw no new evidence upon his current investigations. He found no other references which might have a bearing on his present enquiries.

  ‘I need to photocopy some documents, sir,’ he asked Redfearn when he had finished his study. ‘Highly confidentially.’

  ‘My secretary will do that for you,’ he said. ‘She is totally reliable.’

  As Mr Redfearn’s secretary took away the documents for copying, Larkin explained to the superintendent his findings. Redfearn listened carefully, his clear grey eyes revealing something of his concern as Larkin made his revelations.

  ‘Are you saying he’s been bumping off criminals all his life, Paul?’

  ‘I’m saying he’s had a remarkable association with people who’ve died when he’s been in the vicinity,’ said Paul Larkin. ‘I do know that Mr Pemberton is very concerned, and those deaths I’ve uncovered today will add to his worries. I’ll pop into the Gazette’s offices on the way home to see if I can dig out anything on that drowning when he was eleven.’