Trial by Fire

by David W Robinson

  Packing away his few belongings, ready to return to the real world, he thought perhaps it was time to build a few bridges with her.

  Coming out of the prison into the hot outside world, clutching his personal effects under his arm, screwing up his eyes in the strong sunlight, he scanned the car park and there were only a few cars on it, one of which he recognised immediately.

  “I’m your ride back to town, Joe,” Dockerty said, climbing out of the car.

  “Then I’ll walk.” Joe made as if to spit at the ground. “If I never see you again, Dockerty, other than swinging on the end of a rope, it’ll be too soon.”

  Dockerty opened the passenger door. “Get in the car, Joe.”

  “Are you deaf or just plain stupid? Thinking about it, I suppose the way you threw me in jail should tell me all I need to know.”

  “Either get in the car or I’ll arrest you again.”

  Joe’s temper began to get the better of him. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve just been freed.”

  “No. You’ve been released into the custody of the Sanford police. When we get back to the station, I will release you on police bail. Between now and then, we have a lot to talk about and obviously you have a lot to get off your chest. Well, I’m not willing to stand in the middle of an open car park, providing spectator sport for anyone who might be watching. For the last time, get in the car or I’ll cuff you and force you in.”

  Furious, impotent, left without leeway, Joe did as bidden and settled into the passenger seat of Dockerty’s Volvo.

  Dockerty came back around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. Closing the door, he started the engine and turned up the air-conditioning.

  As the superintendent pulled out of the car and picked up the signs for Sanford, Joe tore into him.

  “You threw me in there without so much as a by your leave. Four days I’ve been in that hellhole. Four bloody days locked up with some nutjob rabbiting on about his bleeding azalea bush.”

  “Eric Neave,” Dockerty said. “Murdered his wife. We know he did it, but we can’t find the final piece of the puzzle.”

  “Forget Neave. Think about Joe Murray and what you’ve done to him. I will sue you and your department for every penny I can get. I will bankrupt you. By the time I’ve finished, none of you will get a job guarding the sweet stall in a supermarket.”

  “There are rules, Joe, and I have to play by them. The evidence I had compelled me to go to court. It was their decision to remand you.”

  “Only because you said you were close to charging me.”

  “The only alternative was Sanford police station, and we were so short of bodies it wasn’t an alternative. I had no choice.”

  “So what’s happened now? Has Don Oughton agreed to the overtime so I can be held there?”

  “No. Fresh evidence has turned up which has cast doubt on the case against you.”

  The announcement caught Joe unawares and brought him up short. “Fresh evidence? What evidence?”

  They were on the outskirts of town, pushing in towards the centre, the early Saturday afternoon traffic clogging the roads and holding them back.

  Held up at the busy junction of Selby Road and Pontefract Road, waiting in a queue to turn right, Dockerty took advantage of the hiatus to detail first the extraneous drum of cooking oil, and then the figure on the CCTV image. It took two more changes of the lights before they finally turned the corner, by which time Joe had been brought up to date.

  The information did nothing to calm Joe’s anger. “I told you all along someone was trying to frame me, didn’t I? But you didn’t want to listen, did you? Oh, no. You just waded in, size thirteen boots trampling over everything and everyone. You had your suspect and that was good enough for you.”

  Dockerty remained remarkably calm under Joe’s verbal assault. “I did my job. The evidence against you was too strong. And to be honest, Joe, you’re not out of it yet.”

  “What? After all the evidence you’ve just told me, you still believe I’m guilty? You’re an idiot, managing a team of idiots.”

  Dockerty gritted his teeth as they arrived on the inner ring road, its two lanes packed with slow moving traffic. “All I know for certain, Joe, is that you did not drop that extra drum in your lockup. But how do I know you didn’t pay someone to do it?”

  “I don’t know anyone who’s six and a half feet tall.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “Name one person.”

  Dockerty did not even have to think about it. “Your nephew, Lee. It was his knife we found at Vaughan’s place. He’s well over six feet tall, and he does as you tell him. And if you’re not involved have you ever considered that it might be him trying to frame you?”

  Joe shook his head. “Lee doesn’t have the brains to put together something as complicated as this. It takes him all his time to work out how to fasten his bootlaces.”

  “His wife then.”

  “Cheryl’s a lovely lass and there is no way she would do this. You’re barking up the wrong tree… again. Besides, if Vaughan was murdered in his living room, how would Lee get in there? It’s not like they were—”

  Making the turn into Gale Street, Dockerty cut Joe off. “Have you ever wondered about the fire at the original Lazy Luncheonette?”

  “I wonder about it all the time. Like I told the insurance investigator, I grew up in that building and I lived there all my life.”

  “The accelerant was cooking oil.”

  “That same setup as was used at Vaughan’s place. I know.”

  Dockerty turned into the police yard, pausing at the barrier to announce himself to the control clerk in the building. Driving through, reversing into a spot near the back entrance, he cut the engine, released his seatbelt, and half turned to face Joe.

  “You and your friends were in Blackpool at the time. So was Vaughan. So it was obvious that neither of you could have started the fire. But suppose Vaughan had persuaded your nephew to do it.”

  “Then Vaughan was a bigger idiot than I took him for,” Joe retorted. “I have to watch Lee when he’s lighting the gas burners so he doesn’t set fire to himself. And tell me what Lee would gain from all this? Burning down the old place and then framing me for Vaughan’s murder.”

  “Who gets the café if you’re out of the picture?”

  “Lee gets eighty per cent of it. Sheila and Brenda get the other twenty per cent. I’ve told you once, Dockerty, you’re looking at the wrong man.”

  The superintendent opened his door, ready to get out. “Nevertheless, when we’re done here, I’m taking you back to The Lazy Luncheonette and I’ll want a word with Lee.”

  Joe checked his watch. “Well, you’d better hurry up. It’s Saturday and they all knock off at two.”

  They got out of the car and Joe hurried alongside Dockerty into the building, rushing to keep up with the taller man’s longer stride.

  “By the way, how did you twig the difference in height? Gemma or Ike?”

  “Neither. An old friend of yours. Mine too, as it happens. Denise Latham.”

  Joe was satisfied. “She spent months accusing me of torching the old place and I had my doubts when Sheila and Brenda told me she was on the case, but they also told me she was onto something. Good to know she saw sense. It’s one I owe her.”

  “You may have to do more than you think, Joe.” Dockerty grinned. “I think she fancies you.”

  Joe gawped.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lee and the women were getting ready to shut down and go home when Joe and Dockerty finally arrived at The Lazy Luncheonette.

  Mid-afternoon on a Saturday had never been the busiest of times, but the café had only reopened that morning, and things were worse than usual. Just one customer sat at a window table with the remnants of an apple pie and a cup of tea in front of her. Denise sat off to one side, Sheila, Brenda and Lee were busy with as much of the cleaning as they could manage, while keeping an eye on their only customer, re
ady to lock up the moment she left.

  After the effusive greetings were over and done with, or in Denise’s case, a smile and a handshake, Dockerty took Joe and Lee to one side. Joe had insisted on being present when Dockerty questioned his nephew.

  “I’m not trying to railroad him,” Dockerty protested, noticing that the three women had taken the table across the aisle where they could comfortably listen in.

  “I know you’re not, but Lee’s a gormless sod at the best of times. One leading question and you’ll nail him for the fire at the Crystal Palace, and that happened twenty years before I was born, never mind him. Besides, I have ways of making him tell the absolute truth.”

  When challenged, Lee was amiability personified. “You think I mighta killed him?” He laughed gregariously. “Will I get me name in the papers?”

  “Guaranteed,” Joe said. “Stop fooling around, Lee. Where were you between half ten and half eleven on Monday night. And I want the truth.”

  Lee blushed. “I were at home in bed with our Cheryl. We were...” His cheeks flushed redder. “You know.”

  Joe clucked. “I said I want the truth, not the gory details.”

  “There’s only you and your wife who could confirm that?” Dockerty asked.

  His face still glowing, Lee looked uncomfortable. “Well, I dunno. Our Cheryl don’t like to talk about it. It’s private innit?”

  Joe fumed again. “The superintendent means is there anyone other than Cheryl who can confirm you were at home, not what you were doing to her.”

  “I weren’t doing anything to her. She were doing it to me.”

  Joe looked down, held a hand to his forehead and shook his head. “Saints preserve me from sex-obsessed idiots.” He looked again at Lee, and with enforced patience asked, “Can anyone else tell us you were at home all night on Monday?”

  After a moment’s thought, Lee offered, “Our Danny.”

  “The word of a child won’t cut much ice, Lee,” Dockerty said. “Let’s move on from there, eh? Can you remember before the old Lazy Luncheonette burned down, did Gerard Vaughan ever approach you and ask you to persuade your Uncle Joe to sell?”

  “Oh him, yeah. He collared me in the Foundry Inn one afternoon after I’d finished work. I told him to bugger off. Then later, he turned up here again and asked again. Said he needed to get The Lazy Luncheonette demolished. I told him where he could go. He had these two bruisers with him.” Lee grinned. “I did me Clint Eastwood impression, Uncle Joe. I said to him, ‘go ahead, skunk, make my day’.”

  Joe felt steam coming from his ears. “Punk, not skunk.”

  Lee chuckled. “Whatever. I’d have ripped him and his mates to bits.”

  The younger man’s amiability did little to quell Joe’s frustration. “How come you never told me about this?”

  “Well, you had a lot on your mind at the time, and I didn’t wanna bother you by getting into fights. I told Aunty Brenda and Aunty Sheila.”

  Joe glanced across at the two women.

  “He did,” Brenda said.

  “And we didn’t want to bother you either, Joe,” Sheila confirmed.

  Determined to stick to the point, Dockerty asked, “Did Vaughan suggest you might make a lot of money by burning the place down?”

  Lee’s eyes widened. “Crikey, no. I’d have had to tell Uncle Joe about that. It’s illegal, innit? Arsing?”

  “Arson,” Joe snapped. “The only arsing around here is you arsing about.”

  “Did your Uncle Joe ask you to bring his car here on Monday night, and drop off a drum of cooking oil in the storage cupboard?” Dockerty demanded.

  “No. I didn’t know Uncle Joe wanted a drum dropping off in the storage cupboard,” Lee replied.

  Joe sighed. “As a defence witness, the prosecution would love him. Dockerty, you’re chasing your tail, here. Monday night had nothing to do with me, Lee or Sheila and Brenda. Or at least if it was Sheila and Brenda, Sheila would have to sit on Brenda’s shoulders.”

  “Charming,” Sheila commented from across the room. “Superintendent, Joe is right. Neither I, nor Brenda, nor Lee would do anything to jeopardise this business, and Joe is not only our employer, but our friend, too.”

  Dockerty watched as the only customer left the café, and then spoke. “Mrs Riley, right now I’m trying to clear both Joe and Lee from this investigation.” He glanced at Lee. “I don’t believe Lee is involved, but I do have to question him. And whether or not I believe Joe to be innocent, I still have too much evidence pointing at him.”

  Having listened without comment, Denise spoke up. “Lee, what size shoe do you take?”

  “Fourteen. I can take a thirteen at a pinch.” He laughed. “But they do pinch.” He laughed again. “D’yer gerrit, Uncle Joe?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Remind me the next time you’re on telly. I’ll make sure I’m out.” He addressed Dockerty. “What would Lee’s shoe size have to do with anything?”

  “Forensic picked up a latent print in the footwell of your car. They estimate a size eleven to twelve.” Dockerty turned a sour eye on Denise. “And I wish I’d never mentioned it to you.”

  The news only fuelled Joe’s irritation. “That should have told you it wasn’t me.”

  “Nothing of the kind. Lee may not be able to squeeze into a size twelve, but you could. It’s only when we take that print and the height of the driver as determined by Denise, that we can say it was neither you nor Lee. But, Joe, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have paid someone to set all this up.” Dockerty held up his hands to stem the howl of protest. “All right, all right. I know it’s not likely, but while the possibly is there, I have to consider it, and I’m sorry, but I can’t scratch you from my list of suspects.”

  “And how long is that list?” Joe demanded.

  “Yours is the only name on it.” Again Dockerty hastened on. “However, Gemma and Ike Barrett will be getting to it first thing Monday morning.”

  Joe tutted. “People keep saying they don’t believe I did this, and yet when you ask, mine is the only name that comes up. Well, I’m not gonna sit here and wait for you and our Gemma to clear my name.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Denise. “And I’m with you, Joe. I’ve a lot of money riding on this.”

  Dockerty greeted the announcements with implacable calm. “I didn’t expect anything else, but I have to say, you’re not dealing with some domestic, here, Joe, Denise. Cutting Joe out of the equation presents us with the profile of a man who’s very clever.”

  “How do you know it’s a man?” Joe demanded.

  “Fire is a man’s weapon,” the superintendent replied. “And I don’t know many women who wear a size twelve shoe… but that could be a blind. We’ve found very little in the way of forensics, and none of it hints at a woman, so until we can demonstrate otherwise, we work on the assumption that it’s a man. And a dangerous man at that. I’m telling you because I know you won’t sit back, but if you get close to this man, he won’t hesitate to get rid of you.”

  “Where do you get that from, Ray?” Denise asked.

  “Vaughan’s killing. We have no clear motive for it, so it’s safe to say it was something between them. Everything does point at precise planning. The way it was blamed on you, Joe, the way everything was set up to make you appear guilty. Even down to getting into the recycling shed and making sure he was caught on CCTV. He is careful, and we have no direction, yet. If you two get close, he will not hesitate to guard himself. He will kill the pair of you. If you come across anything, anything at all, please bring it to me. I get paid to take risks when dealing with killers. All you’ll get is a line in the obituary columns.” Dockerty stood. “You probably have a little celebrating to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” With a brisk nod at each of them in turn, he left.

  Sheila ushered him through the door with muted thanks, and locked it behind him. Coming back to her seat, she asked, “Can we call it a day, Joe? Brenda and I have a party to arrange at the Miner’s Arms.”
>
  “Someone’s birthday?” Joe asked with a wink.

  “You know full well it’s in your honour.” Brenda beamed on Denise. “And you’re invited too.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “You might,” Joe advised, and turned his attention to his crew. “Is there much cleaning to do?”

  “Only these few cups.” Brenda indicated the beakers from which they had all been drinking.

  “I’ll see to them. Get yourselves home. Denise, could you hang back? I’d like a word.”

  “No problem.”

  “And I’ll catch you lot at the Miner’s Arms tonight, but we may be a little late.”

  “As long as you’re there,” Brenda said as she made for the door behind Sheila and Lee.

  Joe let them out, locked up behind them and rejoined Denise.

  “I owe you,” he said.

  “And North Shires owe me a fortune, Joe. Or they will do by the time I’m through with this.”

  “I don’t care about them. I care that you got me out of the nick. After all the months you spent hassling me, you still pulled out the stops when it mattered. I want to say thanks, properly. Have dinner with me tonight.”

  Her face broke into a broad, beaming smile, and her eyes lit up. Suspicion set in almost as quickly. “Not here, I hope?”

  “Hell no. What do you take me for?”

  “A tightwad. At least that’s what Sheila and Brenda told me.”

  “Remind me to have a word with them. No, listen, I know the maître d’ at Churchill’s I’m sure I can get us a table. You know where it is?”

  “Just off the motorway as you come into Sanford.”

  “That’s the one. How about it?”

  She checked her watch. “I’ll have to go home and change. Say half past seven?”

  “That’ll do fine. We can have a bit of a feed, then push onto the Miner’s Arms if you’re game.”

  “Oh, I’ve always been game, Joe. I just hope we’re talking about the same game.”