As the padlock was removed, Ainsworth shrank back away from the door. Teras were streaming down his face, and he started to beg. ‘Please, you don’t have to do this. I won’t tell a soul about what’s happened. Can’t you just let me go? Please!’
Wade growled, ‘Do it. Use the rope like I showed you.’
Braithwaite grinned and unfurled a length of white nylon cord. She wrapped the cord around her small hands until she gripped both ends, leaving a foot length between her clenched fists.
She slipped behind Ainsworth.
He began to bob his head backwards and forwards, trying in vain to prevent her from slipping the cord over his head.
He failed.
Suddenly, he felt the cord bite into his windpipe. She stood behind him and pulled her fists together, using all her strength to pull the cord ever tighter.
Ainsworth began to struggle violently. He flailed his arms, which were still restrained by the manacles, until his wrists bled. His legs and feet thrashed about in the dirt as Braithwaite continued to pull the cord ever tighter.
The last thing he saw before he slipped into unconsciousness and death was the cruel, staring eyes of Jimmy Wade.
Melissa continued to squeeze until Wade said, ‘That’s enough; he’s done.’
Her arms ached from the effort, and she was breathing heavily. Gulping in air, she gasped, ‘I did it like you said, Jimmy.’
‘You certainly did, sweetheart. It was amazing to watch.’
She laughed and said, ‘I’m knackered.’
Wade smiled knowingly. ‘Go and get yourself a cup of tea and relax. As soon as I’ve buried this piece of shit next to his best mates, we can get a nice shower together.’
‘That sounds wonderful. Do you need any help?’
‘No. It won’t take me long. After the shower, we can go to bed, make love, and then discuss what we’re going to do about Detective Rachel Moore.’
‘Okay, sweetheart. Don’t be long. I want you in my bed.’
70
1 July 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
The first interview with Caroline Short was coming to a natural conclusion.
As expected, she had answered every question with a surly, ‘No comment!’
Glen Lorimar had meticulously questioned her about the use of the Ford Transit minibus. Every question he’d put to her had been met with the same stony stare and noncommittal response.
Like the excellent interrogator he was, Glen had maintained a slow pace throughout. Allowing a long, deliberate pause between Short’s ‘no comment’ response and the next question.
Grenville Slater smirked slightly at every ‘no comment’ answer his client gave.
Having now exhausted all the questions he needed to ask about the minibus, Glen subtly made eye contact with Rob Buxton.
Rob gave him an almost imperceptible signal.
Lorimar paused, then said, ‘Caroline, when a search was made of your living accommodation at Tall Trees, a number of items were recovered. One of them was this address book.’
The detective reached into the briefcase on the desk in front of him and removed a plastic exhibit bag that contained the address book.
Glen held up the address book and said, ‘For the benefit of the tape, I’m now showing you the address book we recovered. Do you recognise this address book, Caroline?’
There was a pause, and she looked towards her solicitor, who ignored her attempt at silent communication.
She said, ‘No comment.’
Glen continued, ‘It contains your personal details on the front page of the book. These have been handwritten.’
From the briefcase, he took out a photocopy of the first page of the book and held it in front of Short so she could clearly see it.
‘Is that your handwriting?’
She paused again before answering, ‘No comment.’
This time, Grenville Slater did interject, ‘I’m sorry, Detective, but I don’t recall any mention of this exhibit in your disclosure. Is it at all relevant to the minibus?’
Glen answered firmly, ‘It will become clear, Mr Slater.’
The solicitor shook his head and leaned back in his chair.
The detective then took out another photocopied sheet of paper from his briefcase. This sheet contained a list of initials and numbers.
He showed the photocopied page to Short and said, ‘This is a photocopy of the back page of that address book. What can you tell me about this list of initials and numbers?’
‘No comment.’
‘What do they mean?’
‘No comment.’
‘Are they telephone numbers?’
Short smirked and said, ‘No comment.’
‘Do the initials that prefix the numbers refer to names?’
‘No comment.’
‘Are they names of people you know?’
‘No comment.’
‘Let me read the initials out to you, Caroline. They might jog your memory. The first initials on the list are G.S. Do those initials relate to anyone you know?’
‘No comment.’
Instantly, there was a response from Slater. ‘Look, Detective, I really must protest. If you’re going to continue to question my client along these lines, I would like to have a few minutes to advise her accordingly.’
It was the interruption Rob Buxton had been waiting for. He immediately interjected, ‘Very well, Mr Slater. The time is now eleven fifteen, and we’ll stop the interview.’
Rob switched off the tape recorder and said, ‘DC Lorimar, please escort Mrs Short back to her cell. I need to have a quick word with Mr Slater at the custody desk.’
The two detectives stood up and waited for Short and Slater to also stand. The four of them then walked from the interview room back to the custody desk.
Caroline Short was booked out of the interview. Glen Lorimar delayed returning her to her cell just long enough for her to overhear Rob Buxton say loudly to Slater, ‘Grenville Slater, I’m arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.’
Rob cautioned the solicitor, who replied angrily, ‘What do you think you’re playing at, Inspector? Have you lost your mind? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m here to represent my client.’
‘Not anymore, Mr Slater, you’re under arrest. Don’t worry about Mrs Short. Arrangements will be made for alternative legal representation before she is questioned further. At this moment in time, there appears to be a rather large conflict of interest preventing you from doing it.’
As Caroline was escorted down the corridor, Slater shouted after her, ‘Just keep saying “no comment”, Caroline! This is nothing but an outrageous fishing expedition!’
Rob gripped the solicitor’s arm and said, ‘That’s enough, Slater. Be quiet.’
Slater squirmed out of the detective’s grip and said, through gritted teeth, ‘This is ridiculous. I demand to see your senior officer immediately. I wish to make a formal complaint.’
‘That’s your choice, Slater, and an opportunity to make that complaint will be given to you later. Right now, you need to listen to what the custody sergeant is saying to you.’
The custody sergeant then went through the process of booking Grenville Slater into custody.
Slater was subsequently searched and placed in a cell.
Rob Buxton and Glen Lorimar left the custody suite.
As they walked up the stairs to the MCIU offices, Rob said, ‘Was there any reaction from Caroline?’
‘Oh yes. Her head was on a fucking swivel, trying to see what was happening.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘Not a peep, but she’s well and truly rattled. Just after we ask her about the initials G.S., Slater gets nicked. She’s not stupid. Her brain will be going into overdrive now, wondering exactly what else we know. The next interview will be very interesting.’
‘Come on. Let’s go and have a brew with Danny and tell him how his plan went down.’
As Rob and Glen made their way upstairs to the MCIU offices, in the interview room next door to the one they had occupied, Brian Hopkirk and Fran Jefferies were also coming to the end of their first interview with Bill Short.
Again, this interview had centred on the Ford Transit minibus owned and driven by Caroline.
Fran had questioned Bill Short at length and had been met with his traditional response to police questioning. Bill Short sat with his chair half turned away from the interviewer and stared into the middle distance.
He never made any eye contact with the detective and refused to say a word. He never even acknowledged a question with a ‘no comment’.
At the conclusion of her planned questions, Fran switched off the tapes.
As Fran concentrated on completing the labels for the tapes, Brian sat forward towards Bill Short and said under his breath, ‘You do know we’ve had you two under surveillance, don’t you?’
Bill Short never moved a muscle.
Brian leaned in a little closer and whispered, ‘It’s amazing the comings and goings at your new flat, Bill. Every time you go out, the place becomes a hive of activity.’
Short still didn’t move.
His solicitor, Eric Buckle, seemed totally disinterested by what the detective was either doing or saying.
Brian pressed on and whispered near Short’s ear, ‘Yeah, Bill, there’s one visitor in particular. Funny though, he only ever arrived after you’d already gone out.’
Finally, Bill turned his head and stared at the detective, his face becoming flushed.
Brian whispered, ‘He looks different when he leaves the flat though.’
Under his breath, and barely concealing his rage, Bill Short said, ‘Who?’
Brian grinned and said, ‘I’m sure he’s only coming around to give legal advice. Nothing at all for you to worry about. It must be exhausting work though. He always looks totally fucked by the time he leaves a couple of hours later.’
Short said, through gritted teeth, ‘If you’re on about that bastard Slater, you’d better tell me what you know, Detective.’
‘Or what?’
Suddenly, Short exploded. ‘Just fucking tell me!’
Brian grinned. ‘Yes, it’s Grenville Slater. So what?’
Bill Short flew into a rage, lunging across the desk at the detective.
Eric Buckle was shocked and almost fell backwards off his chair. He hadn’t heard the whispered conversation between the detective and his client.
Brian restrained Short, taking him to the floor, as Fran Jefferies hit the panic strip.
As he gripped the raging Short, Brian whispered in his ear, ‘Listen, you idiot. Don’t take it out on me because that slimeball Slater is taking you for a mug.’
‘I’ll fucking kill the bastard! I know things about him that could finish him, Detective!’
‘Keep talking, Bill. What do you know about him?’
‘Go fuck yourself, Detective!’
‘I’m going to put you back in your cell. You need to calm yourself down and get ahead of the game here. Certain people are taking you for a mug. Come on, up you get!’
Brian hauled the irate man back to his feet just as two uniformed officers burst into the interview room, responding to the panic strip alarm. They grabbed Short and frogmarched him back to his cell.
Brian shouted after him, ‘Talk to me, Bill. I can help you.’
Bill repeated angrily, ‘Go fuck yourself, Detective!’
Brian turned to the elderly solicitor and said, ‘I think we should take a break there, Mr Buckle. What do you reckon?’
‘It won’t hurt to let him calm down a bit, Detective. I’ve never seen Bill behave like that before.’
‘I know, Mr Buckle, me neither. Something’s upset him though. I didn’t really understand what he was saying. Very strange behaviour.’
Fran Jefferies smiled and said, ‘Shall we go and have a word with the boss upstairs, sir?’
‘I think we should, Fran. Mr Buckle, the custody sergeant will get you a cup of tea if you ask her nicely.’
‘Oh, I don’t drink tea, Inspector. I’ll just wait upstairs at the front counter until you’re ready for the next interview. I can’t stand it down here. Just being in this place gives me a headache.’
The two detectives walked in silence with Mr Buckle and showed him to the front counter, where he took a seat in the waiting area.
Brian said, ‘I don’t think we’ll be too long. We’ll give your client the chance to calm down, and then have another interview. You never know, he might want to talk to us properly this time.’
‘Okay, Detective. See you soon.’
As they walked back to the MCIU offices, Fran said, ‘Bloody hell, boss, I thought he was going to have you in there.’
Brian grinned. ‘Yeah, I know. He obviously already suspects that Slater’s shagging his wife. I just hope I’ve riled him up enough to drop them both in the shit.’
71
1 July 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
As the heavy metal cell door slammed shut behind her, Caroline Short slumped down onto the hard wooden bench that was covered by a one-inch-thick plastic-covered mattress.
Her mind was racing.
The solicitor representing her had just been arrested for conspiracy to commit murder by the same officers who were interviewing her.
The arrest had come minutes after she’d been asked about the list of telephone numbers in her address book.
Caroline Short was stunned. Both by the questions and the subsequent arrest of her solicitor, Grenville Slater. As her mind raced for answers, she concluded it could only mean one thing. The police already knew the answer to the question they had posed.
The G.S. initials in the address book obviously related to Grenville Slater – her solicitor, her business partner, her confidant and her lover.
What she didn’t understand was how the police now knew it was Slater.
Did they know? Or were they just putting two and two together and guessing?
She had heard Grenville shout after her, telling her to continue saying ‘no comment’. Was he saying that to try to help her, or to save his own skin?
If the police were getting close, maybe it was in his interest to implicate her deeper in the boy’s death than was actually the case. Caroline had played no part in the boy’s death and had only helped to clear up the mess caused by Slater and his sick friends.
It was Slater who organised the parties. Slater who pocketed the lion’s share of the money paid into her bank account, and Slater who found the clientele.
Her involvement had been to supply the boys and the drugs for the parties.
She knew that Slater wasn’t a paedophile. He couldn’t be. The way he made love to her, at every opportunity, there was no way he was turned on by kids.
As she sat on her own in the cell, the four walls closing in. Major doubts began to surface.
Why was it always her vehicle that had to be used to convey the boys to and from the cottage? Why had Slater insisted that her name be on the cottage, when it had been his money used to purchase the property? Why did the clients always pay the money directly into her bank account?
Little things she had buried now started to come to the surface again. The fact he always became more attentive towards her when the shit hit the fan. He would ignore her for weeks, then, whenever he needed a boy for a party, suddenly he would become her biggest admirer and lavish her with attention.
Sat in the cold stark cell, with only her thoughts for company, she started to see some very unpalatable truths beginning to emerge.
Suddenly it became clear: Slater had only ever used her. He didn’t really care about her.
Why should she now take the rap for the boy’s death? She hadn’t even been there when he’d died, for Christ’s sake.
Caroline knew she had some tough decisions to make. She needed to start looking after her own best intere
sts.
Thinking things through, she realised that she could wait and see exactly what the police knew. If they truly had cracked the code, the one that Slater had dreamed up when he wrote the list of clients’ numbers in her address book, then she would have to look after herself.
There was no way she intended spending the rest of her life in prison.
Her only other alternative was not to wait at all. Take the plunge and talk to the police straight away. Tell them exactly what her involvement had been, but that she was in no way responsible for the boy’s death.
Caroline Short had a decision to make.
72
1 July 1986
Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire
On another corridor of the cell block, Bill Short was also alone in a cell with just his thoughts for company. He’d finally calmed down, but continued to pace the floor of the small cell.
The big detective had deliberately goaded him until he got a reaction.
Bill wasn’t stupid.
He knew exactly what the detective had been trying to do, but it had still got to him. He silently cursed himself for allowing that to happen.
Bill Short already had a nasty suspicion that Grenville Slater was fucking his wife. He had tried hard not to believe it, but he was painfully aware that he and his wife no longer had the same feelings for each other that they once had. He had been surprised at how easy it had been for the detective to get a reaction from him, as he’d taunted him about the affair his errant wife was having.
His stupid reaction was bad enough. What really worried him, though, was the detective’s insinuation that he’d been under surveillance.
If that was true, and the police had been watching them day and night, then Bill knew he really was in big shit.
He’d been the one who had gone to the cottage, with the councillor, to clean up the mess after the last party.
He would be well and truly in the frame for murder. Even though he’d been at home in bed when the kid was actually killed. No way was he going down for murder, especially one he had nothing to do with.
A Cold Grave: A DCI Danny Flint Book Page 25