Find Them Dead

by Peter James

  ‘Yes, he always told me he kept the information regarding his deals in a place no one would find them and it meant that although his name would not be found on the bank accounts, he would be able to keep track of the money.’

  Cork and Brown had no further questions, and the judge then instructed the court security staff to escort the witness out of the court.

  Cork addressed the court. ‘I would now like to call my final witness, Senior Investigating Officer Detective Inspector Glenn Branson.’

  Branson entered the courtroom, took the oath and began giving his evidence, walking the court through the key points of the investigation, how and when it had started.

  He outlined his monitoring and supervision of Emily Denyer, and told the court that, in his opinion, she had conducted a very comprehensive and efficient investigation of the financial details, ‘chasing the money’. He also confirmed the evidence found on the USB sticks, which contained details of the cars involved, and the relevant dates, which matched large deposits being paid in to overseas bank accounts.

  He further confirmed the numerous other sums that were deposited in the same accounts.

  He concluded that his team had obtained sufficient evidence to indicate large-scale drug dealing and importation, together with money laundering. Finally, he reaffirmed to the court that Gready had maintained no comment interviews throughout his time in custody, when he had been questioned at some length about the allegations and his involvement.

  Primrose Brown stood. ‘As you know, my client says he is innocent of these allegations and that the police have fitted him up?’

  ‘That is not true, the evidence we have found as part of the investigation indicates that he is guilty of drug dealing on a huge scale. He has not been fitted up in any way, shape or form.’

  Brown continued with her questions, suggesting that her client had been framed, which Branson denied.

  ‘You have told the court that my client was responsible for so-called county lines drug dealing within Sussex. From what I have been able to establish, these activities have continued despite my client and his alleged conspirator being locked up. How do you explain that?’

  ‘The reality is that whenever the police are able to cut off one supply or take out one drug dealer, there are many lining up to take their place, which is what has happened within Sussex.’

  ‘So there are any number of people who are involved in the county lines drug dealing?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are any of them solicitors?’

  ‘No,’ Branson answered.

  ‘Do any of them defend those accused of serious crimes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I have one more question,’ Primrose Brown said. ‘My client believes that you have been taken in by Michael Starr, who has lied throughout to help himself and reduce his sentence. That is a possibility, isn’t it?’

  Branson replied, ‘Absolutely not, there is clear evidence of your client’s involvement.’

  ‘So whatever is suggested to you, you cannot even entertain the thought that my client is being cleverly accused of crimes he did not commit?’

  Branson stared at her, unsure of how to respond. Before he could, she nodded once and said, ‘I have no more questions, Your Honour.’

  Cork confirmed he had no re-examination and that the prosecution case was complete.

  Richard Jupp said that the trial was now adjourned for the day and they would recommence tomorrow at 10 a.m., when they would hear from the defence.

  As soon as the judge had left the court and the jurors headed back to their room to collect their things, Meg scrambled past the others, just making it to the toilet in time. She locked the door behind her, lifted the lid and threw up.

  81

  Wednesday 22 May

  Just after 5 p.m., Primrose Brown, her junior counsel, Crispin Sykes, and Nick Fox sat once more with Terence Gready in an interview room at Lewes Crown Court.

  To all three of them, Gready was looking shell-shocked, as if all the fight had gone from him. He sat, hunched over the metal table, defeat in his eyes. ‘What the fuck happened?’ he said, quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

  ‘Terry, you tell us,’ Fox said. ‘Michael Starr was meant to be our prime witness. He was going to swear on the Holy Bible in the witness box that he had never met you before in his life and was acting alone. What the hell happened?’

  Gready looked up at him, haplessly. ‘Someone must have got to him. Who and why? This has got to do with the murder of his brother. That’s what’s behind this – he thinks I’m responsible. OK, so I did—’

  Fox raised a hand, calling him up short. ‘Terry, be very careful what you say.’ He nodded at the two barristers. Gready heeded the warning. He knew that if he gave any hint that he might have been involved in any way, his defence counsel would be compromised and no longer able to act for him.

  Primrose Brown, notebook in front of her, looked across the table at him, very seriously. ‘Terry, I’m afraid that evidence from Michael Starr has holed you below the waterline. It is very damning, and I could see that the jury were with him. In all my years at the bar, I honestly cannot remember many more convincingly damning witnesses.’

  He looked at her with fury. ‘You’re a top criminal brief and you’re throwing me under a bus on the evidence of one total shit who’s switched allegiance?’

  ‘I’m not throwing you under any bus, Terry. I’m just suggesting we need to reconsider our strategy. We’ve hung a big part of our entire defence around you and Starr never having met – on your assurances.’

  ‘I’ll fucking kill—’ He halted in mid-sentence, realizing that anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He looked at the three of them and didn’t like what he saw in their faces.

  ‘Let’s just review everything calmly, Terry,’ Nick Fox said. ‘That Financial Investigator is smart, and Starr was pretty convincing. We’re not in a good place right now.’

  ‘Really, Nick? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work that one out,’ he retorted, bitterly.

  After an uncomfortable silence Brown said, ‘Nick is right, Terry. On what we’ve heard so far, to be brutally honest, we’re going to struggle to get an acquittal. Your best bet might be to change your plea.’

  ‘Change my plea? To guilty?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m afraid we are looking at the likelihood of a long custodial sentence, but we might be able to work on the tariff, using your previously good character to reduce the length of sentence.’ She picked up her pen and unscrewed the top. ‘Let’s start with all the charities you support.’

  Gready shook his head. ‘No way, Primrose, you are wrong. You are being defeatists – all of you. We’re not rolling over, paws-up. We are going on the attack!’ He caught Fox’s eye. Nick knew something neither Primrose nor her junior did, nor anyone else in the courtroom apart from themselves: that they had two jurors in the bag, including the foreperson.

  Gready continued. ‘I’ve been watching the jury, and I think a lot are on my side. That Financial Investigator hasn’t been able to link me conclusively to any of those offshore shell companies, nor to LH Classics. She has delivered a credible circumstantial story of sorts, she might have convinced some of the jurors, but by her own admission under your cross-examination, she admitted she doesn’t have hard facts. And as for Starr, he’s nothing more than a crafty but not-very-bright opportunist who’s tried to fit me up. Well, he’s not succeeding. Put me on the stand. I know how to handle myself. I know what to say, trust me, I’ll have the jury eating out of my hand.’

  It was an eternal dilemma that defence counsels had. Whether or not to put the accused into the witness stand. If they didn’t, in anything other than an open-and-shut case, the jury would wonder why the defendant was being kept silent. But if they did, the client might say something stupid under cross-examination and all but convict themselves. It was a risky tactic either way.

  For days and maybe weeks on en
d, the jurors would listen to the evidence, with the defendant silent in the dock, unable to speak. Someone who was at the same time both the fulcrum of the trial and an inanimate third party. Putting the defendant on the witness stand was the defence’s one opportunity to show the jury that, contrary to the monster painted by the prosecution, this was actually a decent, caring fellow human being. But it could backfire terribly on your case if that person came across as cold, or arrogant, or pretty much conceded their guilt under cross-examination by a cunning barrister.

  Originally, in Primrose Brown’s defence plan, she had been relying on Mickey Starr to deny any association with Terence Gready, and she had been certain that with his testimony, she would have put sufficient doubt into the jurors’ minds that they would have to acquit. Now it was a wholly different scenario. Starr had been devastatingly convincing. And she wasn’t sure that Terence Gready, despite all his professional experience, would be able to do anything more than dig his hole even deeper if he went into the witness box.

  But then again, what did she have to lose? The evidence against him, despite his protestations, was overwhelming. He might knock a few years off his potential sentence by changing his plea, but he was still going to be an old man when he came out, if he came out at all. She could tell from the look of distaste on the judge’s face. No one in the legal profession liked one of their brethren gone rogue. There was little chance of any leniency from Jupp, even if Gready did roll over. What the hell.

  ‘Go for it,’ she said.

  82

  Wednesday 22 May

  At 6 p.m., Roy Grace sat at the head of the conference room table in the Major Crime suite, with his full team assembled. He had in front of him, as always, his briefing notes and his Policy Book, with the whiteboards behind him.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘This is the update briefing on Operation Canoe, the investigation into the murder of Stuie Starr. Firstly, I have no new information from the public to report, to date, following our press appeal and the widespread press and media publicity that followed. There were a few calls in the days immediately following and all the leads were pursued, but they didn’t take us any further forward. In the past few days it has been quiet, with only a handful of calls, most of which were cranks.’ He glanced at his notes.

  ‘One of our lines of enquiry is that his murder was a burglary that went wrong. Two suspects were arrested in Hampshire a few days ago – serial burglars, in a stolen vehicle – after attempting to break into a house in Havant, and Hampshire police found property in the vehicle that was subsequently identified as having been taken from a house near Chichester that same day. Norman and John will now give us an update.’ He nodded at the two detectives, who were sitting next to each other. Alldridge’s massive six-foot-four-inch frame dwarfed Potting, reminding Grace of the Two Ronnies.

  ‘The Hampshire detectives we met with were extremely helpful,’ Norman Potting said. ‘They gave us a list of the property recovered in the stolen vehicle, a BMW X5, which included silverware, a number of expensive watches and other jewellery, around £10k cash, laptops, iPads and phones. They were able to confirm all of these items were stolen from a house near Chichester approximately three hours before their arrest, following a pursuit, in Emsworth, Hampshire.’

  All of the team looked up, expectantly, sensing a possible breakthrough.

  ‘But I’m afraid,’ Potting said, dashing their hopes, ‘there is bad news. Although these scrotes looked initially like good suspects for Stuie’s murder, they’d only been released from prison the day before they committed this car theft and burglary. They were both in prison, in HMP Winchester, at the time of Stuie’s murder. John and I have double-checked with the Governor there to make sure.’

  Roy Grace thanked the two detectives for their diligence, then continued. ‘We are still waiting on forensic updates, but so far we have nothing from the labs to give us any further leads. Something which may well be of significance – and which I believe most of you are aware – is that Stuie Starr’s brother, Michael, has surprised the Terence Gready trial by giving evidence for the prosecution. It is possible his motivation for doing this might be Stuie’s death.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly, sir?’ EJ Boutwood asked.

  Grace chose his words carefully. ‘Meaning it is possible that Michael Starr believed that Terence Gready was behind his brother’s death.’

  ‘Why would Gready want that, boss?’ Alldridge asked. ‘That doesn’t seem to make any sense. Are you suggesting it was to silence his brother? But would he have made a credible witness?’

  ‘I’m with you, John,’ Grace replied. ‘At the moment it makes no sense. But when you hear the sound of hooves, think horses, not zebras. We have a man on trial for his freedom for pretty much the rest of his life, and Starr’s brother, on whom he doted and with whom he lived, murdered. There is, surely, a high chance the two are connected.’

  ‘But how?’ EJ asked.

  ‘I don’t know, EJ, but I have a feeling there is a connection. If we find it, we’ll solve the case.’ He shrugged. ‘Are there any updates from any of you following other lines of enquiry?’

  Potting raised a hand. ‘Chief, DC Alldridge and I went to Goodwood Aero Club and spoke to the secretary and a number of pilots, to see on the off-chance if any of them had been up in the air around the time of Stuie’s murder. I left some Op Canoe leaflets with them. Then I did the same with a local gliding club. But nothing positive to report – so far.’

  ‘Good work, guys,’ Grace said. ‘As I see it, we have two current significant lines of enquiry. The first is Terence Gready and the drugs world. The second is still the possibility this was a burglary gone badly wrong. Keep going. Dissi u surici a nuci, dammi tempo ca ti perciu.’

  His team looked at him blankly. He looked at Potting. ‘So Italian didn’t feature in your studies, Norman, alongside geography?’

  Potting shook his head.

  ‘I’ll translate,’ Grace said. ‘A mouse tells a walnut, Just wait, I’ll crack you eventually.’

  83

  Wednesday 22 May

  It was gone 8 p.m., but it was still full daylight outside. Roy Grace sat alone in his office, sifting through copies of some of the documents for the Terence Gready prosecution, seeing if any of the evidence linked in any way to Stuie Starr. Laid out on his desk was a thick wad of paper, a printout of all calls made from the offices of TG Law going back to four weeks prior to the arrest of Mickey Starr in November last year.

  He had the analysis by Aiden Gilbert’s Digital Forensics Team of the calls made from the mobile phone dropped by Mickey Starr at Newhaven Port. Additionally, there was a further printout of regular calls from the Lewes Prison phone log to the brother’s phone.

  Grace rubbed his eyes and took a swig from his bottle of water. This was not getting him anywhere. Nothing in the past twenty-four hours had taken the investigation further. No useful information back from house-to-house enquiries, no vehicles of interest picked up on CCTV or on ANPR cameras. He still had just the three hypotheses written in his Policy Book. The weakest one was kids targeting the brother because of who he was, then going too far. Sadly, it did happen in these sick times. But he preferred the other possibilities, which were stronger. The most likely was that it was a warning to Starr from Gready not to grass him up, which had gone wrong. But he had no evidence and the prime suspect, on that hypothesis, was in jail and had been at the time of the attack. The other hypothesis was the burglary which was either genuine or had been set up.

  His phone rang.

  He answered a little irritably, not welcoming the interruption, but instantly changed his tone to polite respect when he recognized the voice of the Chief Constable, Lesley Manning.

  ‘Ma’am, good evening.’ He was surprised to hear from her, she very rarely called him, and usually only when there was a major investigation that she wanted an update on.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, Roy?’ she asked, pleasantly, although he sensed a
n edge to her normally assured voice.

  ‘Not at all, ma’am – I’m just going through a long phone log on Operation Canoe.’

  ‘That poor man who was murdered – he had Down’s Syndrome?’

  ‘Yes, very sad – and a particularly brutal attack.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  He sensed from the tone of her voice this wasn’t the reason for her call. ‘Slowly, but we’ll get there.’

  ‘I’ve every confidence you will.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  There was a brief silence, then she said, her tone suddenly both sympathetic and a little awkward, ‘Roy, I wanted to let you know myself that unfortunately you haven’t been put forward for the Chief Superintendent’s promotion boards.’

  It took an instant for the words to register. Then it felt as if the floor had been pulled away from under him. Before he could comment, she went on.

  ‘I know this will come as a disappointment to you, Roy; there have been limited vacancies and I’m afraid ACC Pewe has chosen other candidates as opposed to you.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, blankly, feeling stunned. Inside he was seething, but he knew better than to vent his anger at her. ‘Well, I really appreciate your telling me, ma’am.’

  ‘I hope you will apply again in the future, Roy.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, lamely. ‘Thank you. Maybe.’

  ‘I hope more than maybe, Roy.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘But I do have a little bit of good news for you,’ she went on. ‘It has been approved that you will be receiving the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for your actions when rescuing the drowning hostage on your recent kidnap case, Operation Replay.’

  The award was one of the highest honours a police officer could receive. Under any normal circumstances he would have been elated. But at this moment, it felt like he had been handed a tarnished trophy that no one had bothered to polish. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as he could.