Trial by Execution

by T. M. E. Walsh

  She paused, let the silence hang heavy in the air.

  ‘These clues or information could prove vital to the investigation,’ she said. ‘I would urge anyone to come to us with their suspicions.’

  Coleman exchanged a look with Donahue, his eyes narrowing.

  Donahue gave a small shrug of the shoulder.

  Coleman pursed his lips, and subtly, barely noticeable to anyone else, pushed Claire’s notes towards her.

  She lowered her eyes, ignored the notes. She didn’t need them.

  ‘There is also some key information we are seeking,’ she continued, looking into the video cameras lenses scrutinising her every move. ‘We will be releasing CCTV footage taken from the hostel entrance, showing Knox leaving the premises. Were you or anyone you know in or around Haverbridge wood? Did anyone see anyone running from the area? Did anyone hear anything suspicious? We’re keen to speak to anyone who took their dog for a walk in and around the woods at any point during the day and leading up to when Knox was found. Any information, no matter how irrelevant you think it is, please talk to us.’

  Donahue passed a handful of large photographs to Claire across the table. She held each one up to the cameras in turn, waited while the sound of clicking shutters resounded in the room.

  ‘At the time of the attack, Raymond was wearing dark-blue jeans, a black, zip-up, hooded jacket with a white T-shirt underneath and white trainers similar to the ones in these photographs,’ she said, holding up a few more images.

  ‘Raymond was 5 feet 10 inches tall and of a slim build. If anyone saw Raymond in the area or was close to the area he was attacked, I would ask that you come forward. Contact us on the incident room number or contact Crimestoppers. The numbers can be found on the screen here.’

  Claire waited as the attention of the journalists focused on the LCD screen to the side of the table. Various images of Haverbridge wood and Knox played on a presentation slide with various telephone numbers scrolling across the screen at the bottom.

  ‘We would also ask that residents in the area check their rubbish bins, recycling bins, sheds and any outbuildings for any discarded, bloodstained clothes or weapons.’

  Claire glanced at Donahue, who gave her a slight nod of approval. Inwardly she didn’t care if she’d pissed Coleman off or not. It was Donahue’s opinion that mattered to her.

  ‘A postmortem was carried out yesterday evening on Raymond’s body and we can confirm that the cause of death was loss of blood.’

  A series of clicking cameras went off once again in unison, the morbid and curious eager to hear the gory details.

  ‘Raymond Knox suffered mass haemorrhaging caused by facial lacerations. This would have been enough to ensure death on its own. Prior to this he received at least ninety stab wounds to his body, focused mainly on the torso and genital area.’

  Claire took a sharp intake of breath, forced it out from between dry lips. ‘Raymond Knox’s mouth had been cut in what would seem like an homage to his crimes from fifteen years ago.’

  These were the words the gathered media had been waiting to hear. Suddenly more animated in their seats, a few began to ask questions and Coleman stepped in immediately.

  ‘There will be plenty of time to ask questions at the end,’ he said, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. ‘DCI Winters?’ he said.

  Claire felt her face flush.

  ‘We are aware of speculation in the media as to why Raymond was attacked. The most common of these is that someone has made good their promise of revenge on Raymond for his past crimes.’

  Some people rose from their seats, trying to get Claire’s attention. ‘Are the police treating this as a vigilante attack?’ asked one.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ Coleman intervened, ‘or you will be removed.’

  ‘We cannot confirm that this was the motive behind the attack, but it is of course being explored,’ Claire cut in.

  She waited until the room had fallen silent again.

  ‘We remain in close contact with Raymond’s father, and a family liaison officer is keeping him up to date with the investigation. We are, of course, looking into the attack on Rupert Knox that happened on 28th March, three days before Raymond was murdered. The two may be linked, and we are thoroughly investigating this as a possibility.’

  Claire kept her face passive as she looked around the room.

  ‘I go back to what I said in the beginning about the need to find whoever did this, despite the emotions that will inevitably go hand-in-hand with this particular case,’ she continued. ‘There may be many of you thinking this is justice. “He got what he deserved” is being bounced around the media right now. Personal views aside, it is still a crime – a bloody and brutal one at that. We have laws for a reason. We can’t allow members of the public to go around taking the law into their own hands.

  ‘I have been tasked to catch a killer. A dangerous person who cannot be allowed to walk our streets, disrespecting the laws we must abide by in order to live within a civilised society. Regardless of the feelings towards Raymond Knox, we do have a duty to uphold the law… I will find the person responsible and they will face the full consequences of their actions.’

  Claire let her words hang there for a few seconds. ‘I will now take any questions you may have.’

  Almost immediately hands shot up and another round of camera shutters were released. Claire looked over their eager faces, her eyes landing on one man at random. She nodded at him and he looked at her over his dark-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Tom Smith, BBC Look East. You describe this as a brutal and frenzied attack that took place in daylight hours, not far from residential homes… what does that tell you about Knox’s killer?’

  Claire nodded. ‘It’s very unusual that something like this should take place at the time it did. We remain open-minded as to the profile of the killer.’ She quickly moved across to a woman sitting at the other side of the room.

  ‘Jennifer Poole, the Mirror. Can we assume killing Knox is an act of revenge?’

  ‘We never assume anything,’ Claire said, ‘but yes, it is one of the lines of enquiry we are looking at at this time.’

  Another journalist raised her hand, gaining Claire’s attention.

  ‘Stacy Blunt, ITV News. Had you had any contact with Knox before this attack? It is well known that very public threats had been made to both Knox and his father.’

  ‘We can’t comment on any previous dealings with Knox at this stage,’ Coleman said before Claire could speak. He pointed to another journalist, eager to wrap the press conference up. ‘You there, with the red jacket,’ he said.

  ‘Sally Bard, Daily Mail… DCI Winters,’ she said, pointedly. ‘Are you sure this is a one-off attack or are we looking at a killer who might strike again?’

  Claire had been dreading this question. This time she would gladly stick to the script.

  ‘At this time we remain open-minded. We cannot, at this stage, say for certain either way.’

  She gestured to a man sitting behind the woman from the Mail.

  ‘Marshall Clements, Daily Express,’ he said, and appeared to be scrolling through his smartphone as he spoke, not looking at Claire. ‘At a glance, users of social media sites are inciting violence against ex-prisoners. The hashtag #VigilanteUK is currently trending on Twitter.’ He looked up from the screen of his phone. ‘What are you doing about that? Do you fear more attacks?’

  Claire shifted in her seat. Social media. Both an assistance and a hindrance.

  ‘It won’t be tolerated,’ she said, defiant. ‘We will deal with any threats and take them seriously. We will prosecute if laws are broken, if it is in the public interest to do so.’

  ‘Avi Cohen, the Guardian,’ one man said, not waiting any longer for his turn. ‘Any suggestion that Knox put up a fight, tried to defend himself?’

  Coleman went to reprimand the journalist, but Claire raised her voice a little, leaning towards th
e microphone on the table in front of her.

  ‘At this precise moment, the PM results I have do not give a clear picture either way.’

  Avi looked agitated, her answer not good enough. ‘Are you looking at one person being responsible, using only one weapon?’

  ‘We remain open-minded at this time.’

  ‘Next question, please,’ Coleman said. His eyes swept the room, then came back to rest on a man sitting in the front row. He nodded at him.

  ‘Adam Crowley,’ the man said, getting to his feet. ‘Heart of Haverbridge.’

  Claire sat rigid in her seat then.

  Her eyes landed on the stylishly dressed man, with light-brown eyes that flashed at her from behind dark-rimmed glasses. He was sitting in the front row, almost centre, and up until now had remained quiet, barely moving.

  Claire looked to Stefan to see if he’d picked up on the man’s name. His eyes widened and she saw him reach into the pocket of his jeans and retrieve his mobile phone. He tapped on the screen.

  Crowley held Claire’s stare when he began to ask his question. ‘DCI Winters, are you concerned that this might be the start of some kind of vigilante justice?’

  Claire didn’t answer straight away. She reached for her own glass of water, took a sip, then set it back down on the table. She sat back in her seat, and regarded Crowley the same way she did when she met someone she took a dislike to based on a shoddy first impression.

  Claire heard the whir and click of cameras, waiting for her answer. Journalists tended to ask the same question in a million different ways, hoping to trip you up. She was determined not to falter.

  ‘The evidence we have at this time does not point to an answer either way.’

  ‘But there is a possibility?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to speculate.’

  ‘Come now, Chief Inspector,’ Crowley said, causing a few raised eyebrows. ‘First an attack on Knox’s father and now Knox himself is dead? They’re targets, surely?’

  Claire’s eyes travelled over Crowley. He was mixed-race – one parent probably Indian judging by his skin tone – likely the mother, given the man’s surname. His clothes looked expensive and his jet-black hair was immaculately styled.

  ‘The country awaits an answer,’ he said, laughter in his voice.

  At the side of the room, Elias shifted closer to Stefan. ‘Who’s that guy?’ he whispered and glanced at Stefan’s phone when he angled it so he could see.

  ‘Adam Crowley,’ Stefan said, and glanced back at the Google results page on the display. ‘Thirty-four years old, been at the local rag for a couple of years or so. British father, mother of Indian descent, but she was born here.’

  Stefan clicked on a link to Crowley’s Twitter page and Elias saw a family photograph attached to one of Crowley’s tweets. ‘Prolific on social media,’ Stefan clarified, when he saw Elias’s furrowed brow.

  Their attention returned back to Claire when they heard her speak.

  ‘Mr Crowley, is it?’ she said, and he nodded, grin on his face, knowing full well she hadn’t forgotten his name. ‘Evidence at this time does not point to the attacks on Rupert and Raymond Knox being connected.’

  ‘Rather short-sighted of you, wouldn’t you say?’

  Coleman and Donahue both shifted in their seats, but Claire remained unfazed on the surface.

  ‘The investigations are being run parallel to each other, but we rule nothing out at this stage,’ she said.

  ‘Interesting…’ he said, making a big show of writing her quote down on his notepad. ‘Tell me,’ he said, looking up at her again, ‘are you going to be tightening the security around newly released scumbags?’

  There was a silence in the air then, save for Crowley’s editor who was sitting next to him. ‘Shit, Crowley,’ she hissed, not knowing where to look.

  Coleman leaned in close to Claire, mouth by her ear. ‘Don’t feel obliged to answer that.’

  Claire waved her hand, silently dismissing that as an option, and her eyes did not waver from staring Crowley out.

  ‘Vigilante-style justice is not the answer. Acts of revenge put the safety of the public at risk, and I believe the wider community would rather we made the best use of all our resources rather than be pulled pillar-to-post based on nonsensical threats made against ex-prisoners.’

  Crowley gave a curt nod, made a big show of mulling over her words. ‘So how big is this investigation?’

  ‘We are using all resources possible.’

  ‘Do you think it’s wrong to devote so much time to finding someone who’s done this country a national service?’

  Claire cocked an eyebrow. ‘A national service?’

  Crowley carried on. ‘Have you contacted Knox’s victims? How do they feel about this?’

  ‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, there are certain things we cannot share with the public at this time.’

  ‘Whoever this was seems to be mirroring Knox’s crimes, sending a message. Was it a Stanley knife used on his face? What was used to stab him like a pin cushion?’

  Claire’s eyes narrowed as Crowley became more animated. ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment at this stage.’

  ‘I’ll ask the question again that I know is on many people’s lips right now,’ he said, not hearing her. ‘Don’t you think it’s a waste of time trying to catch someone who the public are hailing a hero?’

  ‘I think perhaps, Mr Crowley, you’ve rather missed the point of this press conference. It’s not about what the police think personally-’

  ‘To the police, the killer’s a monster,’ he cut in, passion in his voice.

  Claire went to speak but held back.

  ‘To everyone else,’ Crowley said, ‘he is, and always will be, a hero.’

  CHAPTER 14

  ‘Nicely handled,’ Donahue said as they shut the doors to the press room behind them.

  Claire gave him a look that said she didn’t think it’d gone too well. They both looked behind them when they heard the doors open again and Stefan came through and handed his phone to her.

  ‘He’s the one who was hounding Rupert Knox,’ Claire said.

  Stefan nodded at the phone. ‘Yes. Here,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘That’s all I’ve got for the moment. Twitter, Facebook, the usual expanse of social media; you name it, Crowley’s on it.’

  They walked in unison down the hall towards the lifts to take them back to the incident room. Once inside they heard a commotion coming from the press room and raised voices. The doors to the lift began to close on them.

  ‘DCI Winters!’

  Claire pressed the button to halt the doors, and they slid back open. She saw Adam Crowley running down the corridor with people coming after him.

  Claire stepped out of the lift and eyed him with suspicion. Stefan and Donahue joined her when they saw Coleman heading their way.

  Crowley stood in front of her, slightly out of breath from his sprint. When someone touched his arm, he shrugged them off. ‘I need to speak with you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be back here,’ Coleman said.

  ‘It’s okay, he’s with me,’ a woman shouted down the corridor.

  ‘And who might you be?’ Coleman said.

  ‘Shelia Barker, editor at Heart of Haverbridge, and this one,’ she said, jabbing Crowley in the ribs, ‘has overstepped the mark. I apologise.’

  Crowley matched Claire’s stare. ‘Officers have been to speak with Knox’s victims, haven’t they?’

  ‘You had your chance to ask questions,’ Donahue said. Claire held up her hand, silently telling him she would handle the journalist.

  Crowley wasn’t deterred. ‘DCI Winters, just give me five minutes of your time.’ He reached for his record bag, pulling it around his body and ripping back the Velcro seal.

  He pulled out a file and a voice recorder. ‘You can help the public help you,’ he said. ‘Give me more to go on and I can write an article
that can sway the public, make them more amenable to your cause of finding Knox’s killer.’

  Donahue half laughed with the arrogance of his words. ‘Not sure you understand how this works, son.’

  Coleman glared at Shelia, who looked mortified. ‘Get him out of here.’

  ‘Come on, Adam,’ she said, gripping him by the arm.

  ‘No, wait,’ Claire cut in. Crowley smiled, but it quickly fell from his face when she spoke again.

  ‘Rupert Knox.’

  A look of alarm briefly passed in Crowley’s eyes. ‘Raymond Knox’s father?’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘We went to see him earlier. He said he was being hounded by the press…’

  ‘Well, he would be, considering who he is,’ Crowley said, cutting in.

  ‘He mentioned you in particular.’

  All eyes were on Crowley then.

  ‘He was assaulted the other night,’ she added.

  Crowley looked more than a little perplexed. ‘What is this? What are you inferring?’ he said. ‘I came here for the press conference. I’m just trying to do my job. I didn’t expect to be interrogated about a violent assault.’

  ‘I haven’t inferred anything.’

  Crowley sniffed in contempt.

  Shelia’s face had turned a bright shade of red. ‘Is there any truth in this?’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, Shelia, not you, too?’

  ‘Have you been pestering him?’

  Crowley looked indignant. ‘I wouldn’t call it pestering…’

  ‘Oh, Adam,’ she said, arms flopping at her sides in frustration.

  ‘I wanted Rupert’s thoughts on his son’s impending release, that’s all. Why would I want to hurt him? It’s his story I wanted.’

  ‘Don’t you mean his soul?’ Claire said.

  Crowley gave a half-hearted sneer in her direction. ‘Surely that part of him died a longtime ago. He wasn’t exactly about to win citizen of the year any time soon.’ He returned his attention back to Shelia. ‘If I’d got the story of the year, you’d have been falling over yourself to get in on the whole thing. I didn’t think it would be a problem.’