Trial by Execution

by T. M. E. Walsh

  ‘Ffion Headley is living in some kind of dream world. Look around you, Fletch,’ she said, gesturing towards the house and then to the new car parked beside her own. ‘She thinks Stuart is her knight in shining armour, and he rescued her – the princess in the tower. This is real life, not a fairy tale. Something’s off there. I feel like a lot of what we just saw was a display meant purely for our benefit.’

  CHAPTER 17

  The Robertsons house was much more modest, Claire noticed, as she parked her car against the curb. Situated in the Pin Green area of Stevenage, the two-bed, mid-terrace property looked as unremarkable as the rest. The front garden was neat and tidy, but starkly different to that of the two houses of the first two victims.

  Stefan had parked his car behind Claire’s and was already standing beside her. He watched her face, studying the house in front of them.

  ‘And back to reality,’ he said. Claire looked at him. ‘Sophie wasn’t fortunate enough to find a rich husband.’

  Claire looked back at the house and saw a net curtain twitch in what she assumed was the living-room window. ‘Sophie was barely sixteen at the time,’ she said at length. ‘She was forced to grow up pretty quick, Fletch.’ She sighed. ‘This girl wasn’t as strong as the first two.’

  Stefan followed her up the path towards the front door. Before Claire could knock, the door opened slightly. A small woman in her late fifties appeared, with sad eyes, her skin deathly pale.

  ‘Mrs Robertson?’ Claire asked, showing the woman her warrant card. The woman nodded. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Claire Winters,’ she said, turning to gesture towards Stefan, ‘and this is Detective Inspector Stefan Fletcher. Haverbridge CID.’

  Julia Robertson barely glanced at Stefan’s credentials. She gave a small nod, stood aside and allowed them through the front door. They waited in the cramped hallway while Julia locked the front door after them.

  ‘Please, go through,’ she said, opening the door to the living room. As soon as they walked inside, Claire thought she was in a time warp. The living room was small, with tired-looking floral wallpaper and an old sofa with matching armchairs.

  A contrast with the bright and airy modern houses they’d already been in.

  Early photographs of the family adorned the walls and shelves in the far corner of the room, but there were none of the family, or Sophie more noticeably, since Knox had entered their lives.

  Claire and Stefan looked at each other, both feeling the sadness in the room. Martin Robertson then appeared in the doorway, giving them the once over.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said, making for the armchair to the left of the sofa. He waited until they were seated and Julia had gone to the kitchen to make them a drink before he spoke again. ‘I can scarcely believe he’s dead. Our prayers have finally been answered.’

  Inwardly Claire’s heart sank. These poor people had no idea that there wouldn’t be any let-up in the aftermath of Knox’s death.

  ‘This news may only bring you relief temporarily,’ she said. Martin looked at her strangely, his face now contorted in confusion.

  ‘I assure you, Chief Inspector, I feel like a great weight’s been lifted off our shoulders.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘It’s the best we could’ve hoped for.’

  Claire could relate to that but she hid her true feelings well. Her face remained impassive.

  ‘The media’s reaction may well cause you to think twice about that.’ Martin frowned at her. ‘This will be a high-profile investigation, Mr Robertson,’ she clarified. ‘Now the news of Knox’s murder has been confirmed, this house, your lives, will be of public interest, more intense than fifteen years ago. The eyes of the world will be on you and the first two victims and their families.’

  Martin looked deflated, his face turned away from hers now, his lips parted a fraction as he tried to take in her words.

  ‘You won’t welcome the media storm that Knox’s death will inevitably bring. I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘The best we can offer you,’ said Stefan, ‘is a family liaison officer to help you through this difficult time and the best advice we can give you is to not talk to the media.’

  ‘And that includes Adam Crowley,’ Claire said. ‘We know he intends to interview Sophie… it might not be in the best interests of your daughter.’

  ‘Don’t you dare sit there and think you know what’s best for Sophie, what’s best for us,’ said Julia, who appeared from behind the door, having been listening to everything. She came into the room and stood beside her husband. ‘That monster raped my daughter and mutilated her face. I don’t care if the world reads our story or sees how happy we are at his murder. Justice has been served.’

  Claire eyed her with care. ‘You need to think about how this will affect Sophie.’

  ‘I carry that burden every day,’ Julia spat. ‘I spend my days worrying about how she’s coping, how her life will be after we’re gone.’

  Claire and Stefan remained silent. Emotions were running high; they didn’t want to get into an altercation with Sophie’s parents. They let Julia vent her anger.

  ‘What that man did didn’t just ruin Sophie’s life, it changed all of our lives.’ She sat on the arm of Martin’s chair, and he gripped her hand tight, giving her strength when her voice began to falter.

  ‘I was a secretary. I loved my job but I had to drop to part-time hours to look after Sophie and then I retired early to become her full-time carer.’ She paused. ‘And Martin, he, too, had to rethink his work commitments since…’ She broke off.

  ‘It’s affected how our life turned out,’ Martin said. ‘This wasn’t just about Sophie, but all of us.’

  Claire nodded. ‘I can only imagine and I sympathise with you. I understand your feelings but we’re just trying to prepare you for what’s to come.’

  Martin scoffed. ‘I hope you’re not expecting us to publicly condemn Knox’s murder?’

  ‘I’m asking you to think of Sophie and how she’ll cope.’

  Martin visibly bristled at her words. He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Shall I tell you what fifteen years has done to this family? My daughter hasn’t really lived a day since Knox robbed her, robbed us, of her future. She lives like a hermit. She rarely sees anyone or lets people she doesn’t know or trust see her face.

  ‘That bastard robbed her of a husband, children, a job – all the things she had coming to her, all gone. Sophie will never have children because she can’t bear to be touched by a man, any man. We can’t even have male social workers or doctors in the house.’

  Claire swallowed hard; the sadness of the house and its occupants felt like it would burrow underneath her skin and make her unclean.

  ‘This house is Sophie’s prison,’ Julia added, tears now pricking at her eyes. ‘She’s contemplated suicide before. She has no life and now Knox has lost his. It’s finished.’

  Justice done, Claire thought.

  *

  Sophie Robertson heard the raised voices as she lay on her bed. Her laptop was next to her, on the Sky News website, stories on Raymond Knox filling the screen, everything from his childhood, his arrest, his sentence… his murder.

  There was very little about the women who were his victims. To Sophie it only made it hit home more how irrelevant she was in a world that didn’t do enough to protect people like her.

  She flinched when she heard a man’s voice downstairs that wasn’t her father’s. She knew there were two detectives and one was obviously a man. The thought of going downstairs and seeing his face frightened her.

  She got up from the bed, sat in front of her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the large mirror opposite. She stared at her face.

  Three scars, so she’d never forget she was third to bear the mark of the Dahlia Rapist.

  Her long, dark hair hung in limp tendrils around her face.

  She looked down at the clothes she was wearing: light-denim jeans and a plain, white
jumper. Modest, decent, unremarkable. Like all the other clothes she wore now. Gone were the bright colours and latest trends – remnants of a life that’d died long ago.

  No man would ever look at Sophie again, and that’s what kept her from taking a knife to her veins each night after her parents had gone to bed. It’s the only thing that made her get out of bed each morning.

  She heard her parents then, voices raised. They were retelling the police where they’d been when Knox was killed. They had been at home, no alibi, except for the ones they could provide for each other.

  It would be her turn next.

  Sophie decided she would try to be brave and go downstairs. She knew she’d have to speak to the police at some point. They’d tried yesterday but she’d managed to get out of it. She’d pretended to be asleep, exhausted by the events unfolding around her.

  She heard the strange man’s voice again, drifting up through the floorboards.

  She’d rather see the male policeman in the living room than in her bedroom – not that he’d even give her a second look, except maybe with pity.

  She could always request a female officer but something in her had shifted and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Since news of Knox was beginning to gain ground, she felt a little stronger, more at ease. Her mother had been right – his death would change them all. She could rebuild her life, piece by tiny piece.

  One had died so another could be reborn.

  CHAPTER 18

  Outside the Robertsons’ house Claire remained quiet as she walked behind Stefan down the path towards their cars. He glanced over his shoulder at her, saw the troubled look on her face.

  ‘That has to have been the most painful visit of the three,’ he said, turning to face her. She stopped beside him but didn’t speak. ‘Claire,’ he said, tipping his head to look at her properly. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I’ve got to go and see him, Fletch.’

  ‘See who?’

  She looked at him then and he saw her eyes looked glassy. ‘You know who… Simon.’

  ‘You’re going now?’

  Claire avoided his eyes. ‘Get it over and done with. I can’t put it off.’

  ‘I could go instead.’

  ‘I can handle my ex-husband, Fletch.’

  Claire felt like a fraud as soon as she spoke those words. How could she remain impartial? She had to try and bury all the old feelings of anger, resentment and, above all else, deep regret. Regret that things had ended as badly as they had done.

  She knew Simon would never make this easy for her. She needed his help and he would take delight in that fact even though she knew him well enough to know he’d never admit to being so petty.

  ‘Maybe we should head back to the station and see where we are.’

  ‘Our suspect list is growing, Fletch, and I need to talk to someone who knew Knox better that anyone else. He’ll be able to give the insight you just can’t get from the files from fifteen years ago. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re hitting a dead-end already. Nobody is coming forward, far from it; the public are celebrating and our main persons of interest, so far, all have alibis that, on the surface, all stack up.’

  Stefan shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘It doesn’t have to be you, is all I’m saying.’ He paused. ‘He’s not likely to be so inclined to talk, though, is he? To you, I mean…’

  ‘The pain might be raw still?’ she said, trying hard to swallow down the lump that rose and caught in her throat. ‘I don’t think I mattered that much, Fletch. Not after what happened. What I did… and all that came after it.’

  Stefan heard the tone of regret in her voice. ‘I can come with you?’ he said, following her to her car, parked a way down from his.

  She allowed herself a ghost of a smile. ‘I’m not that cruel.’ She got in her car, slammed the door. She wound the window down when Stefan appeared by the driver’s side.

  He ducked his head down lower and leaned in the car. ‘He’s not expecting you, is he?’

  Claire shook her head.

  ‘You might want to call him first. Your turning up unannounced, might… you know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know… Go back to the station, Fletch. I won’t be long,’ she said, winding the window back up.

  She waited until Stefan had got in his car and driven off before she pulled her hair back from her face and let out a deep sigh.

  The sky had turned a dirty grey and she wondered if it were some kind of omen. She scrolled through her mobile contact list until she came to a number she had kept without knowing the real reason why.

  She knew it was still active – she’d checked with the relevant people at the station – but a part of her still never thought she’d have to call it again, even in the aftermath of Knox’s murder.

  She stared at the contact name on the screen.

  Simon.

  She pressed the call button but then immediately hung up.

  Coward, she told herself.

  On the other hand, she knew Simon.

  It would be better to turn up on his doorstep unannounced and take a chance on if he’d be in or not. If she caught him unawares, he’d have less of a chance to prepare and easily turn her away.

  She could at least give herself the best chance of being allowed over the threshold of her former home if she went now, out of the blue.

  Sudden and unexpected.

  The best way to make an entrance back into her ex-husband’s life.

  *

  What had sounded like a good plan in her head, in reality felt entirely different as she took the junction off the motorway towards Welwyn Garden City.

  As soon as she saw the turning before the street where Simon lived, her insides began to tie themselves in knots.

  The feeling only intensified as she pulled into the driveway of the house that had once been her home. Semi-detached, with a neat and tidy front garden, the house looked quaint, and above all a happy home.

  Any hope Claire had had of arriving unseen and being able to knock on the door and enter on her own terms was quickly dashed when she saw the front door swing open.

  A tall, slim man with dark eyes leaned up against the door frame and folded his arms. He eyed her with some severity as she got out of the car. Her eyes held his stare as she approached.

  ‘Hello, Simon.’

  At fifty-six, Simon was still attractive in his own way. He had deep lines either side of his eyes, and his face was rough with grey stubble. His hair was still a rich shade of brown, with only a few grey hairs showing at the temples.

  Claire saw his arms pull tighter across his chest as he looked her up and down. It was clear he wasn’t pleased to see her. This was going to be anything but hospitable.

  ‘Well, isn’t this something,’ he said. ‘DCI Winters turning up on my doorstep.’ He smiled to himself, but it failed to reach his eyes. ‘You must want something from me.’

  Claire stared at him, wasn’t sure what to say. She stood awkwardly on the drive.

  ‘You’re here about Knox, aren’t you?’ he said at length.

  Claire nodded. Still a detective through and through, he knew exactly why she was here – he was just trying to make a point, make her feel uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t enough already.

  Having the old files from his investigation was one thing – it’s not like he could prevent her from seeing those. Whether he himself would help her, give her his insights, she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘No doubt you’ve heard…’

  ‘I watch the news,’ he said. ‘I saw the press conference.’

  Claire stiffened. She held his stare regardless of the look of disdain he was giving her.

  He gave her the once over again, and let his arms fall to his sides. ‘I suppose you want to talk to me about my investigation.’ She nodded and looked into the hallway behind him. ‘You’ll want to come in as well.’

  ‘If it’s not inconvenient.’ />
  ‘You’re inconvenient, if I’m honest,’ he said, bitterness in his voice. ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just slam the door in your face.’

  Shit. She had no answer to that one.

  She managed a small shrug and, after he failed to invite her in, turned and headed towards her car. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  Simon’s face dropped. He straightened himself up and called out after her.

  ‘Wait.’

  Claire turned on the spot, her face giving nothing away.

  Even though it was clear she was the last person he wanted to see, she also knew there was something he disliked more than her, and that was injustice.

  He’d worked hard on the Dahlia Rapist investigation. He’d stared evil in the face, and had felt the pain of seeing that evil freed.

  Raymond Knox still mattered to Simon, even if the bastard was dead.

  Simon stepped aside in the doorway and gestured with his hand. ‘Tell me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do.’

  *

  When Claire had initiated their divorce it’d taken barely eight months to be finalised. The day she’d confessed to an affair that had begun a few years back, it had come as a bitter blow to Simon but hardly as a complete surprise. He’d accepted their marriage was over and had been long before Claire’s indiscretion, but he had thought that one day she’d try and seek help to save their marriage.

  To this day, Simon still didn’t know who had been sharing Claire’s bed, although there had been rumours. There had been a young DS who had worked very closely with Claire, but it had all ended in a pretty bad way by anyone’s standards.

  Despite, deep down, knowing the truth, he could never bring himself to ask Claire outright.

  Having her here now in his house, sitting on the same sofa they’d bought together, was more painful than he’d envisaged. Since the break-up, he’d seen her only once at a charity event several months after she’d dropped the bombshell that she was filing for divorce. He’d been civil to her but he’d soon left the event, unable to take the pain of just being in her presence.