by Robert White
Marshall headed the force’s serious crime squad, a team of twenty-four Detective Constables, six Detective Sergeants and two Detective Inspectors. The squad’s main tasks related to the investigation of organised crime, armed robbery and serial killings. His team had been seconded to a very messy murder inquiry in the Yorkshire area and he had spent too much time away from his wife and his girls recently.
The job had been a complete mess and the clear up had taken nearly two years.
Now he was home again and he had the biggest test of his career in front of him. He studied the reports on his desk. This was indeed a nasty business.
He had met John McCauley on several occasions. He was a brash, old school type. His last encounter with him had resulted in an argument. Marshall had not been the only person to notice the smell of booze on the Chief Superintendent.
He had never met Anne Wallace. From her picture and her personal file, she had been a good officer and a very beautiful woman. She had been a Detective Sergeant for over a year. Her clear-up rate was impressive. Rumours had surrounded her promotion, but she had more than proved herself. The name though, rang alarm bells in Marshall’s head. He just couldn’t place it right now.
A postman had discovered the bodies of McCauley and Wallace. The front door of the house was left open, presumably by the killer. Bailey had been found less than an hour later by a vagrant who used the old mill as a doss.
Local CID officers, Williams, and Casey had attended Wallace’s home and got the ball rolling. Both officers were members of McCauley’s team. They had behaved very professionally in terrible circumstances. Both men were aware of a personal relationship between the two victims.
Williams had submitted a comprehensive report regarding the suspect Stewart's alleged involvement in evidence tampering. It appeared that Stewart had altered a statement and property ledgers in the Bailey case. He had been the arresting officer, made a stupid error regarding a property find and attempted to cover his mistake. McCauley had got wind of these discrepancies and was about to spill the beans.
Williams had also produced a half-finished, report typed on McCauley’s stationary. The Chief Superintendent was to recommend the dismissal of Stewart for the offences he believed had been committed. Marshall presumed Williams had recovered the document from the Chief’s office. It wasn’t signed.
Williams’ report also covered the yearlong relationship between McCauley and Wallace. The Chief had recently confided in Williams regarding Stewart's obsession with Anne Wallace. McCauley wanted him out of the picture.
Williams reported that Stewart had stalked Wallace constantly after she innocently agreed to have a drink with him. No one realised the extent of his obsession.
Williams and Casey were still at the murder scene when the news of the Bailey slaying broke. They put two and two together and came up with he oldest motives in the book. They made a very quick and correct decision.
They went to Stewart's house and had found what appeared to be the murder weapons, together with two pairs of blood stained overall and overshoes in Stewart’s Mini car. They would have made the arrest too if Marshall and his men hadn’t arrived minutes later.
Marshall stared at Dave Stewart’s file. Twenty-five years old, born and raised in South Yorkshire. He was a tough lad from a tough area. Still a Probationary Constable, his reports from training and supervisors were all glowing. No reports of excessive force; well liked by his colleagues, he was described as quiet and conscientious.
Marshall could have been looking at his own antecedence not the file of a triple killer. Could jealousy really be the motive? He’d seen it before. The calmest, affable men turned lethal by the green-eyed monster. Or could the force have been harbouring a psychopath?
Before he spoke to Stewart though, he would need more information. Preparation is everything.
Marshall picked up the telephone and dialed the section Sergeant. He hadn’t lost his north London accent and was immediately recognised. “Hello Sergeant, I wonder if you could tell me who tutored Constable Stewart when he arrived here?”
Marshall listened and wrote down Andy Dunn’s name on a pad, together with his telephone number and address. He thanked the Sergeant and replaced the receiver.
Marshall knew Andy as they played rugby together every week. Andy was as straight as they came. Marshall called his driver and pulled on his coat. It was time to pay ‘Armless a visit.
fourteen
Dave felt like a train had hit him. His left eye wouldn’t open. Every time he tried, the pain was intense. Handcuffs cut into both wrists. He couldn’t feel his right hand. He tried to touch it with his left but felt nothing but stone cold flesh. The cuffs had stopped the blood flow.
Where the fuck was he?
Dave attempted to sit up. He found it difficult as he was cuffed behind his back and the pain in his wrists was tremendous.
On the third attempt, he managed it. Memories were slipping back into his head. The sight of the cell door snapped him into reality.
Anne was dead. McCauley was dead. At that moment, Dave Stewart wished for the same. How had he got into this mess? He had been doing his job, done his best, met a beautiful woman and fallen in love.
OK, the burglary was a crazy idea. McCauley was a bastard, that was true, but he didn’t deserve to die.
So how had it happened? Who was responsible?
Anne, his darling Anne. Had she suffered?
Dave forgot his own pain. His head spun with images of Anne. His tears began slowly with a silent single droplet, falling like a solitary raindrop. Then they flowed freely, his huge shoulders bucked with each quiet sob. There were no tears of self-pity. He no longer cared what happened to him. Overwhelming desperate sadness blocked everything from his heart and mind. He was incapable of feeling worry, fear, pain or pity.
All David Stewart had left inside him was the need for revenge.
No matter what happened to him now. One thing Dave was certain of, he would find out who had killed Anne.
As his tears dried on the cold cell floor he whispered to himself.
I promise you Anne, I will find them.
Marshall found Andy Dunn in the middle of his daily weight training routine. One bedroom of his small home had been converted into a gym for that very purpose.
A bubbly female with a gravity defying figure, who he presumed, was Andy’s latest conquest had let Marshall in.
‘Armless was wearing only shorts and training shoes. His upper torso was bathed in sweat as he bench-pressed a monstrous weight. Marshall could only look on in awe at the physique of the man. Andy Dunn was over 40 years old, but was fitter and stronger than most men Marshall knew.
Music blasted from a stereo in the corner of the room. Marshall cut ‘The kids in America,’ short. It got the attention of the straining man.
Andy spotted the bar, sat up and started to wipe his body with a towel. He beamed at Marshall and extended one huge hand towards his colleague.
He spoke with his distinctive Scottish twang, “Well, well, well. What have I done to warrant a visit from the highest ranking winger on the force?”
Marshall took Andy’s hand and shook it. Marshall could see from Andy’s manner that he was still unaware of the night’s tragedies.
“It’s good to see you, Andy,” Marshall began, “but I’m here with some bad news I’m afraid.”
Andy lifted a glass of water from the floor and took a long drink. He had no family left alive so he knew the bad news couldn’t be anything to do with them so he concluded it had to be a mate.
He looked Marshall in the eye. “Shoot pal.”
The Detective could be nothing but businesslike, there was no easy way to impart the news. “About six thirty a.m. this morning, the bodies of John McCauley and Anne Wallace were discovered by a postman at Wallace’s home. McCauley had been stabbed repeatedly, a frenzied attack. Wallace had been beaten and her throat had been cut.
Marshall looked sickened. “It was
a fucking blood bath Andy.”
Andy was open-mouthed.
Marshall continued, “We arrested a suspect about three hours later. In fact, that’s the reason I’m here Andy, I need some background before I interview him. I believe you know him quite well.”
Andy pulled on a T- shirt and stood. He spoke almost to himself, “Jesus…Anne Wallace…Dave will be… err…yeah…anything… Trev…”
His brain refused to work for a few seconds. Eventually he began, “I’ve worked in Preston for near eighteen years. I should know most of the villains in town, but to be honest, Rod Casey probably knows more than I’ve forgotten. Who is it Trevor?”
Marshall pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Andy, who took it and waited for the senior officer to light it.
“He’s a copper Andy, a young lad by the name of Stewart.”
Andy nearly choked on the smoke. “Dave Stewart? Oh fuck me! No Trev, you’ve made a big mistake there.”
Marshall held up his hands. “Not so fast Andy, there is some serious evidence to back it up.”
Andy was silent for a few moments; the latest jolt slowly sank in.
“Trev, this is crazy. I took this kid out when he arrived at Preston. He’s the salt of the earth. Steady as a rock, no wild temper. I would bet my next year’s pay cheque that he has nothing to do with this business.”
Marshall was doubtful. “Steady on Andy, just think for a minute. As I understand it, Stewart was in the shit. McCauley was about to pot him because he cocked up some evidence in a murder investigation.”
Marshall looked for a place to drop his ash and continued, “The Chief and Anne Wallace were lovers. As I understand it, our boy had got himself so obsessed with Wallace, he was following her. The words ‘Crime of Passion’ are already being used. You’ve seen what jealousy can do Andy.”
It was Andy’s turn to raise his hands and his voice. “Stop right there Trev! I know where you’re heading here, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
Andy nodded towards the door. “Lucy is the barmaid at the Black Bull in town. She told me McCauley was there ‘till late last night.”
Andy took a long pull on the cigarette, “She told me he was very pissed off about something and she got the impression that something was Anne Wallace. She also told me that it wasn’t the first time McCauley had been mouthing off about Anne of late, even making threats.”
Andy lowered his voice, “I know you can’t use this information in a legal situation, but Lucy has overheard conversations between McCauley and Williams. They were as thick as thieves. She’s convinced that Mackay and Williams were blackmailing somebody.”
Marshall was straight in, “Whoa! That’s a bit strong Andy.”
“I’m only telling you what she said.”
Andy took a further pull on his cigarette and exhaled a large plume. “As for Dave Stewart, I was there in the canteen a few days back when Anne Wallace came on to him like a train. I know I was there! They had a bit of a fling and from what I could see they were quite sweet on each other. I mean, I was actually with Dave and Anne on Saturday night in The Square. It doesn’t fit with him being obsessed and following her around does it?”
Marshall stubbed his own cigarette out and shrugged. “Who knows? She may have been the prick teaser of the century. Maybe she wanted to make McCauley jealous. You know as well as I do Andy, no one knows what goes on when that front door closes.”
Marshall moved closer. “This must go no further Andy, but we found the murder weapon in Stewart’s car.”
Andy considered this latest information. He sat and motioned Marshall to do the same.
“Trev, it’s my turn to ask for some secrecy.”
Marshall nodded. “OK, Andy.”
“This business with the Chief finding Dave Stewart cocking up evidence... Well, I have a different story. Dave did arrest a lad called William Henry Bailey. It was just on a non-payment warrant. Obviously it turned out to be a lot more than that so it was a good lock up for the young lad. He came to me the next day to ask my advice. He’d made a mistake with a property find. Something we’ve all done in our time. He told me McCauley was putting pressure on him to make changes to his witness statement. As you could imagine, he was between a rock and a hard place.
McCauley’s team could all have been involved in that decision. Williams would definitely know about it. He was that far up McCauley’s arse he knew what the Chief had for breakfast. Thick as fucking thieves the lot of them, Casey included. Don’t think you’ll get no help from them though Trev. They’ll clam up tighter that a ducks arse in a sandstorm Williams would do anything to stop his best buddy looking dirty.
As for Wallace and McCauley being lovers, Ha! You must know the rumours about how Anne Wallace made DS. How much dirt the Chief had on her is nobody’s business. I’d be more inclined to think that she wanted away from the old man. You can’t go off anything McCauley’s team tells you. They were old school, jobs for the boys. Jesus they must have been working together for twenty years.”
Andy thought for a moment. “Besides, to cover everything, Dave would have to knock off Bailey and lose the paperwork too wouldn’t he?”
Marshall was dour. “Bailey is dead. Same M.O.”
Andy put his head in his hands.
“Dead? Oh pal, this whole thing stinks worse than a Fleetwood prozi. It’s just not right, not fucking right at all.”
At Preston station, the press had arrived en-mass. Marshall considered there was a copper a few quid better off courtesy of the Daily Mirror or other red top. Indeed, reporters from all the main papers were jammed into a nearby waiting room. Television crews were busy setting up their equipment in a makeshift conference room, hastily put together by the Crime Squad.
Marshall barked at his secretary. He didn’t know her. She had been appointed that day to work with the Serious Crime Squad officers.
“What is your name love?”
The woman, a plump mid thirties flowery dress type, was slowly losing it.
“Sharon sir,” she flustered.
“Well, Sharon,” snapped Marshall. “Can you explain to me, how the hell this circus got in here?”
“I arranged it.”
Marshall spun around to see the figure attached to the voice, a very smart looking woman in her forties holding out a perfectly manicured hand.
“Jennifer Rawlinson, press officer.”
Marshall ignored the gesture. “Well Ms. Rawlinson. It may have escaped your notice, but I am in charge of this investigation and I should have been consulted before your single handed attempt to turn my office into this freak show.”
Rawlinson was unperturbed by the officers temper. “Don’t tell me my job Superintendent. I am not a Police officer. I answer directly to the Chief Constable. It was he who made the decision to call this press conference.”
Rawlinson lifted a receiver from a nearby phone and held it toward the Detective.
“Now, if you would care to take the matter up with the Chief Con?”
Marshall glowered at the Press Officer.
“I’ll do just that, one of my officers will show you out now Ms. Rawlinson.”
Marshall closed his door and sat behind a desk piled high with paper. The pressure was well and truly on.
Sharon knocked and put her head inside the door. “The Chief Constable is on the line sir.”
Marshall picked up the receiver. “Superintendent Marshall.”
The Chief sounded strangely jovial. “Hello Trevor, how are you?”
“I’m well sir. But I need to speak to you about this press situation.”
“This is my idea Trevor. I understand that we have our man in the cells,” the Chief lowered his voice. “This is a real mess. I want the lid put on this business as soon as possible. Get this boy charged with the three jobs and give the press what they want. This goes all the way to the Home Secretary Trevor. I want it boxed off and our boy in the dock A.S.A.P.”
“But sir, the
re are some lines of enquiry that I…”
Marshall was abruptly cut short. “Trevor, I think I have made myself perfectly clear. As far as I am concerned we have a young officer gone mad. Maybe he has always been mad. I expect the whole business to end there.”
His tone tiled on the brink of patronising, “John McCauley and Anne Wallace will be buried with full honours. Ms Rawlinson has a prepared statement for the press. You have enough experience to fend off any awkward questions. I’ll be watching from the office.”
The telephone went dead.
Marshall was in shock. This whole job was going to be laid at the feet of one young officer, no questions asked, to keep the good name of the force. Christ, he hadn’t even been interviewed. Marshall could understand why the boss wanted a quick result. However, this was outright madness.
Marshall called for Sharon. “Get Rawlinson back in here.”
The woman had obviously not left the building and swept into Marshall’s office. She sat without being asked.
“Now Superintendent,” she began, “I trust we have that little matter of authority straightened out?
She didn’t wait for a reply.
“Good. I have a press release for you to read.”
Marshall took it and smiled cynically. “Thank you.”
The document read:
Ladies and gentleman of the press; This morning the bodies of Detective Chief Superintendent John McCauley, Detective Sergeant Anne Wallace and the escaped murder suspect, William Henry Bailey were discovered in the Preston area.
All three had been attacked with a sharp instrument.
Bailey’s arresting officer, Probationary Constable David Stewart, is currently in custody.
Chief Superintendent McCauley had been the senior investigating officer in the Bailey case. Anne Wallace, the antecedence officer.
It is anticipated that Stewart will be charged with all three murders in due course.
Marshall couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew that these decisions had been made in order to protect the name of the force and, of course, it’s senior officers. Nevertheless, this was beyond all usual protocol.