DIRTY

by Robert White

  After his conversation with Andy Dunn, Marshall knew that Stewart’s motive was suspect.

  He had yet to be interviewed. He may even have an alibi.

  This was a bold statement to the world and Andy was right; the job stank. Marshall was to be drawn into the fray and become part of it.

  He waved Rawlinson away without comment. She flounced from the office leaving him with his thoughts. There was little time. Paper had been arriving on his desk all morning. He picked through the witness statements.

  First, he read the statements of Stewart’s neighbours.

  They put Stewart out of the house long enough to have committed the crimes. Nothing there of any help to the boy.

  Marshall respected the information from Andy Dunn. His revelations about Williams’ and McCauley’s relationship swam around in Marshall’s head. The detective lit yet another cigarette and picked up the telephone. “Sharon, get me Detective Inspector Williams.”

  He dropped the phone onto the hook and re-started his examination of the documents on his desk. Moments later, Williams entered the office. He looked like shit.

  Marshall was curt, “Sit down Clive.”

  “How come the press is here boss?” The Inspector was distant and smelled of booze.

  “That’s the reason you’re here Clive. I need some answers and quick.”

  Clive shrugged and seemed uninterested. “The job seems cut and dried to me. What’s to add? The little fucker deserves all he gets.”

  The telephone rang. Marshall didn’t even check to see who was calling. He just barked, “Not now,” into the receiver and slammed it back down. He then unhooked it and lowered his voice. The change in volume did little to hide his impatience.

  “Well I happen to think that this thing is not so ‘cut and dried.’ And I want you to pull yourself together and answer my questions.”

  Marshall was intense, “First, who decided to change Stewart’s statement on the Bailey arrest?”

  Clive remained silent.

  “Come on Clive, a boy’s life is at stake here.”

  The disheveled detective leaned forward onto the desk in front of Marshall. His voice was a whisper. He was obviously drunk.

  “John McCauley was a good officer,” he slurred. “He suspected Stewart of falsifying evidence regarding a property find in the Bailey case. The cock-up could have cost us the case. The boss wanted him sacked. That’s all I know.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms in finality. “That’s all I have to say.”

  Marshall was fuming. He positively hissed at Williams, “Well then Inspector, do you think you may indulge me a little further and tell me of Anne Wallace’s involvement in this mess?”

  Clive was unimpressed. “John McCauley’s private life was his own business. Anyway, the death of William Bailey tells everyone, everyone with sense that is, that Stewart killed to cover his tracks and that jealousy was not the only motive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have lost a close friend today and intend to mourn him as I see fit. I’m taking some sick leave.”

  Clive stood to leave. He was very unsteady, but managed to make his point.

  “Starting right now.”

  Marshall didn’t care for the obvious rank closing. He reached across his desk with the speed of a striking snake and grabbed Williams firmly by the wrist.

  “If I find out you are lying to me Williams, your leave will be permanent.”

  Williams looked down at Marshall’s hand clamped on his wrist, then into the eyes of the officer. His voice was strangely steady and laced with sarcasm.

  “With all due respect sir, I suggest that you concentrate on the boy you have in the cells, courtesy of my officers’ good work and leave the good name of John McCauley to rest in peace. That way, you will do the whole Force a favour.”

  Marshall released his grip.

  Williams left the office in silence, walked to the nearest toilet and vomited. He sat in the cubical, head spinning. He’d done his best for his friend. He hoped it was enough. Clive Williams was very, very tired.

  Marshall stood in front of the melee of press. Flashguns exploded the second he entered the room. They continued for several minutes, coupled with a barrage of shouted questions. He waited for quiet and began.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Trevor Marshall. I am the Detective Superintendent in charge of the Serious Crime Squad.”

  Marshall looked down at the prepared press release. “It is my task to investigate the murders of Chief Superintendent John McCauley, Detective Sergeant Anne Wallace and William Henry Bailey.”

  Marshall couldn’t bring himself to roll over. Not even for a Chief Constable. “Their bodies were all discovered earlier today. All had been attacked with a sharp instrument. We currently have a suspect in custody, who, has yet to be interviewed. That is all the comment I am prepared to make at this time.”

  The room was in uproar. Press people shouting more questions and complaints. Marshall had even prevented Rawlinson from issuing copies of the statement, although he suspected that some of the information had leaked from that source.

  Marshall left the room followed by two of his team.

  By the time he made his office, his telephone was already ringing.

  He lifted the receiver to hear the Chief Constable’s voice. The joviality had left him. “What the hell is going on, Marshall?”

  “Sir, I understand the urgency in this matter, but in all fairness, I don’t think you are aware of the full circumstances of….”

  “I don’t give a shit about minor details Marshall. I told you exactly what I wanted and you deliberately disobeyed my orders. As far as I can see, we have a solid case. Now I want this boy charged tonight. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And Marshall…”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget your report comes straight to me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Marshall took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. Something wasn’t right and he didn’t like it one bit.

  He walked two flights to the office provided for the visiting crime squad officers and sat in front of his investigative team.

  He had selected five men and one woman for the case, all with their own brand of expertise.

  The requirements for selection to the Serious Crime Squad were rigorous. All must have had CID, Drug Squad or Special Branch experience. All must be qualified Firearms Officers and be trained in close protection.

  Marshall’s right hand was Detective Inspector Ian Jemson. Jemson looked more like a male model than a police officer and had gained the nickname, ‘Slick’.

  With the Chief’s comments still ringing in his ears, Marshall looked toward his inspector for some good news.

  Slick spoke with the voice of a trained politician, “Boss, we have all the preliminary Post Mortem results, the initial Scenes of Crime reports, plus all statements from witnesses. We’ve also done some work on the movements of McCauley and Wallace prior to death. We have some background on Stewart and his movements. The whole package makes interesting reading, but it’s still sketchy.”

  Slick paused for effect. “There is one more thing boss. First impressions of the gear found in Stewart’s car, the coveralls are Police issue and the rubber gloves are the same type and colour as the ones he alleged Bailey had on him.”

  Marshall grimaced at that tit-bit.

  He was scanning the wad of reports in front of him. “Prints inside the gloves?”

  Slick shook his head. “Full of talc boss. Our boy’s no fool on that count.”

  Marshall frowned. “Fool enough to let us find them.”

  “This information,” Marshall pointed to his team, “stays in these four walls. We are going to interview Stewart at 9 p.m. He has refused any legal representation so we have a straight run at him. I can tell you that this case has attracted interest at the highest level. We are under pressure to finish it quickly. Has anyone anything else?”

  Det
ective Sergeant Marie Baker raised her hand. She was an athletic looking woman who never wore make-up during work hours. Her striking looks always attracted lots of interest from the male members of the squad. She was bright, brave and a first class firearms expert.

  Marshall nodded. “Yes, Marie?”

  “Boss, I can’t get my head around this guy. Why should someone go to the trouble of protecting his clothes, shoes and hands, so as to leave no forensic traces and then be so sloppy as to just drop two bin bags of weapons and clothing into our lap? I mean, this guy is no fool. I’ve been doing the background on him.”

  Marshall cast his eyes around his team. He and Marie, as usual, were on the same wavelength.

  “Anyone else think this is all too easy?”

  ‘Slick’ broke the silence, “Maybe he only meant there to be one killing. Maybe he lost the plot after he found Wallace and McCauley together.”

  He looked at his notes.

  “But just to throw a further spanner in the works, McCauley’s house was screwed either before or after his murder. The back door was kicked in and the safe done, a pro job using a wire brush key. What was in the safe we can’t say; there’s nothing in Stewart’s place that looks favourite. We have to presume that whatever was in that safe is related to the case and could be a motive. ”

  Marshall stood and paced the room. He thought about Andy’s story of dirt and blackmail. It was all starting to fit.

  “OK people, let’s cast around what we have. If we believe all we are told, the motive for these killings is two fold. First, that McCauley was about to pot Stewart. He had doctored a witness statement and some other documents to cover his arse in the Bailey case.

  Bailey had to go. He couldn’t risk him getting to trial and the alterations being discovered.

  “We all happy with that one?”

  Marie shook her head.

  Bailey alive or dead, trial or no trial, Stewart would still have been found out.”

  Marshall nodded.

  “OK, let’s look at the jealousy angle. The loss of his job, maybe prison, would mean no more contact with his beloved Anne Wallace. Second, he was so infatuated with Wallace to the extent he was tailing her. He finds her and McCauley together and boom! He snaps.”

  “Messy,” chipped Jemson.

  Marie looked troubled.

  “It doesn’t make sense. I think whatever was in Mackay’s safe had more to do with it.”

  Marshall thought about his conversation wit Andy Dunn and felt as worried as Marie looked.

  Slick tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Let’s just assume that Stewart has been infatuated with Wallace for some time. She was a very striking woman. Her relationship with McCauley was starting to get to the lad. McCauley catches Stewart bending the rules, which angers Stewart even more. As he sees it, his rival has got one up on him yet again. He can’t do anything; he’s powerless against a Chief Superintendent.

  He can’t believe his luck when Bailey escapes. All he needs is Bailey out of the way and to destroy any original paperwork and he’s in the clear to try and win the lady’s hand from the boss. He finds Bailey on his own patch and does the business. For some reason, he screws McCauley’s house. Who knows, maybe the Chief had the original copy of Stewart's statement at home?”

  “Dirt,” thought Marshall. He lifted the phone as Slick continued.

  “He believes he’s in the clear and goes to see Anne Wallace. He gets to the house, has a look through the window and sees the terrible truth. The boy snaps, goes in through the back, lifts a knife from the kitchen and bang! Whatever the supposition, we can’t overlook the fact that we have enough evidence to charge him right now.”

  Marshall dropped the phone on its cradle and looked straight at Jemson. “You bought a crystal ball recently Slick? The original Bailey file has gone. Either stolen from here, or as you suggest, McCauley’s safe. It’s all looking ominous for our boy.”

  The door to the incident room opened and a young Constable walked in. He looked very embarrassed.

  “Yes?” barked Marshall, adding to the young man’s fluster.

  The officer held out a statement form. “I… I’ve been on the house to house team sir, in Sergeant Wallace’s street. I err, think this is important.”

  Marshall took the document and scanned it. He looked up at the young officer. “Yes son. It is important. Well done. Off you go.”

  Marshall waited for the Constable to leave. “Well, it seems our boy is getting deeper in the shit as each minute goes by.”

  He checked the text again. “The lady that lives opposite Anne Wallace is a right nosy old bird. She says Anne left with McCauley, in his car, about 8.30 p.m. and came back in a taxi about an hour or so later. She heard the Chief’s car return not long after. She says maybe a quarter after ten.”

  Marshall sifted through papers on his desk until he found what he wanted. “She also says, that about 10.45 p.m. she saw another car pull up outside. She thinks it was yellow or cream coloured. She’s positive it was a Mini.”

  He held up the paper he had just found. “Dave Stewart owns a yellow Mini.”

  Marshall had heard and seen enough.

  “OK, folks, Slick and I will do the interview. Marie and Bill, I want you to go to Barnsley and speak to the Stewart family. The rest of you I want on hand to check on anything we get during interview or from the outside.”

  The team all stood and set about their allotted tasks. Many of them were already tired. They had been on duty for twelve hours. Jemson and Marshall remained in the briefing room.

  Jemson lit a cigarette. “What do you think boss?”

  Marshall took the cigarette from the inspector’s hand and took a long draw on it. “I think our boy is going down for a long time Slick. I also think that we may never be allowed to get right to the bottom of this job. The politicians are screaming for blood. I think you have it almost right. But there’s one thing you don’t know. Rumour has it McCauley had some dirt on Anne Wallace too. Maybe, before he visited her, Stewart did Mackay’s safe to protect his girl.”

  Jemson recovered his cigarette. “You could fill an ocean with the blood spilt for God and true love boss.”

  Marshall rubbed his face with both palms. He needed a shave.

  “Maybe so Slick, but killing Bailey just doesn’t fit and I can’t get past it.”

  fifteen

  Dave was in agony. His hands, still cuffed, were now so swollen they had started to discolour. The charge office staff had visited him, on two occasions.

  Both calls had involved abuse and a beating. Dave realised he had no friends left in this place.

  He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t need friends.

  He needed Anne.

  He needed answers.

  His cell door swung open and Dave braced himself for another few kicks and punches. Instead, he saw Marshall standing in the doorframe.

  The detective bellowed at the charge office Sergeant. “Who the hell is responsible for this?”

  The Sergeant looked uneasy. “Err, he has been a bit, err, difficult sir.”

  Marshall was unimpressed.

  “I want this man’s cuffs removed and get him cleaned up now! Then I want him brought to the interview suite. If I see one more mark on this man Sergeant, I will personally ensure that you occupy the next cell to him. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Dave looked at Marshall. “Thank you Sir.”

  Marshall appeared to ignore the comment.

  “20 minutes Sergeant.”

  Marshall and Jemson sat opposite Dave Stewart.

  The murder file and crime scene photographs lay on the table that separated them. Dave could see the image of William Bailey lying on a floor somewhere with his throat gaping open.

  Dave knew that it was common interview practice but he didn’t think that he could stand to see pictures of Anne.

  Jemson began, “Dave, do you know why you are here?”

  “Yes.”<
br />
  “Do you want to tell us what happened yesterday?”

  “I didn’t kill them.”

  “We find that hard to believe Dave.”

  “I didn’t kill them.”

  “When did you last see John McCauley?”

  He cleared his throat, “Last Friday.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, the Police station.”

  “What about William Bailey.”

  “When I arrested him.”

  “Anne Wallace?”

  Dave swallowed hard, Marshall and Jemson noticed.

  “I last saw her, yesterday afternoon.”

  “Where?”

  “Her house, we had been on a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  Dave could feel himself losing control. Tears were close. “We went to the Lakes for a couple of days.”

  Jemson countered.

  “You mean you followed her to the Lakes Dave?”

  Dave’s head was spinning with this stupid line of questioning.

  “Followed her? I don’t understand. Please, I need to know something.”

  Marshall’s tone was gentle enough.

  “I think it’s up to us to ask the questions at this stage Dave. Don’t you?”

  Dave ignored the comment.

  “I need to know, err, I need to know…”

  Tears were now falling from Dave’s face, his voice a trembling whisper. “Please I need to know what happened to her… to Anne.”

  Jemson looked at Marshall who nodded an unspoken agreement. The Inspector lifted a photograph from the file and handed it to Dave. Dave’s hands were too swollen to hold it and it dropped to the floor.

  Marshall was like lightening and scooped the picture from the floor. He held it inches from Dave’s eyes.

  The grotesque figure of Anne Wallace, her beautiful face beaten, her clothing disheveled and her throat cut wide open was too much for Dave to bear.

  Dave fell forward onto the desk and sobbed. Jemson was straight in. He lifted Dave’s head by the hair and pushed the photograph under his nose.

  “This is your handy-work David. There’s no point crying over spilt milk. You couldn’t persuade the lady to leave McCauley so you topped her. Anne Wallace knew which side her bread was buttered. She was John McCauley’s girl. She was just playing with you. She wanted to make John jealous that’s all. You did for them all son. McCauley, Wallace and Bailey; You’re going down for life.”