DIRTY

by Robert White

  His smile broadened. “I play a mean harmonica too.”

  Wallace took the hand and softened slightly.

  “I’m sorry Professor; my daughter always said I was too old fashioned. I’m grateful to you for your prompt attention.”

  Staples nodded. “And I am sorry for your loss sir.”

  The three men walked into the organised clutter of Staples’ office.

  Davits found a small space not covered by files or exhibits and placed the box onto a table. “John, these are the P.M. samples and Anne’s clothing. How soon can you start?”

  Staples began emptying the contents of the box and turned to Wallace.

  “Can I see the police file?”

  Staples sat and started to read. He immersed himself into it. Wallace and Davits watched in silence as the man read and re-read the paperwork. He took a magnifying glass and studied the Scenes of Crime photographs.

  Finally, Staples leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses.

  “This case, gentleman, doesn’t make sense. Unless of course, the defendant, err…Stewart, is mentally ill.”

  Wallace was quick to react. “I can say sir, with a great deal of certainty, that my daughter would not have involved herself with a lunatic. Also, if you are concerned, you can rest assured that you will be well compensated for your time.”

  Staples nodded. “In that case Wallace, I will take it as my duty to assist you, in any way possible. I will be honest; this case has attracted a great deal of publicity already. It will do my department and I a great deal of good, should of course, we come up with the goods to free the young chap. Therefore, whatever fee you pay me, this is a double edged sword. I need this kind of work. The high profile stuff does no harm when it comes time to renew our Government grants.”

  Staples patted the file. “Give me a day or two and I will get back to you.”

  The men stood, shook hands and parted.

  The two esteemed men walked slowly to the Rolls. Wallace turned to his friend. “Peter, you haven’t said too much about this whole mess. Am I putting too much faith in Anne’s judgement?”

  Davits had marveled at the man’s faith and, indeed did have doubts. Stewart’s motive was thin but people had killed for less. Despite some odd discrepancies, the evidence against Stewart was pretty convincing, he had to admit.

  If Wallace was right, then this case must involve corruption within the Police on a large scale. Notwithstanding his fears, Davits decided that this was not the time to vent them. He halted and observed a very tired Robert Wallace.

  “I’m with you all the way on this one Robert. Anne was the daughter I never had. I want justice done too.”

  He took Wallace’s arm. “We can do no more today. Let’s go to the hotel and rest. You look like you need it.”

  Wallace suddenly stiffened. “Nonsense! If we hurry, we will catch Stewart before he is taken to the Remand Centre. I need to speak to him personally. I have some questions.”

  Davits shook his head. “OK Robert, whatever you say, let’s go.”

  Dave Stewart climbed the stairs that led to the Courtroom. He found himself counting again. Twenty-six. The two prison officers flanked him.

  As he appeared in the dock there was a flurry of excitement around the packed Court. Dozens of pens and pencils scribbled away behind him.

  The Magistrates had yet to appear.

  Thomas leaned over the dock to whisper a last minute reminder to Dave. He had not to make any comment.

  Dave didn’t like Thomas at all. However, he had to admit he dominated the Courtroom with his presence.

  Dave looked around the Court and saw Lucy sitting in the public gallery. He caught her eye. She smiled and gave a discreet ‘thumbs up’ sign.

  It made him feel slightly better. He scanned the room for Ross, but couldn’t see him. He wasn’t that surprised. Ross was probably arranging Dave’s ‘favour’.

  Suddenly the court usher stood and announced the commencement of business. All were to rise. Three Magistrates filed into their seats. One woman and two men; all looked very sombre. They would have known of the seriousness of their task.

  The sound of pen on paper started again. Dave started to sweat.

  The Magistrates had no legal training and it was the responsibility of the Magistrates Clerk to lead the proceedings. Dave felt lost. The Clerk had warned the press regarding restrictions. Dave had been asked to confirm his details. He tried to be as confident as possible.

  The charges were read.

  More scribbling sounds deafened Dave.

  Thomas was speaking. He was eloquent and precise. The speech aimed at the press more than the Magistrates. Within minutes, it was over. Dave was being led back down the stairs. He looked over towards Lucy. She was crying.

  He walked the steps again and was inside his cell within seconds.

  Thomas joined him. “Quite painless David.”

  The smell of the barrister’s aftershave was overpowering.

  Dave was attempting to remove his tie. “For who?”

  Thomas sat. He was far from comfortable in the stench of the cell. “Look Stewart, I’m here to defend you, innocent or guilty. I’m not here to wet-nurse you, so let’s get things straight right now.”

  Dave was angry but controlled.

  “Well, let’s get this straight shall we. I didn’t ask you to defend me. You may well be a good lawyer, but as a man, you make my teeth itch. I have lost someone very dear to me. I’ve lost my job; my family will be under siege from the press and,” Dave lost the battle with his tie, “I don’t think I’ll ever play the fuckin’ piano again!”

  Thomas was about to retort when the cell door opened to reveal Robert Wallace. Dave had never met or spoken to the man but the family resemblance was obvious.

  Thomas was creeping, “Robert, ah, I’m just briefing David here. Err, how are you sir? You look tired.”

  Wallace brushed the comments aside. “I would like to speak with Mr. Stewart alone George.”

  It was evident to Dave, that Wallace shared his opinion of Thomas who looked uncomfortable as he stood.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Wallace closed the cell door and sat next to Dave. He extended his hand. Dave painfully took it.

  “I’m Anne’s father, Robert Wallace.”

  “Pleased to meet you sir.”

  Wallace inspected the damage to Dave’s hands.

  “You must be pretty confused right now David, so let me explain a few things first. Anne and I were close. Despite the miles between us, we kept in touch regularly. I spoke with her on the day she died. She told me about you. She told me she was in love.”

  Wallace actually smiled as he recalled, “She hadn’t told me that since she was fifteen and some schoolboy had taken her fancy. It wasn’t something she would say lightly. That conversation is the sole reason I set all this in motion the reason why I am fighting to prove your innocence.”

  The smile left his face. “Heaven help me if I’m wrong.”

  Dave looked Wallace in the eye. “You’re not wrong. I was very much in love with Anne. I would never have harmed her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I just can’t believe she’s gone.” Dave realised he was talking to someone equally bereaved. “I’m sorry Mr. Wallace. It’s just that no one seems to want to get at the truth.”

  Wallace became animated. “We need to know why that is David. You must be able to help us. We need to work together.”

  Dave needed to trust this man. He seemed genuine. Why would he do this for him? Dave was confused. He wanted to talk but now was not the time. He had to do this his own way.

  “I don’t know sir. Anne was under pressure from McCauley. She was meeting him to end their relationship. I have told Thomas all I know.”

  Wallace stared at Dave for what seemed like an age. His eyes burned for the truth. He got no indication from the young man that he was lying.

  “I have to believe I am doing the right thing for my daughte
r. I’m sure you are a fine young man. I promise I will do all I can to get you free as soon as possible.”

  Dave looked upon Robert Wallace. He sat perfectly straight like some retired military general, his pride obvious for all to see. He saw Anne in him, her persistence and determination.

  Dave stood and it was Wallace’s’ turn to see. He saw something in the young man that surprised him. It convinced him more than ever that Dave was innocent. Dave’s eyes burned with hatred.

  “I need to be free Mr. Wallace.”

  Wallace turned and opened the cell door. “You will be free David, I will see to that.”

  Two men sat on the park bench. Ducks wandered around the edge of the pond they faced. The park was nearly deserted. At this time of year few ventured into the cold. Neither of the two wanted to be seen together.

  One was a large and powerfully built man, the other, smaller but more affluent, being dressed in the latest designer clothes. The shorter of the men spoke first.

  “I told you what I wanted done. When the situation with Bailey arose, you had to dispose of him. No one was going to miss the little shit. However, two serving Police Officers, that’s a different matter. It’s on every front page. This will mean close scrutiny of all concerned. I can’t have that. I didn’t want this situation.”

  The tall man sneered, “If those files get out it won’t make a difference. Jail is jail. I went with what I had on the night. Bailey had bottled out. I followed him and sorted it. When I got to McCauley’s, someone had got there before me, someone who knew; someone with a key. With the information I had, Wallace was the obvious choice. When McCauley turned up, I had to take him. He’d have recognised me and connected me to you. Is that what you wanted?”

  The man threw a pebble at a passing duck.

  “I thought you, of all people would have been glad to see the back of him. Anyway, the whole job was clean. No forensics. I dumped the gear just where you said.”

  “So where are the files?”

  The tall man shrugged his shoulders. “Someone else obviously knew that McCauley had finally used one of his aces. Whoever opened that safe was a pro.”

  The shorter man looked tired. The strain was starting to show. He thought out loud, “If the press gets that material, I’m ruined. I may as well be dead alongside McCauley.”

  The taller man snapped, “You really are a baby aren’t you? Look, the files have gone. McCauley is dead. Whoever has the files wanted them for one of two reasons. Either McCauley had dirt on them, or two, they’re in the blackmail business. So, they’ll either bury them forever, or they will be in touch. If they like living, they’ll bury them.”

  “I don’t like it. I have a lot to lose.”

  The tall man stood. He picked a speck from the smaller man’s overcoat. “I never lose. Just don’t forget what you owe me.”

  The shorter man walked away, his voice more reassured. “Get me what I want and you’ll get your money.”

  Dave sat in a tiny space inside the prison vehicle. It was the size of a removal van. Royal blue coachwork gleamed on the exterior. The Lancashire Constabulary crest, emblazoned in gold and red, told any casual onlooker exactly what the vehicle was for. The interior was a different matter. That was split into cells, each about the size of a toilet. A corridor ran along the centre and two very harassed prison officers sat at either end. The stench of the van made Dave gag.

  The ride to the Remand Centre was noisy. Prisoners were shouting abuse at the prison officers from their claustrophobic cubicles. They hurled expletives to their unseen captors, banging their handcuffs on the walls, demanding various rights. The officers had heard it all before. Scores would be settled in the privacy of the Centre.

  There was a knock on the wooden partition to Dave’s right. It jolted him from his thoughts. A voice spoke to him in a hoarse whisper, “Copper! Hey! Copper!”

  Dave ignored the voice but it was persistent.

  “You’ll be in the same block as me, so you’d better be friendly. Know what I mean? I can help you. Show you the ropes.”

  Dave let his head fall back against the panel behind him and closed his eyes. As the van rattled along relentlessly to its destination, his thoughts once again turned to Anne. Justice? Where was the justice? He placed his damaged palms together and prayed for the first time in years.

  The prison van finally came to a halt in a large square. It could have been public gardens. Men in overalls were tending large, open areas of lawn and flowerbeds. Benches without customers were set around the displays of early spring colour. Unfortunately, the three story buildings with barred windows and the eighteen-foot concrete wall, which surrounded the foliage, spoiled the look.

  The van had been stationary at the security gate for a long time. The wait had made Dave even tenser.

  The prisoners were released one by one. Dave could hear the process. He was also aware that he and the talkative man in the cell to his right were to be the last off.

  Finally, his door opened.

  The same officers who took him into Court led him into the daylight. Instantly a cacophony of abuse was hurled in his direction from a prison block some thirty yards away.

  They didn’t know who Dave was, only that the rule 43’s came off the van last. The men tending the flowers were given the task of getting a good look. Nonces needed to be identified. Criminals had a strange code. All considered their crimes to be more socially acceptable than their peers. The nonces were at the bottom of the pile.

  Dave was quickly herded toward a separate block and into a reception area. Another man was being searched and processed. He looked a real hard case. Dave presumed he was the voice in the van. A young officer spoke to Dave over a high counter, whilst other officers searched his clothing and a bag of belongings. No one questioned the ‘unopened’ box of cigarettes from Ross.

  He confirmed his name, date of birth, address and Religion. He could wear his own clothes whilst on remand.

  He was informed of his rights, visits, telephone calls, meal times and exercise. He carried a blanket and linen sheets and was led along long corridors with dark green linoleum floors. The occasional trustee was mopping sections of the floor. Each had a long look at the new boy.

  Dave had forgotten nearly everything he had been told by the time he got to his cell.

  To his horror, he was not alone.

  The cell was no more than eight feet by six feet. One metal framed bed at each side. A stainless steel toilet and washbasin sat dead centre.

  A man about Dave’s age lay on the left-hand bed dressed only in running shorts. He was small but muscular. He obviously worked at his physique.

  The cell was spotlessly clean and tidy. The man’s possessions lay neatly around his half of the tiny space. Dave stood in the doorway, prison bedding under one arm, his meagre possessions in the other. He was rooted to the spot and speechless. Suddenly, he felt claustrophobic.

  His escort barked in his ear bringing him from the brink of panic, “Right Stewart, get your bed made and settle in.”

  The officer gave Dave a sharp nudge in the back and the cell door slammed behind him. To Dave it sounded like the death toll.

  The man inside the cell sat up. A small, sharp-featured face with crew cut blonde hair. He spoke in quick bursts with a strong Manchester accent. His obvious joviality was an immediate irritation.

  “This has gotta be your first time?”

  Dave ignored him. The man shrugged and lay back down. “Suit yourself.”

  Dave began the task of making his bed. His sore hands made the process slow. Once this was complete, he unpacked his possessions and lay them inside the confines of his half of the cell, copying his cellmate.

  The man opposite watched his every move with mild amusement. “Can I make a suggestion like?”

  Dave looked over, his eyes cold and dangerous. “Suggest away.”

  The man sat up again and rested himself on one elbow. He pointed to the unopened box of cigarettes. “You n
eed to hide them or they’ll walk.”

  Dave pointed at the locked cell door with his chin. He stared straight at his cellmate. “Who’s going to nick ‘em, except you?”

  The man shook his head like a father would to a stumbling child.

  “We’re not locked down all the time y’ know. The screws open us up at seven each night, ‘till ten. We get visitors. Some welcome, some not.”

  The man continued, “Cigarettes are hard currency in here and you seem to be rich like.”

  Dave became defensive, “Look, don’t even think about it.”

  The man held up his hands.

  “Whoa boy! You’re too big for me mate. Just givin’ you some helpful advice, take it or leave it. Know what I mean?”

  “Everybody wants to help me today.”

  The man smiled and nodded. “Listen mate, I know exactly how you feel, but the fact is you are here on ‘43’. Which means either you’re a nonce, a grass or a Pig. Every man jack on this block wouldn’t last two minutes outside in general population. The cons on ‘43’ don’t give a monkey’s why you’re on this block. But remember there are some seriously sick fucks in here and there’s still a pecking order like. You have to find your place and stick to it. That or fight for your fuckin’ life.”

  Dave stared straight at the man. “…and where are you in this order? Top nonce, top grass or just a sick fuck?”

  The man pretended to look hurt. “That’s not nice mate. I’m just trying to be friendly like.”

  Dave sat on his bed. “Just don’t try and get too friendly.”

  The man lay back once again, his voice casual. He had no fear of Dave.

  “You’re not my type, mate. Besides, why should I want to get close to someone who slits throats for a living?”

  Dave exploded, the shock at the man’s knowledge catching him off guard. “I’m innocent, you fuckin’ piece of shit! Innocent you hear! I don’t belong in here with you, or any of this other scum!”

  The man remained in position, seemingly unimpressed by Dave’s show of aggression. His voice remained level.