DIRTY

by Robert White

  “Come on Stewart, you have a visitor.”

  Dave was curious. “Who?”

  The officer was curt, “You’ll find out when you get your arse over there, won’t you chum.”

  Dave pulled himself up from the bunk, pushed his feet into his training shoes and followed the officer in silence.

  It was a long walk to the visiting area. The noise and smell of the Remand Centre filled the air. Dave wanted out more than ever now. He had a place to start. If indeed Holmes were responsible for Anne’s death, both he and who ever the muscle was would pay dearly.

  The visiting room was bedlam. Twenty or so desks firmly fixed to the floor. A prisoner already occupied most of them. Women and children of all shapes and sizes made up the rest of the picture. The room filled with the odour unwashed feet and cheap perfume; Dave saw Thomas sitting stiffly at a desk in the corner.

  Dave sat. “Mr. Thomas, come to see how the other half live?”

  Thomas was unimpressed with Dave’s sarcasm and not at all happy to be visiting the shithole he found himself in.

  “Let’s get on Stewart. I have no intention of spending one minute more here than is absolutely necessary.”

  Dave forced a smile. “The feeling’s mutual Thomas.”

  The brief opened a file. “Then let’s get on shall we? Your bail hearing is set for tomorrow morning at ten. You will leave here about eight and be transported to the Court. Once you are there, I will provide you with clothes for the hearing.

  When you get bail, Mr. Wallace has booked you a room at his hotel. He will brief you on the information we have collected so far.”

  Dave’s heart was pounding. “How can you be so sure I will be released?”

  “That’s something I have neither the time nor inclination to explain to you right now. Mr. Wallace will tell you what he wants you to know. So, for now, just be a good boy and listen.”

  Dave could have gleefully punched the patronising ass there and then.

  “I’m all ears, hot shot,” Dave said, with more than a hint of derision.

  “As before, I don’t want any comment from you other than to confirm your details. The press will be there. Your release will cause even more of a stir than your arrest. Mr. Wallace would be very upset if you talked to them. He has already spent a great deal of his valuable time, not to mention money, on this investigation. You should be very grateful.”

  Dave was staring to lose patience with Thomas. “I’m sure Mr. Wallace can afford it.”

  Thomas seethed, “Personally,” Thomas waved his had around the visiting hall. “I think you and your type would be more at home in a place like this.”

  He snapped his briefcase closed. “Just remember your instructions.”

  Thomas started to leave. “Oh, bye the way, it was fortunate that the killer had sexual urges, or you would still be here for the summer holidays.”

  Dave felt like he had been punched. “Wha…”

  Thomas rose quickly and walked to the exit.

  Dave flew into a rage. “Come back here you fucker! What do you mean?”

  A prison officer took hold of Dave’s arm. “Steady son, after what I heard, don’t spoil it now.”

  Thomas walked to his Jaguar, smiling.

  Marshall sat in the mobile Police station, which had been set up outside the home of Clive Williams.

  Marie Baker and Slick Jemson sat opposite. Marie was sipping from a can of sugar free drink. She stared absently out of the window, as the local undertakers were removing the body of Williams.

  “What d’ya think boss? Tragedy isn’t it.”

  Marshall was reading a diary recovered from Williams’ desk. He stopped and looked at Marie. “I don’t like it. The electrical flex could be a co-incidence. The scratches on the neck are normal in a suicide, but the note? No signature; No, I don’t like it at all.”

  Jemson spoke, “He did have good reason though boss. He was heavy into the bottle. Second wife left him. Best mate murdered and looking at the sack at best.”

  Marie didn’t take her eyes from the hearse. “Is that what they want us to think?”

  Marshall stood and stretched. “Look, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat. We won’t know anything until the Forensic boys are done. Let’s get some rest. We need to be sharp in the morning. I’ll be at Stewart’s bail hearing at ten. After that we’ll meet and see what we have.”

  The three officers wearily found vehicles and went their separate ways.

  Marshall, to put his children to bed, Jemson to see his girlfriend for the first time in a week and Marie to the station; she had no one to see; her lover was in Blackpool for the weekend.

  Andy Dunn was contemplating going for a pint at The Bull, when the phone rang.

  It was Wallace. “Good evening, Andy. Sorry for disturbing you so late, but I need another favour.”

  Andy was wary after his bollocking from Marshall. “What is it Mr. Wallace?”

  “I need the address of Clive Williams. I need to speak to him.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I’m sorry, why?”

  Andy took a breath. He figured the man would find out soon enough. His tone was flat, devoid of emotion. It was too much for him now.

  “He committed suicide this morning.”

  Wallace sounded sympathetic. “I’m sorry Andy.”

  “So am I.” Andy cradled the telephone and decided the pint was indeed a good idea.

  Wallace stared at the buzzing receiver and then looked at his friend Davits. “Well Peter, the plot thickens.”

  twenty two

  Jimmy hadn’t tried to speak to Dave since his visit from Thomas. He’d been pacing his cell like a man possessed. His fists clenched tight, the muscles in his shoulders and neck taught and ready; even Jimmy was scared of his cellmate right now.

  Dave finally sat on his bunk. He looked directly into Jimmy’s eyes. Hate burned in his expression. “Where might Holmes be?”

  Jimmy felt nervous. If he’d known where Holmes was he would have told. “I dunno Dave; he’s got the cash to be anywhere.”

  Clarke will know, won’t he?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then where is the children’s home?”

  Jimmy picked up a pencil and a scrap of paper. He scribbled down an address. His hand shook in his haste.

  “Whatever happens, it didn’t come from me,” he said, his voice wavering, “and I don’t want to know what the fuck you’re up to.”

  Dave took the paper and put it in his pocket. Thomas had better do his job tomorrow. He had to be free and soon.

  The Courtroom was packed.

  Dave stood in the dock flanked by two prison officers. They were a different pair from Dave’s last appearance. Both men had travelled in silence in the prison vehicle and had watched him constantly. Orders from above insisted that this boy didn’t do anything rash.

  Dave wore a brand new suit, shirt, tie and shoes, all courtesy of Wallace.

  Thomas had avoided him. This was their first meeting since his comments in the remand centre.

  Had Dave not been handcuffed, he would have been tempted to strangle the objectionable bastard there and then in Court.

  He looked around. He saw Lucy sitting a few rows back. The monstrous frame of Andy Dunn was squeezed next to her. They both gave a smile. Marshall, and two of his team, Dave didn’t know were to his right. Wallace and several other men, one of whom looked like an ageing rock star, were to his left.

  The Magistrates entered; the atmosphere electric; Dave was so nervous he was unable to stop his legs shaking.

  It took the Magistrates Clerk several attempts to obtain silence. Finally he opened the proceedings. Once again, he read Dave’s personal details and the charges to the enthralled public gallery. Dave confirmed his details and was allowed to sit.

  A specially trained police Inspector spoke for the Prosecution. He stood and addressed the Court.

  “Your Worships, the Prosecution is here this morni
ng to apply for a further remand in custody for the defendant.

  The seriousness of the charge and the likelihood that he may, if free, interfere with witnesses, are our grounds for opposing bail.”

  It should have been cut and dried for the Prosecution.

  Thomas stood. He swung his body briefly so that all could see his countenance. He oozed confidence from every pore. He was impeccably dressed.

  “Your Worships, I represent the Defence. It is our intention this morning to make an application for bail for David Stewart.

  The Courtroom went into uproar. The press had not expected this. Neither had most of the gallery.

  Thomas paused, first for quiet, then for effect. The Magistrates and Magistrates Clerk consulted each other.

  The Senior Magistrate finally spoke, “Continue, Mr. Thomas.”

  Thomas puffed out his chest, took hold of the lapels of his suit and spoke in his best Courtroom voice.

  He outlined the evidence the Prosecution had offered. Then, with all the confidence in the world, tore it to pieces. Within seconds he had the public hanging on every word. Within twenty minutes, he had the court eating from his hand.

  He had quoted peerless lawmakers and offered expert opinion from the best medical and scientific minds in the country, and with fine theatrics, introduced each in turn to the Court.

  The handwriting evidence brought gasps from the Court.

  The revelation of the semen stain and subsequent blood-typing even made Marshall heave.

  It tore into Dave Stewart’s heart. Now he knew what Thomas had meant in the remand centre.

  By the time Thomas re-took his seat, Marshall was already in deep whispered conversation with the Prosecuting Inspector. It was all they could do to limit the damage.

  The Inspector stood. “Your Worships, this is the first the Prosecution knew of these findings. We would ask that we be given time to study the information.”

  The Inspector had the look of a beaten man. “Despite this, we have no desire to restrict the freedom of the defendant more than is necessary. Therefore, we would have no objection to bail on the condition that he resides at his home address and reports to the Police Station on a daily basis.”

  A cheer erupted from Lucy and ‘Armless. The remainder of the courtroom was a buzz of activity. Dave couldn’t believe it. He could feel the handcuffs being removed from his wrists. The Magistrate was speaking, but he didn’t hear. He was walking forward now, onto the carpeted area of the Court. Lucy was hugging him. ‘Armless pumped his hand.

  David Stewart was crying.

  There was a lot of hand shaking and backslapping going on. Dave didn’t have a clue who the people were. He didn’t care. He was free.

  Finally Wallace came to him. “Congratulations David, I have a car waiting outside to take us to the hotel.”

  He extended a hand to the young man. For the first time in days Wallace’s’ face revealed his great sadness. “I’m sure Anne is very pleased this morning.”

  The drive to the Tickled Trout was a comfortable one. Dave had never ridden in a Rolls Royce before. The smell of hide, walnut and Wilton filled his nostrils. Sir Peter was beside himself with cheer.

  “I’m so glad to see you amongst the free David. The pressure has been mounting on the Police evidence for days now. It was only a mater of time.”

  “And a great deal of expertise Sir Peter,” Dave corrected.

  Thomas had made an early exit for London. That pleased Dave; he had no wish to cause a scene in front of Anne’s father. After all, Robert Wallace had got Dave out of jail, even if his choice of barrister was a little misinformed.

  The car pulled into the hotel grounds. A porter was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the party. No doubt a large tip was anticipated.

  The men were expertly shown to Wallace’s suite. Dave sat on a Chesterfield, sporting his new clothes. He held a flute of champagne he couldn’t stand to drink.

  “This is a little different than my cell at Risley.”

  Staples noticed Dave’s discomfort and made light. “Long may it continue Dave. After what you’ve been through this last week or so, you deserve a little luxury.”

  Dave slowly nodded his agreement and turned to Wallace, who was standing with Davits. “What’s your next move Mr. Wallace?”

  Wallace joined Dave on the plush leather sofa. He placed his hand on his shoulder. “Well, I would imagine that your charges will be formally dropped within the week. We have turned over all the information we possess to the Police. Our job was to get the Police to start looking in the right direction. That is about finished Dave. I know you are pretty desperate to get to the bottom of this. So are we but…”

  He paused. His features seemed to fall. He suddenly looked every year of his age. “I’m tired, and I must make the final arrangements for Anne.”

  Dave felt a lump come to his throat. “I would like to be there Mr. Wallace. Will that be possible?”

  “Of course, I’m sure Anne would want you there. The service will be on Wednesday. You may travel to London with Sir Peter and I if you wish?”

  Davits changed the mood, he was still curious. “Is there anything you can tell us about a possible motive Dave? Obviously the Police evidence has been shot down in flames. We have been discussing the possibility of blackmail.”

  The second Dave heard the word his stomach turned over. How much had the team discovered? He played his hand close to his chest. “Blackmail? No sir I couldn’t even start to help. All I know is that John McCauley used his position to get me to alter the evidence in the Bailey case. The next thing I knew, I was in jail.”

  Sir Peter looked into Dave’s eyes. “Did Anne confide in you about him?”

  “I knew they’d had a relationship.”

  Staples saved Dave. “Hey let’s just chill out for a while gents. This is a celebration. I’m sure Dave has had enough questions to last a lifetime.”

  Sir Peter was apologetic, “Of course, I’m terribly sorry David.”

  Dave waved away the apology. He looked around the room. Anne had the power to gather this team of men, even after her death. Why did she not sort McCauley earlier?

  Marshall could hardly believe his eyes. The events of the morning were even worse than he could possibly imagine. Reading the reports, prepared by the defence expert witnesses, were professional agony.

  He had sent copies to the Chief Constable, together with a transcript of the morning’s Court proceedings.

  He was expecting a very abrupt call back. Heads would roll.

  Some of the legal errors of course, were down to the Forensic boys and out of his hands.

  He had mastered the art of absorbing blame for others. He often turned it to his advantage. Never be seen to turn your back on a colleague for his errors. Correct them and learn from his mistakes.

  This was different. He had known all along that something had been wrong. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be rushed. As he read each salient point of John Staples report, Marshall vowed never to be rushed again.

  He was reading for the second time when Marie Baker blew into the office. “Sorry to burst in boss, but this is important.”

  “Go on, it can’t get much worse.” Marshall mumbled, knowing from Marie’s face that it damn well could.

  Marie sat and opened a thin file. “Well boss, you were right. It was blood under Clive Williams’ fingernails.”

  Marie traced the page with her finger and found the place she wanted. “Problem is there are two types.”

  Marshall sat up and brushed his hair from his eyes. “Go on.”

  “Type ‘A’, which is Williams’ own, and type ‘O’ Rhesus negative, which, obviously is not.”

  Marshall scrambled through the Stewart defence papers, his mind thumbing through its own interior logs as he searched. Finally he found John Staples statement and read. “The semen stain on Anne Wallace’s clothing was ‘O’ Rhesus negative.”

  Marie had already suspected as much. “And th
at’s rare, right?”

  Marshall was grabbing his coat. “Three people in a hundred rare enough?”

  Marie followed. “Where are we going boss?”

  Marshall was almost running. “The Tickled Trout Hotel and I hope you’re dressed for it.”

  Marie found herself visually checking her clothing. She looked up at Marshall and found him smiling. It was good to see him smile, even if the joke was at her expense.

  A ten-minute drive found Marshall and Marie standing in the plush suite feeling rather like fish out of water. Wallace and Davits on the other hand were relaxed in the surroundings. Marshall hated to ask Wallace for help, but desperate times and all that.

  Wallace broke the ice, “I was about to come and see you Marshall. I’m leaving for London tonight. Anne is to be buried Wednesday morning and I wanted to update you on our conclusions. After the shoddy way in which this enquiry has been run so far, frankly you need it.”

  Marshall was to the point. “I’m not here to trade insults Mr. Wallace. I need all the help I can get and I’m fully aware of the shortcomings of this investigation. What you don’t know is there has been another development.”

  Wallace interrupted, “Yes, the suicide of Inspector Williams.”

  “No sir, the murder of Inspector Williams,” Marshall didn’t wait for a reaction. “We have just received the Forensic reports from our lab. We found two types of blood under Williams’ fingernails. His own, type ‘A’ and another, type ‘O’ Rhesus negative.”

  Davits came to life. “That’s the same as…”

  “The semen stain on Anne’s clothing.” Marshall completed the sentence for him, and added, “So gents, I would be very grateful for your conclusions.”

  The four sat and discussed the case from the beginning. All agreed that the burglary at McCauley’s home was linked with the murders of Anne, the Chief and Bailey. Williams was definitely aware of the dirt McCauley kept sealed away. Had Clive Williams been silenced for what he knew? The name constantly being mentioned was that of Raymond Holmes.