by Neil White
‘Sit down,’ Evans said, pointing to a chair that looked on the verge of collapse, the legs starting to splay. It swayed beneath him as he sat down.
She stared at him for a few seconds, and he fought the urge to shuffle in his seat. ‘Is it about the four missing women?’ he said, and pointed to the room next door. ‘I saw all the posters.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she said. ‘Have you heard of Ronnie Bagley?’
Sam’s mind flicked through the files in the cabinet next to his desk, picturing it like an address book, a list of names, and then when he came up with nothing he tried to skim through all the villains and wasters he had dealt with through the years. Finally he shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. It doesn’t sound familiar.’
‘He is to your brother.’
Sam was confused. ‘Joe?’
‘Yes, Joe Parker. He’s a defence lawyer, right?’
‘Yes. Used to be with Mahones. With Honeywells now.’ He frowned. ‘What does this have to do with me?’
Evans hesitated before she spoke, staring at Sam, as if she was trying to unsettle him, remind him who was in charge.
‘I want you to get some information from him,’ she said eventually.
‘In relation to what?’
‘One of his clients.’
Sam’s eyes widened. ‘You want me to spy on my brother?’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
Sam exhaled loudly. He wasn’t sure he was going to enjoy the rest of the conversation.
Eight
Joe had collected Monica from the office and driven straight to the prison. He made small talk on the way, to take his mind from all the reminders of Ellie’s death, and it worked. Monica was filled with all the eagerness he’d once had as a lawyer starting out, and he enjoyed the bounce of her conversation, her ready smile.
Strangeways took the shine away, with its high walls and old redbrick core. It was no longer the prison it had once been, when the cramped conditions and constant lock-up ended up with the prisoners taking it over for twenty-five days, but still it made for a brooding shadow on a major route into the city. The layout was like spokes on a bike wheel and on the outside it had been given a modern look, clad in bright new bricks and with a visitors’ centre by the main road. That was all gloss however, because behind the high walls there were still remnants of the Victorian gloom. The tower and those parts of the prison furthest away from the main gate still showed its history, of executions and riots, through chipped and scarred redbrick.
Joe didn’t do as many prison visits as he used to, as Gina took care of those, but he had learned the hard way that he had to ignore most things said to him when speaking to a captive prisoner. A client once told him that he wanted to plead guilty, the bars and the locks making him want to do anything to get out. The prosecutor was informed and the witnesses were told to stay at home. After a weekend with amateur lawyers on the prison wing, the client changed his mind. Joe lost a client and earned the scorn of the judge. Lawyers make mistakes all the time. The good ones don’t make the same one twice.
This time was different. The visit to see Ronnie Bagley wasn’t just about getting his story, but about keeping him as a client. Ronnie had already walked out on the first firm in the case. Joe didn’t want Ronnie to walk out on him too.
‘It’s a horrible place,’ Monica said, staring up at the walls. ‘It’s always the part of the bus journey I hate most, whenever I come into town.’
Joe looked at her. He didn’t know if it was the aesthetics she found objectionable, or the thought of people being locked up.
‘You better get used to it,’ he said. ‘You’ll see inside it often enough.’ He smiled. ‘Enjoy the human drama – there aren’t many who get something they don’t deserve. There isn’t much innocence in the courts; just different shades of guilt.’
They stayed silent through the security checks and a trip through a scanner, the stern glares of the guards ensured that, and then they were led upstairs to the section set aside for legal visits.
There were two rows of glass kiosks. Lawyers didn’t have to endure the noise of the main visitor centre, where partners and children tried to squeeze a week’s worth of conversation into an hour, but they weren’t trusted enough to have complete privacy. The guards had a good view of whatever went on in the lawyers’ kiosks. Not that Joe could blame them. He knew many defence lawyers who played it straight, but he knew too many who were prepared to do whatever it took to keep their clients on their books; after all, the drugs have to find their way into prison somehow.
Joe drummed his fingers on the table. A young woman walked past in a short skirt, a file under her arm. She was from Mahones. There was a whole team of them just like her, pretty and young, whose only role was to follow a barrister around. They didn’t know much about the law, but their clients went back to their cell with a greater glow than Joe could provide.
‘What are you going to say to Ronnie Bagley?’ Monica said.
‘I’m going to get his story.’
‘Do we know anything about the case yet?’
‘I’ve been given the paperwork, and I’ve read the summary, but I want to hear what he has to say before I read the detail. Let’s get his story and see if it stacks up with the evidence.’
‘Is this the normal way? I thought we’d be going through the statements, because don’t the prosecution have to prove the case?’
‘The problem with murder cases is that they never go away,’ Joe said. ‘People don’t just serve a bit of time and then everyone moves on. Families have still lost someone. A prisoner still bears that guilt of taking someone’s life. Or at least the stigma, knowing how people hate him. So they get appealed and examined, and when you have long forgotten about it, it will end up in the Court of Appeal, your mistakes being picked over. The things you overlooked, the enquiries you didn’t make. One of the first things they will try is poor representation, and he will blame me for putting the words into his mouth that convicted him. So let’s hear his story first.’
Before Monica could say anything further, a door opened at the end of the room and a prison guard walked towards them. There was someone walking behind him. Ronnie Bagley. His eyes darted around, his shoulders hunched, as if he was trying to make himself small, inconspicuous almost. No one wanted to stand out on the first day in prison. Joe saw the fear in his eyes as he got closer. There was no threat or danger from him, although Joe wasn’t sure why he was surprised by that. He had seen enough murderers to know that there is no type. Sometimes the calmer the person, the more threat there is, because real evil doesn’t shout its presence.
The guard opened the kiosk door. Ronnie nodded his thanks to the guard and sat down at the table.
‘How are you doing, Ronnie?’ Joe asked.
‘Not good,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘There’s a presentation later today, like an induction. What’s the point? Just put me in the cell and leave me alone.’
‘Stay strong,’ Joe said. ‘We need to start getting your case ready. I’ve spoken to the court listing office and got them to list your case tomorrow, and so I need to know everything by then.’
‘Why bother?’ Ronnie said.
‘Because the only other choice you have is giving in. You haven’t got time for the self-pity. You’ve got to see me as your only friend, because no one else will give a damn about you. So you have to talk to me. Don’t let this place swallow you up.’
Ronnie clenched his jaw as he considered that. ‘The looks I get, from the guards, it’s like they don’t think much of me.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill anyone. But I won’t get out, will I?’
‘You’re charged with murder. If you want my opinion, you’ll be going nowhere until the trial is over.’
‘And you’re going to go back to your swanky apartment and let me spend another night in a prison bed. I didn’t do it.’
‘That’s the law, Ronnie. I didn’t make it.’ Joe pi
cked up his pen and made a show of clicking it on. ‘So why do people think you did it?’
‘I’m the obvious one, I suppose, but how can they even know that I’ve murdered anyone when there aren’t any bodies? There has to be a dead body for a murder, right?’
Joe shook his head. ‘No, there doesn’t. So tell me your story. I need to know everything.’
Nine
‘Does that bother you, spying on your brother?’ Evans said.
Sam almost laughed. Yes, it bothered him. He pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘I know you won’t like what he does, because he helps criminals,’ Sam said. ‘But tapping him for information? That seems, well, not right.’
‘I’ll tell you what isn’t right, Sam, and that is people like Ronnie Bagley walking away from killing his girlfriend and his child. Why? Because someone like your brother will devote his life to making sure that killers like him escape justice.’
Sam understood her, and he’d had the same argument with Joe, but they were brothers, and Sam wasn’t going to talk him down.
‘It’s Joe’s life, not mine. We’ve talked about it, but he’s proud of what he does. I’m proud of him, ma’am, in my own way. He’s made a good life for himself.’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I sensed a “but” in there.’
Sam paused as he thought about that, and then said, ‘I’m proud of who he is. I just wish he had chosen a different path as a lawyer. A prosecutor, or something like that.’
‘So you try to lock them up, and he tries to get them out.’
‘Something like that.’
‘I want to change that,’ Evans said. ‘I’ve come across your brother too many times, and you can be as loyal as you like, but he thinks different rules apply to him.’ Sam was about to say something, but Evans raised her hand to stop him. ‘I know, defence lawyers do that, but he goes further.’
‘But what has this got to do with me?’
Evans leaned forward. ‘Ronnie Bagley is a murderer. He killed his girlfriend and his baby. He attacked them in their flat and then somehow got rid of the bodies. We can’t find them. He must have killed his daughter to make it look like his girlfriend had run away. We’ve managed to get the CPS to charge it but, like us, they know the case will be a hell of a lot stronger if we find the bodies.’
‘You’ve got a murder case without bodies?’
‘Yes, and so you see how important it is that we find them. You don’t want Ronnie to walk free just because he’s buried them well, do you?’
Sam closed his eyes for a moment as he felt the slow rise of disappointment, that this was nothing to do with him but all about Joe. ‘So what do you want me to do?’ he said, his voice quiet. He knew where this was leading, and he didn’t like it.
‘We thought Bagley was represented by Mahones,’ Evans said. ‘But then your brother turned up this morning to represent him.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We were there. And your brother is with him now, at the prison.’
Sam pressed his fingers tightly against his forehead. His disappointment was replaced by anger, because that was why Joe couldn’t attend the cemetery, because he had to go see a murderer.
‘We can make our case better, Sam, through you, because you give us access to Bagley’s lawyer. We need to find the bodies.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Joe won’t tell me anything.’
‘So he’s the one with the scruples, not you?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You said that he wouldn’t tell you, when I thought you might have said that you wouldn’t ask him.’
‘That isn’t fair, ma’am.’
‘Neither is being murdered in your flat, along with your baby daughter. You must know how to get him to talk. Perhaps you’ve just never asked the right questions.’
‘But spying on my own brother?’
‘All lawyers talk, especially to other lawyers and cops,’ she said. ‘They think they’re in safe territory, because everyone has war stories.’ When Sam looked down, she leaned forward again, her voice softer. ‘I know it’s difficult, but remember your loyalties. Do you think you should be more loyal to your brother’s client or to the force? To the victim?’
Sam looked up. ‘So this is all you brought me here for, to ask this?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought you wanted me on the team, that you were going to get me transferred to this unit.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘It’s what I’ve always wanted. But not like this.’
Evans sat back again. She paused, her eyes narrowing, until she said, ‘You can’t be on it officially.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Think about it. What if Ronnie Bagley is found not guilty and it becomes common knowledge that his brief’s brother was on the squad? We’d get crucified.’
‘So what am I?’
‘Just a detective ready to report anything you hear, that’s all.’ She pulled out a small silver tin from the top pocket of her jacket. She clicked it open and took out a business card. She handed it over. ‘Call me if you hear something. Whatever it is, if he mentions Ronnie Bagley, I want to know what he says.’
Sam turned the card over in his hand. ‘And if I say no?’
‘You’re just a detective who’ll get a black mark on his report card. Don’t be that person, Sam. Think of your own career.’
He stared at her, disbelieving, but she met his stare. At that, Sam got to his feet. He tried to control the anger in his voice. ‘Am I excused, ma’am?’
‘As long as we understand each other.’
He nodded. ‘We do.’
As he headed out of the room, he glanced along the corridor to the Incident Room. No one looked his way. He wasn’t part of their world.
He turned away, his cheeks flushed and red, his footsteps quicker than before, his hand banging against the doors as he headed out to his car.
Ten
Ronnie Bagley looked at his hands, one thumb rubbing at his palm. When he looked up again, he said, ‘No one knows if they’re dead. How can I have murdered them if they might be alive somewhere? I mean, just because they’ve accused me of murder doesn’t mean that I’ve got to be found guilty.’
Joe pursed his lips. The lack of bodies didn’t stop a murder case, but it made it a whole lot harder to prove.
‘Juries like mysteries, especially murders,’ Joe said. ‘It means they can play detective and solve the case. But this isn’t a burglary or a pub fight. The prosecution thinks two people have died. If the jury thinks the same, they’ll want to catch the killer. If I can’t prove that you aren’t the killer, you will be convicted.’
‘I thought I was innocent until proven guilty.’
‘This isn’t legal theory; it’s about how juries work. They’re just people, like you and me, and they don’t like to see a killer walk free. It will take a lot for you to get a not guilty verdict. So talk to me. Go back to the last day you saw Carrie alive.’
Ronnie took a deep breath and swallowed. He looked nervous, but Joe wasn’t sure if it was due to his memories of the day, or because this was his chance, his rehearsal for the trial, to see if he could convince someone of his innocence.
Joe glanced at Monica, who was sitting forward, and he could sense her excitement at her first involvement with a big case.
‘Carrie was shouting at me,’ Ronnie said, wiping his eye. ‘Carrie did that a lot. We live in a flat, on the ground floor of some dump of a place. I had a job, but it was hard to make the money stretch. And Carrie drank a lot. Too much really, even though we had a baby.’
‘Had?’
‘What?’
‘Past tense, Ronnie. You mean have.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said, his cheeks becoming red.
‘And so will the jury, because the prosecution will ram that at you all day. It will be the word they use in
the closing speeches, and the jury won’t forget it. They’ll see it as you knowing that Carrie and Grace are dead, just a small detail and slip-up that gets you locked up for life.’
Ronnie nodded that he understood and said, ‘Our life is like one long argument. We were together because of Grace. Carrie didn’t love me, I knew that.’
‘Doesn’t, Ronnie, not didn’t.’
Ronnie scowled.
‘And do you love her?’ Joe said.
‘More than I can say,’ and then his voice broke. He used the heel of his palm to wipe his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s everything to me. Pretty and fun and, well, you know…’
‘How old is she?’
‘Thirty.’
‘So tell me about the shouting.’
‘It was just money stuff, you know how it is. Carrie was…’ He stopped, to correct himself. ‘Carrie is crazy with money. She applies for any credit card she can and then just buys rubbish, like clothes and shoes and anything that makes people look at her, and so we had these credit card bills and food to buy, rent to pay. So that last morning, we had no money left on the electric card and she was telling me that I wasn’t good enough, how it was all my fault that we don’t have anything. But she was the one drinking all the time. It had got so that it was the first thing she did when she woke up, pour herself a drink. She had nice clothes but she looked a mess.’
‘You don’t like her much.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You love her, but I’m not sure you like her much. Perhaps you even hate her.’
‘Not enough to kill her.’
Joe scribbled some notes. ‘I’ve had a quick look at the file, at the summary. Someone called Terry Day told the police about the arguments. Who is he?’