The Death Collector

by Neil White

  When Hunter turned back around, he shook his head, his lips set, sweat prickling his nose and forehead. ‘You stupid little prick,’ he said in a hiss. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? Going up there, with no official backing, digging around a murder scene.’ He turned and started to pace, winding himself up.

  Sam stood straight and folded his arms. ‘I did have official backing,’ he said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

  ‘Not from me,’ Hunter said, and jabbed his own chest with his finger. ‘You tried to make a fool of me.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I just did the right thing.’

  Hunter went quickly towards him, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to hit him. Instead, he flushed and pointed in Sam’s face, before turning away, both of his fists clenching and unclenching.

  ‘You’re going to come out of it all right anyway,’ Sam said.

  Hunter whirled back around. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Superintendent Metcalfe is going to spin it that we re-opened the moors to trick the killer into coming back, to make him think that we hadn’t spotted the reason for her being left there. Bluff and misdirection, he said.’

  ‘That’s not the fucking point.’

  Before Sam could say anything else, the door burst open and one of the detectives from the Incident Room was there, out of breath.

  ‘Yes?’ Hunter snapped.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said. ‘The press have been on, trying to speak to you. They’ve got wind of something big. Is there going to be a conference?’

  ‘Yes, at some point. Superintendent Metcalfe fancies the limelight, so I’ve heard.’

  The detective looked surprised. ‘And Lorna Jex is downstairs, David’s wife. We’ve kept her in the lobby.’

  Hunter looked at the ceiling and muttered something under his breath, before pointing at Sam. ‘You dug him up. You talk to her.’

  The detective put his head back out of the room and let the door close.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten this,’ Hunter said, pointing at Sam before storming out of the room. Weaver followed, as always.

  When the door slammed, Sam shook his head and let out a long sigh. It was turning into quite a day.

  Thirty-eight

  Joe checked his watch. Mary Molloy was late.

  He was in front of some advertising hoardings at the bottom of a hill that ran away from the centre of Wakefield, the toughness of the former mining city an apt setting for one of the country’s highest security prisons. He was waiting for Mary, amongst the din of city traffic and the occasional rumble of a train that passed over a nearby bridge.

  His phone rang in his pocket. He thought it might be Mary, calling to say she had changed her mind, but when he looked at the screen, he saw that it was Kim.

  He put a finger in one ear so that he could hear her over the noise. ‘Are you stalking me?’ he said, jokingly.

  ‘You wish,’ she said. ‘Where the hell are you? It’s noisy.’

  ‘About to visit Aidan Molloy in prison.’

  ‘Do you know what we prosecutors call a coincidence?’

  ‘Proof of guilt,’ Joe said. ‘Coincidence is too easy an explanation.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘They make me suspicious.’

  Joe frowned. ‘So what’s coincidental?’

  ‘David Jex.’

  ‘Carl’s father? Why? What’s happened?’

  Joe heard her take a deep breath. ‘He’s turned up dead on the moors.’

  Joe’s mouth dropped open. He looked around, to check no one could hear him. ‘Dead? How come?’

  ‘This is the bizarre thing,’ she said. ‘Your brother dug him up.’

  ‘Sam? I don’t understand. Is this public yet?’

  ‘Not yet, but it won’t take long. Someone mentioned it back at the office. They were on the phone to the police and it was the news at the station. Keep it quiet for now, it’s not officially confirmed yet, but I just thought you ought to know after what you were saying this morning.’

  Joe was struck silent by the enormity of what he had just been told. He recalled Lorna Jex and her worry for her husband. What was she going through right now? Of course, Joe knew exactly what she was going through; he had seen it first hand when his own sister died. And what did that mean for Carl? He had been looking at the same thing as his father. Had he met the same end? Lorna didn’t deserve to lose them both.

  ‘If it’s got any connection with Aidan Molloy and I find anything out, will you help me?’ Joe said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I thought prosecutors were all about truth and justice, all those clichés that help you sleep every night.’

  ‘I’m a lawyer, like you. I just chose a different side.’

  ‘So do the right thing, if I find anything out.’

  Kim was silent for a few seconds, and then said, ‘I’ve got to go back into court.’

  ‘Kim?’

  ‘I told you about David Jex because I thought you should know,’ she said. ‘Everything else, I’ve got to remember which side I’m on. Goodbye, Joe.’ His phone went silent.

  As Joe put his phone back into his pocket, he felt the divide between them grow once more – Kim always on one side, him on the other. He thought about David Jex, and Sam’s involvement. He still needed to speak to Sam, even though he had hung up on him when he had tried to talk to him earlier in the day. They had talked about Carl Jex at his mother’s house the other evening, but that seemed like an awfully long time ago.

  He looked up at the sound of someone walking towards him. It was Mary. He waved. She didn’t wave back.

  When she reached him, she hoisted her bag back onto her shoulder, folded her arms and said, ‘The train was late.’

  ‘I told you, I could have done this on my own.’

  ‘If you’re going to take on Aidan’s case, I want to know what he says, how he is, not wait for you to write to me or call me.’

  ‘I understand,’ Joe said, and they walked towards the prison entrance together. He felt a pull on his sleeve. He turned round to see Mary looking up at him, and for a second there was a crack in her tough exterior.

  ‘I’ve never got close to freeing Aidan,’ she said, her voice soft, fear in her eyes. ‘If you let me believe that I can and it’s all a fake, then it’ll be like going back to the beginning and I can’t cope with that.’

  ‘I can’t promise anything, Mary, but I will be honest with you, and I’m no fake,’ Joe said, trying to smile reassuringly.

  ‘I wanted Tyrone to be here, to make sure you’re not trying to make a fool out of me, but he’s busy.’

  ‘I’m not doing that. Trust me. Call him later.’

  Mary thought about that for a moment and then set off ahead of him, to the concrete façade of one of the country’s most notorious prisons. The facilities were modern and comfortable, behind high sandstone walls but within earshot of the city centre. The sounds of the nearby Westgate nightlife drifted over the walls on still nights, taunting the prisoners with the life they had left behind. From terrorists and psychopaths, serial killers to child murderers, Wakefield’s inmates made the prison reverberate in the press. Dennis Nilsen, Ian Huntley, Mick Philpott, Levi Bellfield and countless others. Aidan Molloy had joined them in Wakefield due to his notoriety, the press whipping up his story, his supposed victim white and pretty and the daughter of the assistant chief constable. She was a decent married woman, cast aside and left on the moors like fly-tipped waste.

  The prison entrance was through a glass-fronted office that acted like a small lookout in a seventies exterior that broke up the long sweep of the prison walls.

  Joe turned to Mary. ‘I’m booked in as a legal visit,’ he said. ‘I can’t take you in with me.’

  ‘I know that,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll wait here. I just want to know everything straight away.’

  ‘I can meet you in the pub back there, if you want, or a café in the centre.’

  She shook h
er head. ‘No, I’ll wait. Thank you.’

  Joe left Mary loitering outside as he pushed his way in. The passage through reception was the usual thing, even though he was a lawyer. Bag scan and a body scanner and then a wave with a wand when something on him set off the beeper. No phones or metal objects, everything left in a locker, his identity proved with his passport, before a final slow walk past a drug-dog.

  A guard led the way, although there was no idle conversation. Joe was placed in a small room as he waited for Aidan, the walls painted gunmetal grey, the table and chairs bolted to the floor, so that there was no chance of anything being used as a weapon or to create a hostage situation. A red light flashed on the camera in the corner. He waited for around ten minutes before there was movement at the door and, as he looked up, he saw a guard and then a figure behind. Aidan Molloy.

  Aidan wasn’t how Joe had expected. The image from his mother’s leaflets was of someone smiling, big and gentle, his arm around Mary’s shoulders, the loving son big enough to protect his mother. The Aidan Molloy in front of him was much thinner, his complexion grey and pale and he had dark rings under his eyes. He seemed sombre, and an air of defeat hung around him.

  Joe stood to meet him, holding out his hand to shake. The grip he got from Aidan was limp and wet.

  ‘So you’re from Honeywells,’ Aidan said as he sat down, his arms out in front of him, his palms flat on the table. His tone was flat, neither hostile nor friendly.

  ‘Yes, Joe Parker. I’ve been looking at your case.’

  ‘Why? What’s the sudden interest?’

  ‘How much has your mother told you?’

  Aidan shook his head and scowled. ‘She knows better than that. The calls from here are recorded.’

  Joe pondered on how to begin. He was still shocked by the news about Carl’s father. ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve got a client whose case seems linked to yours.’

  Aidan’s mouth twitched as his expression softened. ‘Okay, I’ll listen. Who’s your client?’

  ‘Someone called Jex.’

  Aidan’s eyes widened and he sat forward. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then sat back again, shaking his head. Joe let the silence spin out until Aidan said eventually, ‘David Jex?’

  ‘No, his son, Carl.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Aidan said, looking confused.

  ‘Neither do I, at the moment, which is why I’m here speaking to you. I’m trying to work out the connection and I get the feeling that the answer is going to help you.’

  Aidan thought about that for a few moments. ‘When you said Jex, I thought you meant the detective, that perhaps he’d been arrested for perjury or something.’

  ‘Why him?’ Joe said. ‘It was the witnesses who implicated you: the teenage girls, the young couple. It wasn’t David Jex.’

  ‘They were told what to say by the police, David Jex included.’

  ‘You might think that, but we’ll never prove it.’

  ‘I don’t think it. I know it.’ When Joe raised an eyebrow, Aidan added, ‘David Jex came to see me. He told me, more or less.’

  Joe was surprised. ‘When?’

  ‘Eight months ago. Although I didn’t know what he wanted. It was almost as if he’d come to say sorry but couldn’t. He sat where you are and told me that he believed me now, that I hadn’t killed that girl. What use was that to me? The camera doesn’t record sound, because it’s only there to watch out for an attack. What is said in here is supposed to be private. So I told him to go out there and do something about it. An apology from him won’t get me out of here. And neither will you being here, just satisfying your curiosity.’

  ‘I didn’t come for that, Aidan. I came because it seemed like the next logical step.’

  ‘So tell me.’

  Joe sighed. ‘David Jex went missing.’

  ‘I heard,’ Aidan said.

  ‘It sounds like it wasn’t long after his visit here.’

  Aidan looked more thoughtful, sitting back again.

  ‘David Jex became obsessed with your case,’ Joe said. ‘His son doesn’t know why, but David was looking into it again, and then he went missing. His son was trying to find him, by working out what his father had found out. That brought him into contact with me and now he’s gone missing as well. So how was David when he came here?’

  Aidan pursed his lips as he cast his mind back. ‘Remorseful,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Did he tell you anything about what he might have found out?’

  ‘Do you think I’d be sitting here if he had,’ Aidan scoffed. ‘He can be as remorseful as he likes, but for as long as I wake up in here every morning, it’s just self-pity. If he has done something foolish, like topped himself, that’s just too bad, but at least it was a quick way out. For me, here, it’s just a slow death, waiting for someone to see the truth.’

  ‘The witnesses weren’t the only ones telling lies though,’ Joe said. ‘You lied too.’

  ‘I was scared,’ Aidan said. ‘Rebecca was seeing someone else, so I’d been driving around, trying to find her. I panicked and tried to cover up our affair. Lying doesn’t make me a killer.’ He folded his arms and they both sat in silence for a few minutes.

  Joe exhaled loudly. ‘This isn’t official yet, but David Jex is dead. I’ve only just found out. I didn’t know whether to tell you, but I think you deserve to know.’

  Aidan paled. ‘I didn’t mean anything when I said about suicide,’ he said. ‘If he had a family, well, that’s awful. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t suicide,’ Joe said. ‘He was found on the moors, buried.’

  Aidan’s eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I, yet.’

  Aidan stared at the table for a while, taking in the news, so Joe asked, ‘How are you finding it?’

  ‘Prison?’ Aidan said, looking up again. ‘How do you think?’ He sat forward, intensity in his eyes for the first time. ‘Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning knowing that you’re the victim, that you’re in the wrong place? I feel like screaming every day at how wrong this is. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I just sit and seethe in disbelief, but what can I do? I have a cell to myself, isolated, but that’s how I like it. I don’t want to be with the rest of them, because then I’ll end up like them, guilty, waiting to be allowed out. I’m not guilty. I’m just angry. So I sit in my cell and go over my papers, reading them over and over, looking for a chink of something, a sign that other people have missed. And I write letters. To the judge, to the newspapers, but none of them are published. My mother helps. She feels as useless as I do, but we don’t know what else to do. Give up? I even wrote to your firm once, but I got a letter saying that there were no avenues of appeal left. Do you know how that felt, to be dumped by your own legal team?’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Why should you? I’m just a file number to people like you, a tale to bring up at the dinner parties.’

  ‘I wasn’t at the firm then. I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but last night I was talking to Hugh Bramwell about your case. He said that he believed you, that yours was the case where he always believed there had been a miscarriage but could never prove it.’

  ‘So why isn’t he here, or campaigning with my mother?’

  ‘We’re criminal lawyers, Aidan. Clients tell us they’re innocent all the time. There are some we believe, but we can’t keep on fighting the battles after they’ve been lost, not without something new, or else we’d have no time left for the other battles we’ve got to fight. It doesn’t mean that we won’t come back for you when there is something new.’

  ‘And is there something new?’

  Joe thought about that. ‘I want to know what David Jex found out.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me,’ Aidan said.

  ‘But it must have been important for him to come and see you.’

  ‘That’s no comfort if his discovery disappe
ared with him.’ He paused. His voice softened when he said, ‘Do you know I made myself a stab vest once?’

  ‘A stab vest?’

  ‘It’s the blades you’ve got to watch in here, because people see me as a trophy. The prison let me have magazines, so I kept them, just for something to read, or so the guards thought. I got hold of some parcel tape and taped a few together so that I could put it over my head and hide it under my T-shirt. The guards stopped me wearing it, told me that it made me more of a target, made it look like I was frightened. Which I was. So instead, I spend my time hoping for a new child killer or serial rapist, just so that he would take some of the hatred away from me. How is that a way to live?’