by Neil White
‘But why would Hunter do that?’
‘Because he’s a glory boy.’
‘Where’s the glory in getting the wrong person?’
‘Plenty, provided no one realises. He was under pressure – it was his boss’s daughter. He had to get a result. He convinced himself that Aidan was guilty, and made sure the evidence proved it.’
Sam shook his head. ‘There must be something else. I can’t investigate my own boss. It would be the end of my career. Even if it were true, there would be too many who would never trust me again. I’d be the grass, the snitch.’
‘What about doing the right thing?’
‘Come off it; don’t lay that one on me. Why don’t you just take the case back to court, if these witnesses will talk?’
‘I thought you’d want more than just an unsafe verdict, Sam.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if there was another murderer still out there, because of Hunter’s lies?’ When Sam looked confused, Joe added, ‘If it wasn’t Aidan Molloy, the real killer is out there, and he might have killed again.’
Sam thought about that for a moment. ‘Tell me what you’ve got.’
‘The evidence in Aidan’s case was strong but not so strong that it couldn’t be false. Three young women said Aidan had threatened to kill Rebecca, overheard in a pub car park. They knew Aidan. His car was seen fleeing the scene. A spade was found in his boot, but he lived in a terraced house with a concrete yard, so he didn’t need it for gardening. Not the strongest case, except his mother gave conflicting accounts of when he got in that night.’ Joe shrugged and held out his hands. ‘The stories are made up. The threats were just tall tales by silly teenagers who wanted some attention. Problem is, when these things start they are impossible to stop. That’s what led the police to Aidan’s door and I don’t know what it was about him that made Hunter think he was guilty, but the whole case was then shaped around Aidan. Hunter put pressure on the witnesses to change the description of the car at the scene so that it matched Aidan’s. The spade was planted in the boot. It can be the only explanation. Hunter believed that Aidan Molloy was a killer who was going to get away with it, so he padded the case. Except that Aidan Molloy isn’t a killer, and I think there’s been another murder since, by the real killer.’
Hugh sat forward. ‘What are you talking about, Joe?’
‘David Jex,’ Joe said. ‘He became obsessed with Aidan’s case, and his son was scared of Hunter. And where is David Jex now?’
‘Dead,’ Sam said quietly. He chewed on his lip until he said, ‘Just a detective who went missing, they said. Marital strife, they said. They kept expecting him to turn up hanging from a tree or something.’
‘There’s more to it than that,’ Joe said. ‘What sparked his obsession with Aidan’s case? It was all done, neatly wrapped up, Aidan behind bars.’
Sam’s eyes widened. He was starting to catch up. ‘If he found something out that suggested that Aidan was innocent.’
‘And what could do that?’ When Sam didn’t respond, Joe added, ‘What about another murder?’
Sam pulled a face. ‘Come on.’
‘Why not? Rebecca was murdered, and if it wasn’t Aidan, why not another murder? The whole case was built around the fact that Aidan was Rebecca’s lover. What if she had another lover and Hunter went after the wrong one? Why would David Jex become obsessed with the case? I’ll tell you: he’s a murder detective, like you, and what would upset you more than anything?’
‘Missing something that allowed a killer to get away with it,’ Sam said.
Joe shook his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t. What would eat away at you would be if you missed something that allowed a person to kill again. But what if you did something deliberate that led to that? What if you had caused one person to be a suspect and allowed the real killer to remain free? It’s against all the reasons you became a murder detective. Aidan’s case is solved, all done. So what changed? What made David become obsessive?’
Sam pondered on that. ‘So you’re saying David Jex was put there by Rebecca’s real killer?’
‘It’s what makes sense.’
‘Why would the killer highlight it, though?’
‘What do you mean?’ Joe said.
‘I went digging on that spot because of a body found there the day before. It was set out as if it was a sign. I thought there might be something else at the scene, and there was: David Jex. Why would the killer want me to find him?’
‘Sometimes people just want to be caught,’ Joe said.
‘There is one thing though,’ Sam said.
‘Go on.’
‘Hunter has been acting strangely, ever since we discovered the body yesterday,’ Sam said. ‘He’s even worse today.’
‘He might know the same thing David found out, and now David’s body points the spotlight at whatever David was doing before he went missing.’
‘Which was looking into the Aidan Molloy case,’ Joe said.
‘So you think there might be another murder connected with whoever really killed Rebecca Scarfield, and Hunter knows that?’ Sam said.
‘I’m guessing, surmising,’ Joe said. ‘This is where you come into it.’
‘Me? How come?’
‘You can have a look. See if there are similar murders. Has anyone else been caught or suspected? And get me the address where Carl was arrested. That’s why I called this morning. It must have some relevance.’
Sam let out a long breath as he thought of that. Eventually, he said, ‘You have to do something for me too.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Let me have copies of the files Carl had. Lorna told me about Carl’s obsession. That’s why I’m here. She told me that you had the files.’
Joe smiled. ‘So you know what I’m saying is right?’
‘I don’t know. I would need some kind of clearance to go after Hunter. More likely it will go to a different force.’
‘That will take a long time,’ Joe said. ‘All the time Aidan is locked up. So why not go off-plan? Do something yourself. Work with us.’
‘I can’t. I have to do it properly. You’re going after Hunter because he broke the rules and you want me to help by breaking the rules too. Only a lawyer could think like that.’
‘Is there any connection between Rebecca Scarfield and the woman found yesterday?’
Sam thought about that. ‘Apart from the fact that they were married women having affairs, nothing.’
‘Isn’t that enough, when you throw David Jex into the mix?’ Joe said.
Sam sighed. ‘All right, I’ll speak to my boss.’
Joe smiled. ‘I knew you’d see it my way eventually.’
Forty-eight
Joe and Hugh watched Sam drive away, back into the city-centre traffic.
‘Do you think he’ll come up with the right things?’ Hugh said.
‘Sam gets it done, don’t worry about that.’ He looked at Hugh. ‘So what now? I’m going to head to the office, to see if I’ve still got one. What about you?’
‘I’ll join you shortly,’ Hugh said, checking his watch. ‘Just got an errand to do. Niece’s birthday. Got to get a card in the post.’
Hugh set off walking towards Deansgate, his head down, and Joe headed off on his preferred route, along the canal and under the bridges, where the cars didn’t disturb him.
As he threaded through restaurant tables on the other side of a long footbridge, his phone buzzed. A message. When he looked, it was from Kim Reader. Come to the Crown Court. Alone. Need to talk about Molloy.
He texted back. On my way.
Joe was curious. It was the alone part that troubled him.
He was soon at the Crown Court, through the now bored-looking security people, the wave of the radar wand perfunctory, and then up the stairs.
The Crown Court is a long corridor, with high windows on one side, and rows of seats for those awaiting a court appearance. Facing them are the heavy wooden doors into th
e courtrooms, controlled by ushers in long black gowns and clipboards, often retired police officers.
It was a different atmosphere to the Magistrates’ Court, where Joe commonly plied his trade, which is chaos and noise, nuisance offenders making nuisances of themselves, a sea of strut and snarl. There are some flashes of dread, those who only fall foul of the law once or twice in a lifetime, the drink-drivers, the neighbour disputes, but the rest is drink and drugs and fights and theft and a never-ending stream of wasted lives.
The Crown Court is where the serious cases end up, so those who go carry more fear in their eyes, that the view they have through the huge windows could be the last one for a few years that isn’t through thin metal bars. They edge around nervously, bite fingernails, receive words of comfort from girlfriends and mothers, have more open space to ponder their fate, the corridors quiet and pensive.
Kim was sitting on one of the chairs near the large windows. Her court wig was on her lap, her legs crossed, her demure look ruined by the fatigue in her eyes and her ruffled hair.
The court day was drawing to a close, and the only people left were those who had been made to wait all day, the end of the list. Barristers walked quickly along the corridor. Some of them still wore the horsehair wigs, but they were cock-eyed, tired-looking, whereas others were done for the day, their court dress tucked away in leather bags, their wigs in black oval tins. Theatre was over.
‘Rough day?’ Joe said.
Kim looked up and smiled. ‘You know how it is. Six briefs in four different courts, with the judges bellyaching in each one. Let me tell you, Joe, that if you want to make sure your case in court four gets called on, just go and sit in court seven and start dealing with that case. You can guarantee that court four will suddenly need you.’ She sighed. ‘Then this evening is crossed out with the preparation for tomorrow, and I daren’t think about having some of the weekend free.’
He sat next to her. ‘I could take you away from all of this,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought we should have gone into practice together. Parker Reader Solicitors.’
‘I think Reader Parker sounds better,’ she said, some mischief returning as a glint in her eye.
‘We’ll talk about it over coffee,’ Joe said.
‘I thought you wanted out?’
‘Well, yeah maybe. But what else can I do? Push trolleys around a supermarket car park?’
‘First things first. Aidan Molloy. I’ve got someone you might want to meet.’
‘Have you got me down here to tell me to stop wasting my time?’
‘Just follow me.’
She stood and went towards the nearest courtroom.
The door was heavy, solid wood, and despite the concrete look of the building’s exterior the courtrooms were styled on the courts of old, with wooden panelling and brass rails. There were three rows for the lawyers. The QCs’ slot at the front, the everyday barristers behind and the clerks and caseworkers at the back. Behind the last row was the wooden dock, the brass rail along the top usually marked by the moisture of thousands of sweaty palms, gripped tightly as verdicts or sentences were announced.
Along the middle row was a barrister, sitting on the desk, his trouser leg riding up as he raised one foot onto the cushion of the chair, his socks held up by garters. Joe recognised him. Martin Barlow. He wasn’t from the chambers he usually used, but sometimes the work gets swapped around as people become double-booked.
‘Mr Barlow?’ Joe said, curious. ‘This is all a bit clandestine.’
‘Martin, please,’ he said, and smiled, small grey eyes under short grey hair. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while, Joe.’
Joe held out his hand and shook. ‘I’m still around,’ he said.
‘Young Kim here said you’re looking at resurrecting the Aidan Molloy case,’ Martin said.
‘Just thinking about it at the moment,’ he said, although he knew he had already gone further than just thinking.
‘I defended him,’ Martin said. ‘I was the junior on it.’
Joe was surprised. ‘So this is about telling me that I’m wasting my time?’
‘No,’ Martin said, surprised. ‘Just the opposite, in fact. Aidan was one of the few I believed.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘Hear him out, Joe,’ Kim said, irritation in her voice. ‘I’m doing this for you. We can all go home and forget about Aidan if you prefer.’
Joe leaned against the desk. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. Go on.’
‘I’ve heard you’re working with Hugh Bramwell again,’ Martin said.
‘Yes. Like you, he thinks Aidan is the innocent one and wants to try and get right what he didn’t last time.’
‘That might take some time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Hugh did very little right last time. To the point where I wondered if he was trying to lose the case on purpose.’
‘What do you mean?’
Martin started to undo his collar to remove his tabs, fastened with a brass stud at the back. ‘This is going to be kept between you and me for now, but it might help you decide where to look. Hugh had a reputation for not fighting very hard. In the Molloy case, he was asked to look more into the witnesses, to find something we could use against them, like attention-seeking or false reports. We wanted them to be interviewed, and we asked Hugh to get the permission from the police, but he didn’t do it. He said it wasn’t ethical. It was Hugh who got Aidan to insist on his mother giving evidence, almost as if he was determined to lose the case.’
‘But you were in charge of the case in court, not Hugh.’
‘No,’ Martin said. ‘Aidan was in charge. He’s the client, you know how it works. We advise, we don’t instruct, and the advice he listened to was that drummed into him by Hugh. The thing is, he should have looked into the witnesses more.’
‘Why?’
‘I came across one of them again. One of the three girls who said she’d heard him threaten to kill Rebecca outside a pub.’
‘I was going to visit them before, but Hugh talked me out of it.’
‘Lucky for you that I met one of them. She got in trouble for looking after drugs her boyfriend was selling, when she stored them in her loft. I defended her and she was angry because she said she’d been promised she would be protected.’
Joe frowned. ‘Protected? I don’t follow.’
‘She told me that she would be tipped off if the police were ever going to visit her with a drugs warrant, as if it was her reward for giving evidence in Aidan’s case. She was running around with some pretty dodgy people, but she was one of the ones you wouldn’t think of. From a nice home, she looked the part, clean and wholesome, but she had a taste for the bad boys. She felt she had been betrayed, especially when she got three years.’
‘So she told you she had lied and you didn’t say anything?’
Martin shook his head. ‘You can’t lay that on me. What she told me was confidential and she didn’t say she had lied. She just hinted at inducements, and wanted her reward for locking up the killer.’
‘I read the file notes,’ Joe said. ‘Aidan had argued with Rebecca the night before, but said he was just being emotional because she was ending their relationship. No threats to kill were made. He made a fool of himself, that’s all, crying and pleading.’
‘And that is probably what happened,’ Martin said.
Joe let out a long sigh. ‘The woman who saw the car drive away is convinced it was a different car to how she described it in her statement. She said Hunter put them under pressure to remember it differently, and her boyfriend went along with it because he trusted Hunter’s judgment more than her ability to recognise cars. Even the partial registration was down to Hunter.’
‘And it will be the same with those three silly little teenagers,’ Martin said. ‘The truth is embellished to make it fit. They might even believe it themselves now, and this is the thing, that no one was doing it to lock up an innocent man. Even Hunter. They
all thought they were patching up holes that would let a murderer walk free. If Hugh had done his job properly, perhaps those holes would have been seen.’
‘So he’s trying to make amends,’ Joe said.
Kim shook her head. ‘It’s more than that,’ she said. ‘I asked around after we spoke earlier. We haven’t got many of the old guard left, but the ones we have remember Hugh of old. His reputation wasn’t good.’