The Death Collector

by Neil White

  ‘We bear a heavy responsibility,’ Hugh said. ‘The courtroom is not just some theatre. It’s about the lives of real people.’

  ‘Sometimes those standing in the dock are people too.’

  ‘I know that,’ Hugh said, his brow furrowed, his voice more defensive.

  ‘Do you?’ Joe said.

  Hugh put his head back, expanding his double chin, and entwined his fingers over his stomach. ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘Your job was to do all you could for them, but you saw it differently, so I’ve heard. Was that the deal – that you promised not to try too hard if Hunter kept on feeding you the work?’

  Hugh paled and then frowned. He shook his head. ‘What nonsense.’

  ‘You were in Hunter’s pocket, Hugh, only ever doing the minimum.’

  Hugh exhaled loudly. ‘In his pocket? You have no idea what you’re talking about. And from you, Joe. I expected better.’

  ‘How many holidays did Hunter have in your Spanish apartment?’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘Come on, Hugh, getting cosy with the lead detective? Did you do anything else to make sure you got the work?’

  ‘Joe!’ Gina warned.

  ‘What are you getting at?’ Hugh said. ‘Just spit it out if you’ve got something to say.’

  Joe looked across to Gina, who was giving slight shakes of her head. He was getting close to something he shouldn’t reveal. Not yet. He changed the line of attack.

  ‘Why are you helping out here, Hugh?’

  ‘I told you: I’m a bored widower trying to right a wrong. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t bothered.’

  ‘How very noble. So why are you feeding Hunter with updates?’

  Hugh opened his mouth to say something but he stayed silent. Instead, he clenched his jaw hard.

  ‘Have you seen Hunter today?’ Joe said, his eyes fixed on Hugh, trying to bore into him, letting him know that his secret was out.

  Hugh’s mouth twitched but said nothing.

  ‘How about after you left my apartment? Your little meeting in his car.’

  Hugh let out a deep breath and his head drooped. He inspected his hands for a few seconds, his right thumb stroking the palm of his left hand, before he said, ‘It’s not how it looks.’

  Gina scoffed loudly. ‘When men say that, it is usually exactly how it looks.’ When Hugh stayed silent, she asked, ‘So what is it then?’

  Hugh looked out of the window, his jaw set, before he said, ‘All right, I admit that I became involved in the case again because I was worried.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That I’d done the wrong thing back then.’ He paused, as if working out how much to tell before he said, ‘I meant it when I said that I thought Aidan was innocent, but I’ve thought that before and been wrong. So what, I pulled a few punches. Some guilty people avoided being acquitted and I made a good living. Would it have been less immoral if I had made a good living from helping guilty people get away with it?’ He shook his head. ‘I was a defence lawyer. Morals are murky, you know that.’

  ‘And are all the ones you let down worth it for one Aidan Molloy, the one who didn’t do it, the young man who spends every night in Wakefield Prison, waiting for a makeshift blade in his back just to fuel someone else’s notoriety?’

  Hugh rubbed his forehead. ‘All right, I had a certain business model,’ he said. ‘I found a way of getting the work, and it made me a good living.’

  ‘You were paid to defend these people,’ Joe said, exasperation evident in his higher pitch. ‘They came to you for help.’

  ‘No, they came to me to help them get away with something,’ Hugh said, some snap creeping into his voice.

  ‘That’s how being a lawyer sometimes works.’

  ‘So that trumps everything, does it? It doesn’t matter about morality or right and wrong or punishing the guilty? It’s just about giving everyone a free shot at getting away with it.’

  Joe shook his head angrily. ‘Don’t try to justify what you did. You got greedy, plain and simple, and sold out your clients, so that people like Aidan Molloy stay in prison and women like Mary Molloy spend every day in torment, just wanting her child back.’

  Hugh blew out a deep sigh and looked upwards. Tears moistened his eyes. ‘Aidan was the one I worried about,’ he said, a break in his voice. ‘The others? I didn’t care. They were guilty, so big deal, I sold my professional soul. What’s the alternative? Just selling your own soul because of some professional promise? The reason is the same: to make money.’

  ‘Let’s visit Mary and see what she thinks about that.’

  ‘And that’s why I’m here, don’t you understand?’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘Aidan was the one who always troubled me, but Hunter, well, he convinced me at the time, and the evidence seemed good, so I let it ride. But Aidan was the one who haunted me when I looked back, always the doubt, that maybe he was the one I got wrong.’

  ‘And how did that make you feel?’

  ‘Confused,’ Hugh said. ‘What I don’t know is how I’d feel if someone I’d kept out of jail went and killed someone else. There are no easy answers. Aidan is suffering, but I was never sure of his innocence, and I thought that I had just read him wrong, that he was the most convincing liar out of all the liars who had ever passed through my office.’

  ‘And now?’

  Hugh sighed. ‘I got it wrong all along.’

  ‘It makes it one big fucking irony then, doesn’t it?’ Joe said. ‘By letting Aidan go to jail, Rebecca’s real killer stayed free, and killed again. Like Melissa.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘But you suspect it. I can see it in your face. And it’s somehow connected to David Jex, because he found out and look what it cost him. So that’s two deaths, and his son is still missing. How’s your conscience now, Hugh?’

  Hugh didn’t respond. Joe gripped the back of the car seat. ‘So why have you been feeding Hunter?’

  ‘Like I said earlier, it’s not how it seems.’

  ‘Tell us, then. I’m just dying for this one.’

  ‘I was trying to make him see what you were seeing, how he had got it wrong, that it was time to come clean if he had.’

  ‘And his response?’

  ‘That I was seeing things that weren’t true, but if I kept on reporting back to him, he might change his mind.’ Hugh stared out of the windscreen for a few seconds before saying, ‘So what now?’

  Joe looked towards Gina, who gave him a small shrug. ‘We’re cutting you loose, Hugh,’ Joe said. ‘If we’re going to prove Aidan’s innocence, I don’t want you around. You’re too close to Hunter.’

  Hugh nodded slowly. ‘Just one thing though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Make it right. Don’t worry about my reputation. Just make it right.’

  And with that, Hugh climbed out of the car, shuffling off into the gloom of early evening.

  Fifty-two

  Sam walked more purposefully into the police station, trying to shake off some of his fatigue. Alice’s words were still ringing in his ears and they had given him some renewed vigour, made him determined to finish the job.

  He was looking for DI Evans, to speak to her about what Joe had said, when a tall bald man appeared in the corridor. The assistant chief constable, Desmond Archer. Rebecca’s father.

  Sam faltered, fought the urge to turn and go the other way, except the other way didn’t lead to anywhere other than the way he had just come. It was no coincidence, though, and he knew he had to keep on walking. He took a deep breath to calm himself and smiled respectfully when he got close.

  The assistant chief wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. He pointed and said, ‘In here,’ towards the room in which Evans was sitting.

  As Sam went in, Evans looked up briefly, but then stared straight ahead. Sam looked at her to try to get a sign as to where this was heading, but from the way she stayed expressionless
he knew it was serious.

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  Sam didn’t sit down, even though there was a chair available. He stood with his feet apart, his head up, almost to attention, his hands clasped in front of him. The assistant chief’s footsteps were quiet as he went round the desk, taking his place slowly in the chair.

  The assistant chief was a career cop. No, more than that. He was one of the people for whom being a cop was his destination, his definition, as if he wouldn’t have suited any other role. He was bald and humourless, his chest always out, taut and muscled from hours punishing himself on a bike. Sam knew too well how grief pushed people into distraction activities, as a moment alone can mean a moment to dwell. It was important not to forget, but sometimes remembering was too painful to handle.

  ‘You know who I am,’ he said to Sam.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So tell me what you have been doing today.’ He put his hands together on the desk but sat back, as if it was some way of stopping himself from springing at Sam.

  ‘It’s a follow-on from the discovery of David Jex this morning.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Sam swallowed. He knew he couldn’t avoid it. ‘Inquiries have led me to believe that it might be connected in some way to your daughter’s case.’ Sam tried to hide the tremble in his voice.

  The assistant chief blinked quickly but otherwise he did not display any emotion.

  ‘My daughter’s case has been solved, Detective,’ he said. ‘Do you understand?’

  Sam paused. ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘And do you think there is anything you can add to that?’

  Sam thought back on what Joe had talked about, the inquiries he had made. He tried to ignore the fact that he was speaking to the assistant chief and tried to remember that he was speaking to a victim’s father. This wasn’t about procedures. It was about grief.

  He softened his tone.

  ‘I’ve received information that suggests, and only suggests, that Aidan Molloy might not have been your daughter’s killer,’ he said. ‘I’m only looking into it as it seems somehow related to David Jex. If it isn’t, I will stop looking.’

  The assistant chief breathed in deeply through his nose before he said, ‘You will not go off track on this case.’ His voice was slow and even, but Sam heard the menace in it. ‘Aidan Molloy is in prison, and he will stay in prison, and I will not have one of my own detectives looking around for any little specks of doubt to prop up an appeal just because his brother is involved.’ Sam tried to protest but he was silenced. ‘You know how it is, Parker. People like Aidan Molloy shout all the time, hoping that if they shout for long enough someone will believe them. Well, not with Rebecca’s case. You’ll drop this. Now.’

  Sam glanced across to Evans, who didn’t react.

  ‘Do you understand, DC Parker?’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  The assistant chief got to his feet and walked quickly out of the door. When it slammed, Evans let out a long breath and said, ‘I’m sorry, Sam, but you’re on your own on this one.’

  ‘Who tipped him off?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it does. My brother reckons that Hunter got witnesses to change their versions to make sure that Aidan Molloy was convicted, and that David Jex realised they had got it wrong when someone else was murdered.’

  Evans considered that, but then she shook her head. ‘We can’t go there.’

  ‘Was it Hunter who tipped off the assistant chief? If it was, he’s got what he wanted, which was for us to lay off the case.’

  ‘There’s no us in this, Sam. You got that?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, I’ve got that, ma’am. Thank you.’

  As he left her room, he felt deflated. It was either do the right thing or do as he was told. He knew which way he ought to go if he valued his career, but that wasn’t the reason he joined the police.

  He was going to do the right thing, whatever the cost.

  Although it was getting late, the library lights were still on. It was an ageing prefab, with grubby yellow panels beneath flimsy-looking windows, but the glow from inside was bright, showing the rows of book-racks.

  Darnside Library was the same as most, like a reminder of Joe’s own childhood visits, with the library as a community centre and more than just about books. Posters on the walls advertised nursery groups and help centres for young mothers. Behind the desk there was a woman with glasses and short dark hair, who grinned warmly as they approached. Her badge said she was called Heather.

  ‘We’re closing soon,’ Heather said, glancing at her watch.

  ‘It’s all right, we won’t be long,’ Joe said, and he slid a business card across the counter.

  Heather read the card, her smile fading. ‘Have we done something wrong?’

  ‘I’m here about Rebecca Scarfield,’ he said.

  Heather looked confused for a moment before her eyes widened with recognition. ‘She was here before me,’ she said. ‘She died about four months before I started. Everyone says she was really nice.’

  ‘What were people saying then?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve been doing this job a long time,’ Joe said, smiling. ‘I know that there are the things that people will say to the police, and then there are things that they will keep to themselves, perhaps when they’re not sure about something or don’t want to make any trouble.’

  ‘There was nothing really,’ Heather said. ‘Everyone said how sweet she was, and I know that people missed her, which made it hard for me at first. She was having an affair with the man who killed her, we all know that now, but that doesn’t make her a bad person.’

  ‘Aidan Molloy,’ Joe said.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Were there rumours of any other affairs?’

  Heather chewed her lip as she thought back. She shook her head. ‘Not that I’ve heard, but people don’t like to talk ill of the dead.’

  ‘I understand,’ Joe said, nodding. ‘What about Melissa Clarke?’

  ‘Oh Melissa. That’s really sad. Melissa is lovely, and I feel for her husband. No one knows where she’s gone at all.’

  ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘Just from when she came here, for the reading group. Nice woman. Quiet, but there’s something genuine about her.’ She frowned. ‘But you’re not the first to ask this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There was a policeman, not long after Melissa went missing,’ Heather said. ‘I presumed that there was no connection with the group when he didn’t come back.’ She tugged on her lip and looked to the floor. ‘I can’t remember his name though. Jackson? No, too long. Jacks?’

  ‘Jex,’ Joe said.

  ‘That’s it. Jex,’ she said, her face brightening. ‘Yes, he came in asking about Rebecca and then Melissa, and we told him that there was no link, as Melissa only joined here a year earlier.’

  ‘How long has the reading group been meeting here?’

  ‘A long time. The members come and go, but there’s been a reading group here for years. Before I started.’

  ‘How many are in it?’

  Heather paused as she thought about that. ‘About fifteen, although it does change. People leave and new ones join, you know how it is. We’re trying to grow it because if we can keep the library busy, they might keep it open. We keep getting threatened with closure, but people need us. It’s not just about reading books.’ She pointed to the opposite wall. ‘There’s a poster there about it.’

  Joe wandered over with Gina and stood in front of a large poster showing a group of people sitting in a circle, a book open on each of their laps. It was a mixed group, men and women of varying ages, all looking self-conscious and smiling, as if they knew they were having their picture taken.

  Heather joined him at the poster. She tapped on the picture, at someone at one side. There wasn’t much to see of him, just the top of his profile and a cros
sed leg jutting out in front of him, as if he was leaning back and putting himself deliberately out of the frame. Light brown cords and suede shoes.

  ‘Melissa was friendly with him. Declan Farrell. He stopped coming not long after Melissa disappeared. I think he liked her, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Why did he stop coming?’ Gina asked.

  Heather leaned in so she could whisper conspiratorially. ‘I heard he was warned off, that he was getting too fresh with Rachel, one of the other ladies. She stopped coming but her husband had words with him. Something about bombarding her with texts, talking about her marriage.’