by Toni Parks
As well as acknowledging the tragic loss of life, she also saw the total futility of an uncompleted building’s destruction where it had been only a blueprint five months previous. Pity, for the insurance investigators and actuaries, ran through her mind. As did the irony of a dedicated workforce heeding to all Health & Safety regulations and procedures when expanding so much necessary toil and sweat, in raising it, only for a number of bodies to be now found buried beneath.
But when Alonzo looked at the carnage, he knew instinctively. Since returning from abroad, he had been unable to rest in any one place, neither home nor office; on his realisation that Francesco had disobeyed his orders and so brought about this Tower of Babel-like destruction. Complete destruction of the legacy he had championed over the past two generations with all that hard graft, and in the blink of an eye lost to all future generations. And for what? To vainly add further unneeded wealth and power even though he was returning home with money, in volume. The only alternative now left for him was to return to Italy in the hope of recruiting more Camorristi: albeit men who now were no longer desperate to travel in order to seek work and had no need to either, with their own new found prosperity already in full swing at home.
*
Emma, even more true to her word, had spent not one but two nights at Terry’s house. One night being advance payment for his agreement to accompany her on her visit. He had accorded with her request on two conditions; one was that he would not attend the actual visit itself, as he did not wish for his details to be recorded. And two had been fulfilled the first night, as it was an extremely early start on the morning after the second night. Mmm, men!
They rose at the crack of dawn but the sun had still already beaten them. And made Waverley Station with 10 minutes to spare before the 5.48 to Doncaster departed. Again, the journey brought back memories to Emma of her trip through the Channel Tunnel but at this ridiculously early time in the morning even she wanted an extra hour or two’s sleep before contemplating food and drink. ‘And not a pang in sight for anything stronger,’ she thought happily.
Two hours into the journey and Terry went walkabout to stretch his legs and brought back two coffees and BLT’s. Which were consumed as if both had not eaten a meal in days and by luck had just come upon an oasis in the desert. Their metabolisms had been kick-started with their extremely early wakeup alarm, and so were now firing on all cylinders even though it was not yet eight o’clock. The next hour or so sailed by and their link train from Doncaster to Retford connected on time and dropped them off on time too. The ten minutes taxi journey brought them into the open countryside before the high security fencing came into view, and greeted their arrival at Rampton Secure Hospital. Both occupants alighted with Emma giving Terry a hug and he wishing good luck, and through her passing his regards onto Jessica. He returned to the bemused taxi driver and asked to be taken back to Retford.
Emma proceeded across the no man’s land separating the external and internal fences. Directional signs led her to the visitors’ reception, which she arrived at post rush, as she was 30 minutes late, not for her visit but to book in her notice of intent to visit. Both Jessica and she would now have to be processed; Emma to await her admission time to the Topaz Ward and Jessica to be forewarned of a visitor on the premises and so given the time to prepare herself. The Topaz Ward was a women’s personality disorder ward catering for all forms of antisocial behaviours. And there were none with a higher security level than Jessica’s ‘grave and immediate danger to the public’ tag, which since her arrival became a badge of honour in the other inmates’ eyes.
And in Emma’s first instance she needed to present some form of ID so that it could be replicated into their photo imaging system. This enabled production of their own form of ID, which was then shown at Reception, on the internal side of the secure area. A ‘pat down’ later, a series of corridors looking exactly the same in their cream calming colour and appearance, and she was at the Topaz Ward. Part of a twostorey purpose built building entitled ‘Therapy and Education Resource Centre’. Jessica was already waiting, with a nurse looking on from not too far a distance. She rose and hugged Emma, clinging on to her for dear life. Emma reciprocated and almost wished she could change places. Almost.
“Jess. How are you holding up? What with all this to’ing and fro’ing?”
“I’m OK, M. It’s what I deserve really. After all the destruction, I’ve caused.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t premeditated, was it? You had provocation, didn’t you?” “I think you are wrong there, M. I did plan it. But my real intention was only to make unhappy people happy, really. They were having such a crap time of it with their partners and I thought I could make their lives better by just removing the problems. I know now it was wrong and particularly the two who I killed to cover up my crimes. And I nearly killed you too! Where would I be now without you? I’d have nobody. And then there’s Barnham. He should be dead and he’s not, so thank God I didn’t turn you into a murderer too. Or we could both be here, sat at the same side of the table, so to speak, with no visitors.”
“Jess, is there nothing to be done? Have you told them about your ‘sweetie’ thing? The word that acts like a trigger and makes you do violent things.”
“Oh, yes. They know all about ‘sweetie’. It all came out over a wall back at Cornton Vale. The girl in the cell with me couldn’t wait for them to take me out, preferably in a strait jacket.”
“Well, I think that bloody George guy has a lot to answer for, don’t you?”
“Well, I would if he was still alive. Perhaps then I could have just killed him and be done with it.”
“Jess, I can’t do with seeing you like this. You look so wan and forlorn. Your hair’s not shiny anymore and you’re drip white. Where’s that sister gone, the one I’d just found? Are you eating, you don’t look as if you are?”
“Yes, I’m eating M. But I haven’t got into an exercise regime yet, so I don’t eat much. And half the time I can’t be bothered anyway. The thought of thirty or so years eating these meals ….., well would you bother, M?”
“Be positive, Jess. Amy’s still working for you, but she needs you to help her to help yourself. I mean they haven’t got that much against you, have they? Just the fact you’d done reports on the murdered people and that bloody hankie business. Apparently, that one’s a bit of a bummer. And now that DC Blister, who Te …,” here she stopped abruptly so as not to divulge the fact that she had been having a dialogue with Terry, let alone what else had been going on. “He told me to get out your running gear as he wanted to test that. But there won’t be any change there as I made sure it all had a good go through the washer.”
“Blister, is he the guy who talked to me at the airport with Barnham? He’s the one who came up with the hankie. So don’t underestimate him.”
“Yes, that’s him. He seems to keep thinking about stuff when everybody else switches off. Perhaps I ought to pay him a visit Jess, maybe he needs a woman?”
“I think you’ve done enough already by being a woman, don’t you, M? It’s a good job you can only get pregnant once ever nine months, I say.”
“Yes, very funny, Jess. But let’s concentrate on you. I miss you and want you home,” she replied with tears seeping through her lashes.
“Don’t start on that lark, M. I’m trying to be strong, you know. If only we had that hankie, we could both put our DNA all over it now.”
“Where is that, by the way?”
“What? The Hankie?”
“Yes. I mean have they still got it?”
“I should think so. It’ll be locked away, won’t it?” Jessica replied, and then questioned.
“I presume so. But when they saw me in hospital, they were questioning me as if I’d used it. And they intimated that I killed the guy found with me, and then they let me off just like that.”
“Yes, well. That’s because your DNA didn’t match up. It was obviously close but not exact. That’s where Blister
came in.”
“But that’s what I’m saying Jess. Is the physical hankie still there or just that DNA file saying that you put lipstick on it? Would they need to refer back to the real thing in court? What do they do on TV?”
“I would imagine, TV or not, the prosecution would check it’s still there, M.”
“Well, if you order Amy to check on their evidence, at least we’ll have an idea of where it’s being held. Might be able to nab it. Bit of a long shot I know, but I’ll clutch at any straw to get you out.”
“OK, M. If it makes you happy I’ll ask her but don’t hold your breath.”
With that the nurse prompted Jessica that there was only five minutes left, seeing as Emma arrived late for processing. This released a stream of emotion as both girls hugged and kissed each other’s salty tear strained cheeks. Emma came off worst as her makeup ran dreadfully, whilst Jessica’s resigned face was makeup free and already heading back in the direction of its room.
“Don’t forget to contact Amy, Jess,” was tossed at Jessica’s back, being as that was the only side Emma saw. When escorted back to Reception, she glanced outside at the humanity of the tended gardens and lawned areas but came up with a start on seeing the hospital’s own sombre graveyard for those unlucky enough for their stay to become permanent.
She dropped off her badge and staggered back through the secure area oblivious to her appearance. Once outside, she crossed the courtyard to see Terry waiting on the other side of the outer fence. She fell into his arms, he wrestled a tissue from his pocket, and once in the taxi Emma dried her tears and began to tell him of Jessica’s plight. He placed his arm around her shoulders, shook his head to indicate not here and so left Emma simmering in her own thoughts of despair.
“I can’t go through that too often,” she said miserably, sitting on a platform bench and hunched over a vending machine coffee as they waited for the arrival of the 13.10 to Doncaster. “It breaks my heart seeing her so down and listless. She’s like a rag doll with the stuffing already knocked out of her. Oh Terry, can’t we do something? Anything?”
“Something will turn up. It always does. In my experience of all the cases I’ve been involved in, there is always a few twists and turns. You’ll know that yourself, won’t you, with our relationship?”
“Not now, Terry? Don’t remind me of that now. I’m depressed enough, as it is.”
“No, I didn’t allude to it just for its own sake. It was more so, as a for instance, type of thing.”
“Well don’t, OK?” That put a seal on the conversation, both before and after switching trains in Doncaster; but Emma, not being able to hold a grudge, snuggled her head on his shoulder and slept all the way to York. The final leg north to Edinburgh saw them both more wakeful and in need of refreshments. Once at Waverley Station, Emma thanked Terry, kissed him enthusiastically but then continued on alone to St Boswells, back to the comfort of what she now perceived as her home. The memory of Jessica was everywhere and that was just what Emma needed as she crashed out on the bed, wet the pillow with her tears, and then slept the sleep of the dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT Light the blue touch paper and stand well back! Barnham supplied the rocket. Emma placed it in the bottle. And for whatever reason, Jessica lit the blue touch paper. She did not feel that there would be anything to gain, but the opposite was true too; perhaps she just wanted to see the kaleidoscopic colours one last time. So when her turn came around to make a phone call, she called Amy Price. Amy was surprised at both the call and the request. Jessica had shown little concern over her plight and now she was ringing with a serious and relevant point. Amy had no alternative but to fufil her request, and that’s when the rocket finally had lift off.
The formal documentation was processed and the simple task of verifying the evidence’s present location was instigated. DS Tarbert handed the paperwork over personally to PC Tranter with the expectation that he would be shown the item in question by return. But PC Tranter spent longer looking than necessary and DS Tarbert began to show his annoyance. A further ten minutes brought the PC back out with his empty hands jiggling as they were being shaken by his shrugging shoulders’ movement. That was the point at which the rocket exploded and, to everyone’s amazement, millions of silver shimmering sparks cascaded downwards before disappearing into the atmosphere just as the Borders serial murders’ case was about to do, too.
Discipline remained as the DS, without panic, asked to view first the logbook and then the computer. Neither offered any evidence of the item being recently logged out, its barcode only having been scanned on its initial entry into the system and then again when it had been taken out and returned, before and after DNA testing. Two additional bodies were then assigned to hunt through the whole area, alongside Tranter to ensure that it had not been misplaced on the wrong shelf and in the wrong box, at any point. Panic then began to set in as it became apparent to the DS that the whole case hinged on this one item, without it the accused would go free, even though DNA still proved to the contrary. But the computerised analysis would not hold up in court without the strength of the original piece of evidence to verify its providence.
The crisis rose through the ranks at a similar speed to the rocket but without any of the gasps associated with the pleasing end result. DCI Soutar made the decision to inform the Procurator Fiscal involved in the case of their loss. Suffice to say Elspeth Macleod was not impressed, although not surprised either. She had not received any communication from Eduardo, the Italian, for several days now but knew that he had not yet released her from the hook. And the now stolen evidence was mentioned at least once in their communications. For that reason alone, Elspeth removed the SIM card from the pay-as-you-go mobile, destroyed it under the heel of her shoe and threw both it and the mobile into the Forth on one of her very rare lunchtime constitutionals. In one respect she was horrified that an out and out criminal would now be released on a technicality but on another she was relieved that it would bring to an end the direct targeting of her family. Eduardo had won and Elspeth had no idea how.
Her duty was now to disclose to the Defence team that the Crown’s most important piece of evidence had vanished and so the prosecution could now not proceed on a technicality. Her only slim chance of holding Jessica was to reiterate her concern over the accused’s mental state, but it was slim. The Sheriff agreed with Amy Price that Jessica could be placed into the hands of an institution. One that was: less restrictive, less dangerous, less threatening, closer to home and more amenable to her needs. Amy had made both Jessica and Emma aware of this possible result, but all three had held their collective breaths in the disbelief that it would ever become a reality. That such important decisions could rest on such fickle twists of fate. But reality saw Jessica being talked and walked through her release. The Sheriff, having prior warning of the mishap, conceded that to all intents and purposes, Jessica was once more a free woman, albeit on a technicality. That her case was being dropped by The Crown and Procurator Fiscal Service and so she would be free to go, excepting the fact that her file still contained a restraining order under The Mental Health Act 2003. The defence argued that this treatment would be continued at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, which in itself was already on the way to developing and implementing a new Mental Health and Well-Being Strategy.
No one could believe the result except for Barnham and he was not vociferous on the matter. He had stayed clear of the hearing on the grounds of his previous involvement with the case, rather than the truth of not wanting to be seen too close to the defendant’s sister. And quite rightly so, as the DCI had taken statements from officers who had either signed themselves into the evidence room or been working on the counter over the last four weeks. Under duress and embarrassment, PC Tranter admitted his desperation for the toilet but not the reason why, as he did not fully understand why himself. He also left out the fact that he had partaken of alcohol whilst on duty, but in acknowledging the loo break he had to admit that Terry Barnha
m manned the counter in his absence. A serious breach, which would have meant further demotion for Tranter, there being a lower tier at his superior’s disposal. The terminal, door handle, shelf, evidence box, barcode reader and demagnetiser were all fingerprinted but to no avail. ‘If Barnham has been there, he’s been there professionally and left no trail; to be expected,’ thought the DCI resignedly. He too could now anticipate an upstairs ‘desk job’ until retirement, thanks to laxed discipline and an officer who gave a shit, when he should not have done. But he was not about to fall solo. ‘Spreading the dirt thinly is always more advantageous and less noticeable than storing it up, all in one place,’ he contemplated.
Another reason for Barnham’s absence became apparent when the two sisters and Amy Price exited the court building. A bank of cameras flashed in their faces as Jessica’s name was shouted from all directions, as each photographer attempted to pull her gaze into their particular lens. She stood, shaking slightly with all the horror of a rabbit in the headlights and even the hardest of hearts would have melted in that instance of the shutter click. Well, all except the protesters who chimed up with, “Murderer, murderer…” to show their animosity towards the verdict. The media horde closed in and jostled the three girls as they wheeled their huge microphones around in the hope of catching, considered or ill-considered dialogue. Amy Price brought the circus to a halt. She stood in front of the sisters and held the palm of her hand out vertically. She waited for silence, at the same time composing herself, then addressed the throng.
“My client has been vindicated of any charges brought against her. She was only associated with the victims through her work and offers her sympathy to all the families whose lives have been devastated by the deeds of the person, known as the Borders serial killer. By her release it is shown that the police had been over zealous in their desire to capture a suspect that they could present to the public, a scapegoat to be pilloried over these, in this case, unproven murders. Jessica now wishes to be left in peace, to come to terms with the turmoil her life has become and to, in time, be able to once again, return and contribute to a society, which has so quickly turned against her. There is nothing further to add, and neither Jessica nor her sister, will be taking questions.”