Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1)

by Will Patching

  Pugh stopped him.

  ‘Mr Diarmud, there are many reasons why a prisoner may not wish to associate with other inmates. He could be shy. Perhaps unwilling to be seen as a member of one particular social group, clique or gang. Could it not just be the rational response of an individual surrounded by threat?’

  Leech was doing a good impression of one of those plastic dogs that people used to place on the rear shelf of their cars, his head bobbing furiously in agreement, and Doc could almost believe the two had colluded prior to the meeting. He dismissed the thought.

  Diarmud, was calm, if a little condescending. ‘In my experience, and I have been working inside prisons Ma’am, for almost forty years, a loner is usually an inmate who fails to bond with others. It is rarely a matter of choice, but usually the result of the prison population despising or fearing the individual.’

  ‘I see. Yet he is a Listener. Hardly someone to be feared or despised!’

  ‘Yes Ma’am. And as Judge Jeffries has pointed out, Listeners provide a very useful confidential service for those who are being bullied, are depressed, are potential victims of abuse and so on. Believe me, I am a great fan of the programme. It makes my job easier.’

  Doc spoke before Pugh could twist the advantage.

  ‘So why do you feel Peter’s involvement is a sham.’ Doc’s words almost provoked another outburst from Leech, and Doc could see him struggle to keep quiet. He probed the warder further. ‘I think you said His exploits as a Listener don’t fool me. Please explain.’

  Diarmud dipped his head at Doc in acknowledgement, then spoke to Jeffries, a lesson taught by attorneys the world over – always address the judge as he is the man to convince, regardless of who asked the question.

  ‘Normally a prisoner requests a Listener’s ear. On occasions a Listener might identify a prisoner who is struggling, a potential suicide for example. The Listener then requests the opportunity to speak with the prisoner. In confidence of course, usually in the man’s cell.’

  ‘Are you inferring that Mr Leech is an unpopular man and therefore an unpopular Listener?’ Jeffries had understood the point.

  Leech was picking at his nails, shaking his head, eyes downcast. Doc noticed that Pugh, though silent, had also shaken her head at the word ‘unpopular.’

  ‘Exactly your Honour. He is never requested through the warders. He always imposes himself or tells us he has been requested by the inmate directly. In my view he is using the role purely to impress this board. To influence your decision.’

  Pugh went on the offensive. Doc was intrigued and wondered if she had information that he and Jeffries did not.

  ‘You don’t like Mr Leech do you?’ Her right hand balled into a fist, slapped into her other palm, then thumped onto the table.

  ‘Ma’am. I have no feelings either way. I treat all prisoners equally.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that. But isn’t it true that you once erroneously accused Mr Leech of the attempted murder of another inmate?’

  ‘Really?’ Jeffries seemed bemused again, his head swivelling from Diarmud to Pugh and back.

  Diarmud coloured. Was it anger or embarrassment? Doc was not sure.

  ‘Indeed I did. A prisoner supposedly fell down the stairs. The stairs are cast iron and not forgiving. He broke his back.’ Diarmud took a moment, licked his lips, attention still on Jeffries. ‘A prisoner came forward and identified Leech as having pushed the man – ran into him with a rugby-style palm to the forehead, knocking him down the stairs. I investigated and recommended the police were brought in. The victim was unconscious at the time.’

  ‘But Peter was innocent wasn’t he?’

  Leech was nodding at Pugh’s words again, his face a shining beacon of honesty, an angel. Doc was certain it was an act.

  ‘Well Ma’am. The police dropped the case when the witness died. Supposedly suicide.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you think Mr Leech killed him!’

  Leech laughed at that, enjoying himself now.

  ‘I couldn’t say Ma’am.’

  Pugh pursued him. ‘I think it is clear you feel animosity for Mr Leech. In your mind he got away with it. Yet he was innocent.’ She was pummelling her fist in her palm again, punctuating the last four words.

  ‘Is that right Mr Diarmud?’ The judge’s voice was soft, smoothing the waves, oiling the waters.

  ‘The victim came round several days later. Claimed it was an accident and that Leech was not involved. It’s the prisoner’s code...’ Diarmud’s voice petered out, his explanation unconvincing.

  ‘His back was broken! Do you seriously believe this man would forgive and forget because of some mythical code of silence between criminals? Mr Leech is innocent.’ Pugh collapsed back in her seat, dismissing his assertion. ‘I think you have more than demonstrated your bias in this case Mr Diarmud.’

  Diarmud was bright red now. Angry and embarrassed. Doc thought Pugh had tried to destroy the man, and almost succeeded.

  ‘I think bias is a strong word.’ It was a mild rebuke from Jeffries. ‘Mr Diarmud has experience and is allowed an opinion.’

  ‘Thank you sir.’ Diarmud pointed to Leech. ‘I was asked to assist your assessment of this man’s fitness for release. My opinion is that he should not be paroled.’ Diarmud was defiant, finally addressing Pugh, the judge forgotten. ‘Accidents have a habit of occurring around this man. Release him at your peril.’ Diarmud’s cheeks faded. He had said his piece.

  Then Pugh applied the coup de grace.

  ‘Asked? You were asked to assist? I was under the impression you volunteered for this hearing. Isn’t that so?’

  Diarmud squirmed, his cheeks darkening again. Rumbled.

  ‘Well, in a way – ’

  ‘In the way of volunteering.’ She turned away from him and looked intently at Jeffries. ‘I’m sure we’ll give Mr Diarmud’s recommendation the appropriate weight it deserves judge.’

  ‘Perhaps we should have some coffee.’ Jeffries indicated the legal secretary to fetch some. Doc felt the air discharge, the judge successfully releasing the electricity energising the room. ‘Now, are there any other questions from the panel for Mr Diarmud?’ Both Doc and Pugh shook their heads. Jeffries addressed Leech. ‘Okay Peter, as you are representing yourself, you have your opportunity to question Mr Diarmud.’

  ‘Not so much a question, your Honour, more of a statement if that’s acceptable.’ He didn’t pause for a response, merely aimed his comments at Pugh. ‘The Prison Reform Trust recently criticised the parole system. Their actual words were – it’s a lottery.’ He wagged a finger at Diarmud. ‘And this warder is an example of that principle in action. Any other warder would have given a more positive opinion. In fact the officer I report to has put a favourable view forward. It’s in my dossier.’ Then his eyes were on Jeffries. ‘I just hope you take that into account, sir.’

  Finally he looked at Doc, his lips curling, satisfied he had scored. Doc was sure he had somehow known Pugh had some inside information on Diarmud. And now Leech was quoting the Trust! He still could not believe Pugh had colluded, but wondered how else Leech had turned the Home Office representative’s negative recommendation on its head.

  ‘I think the Trust’s comment was a little harsh,’ Jeffries gave a weak smile to Pugh and then turned back to Leech, ‘but I take your point. You can address the panel now, and we will ask you some questions. Ah, coffee.’

  The Governor’s secretary appeared with a tray. A cup for everyone but Leech, so as they sipped their coffees he asked if he could stand up and stretch his legs. The judge assented.

  Leech made a show of yawning and taking a few paces around the room, then stood behind his chair, hands clutching the back rail. He beamed down at them. ‘The first thing I would like to say is this. If a person is innocent, there is no risk to the public if he is paroled.’ With that, he pulled his chair round to the end of the table, perched on the edge of it, placed his hands on the table before him and clasped them devoutly. ‘And
I am innocent.’

  He looked at them as if he had said the most profound words they had ever been blessed with. Doc’s biscuit was freeze-framed, half-way to his mouth, in awe at the man’s gall.

  Leech continued with the air of a benevolent educator, as if he were conferring some great honour on them, sharing his presence and insights. Diarmud almost spoiled the effect with a sneeze into his hand that sounded to Doc suspiciously like the word ‘bullshit.’

  Leech ignored the interruption. ‘It really is that simple.’ He paused for effect, two members of his audience spellbound. ‘By releasing me you will be making a good decision. I’ve quoted the Trust once already,’ he winked at Pugh, ‘but they also say the parole system is performing poorly. In my case, I don’t doubt you’ll make the right decision.’

  Doc dropped his biscuit and it shattered into crumbs on his plate. Leech had winked at a Parole Board member! In three years of being involved in these sessions he had never seen anything like it. The man’s arrogance was breath-taking.

  He’s a convicted murderer! Doc wanted to yell it as he saw the judge and the independent hanging on Leech’s words.

  ‘Now, you’re probably thinking, doesn’t he realise he was found guilty in a court of law? Of course I do! That decision had the single most devastating impact on my life. Yet I’ve come through it. I hold no malice. No thirst for revenge against the system. In fact the experience has held some positives for me. My education. My work as a Listener.’ He smirked at Diarmud, but Doc doubted Pugh or Jeffries noticed. He certainly did.

  ‘Anyway, if you believe I really was guilty, that I was a parent killer, then I’m no danger am I? I’ve run out of parents, haven’t I? They’re dead and buried! Who is there left for me to kill?’ The callousness of his tone, the brutal dismissal of his own parents’ savage murder, confirmed to Doc his own diagnosis.

  Psychopath.

  He tried to catch Pugh’s eye. Surely even she would recognise the trait, or at least be perturbed by his attitude.

  She was nodding at Leech! For chrissake.

  As if Leech could read his mind, he funnelled his diatribe at Doc. Doc felt like a target. A bull’s-eye.

  ‘Some say I am a psychopath. Others say I have Dangerous Anti-Social Personality Disorder... I say they are wrong. I’m none of these things. Even the prison psychiatrist agrees.’ His eyes were triumphant as he smiled patronisingly at Doc. ‘Despite what some so-called experts might think.’ He held Doc’s gaze for a moment longer then aimed his comments at Pugh again. ‘I admit I was a disturbed teenager. A truant. I took drugs, but I have been clean since my incarceration. I’ve been educated and improved by prison. I am innocent, but I’ve made the best of my time here.’

  Despite himself, Doc had to admit it was impressive. If he really was innocent.

  ‘Please,’ his eyes back on Doc, skewering him, then shifting to Pugh, his expression softening, ‘don’t apply a label to me. Psychopath, DPSD, ASPD. Convict. Loner. Loser...’ He waved a hand over Diarmud’s head. Pathos in his delivery as he spoke the last of his set piece. ‘Please don’t keep me in here. I am already a victim of a gross injustice. Don’t compound it.’

  Doc felt like leading an ovation for the performance. For that was what it was. Leech deserved an Oscar. At the end of his speech he had slumped, head bowed before them, hands still clasped in prayer. And somehow he had hit Pugh’s hot button – labels.

  ‘Peter,’ Pugh was clasping her own hands in a gesture like Leech. ‘Thank you for that. I have only one major concern, regardless of your guilt or innocence, as it is clear to us all you are a reformed character – ’

  Oh my God! Doc held his forehead in frustration. Can the stupid woman not see through it?

  She went on, confirming Doc’s fears. ‘Tell me, why did you transfer from an open facility back here? You see, I help a lot of clients make the transition back to society and it is a necessary step in the process for most inmates.’

  ‘I understand that Ms Pugh, but in my role as Listener, I felt I could be of more use here. The added freedoms of open prison were no attraction for me... Since I’ve been here I have realised my vocation is to help people. It would have been selfish of me to stay there – they have a soft ride. They don’t need me.’

  Doc noticed Diarmud stare at the ceiling and wondered if he too was hoping for a miracle, for the others to understand this charade.

  He pulled out Judy’s report. He was sure Leech had given her a different reason. ‘You told the interviewing officer, Ms Finch, that you transferred back to here because of the prevalence of drugs in the open prison. Is it possible that the temptation was too much for you? There was certainly no mention of your pious vocation at that meeting was there?’ Doc let the sarcasm tinge his voice, deliberately provoking, needling for a response.

  For just a flash, a nanosecond, Doc saw fury in Leech’s face, and then the mask, the reasonable man, slipped back into place. Doc was not sure anyone else noticed.

  ‘I think Judy... I mean Ms Finch, must’ve left it out of the report.’ Leech switched his attention to the other two members of the panel. ‘We got on very well. We chatted for over two hours. Lovely lady, but her brief report left out a number of things.’ His tone was supercilious, but forgiving of the oversight.

  Judy? Got on very well? Lovely lady? Doc heard a warning blast in those words... and the delivery. Leech surely thought he had made some sort of connection with Judy, yet she was freaked out after meeting him. Doc needed to speak with her. He had thought her report was impressive – concise, impartial and thorough. Now he wondered what she had left out.

  Pugh spoke again. ‘That’s a very noble reason, but you must have known it might disadvantage your parole application this time round. You’ve had little or no advice or experience in facing the realities of life outside.’

  ‘It’s not a problem for me, Ms Pugh. I’m very wealthy and I’ve learnt how to make money from trading stocks and shares. I won’t be in the same position as most of the poor bastards who get out of here. I don’t need to work.’ He sneered at Diarmud as he added, ‘My portfolio makes several times the income a scr... a warder earns.’

  Doc piped up. ‘Some might say that in itself is evidence that you are not socialised, in the sense that you would prefer a solitary life managing money rather than engaging with people.’

  Leech was unmoved, blasé in his response. ‘I plan to work for the Samaritans. For free. I’m already trained and with my experience in here I am, they say, ideal. Hardly unsocial, eh?’ He made a face at Pugh. Obviously, it said.

  ‘I have some other concerns.’ Doc waited, dragged Leech’s focus back to him. ‘You say you were innocent – ’

  ‘And the lie detector confirmed it. I took a polygraph for the prison psychiatrist.’ Leech had lowered his head and Doc imagined him pawing the ground, a bull ready to charge. He decided once again to try to get him to see red, to show his true nature, to drop the mask.

  ‘Indeed? But polygraphs are inconclusive and unreliable at best.’ Doc dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘You accused your brother of the murder. Of framing you. As a, what did you call yourself?’ Doc made a show of consulting his notes. ‘Oh yes, as a parent killer, you point out you have no more targets. I disagree.’ Leech glowered at him, and Doc felt that aura of menace, of power. He was disturbed by it, thrown slightly, fearing a relapse into his hallucination, but plunged on. ‘I’d suggest your brother Shaun could be in danger... from you Mr Leech. From the killer of his parents.’ Doc was determined to antagonise, to goad Leech into losing his temper. An outburst might just get Pugh and Jeffries to see through the fiction Leech was maintaining. Doc could see the convict rising to it, the green eyes glowing at him.

  But Pugh craned forward, hostile, and attacked Doc.

  ‘Is that really a fair question? Shaun Leech and Peter Leech had the same parents.’

  Doc was livid. Leech had been rattled and Doc was sure he could make him lose it. She had ruined the mom
ent. Leech was relaxed again, inspecting his fingernails, carefree.

  Ignoring Pugh, he concentrated his reply on the man.

  ‘But only one of them has been convicted of killing Mr and Mrs Leech. And he,’ Doc stabbed a finger at the prisoner, ‘blames his brother for his incarceration. I believe Shaun Leech could be at risk. What do you say to that, Peter?’ He deliberately shut the door on Pugh answering.

  Leech took his time to reply. His threatening tone chilled Doc when it finally came. ‘My brother is dead.’ Then Leech looked up from his impromptu manicure, eyes shining wet, for all the world, close to breaking down and crying. ‘That’s what he said about me. But I forgive him. Sadly, to me Shaun is as good as dead too.’ Sorrow oozed from him now, the powerful bull of moments before displaced by this tearful, sensitive soul. ‘I know I have to stay away from him when I am paroled.’

  Doc was not fooled. He interpreted the words as a threat.

  My brother is dead.

  Shaun is as good as dead too.

  His gut told him Shaun was at grave risk. Peter Leech would kill him.

  ***

  Leech and Diarmud were dismissed from the meeting, leaving the three parole board members to deliberate. Jeffries and Pugh were using the restrooms, the legal clerk was organising more coffee, leaving Doc alone with his thoughts.

  Doc was stunned. Jeffries had summed up and then asked Leech if he had any final comments to add. Of course he had.

  Leech had put on a pleading face, speaking to all three of them, but starting with Doc.

  ‘Please don’t label me a psychopath. Even you, Doctor Powers, say the word is much abused – in your own book!’ The eyes sparked victoriously before he added, for Sophie Pugh’s benefit. ‘I don’t like labels. In here you hear them all the time. Raghead. Nigger. Nonce. Even the warders are screws, the female ones all lumped together as dykes.’ Leech spread his hands, palms out, now addressing the judge. ‘Such labels are destructive. Another form of prejudice. I’m really just a normal man in abnormal circumstances.’