The Victory Snapshot (A Chris Tyroll Mystery Book 1)

by Barrie Roberts

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘I thanked Mr Saffary for his co-operation and left.’

  ‘And you took no documents with you?’

  ‘No. I had made notes from those few documents that the inspector was prepared to show me.’

  ‘You did not take the radio and incident log folder?’

  I feigned surprise. ‘Of course not! I’ve told you — I only saw it briefly when the inspector lifted it out of one of the two boxes.’

  ‘And you did not take advantage of Detective Inspector Saffary’s absence from the office to look at the folder?’

  ‘If he thought that was a possibility he would never have left me alone with it. Besides, if I had been stupid enough to do so, he could have walked in on me. He was only gone less than five minutes.’

  Howard looked down again at Saffary’s memo. ‘Are you aware,’ he asked, ‘that police documents not disclosed to the defence are classified as confidential and fall under the provisions of the Official Secrets Act?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I know of no statutory authority for that proposition, but I do know that what you say is the view taken by police officers.’

  Howard turned and looked at Saffary and a flicker that could have been a smile passed across both faces. They were coming to some kind of a crunch.

  Howard leaned forward across the table and stared directly at me. ‘Let me get this absolutely clear, Mr Tyroll. At no time, according to what you have told us, at no time at all did you ever handle the dark-blue folder containing the incident and radio log in Darren Gormley’s case. Is that correct?’

  ‘At no time,’ I repeated, ‘did I ever handle the dark-blue folder which Mr Saffary told me contained the incident and radio logs relating to my client Darren Gormley.’

  The superintendent breathed deeply and leant back from the table. He believed that the hook was firmly inserted.

  ‘I have to tell you,’ he said, ‘that when Detective Inspector Saffary next examined the Gormley documents, during yesterday afternoon, the blue folder was missing from them. The Document Store records show that they had not been out of the store since they were shown to you. Would you care to comment on that situation?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘except to say that the most likely explanation is that Saffary failed to return it to the Document Store or that it has subsequently been improperly removed.’

  Saffary was so happy he didn’t even glower at the use of his unadorned surname. He was almost smiling. Howard too was becoming more relaxed.

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘is extremely unlikely — virtually impossible. It is a great deal more likely that you, having been refused access to those documents, asked Detective Inspector Saffary to telephone me so that he would leave the office and give you the opportunity to remove the folder in his absence. Is that not what happened?’

  At last he had come to his accusation and thought he was about to close the trap. I decided to play along a little longer.

  ‘That is not what happened,’ I said. ‘Firstly because, as I have already pointed out, there are half a dozen phones in the CID office which he might have used. Secondly because I am not a fool or a thief, and thirdly because I am a solicitor of the Supreme Court, bound by rules of behaviour far stricter than those which regulate the conduct of police officers or the general public.’ That sounded sufficiently pompous, so I stopped.

  ‘I note what you say,’ he replied, equally pompously. ‘Nevertheless, it is my view and that of Detective Inspector Saffary that the most likely explanation is that the folder was taken by you because you had been refused access to the contents. With that in mind, I requested your consent to a search of your home, which you gave me, and that search has been carried out.’

  Whether he had some concealed signalling method I don’t know, or perhaps the whole stilted performance had been worked to a timetable, but at that moment there was a rap on the interview room door and a young detective constable entered.

  ‘Detective Constable Peters is now entering the interview room,’ chanted Howard for the microphone.

  The young DC apologised for interrupting and handed Howard a slip. The superintendent smiled again at Saffary and then looked down at the note. The smile vanished and he shoved it along the table to the inspector, keeping his hand across it so that I should not see it. I didn’t need to.

  Saffary’s jowls dropped and his face turned the colour of lard when he saw the note. He stared silently at Howard who rose from his seat and gabbled, ‘The time is now 11.45 a.m. and this interview is being interrupted.’

  Saffary switched off the camera and followed his boss out of the room, slamming the door. From start to interruption the entire interview had only taken about ten minutes.

  ‘What,’ said Alasdair, ‘was all that in aid of?’

  I eased myself in the uncomfortable plastic chair. ‘That,’ I said, ‘was an indication that it’s dawning on them that they’re falling into a hole they dug for me, but don’t say too much. The camera lamp’s off but that doesn’t mean the mike’s not operating. You can’t trust these bastards as far as you can smell them.’

  ‘Well, we might as well have some refreshment.’ Alasdair opened the door and called through to the custody sergeant, ‘Any chance of a couple of coffees, sergeant?’

  I heard the reply. ‘Well, Mr Thayne, the super and Mr Saffary are conferring with the search team so I suppose there’ll be time. I’ll send some in.’

  ‘Thank you, sergeant,’ said Alasdair and pulled his makings tin from his side pocket. ‘What do you think they’ve found?’ he asked me.

  I nodded at the microphone. ‘No doubt Laurel and Hardy will soon be back to tell us,’ I said and lit one of my own cigarettes.

  Two Styrofoam cups of lukewarm instant coffee were delivered, and we were sipping them when Howard and Saffary returned. They did not look happy.

  They seated themselves in silence and, once the equipment was switched on, Howard began the ritual again.

  ‘This interview is now continuing after a break that has lasted until 11.57. The persons present are as before. I must remind you, Mr Tyroll, that you are still under caution. Do you understand?’

  ‘I confirm again that I understand the statutory threat very well.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, ignoring the jibe. ‘When this interview was interrupted you had confirmed that you had never handled the dark-blue folder containing the radio and incident records relating to the arrest of Darren Gormley. Correct?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I have stated to you, and the videotape will confirm, that I have never handled the folder which your inspector told me contained those records and that I did not remove that folder from the police station. I repeat that I have no means of knowing whether Saffary was telling the truth.’

  The inspector snorted and Howard motioned him to be silent. There was a long pause while Howard stared blankly at the folder in front of him. I knew that he had lost his bearings and I decided to go on the offensive.

  ‘May I ask a question, superintendent?’

  He looked up. ‘You may,’ he said shortly.

  I leaned forward and sipped at the murky coffee. ‘During the break in this interview,’ I began, ‘the custody sergeant confirmed to Mr Thayne that your search team had returned from my home. Can you save everybody a lot of time by telling me what, if anything, your searchers have found at my house which is of relevance to alleged offences against the Official Secrets Act, the Theft Act, common law offences of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice or any other allegedly criminal matter into which you may be enquiring?’

  He turned an uneasy glance at Saffary who shrugged. Howard turned back towards me.

  ‘I can confirm,’ he began slowly, ‘that the search of your home has been completed and that nothing of any relevance to this enquiry has been found.’ His eyes and his tone of voice had dropped. Saffary was staring past Alasdair and me at the soundproofed wall behind us.

  ‘Thank you, superi
ntendent,’ I said. ‘Now, since I would not have it said at the trial of anyone who is charged with anything arising out of this interview that I was less than co-operative, may I now tell you what I do know about a dark-blue folder of documents embossed with the emblem of the Central Midlands Police?’

  Saffary’s bull-like head swung towards me and Howard’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘If you wish,’ he said. ‘I remind you again that you are still under caution.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Alasdair, will you please pass me my file?’

  It was our turn to bowl.

  22

  I sipped the gruesome coffee while Alasdair took a fat unmarked file from his briefcase. Howard’s and Saffary’s eyes never left it as I placed it in front of me and began to take out documents.

  ‘A preliminary question,’ I said. ‘Having failed to find any evidence of crime at my home, why have you not asked to search my office? Was that because you had reason to suppose that the evidence you expected to find was at my home?’

  Saffary heaved forward in his chair and was about to do his ‘You’re here to answer questions’ routine, but Howard stopped him with a hand on his arm. The superintendent, at least, had realised that they hadn’t just failed, they were now on very dangerous ground indeed.

  ‘We have not asked to search your office primarily because of the difficulties you would undoubtedly raise about ‘excepted material’ under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. I do not have to tell you the source of our information, I would only say that we were acting on information received,’ said Howard, flatly.

  I nodded. ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I shall begin my explanation.’

  ‘First,’ I announced, holding up a sheaf of papers to the camera, ‘is a statement by my articled clerk, Mr Alan Reilly, in which he states that he met me at Wolverhampton rail station on my return from a short holiday and took me to my office. It is within his knowledge that I never left the office until he accompanied me to the Victoria Hotel, Belston that evening and saw me register. On the following day, he picked me up from the Victoria Hotel in the morning and is able to state the hours during which I remained at the office before he accompanied me back to the hotel. He picked me up again this morning and is able to state the time at which I arrived at the office. You know the time at which I left.’

  ‘What’s the point of all this?’ snarled Saffary.

  ‘The point, inspector, is to establish that, since arriving back in Belston, I have never set foot in my home.’

  ‘Reilly’s statement won’t prove that,’ declared the Ulsterman.

  ‘Taken together with other evidence, which will emerge if you stop interrupting, it will. In the meantime, this certified copy of the statement has been made in the Criminal Justice Act format so that it may be readily used in the criminal proceedings which are now almost bound to result from this interview,’ and I thrust the copy across the desk at Howard. He took it without glancing at it. His eyes were still fixed on the folder.

  ‘Next,’ I continued, holding up another report, ‘is a report prepared and signed by Mr Gordon Rains, enquiry agent. I won’t bore you with the whole of it, you can study it at your leisure, but let me quote you a few highlights. His report was made subsequent to a request by me to carry out a thorough search of my home,’ and I read a part of it aloud:

  ‘‘As instructed I attended at the premises in company with Mr Price, a forensic scientist from Brierley Laboratories, Mr Walters, a photographer and Mr Ferry, a security consultant. In accordance with Mr Tyroll’s instructions I first carried out a careful survey of the outside of the building. At the rear of the building I discovered that a small pane of glass in a kitchen window had been, apparently, removed and carelessly replaced. The putty surrounding the pane was inexpertly applied and still very soft. There were putty-stained fingerprints on the pane which I asked Mr Walters to photograph, after which Mr Price lifted them with adhesive tape so that they could be examined. Enlarged copies of them are attached to this report.’’

  I looked up. Howard was sitting back in his chair, white-faced. Saffary’s face was flushing rhythmically with dark blotches. For a moment it crossed my mind that I might have the pleasure of seeing him die of apoplexy, but I preferred to see him in the dock of Stafford Crown Court.

  I returned to Claude’s report. ‘‘A search in the plants close to the kitchen window disclosed a number of fragments of window glass which appeared to have been recently broken. Two of the fragments bore bloodstains. All of them were taken by Mr Price for blood-typing and DNA analysis.

  ‘‘Having established that the house had been inexpertly burgled, Mr Ferry and I then entered via the back door and carried out a silent search of the entire premises. In the course of that search I found electronic devices (Mr Ferry describes them as ‘VOX micro-transmitters’) under the top of the cabinet alongside Mr Tyroll’s bed, beneath the top of the coffee table in his sitting room and underneath the dining room table. Mr Ferry found similar devices inside the telephone instruments in the bedroom, the

  sitting room and the study. As already instructed he neutralised them with devices which he called ‘baffle boxes’ and left them in situ.’’

  The audience was rapt. I went on:

  ‘‘Once the listening devices were neutralised the entire team then carried out a thorough search of the premises. Mr Tyroll had warned me that we might find explosive or incendiary devices, illegal drugs or stolen goods, and that we were to search carefully and safely for anything anomalous. In the event, the only anomalous object which we found was a dark-blue plastic-covered file folder embossed with the badge of the Central Midlands Police Force. Having been in the house on many occasions during the last ten years, I am fully aware that Mr Tyroll would never leave case documents in the house while it was unoccupied. Furthermore, the folder was hidden halfway down in a basket of magazines that Mr Tyroll keeps beside his armchair in the sitting room, a place where he would never leave an important document. I did not touch the folder, but left it to Mr Price to remove it for evidential purposes and carry out any necessary examination.’’

  I paused again and Saffary almost shouted, ‘So you did have the folder at your home! What have you done with it?’

  I lobbed Claude’s report across at Howard before answering. ‘We are in danger of confusing ourselves here,’ I said. ‘You have heard nothing to suggest that the folder found by Mr Rains was the one allegedly missing from this police station.’

  I took out another document. ‘This,’ I said, ‘is Mr Price’s detailed report. In brief it says that the cover of the dark-blue folder found in my home showed signs of having been wiped with a spirit substance and bore what appeared to be the prints of the four fingers of my left hand. However, I’m sure two experienced detectives will know that fingerprints are composed of the oily secretions of the pores of the fingertip and particles of dirt which have clung to it. Chemical and microscopic examination of these prints revealed that they also contained traces of the adhesive used in the clear tape supplied to police forces for lifting fingerprints to be exhibited. Mr Price concludes that the prints are fakes and, having examined the plastic cover of the desk diary in my office, he is satisfied that a genuine set of prints was lifted from the diary with sticky tape and placed on the dark-blue folder.’

  I shoved the report across at Howard, who continued to say nothing.

  ‘Never mind the forensic rubbish,’ said Saffary. ‘Where is that folder?’

  ‘Mr Saffary,’ interrupted Alasdair, ‘surely I don’t have to remind an officer of your experience that aggressive and repetitive questioning may well make the record of an interview inadmissible as evidence. I suggest you read R. v. Malcolm and R. v. Abdullahi and Others.’

  Saffary snorted and looked away.

  ‘It’s OK, Alasdair,’ I said. ‘That folder is in the custody of the Document Examination Department at Birmingham University.’ I took another report from the file. ‘Here is the report of Dr Kan
war on his examination of the folder. Again, I won’t bore you with the details, but in essence he says that the documents contained within the folder are forgeries. The radio log was subjected to Electronic Static Deposition analysis which showed that its pages were written at one session and in the wrong order. The faxes in the file, though purporting to come from several different police stations, all bear the same identification number, which Dr Kanwar says is the number of Whistlehall police station. In other words, gentlemen, the dark-blue folder found at my home is not the one allegedly missing from here. It is a stupid forgery.’

  I spun that report across the table at Howard and took out the last bundle. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘is a set of copies of Mr Walters’ photographs, duly certified.’ That also went on to the growing heap in front of the superintendent.

  I sat back and picked up the cold coffee. ‘That, I think, is as far as I can assist you, beyond pointing out that, in addition to my articled clerk’s statement, once you trace the tape recordings made from the illegal bugs in my home you will be able to be quite certain that I have not set foot in the place while this sordid little scam was going on.’

  Even Saffary was silent. He had now turned a ripe and unhealthy shade of red. He turned to his pallid, silent superior and looked at him questioningly.

  Howard cleared his throat. ‘What are you implying by all this?’ he said quietly.

  ‘This is not an implication, superintendent. The evidence is clear that, during my absence from my home, it was illegally entered by a burglar of amazing carelessness. Alternatively it may well have been a burglar who thought he was never going to be called to account. The purpose of that entry was to install illegal surveillance equipment and telephone taps and to plant faked evidence in order to secure criminal convictions against me.’

  ‘And why do you believe that this was done?’

  ‘Partly to mislead me as to the true nature of the Gormley investigation, but most importantly to place me in a position where I could no longer cause any embarrassment to the efforts of the police to whitewash the murders of Walter Brown and Francis Cassidy.’