Justice Mirror

by Simon Hall

  He tried to call his wife, but received no reply. Parkinson was now reading a book entitled The Unseen Life of the Forest. On a couple of occasions he had switched the television back on and watched a recording of the interview with the Ailings, shaking his head the whole time.

  ***

  To prepare them for the discussion which lay ahead, Dan slipped to the canteen and bought a round of coffees. They were as grim as ever, but at least harboured hints of a vague coffee smell.

  ‘First off, then,’ Adam said, when Dan had returned. ‘What do we make of our suspects’ alibis and their reaction to that interview with the Ailings?’

  ‘They were all watching,’ Dan said. ‘So we’re probably right. It looks like they’ve concluded my closeness to the inquiry means my reports are a good indicator of how we’re getting on.’

  ‘But as they were all watching, that doesn’t help us narrow things down,’ Claire observed. ‘Parkinson has to be a decent bet. He’s got no alibi. And watching that interview repeatedly and his talk about it all being his fault.’

  ‘Or that could just be him thinking the “Not Proven” verdict began all this,’ Adam replied.

  ‘And,’ Dan added, ‘he just struck me as too much of a mouse to be a killer.’

  ‘Mice can do plenty of damage, you know,’ Claire countered.

  ‘Ok, but he just didn’t feel like a killer to me.’

  Adam picked up a marker pen and clipped a sheet of paper to one of the felt boards. He wrote: Parkinson – still suspect, although too timid?

  ‘Right, on to Newman.’

  ‘He’s less of a suspect, if his alibi holds out,’ Katrina observed. ‘It puts him at home when he’d need to be at the Edwards’ place.’

  ‘But it’s not a full alibi,’ Claire pointed out. ‘75% at most. That’s plenty of room for doubt and he’s got to be the one with the strongest motive.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Adam replied, and began writing again.

  Newman – semi-alibi, but most vengeful of bunch?

  He scribbled the words fast, most unlike his usual neat style. This was no time for tidiness.

  ‘Next then – Templar.’

  ‘He looks pretty much out,’ Dan replied. ‘His alibi is the strongest of the lot.’

  ‘We’re assuming he can’t have faked that email stuff and the chat with his bank? He knows about computers.’

  ‘I don’t see how he could,’ Claire objected. ‘I listened to the recording of the bank call. It’s Templar, there’s not a doubt. He chatters away with the assistant about some new golf club he’s bought. It sounds like one of those manic moods of his. And the timing is precise.’

  ‘Unless,’ Katrina said gently, ‘He’s involved in a conspiracy with one of the other suspects. Putting them up to the killings, or helping in some way.’

  The MIR fell quiet as they thought through the idea. Another theory, another suspicion had been added to the countless thousands born and raised here. The tatty old room was a nursery of criminal imagination.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Adam said. ‘But it doesn’t look like there were any phone calls between our suspects after Annette killed herself and before the explosion. Plus, experience tells us to go for the simplest explanation first. And that’s one person acting alone.’

  This time, he wrote: Templar – probably out, but not definitely.

  ‘And finally, Ivy?’

  ‘He certainly seemed agitated after the broadcast,’ Dan noted.

  ‘But he’s got another strong alibi,’ Claire said. ‘Although it’s not watertight. Again, he could be part of a conspiracy with one of the others.’

  ‘And if I let my perception off the leash, Ivy doesn’t feel like the kind of person who might do something alone,’ Dan mused. ‘I think he’d need to be led.’

  ‘Which brings us back to my point. About starting off simply with just the one killer, before we go complicating things with a conspiracy,’ Adam said. ‘So, let’s say for him…’

  Ivy – less likely, but by no means impossible.

  ‘And where does all that leave us?’ the detective concluded, edgily. ‘No bloody further forward, I’d say.’

  The time had moved on towards nine o’clock. Dan yawned, as did Katrina, although she had the decency to cover her mouth with an elegant hand. But Adam was in no mood for such a triviality as fatigue.

  ‘We’ve come back to the same old problem,’ he said. ‘We’ve got theories, but not enough facts. And that’s how it’s going to go on. Unless we start forcing the issue.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Our two best suspects are currently Newman and Parkinson. And of the two, Newman has to be the most likely. So let’s stir him up a little.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Bring him in and see how he reacts to questioning.’

  Claire frowned, an expression rare for her. ‘Sir, are you sure that’s wise? He’s a grieving father.’

  ‘And our prime suspect.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘There’s no room for sentiment in a murder inquiry, Claire. You know that.’

  ‘Ok, but maybe we should investigate a bit more before we bring Newman in.’

  ‘The pressure’s on for a result. Plus, if he is the killer, who knows what he might do next? We can’t wait around.’

  Adam looked to Dan. He nodded gently knowing the decision had been made. But Katrina stepped forwards until she was alongside Claire.

  ‘Yes?’ Adam said.

  ‘I agree with Claire. Newman just doesn’t feel the type.’

  ‘On what basis?’

  ‘I’ve got to know him the best of all of us.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got to know him too well.’

  A hiss escaped from Katrina’s mouth. ‘I’m offering you my professional judgement,’ she said.

  ‘And here’s mine,’ Adam replied, with his own frosted steel. ‘Newman’s the most likely killer. And we’ve got nowhere else to go. So, tomorrow morning we arrest him on suspicion of double murder.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  There is a peculiar divergence of views amongst senior detectives at the point of an arrest. Some avoid it, as if the actual detaining of a suspect is somehow tawdry. Others relish the experience and insist upon being there.

  Adam had no qualms whatsoever. One of his pet sayings has it that an arrest is a senior officer’s prerogative. Not only did he like to be present, he would carry it out himself. It was highly possible, in Dan’s view, that Adam took vengeful pleasure in informing a suspect what was happening and reciting the ritual words of the caution.

  Katrina excused herself from the arrest. She had seen Newman suffer enough she said, and left the room without a backward glance.

  And so it was that Adam led the way, followed by Claire and Dan. He always found an arrest unnerving, and so tended to lurk in the background.

  It was just past nine o’clock on another bright September day. Newman was back at work, saying he preferred to take his mind off all that had happened. He was in Roger’s Rugs city centre store, just off Royal Parade.

  It was by no means the biggest of the empire, but always stocked the latest deliveries and attracted a large amount of footfall. He would usually start the day there, as it was closest to home.

  The store boasted a long window, which was dominated by the latest whirlpool bath. A choice of matching showers, sinks and toilets surrounded it, accompanied by mats and rugs. The shop faced directly into the rising sun, a series of replica orbs blazing from the plates of polished glass.

  Newman was at the counter, talking to a woman who was checking through an inventory. When he saw them walk in, he froze. His eyes flicked to his side and the darkness of a store room. Adam spotted it, increased his pace and closed the distance between them rapidly.

  The businessman was trapped and he knew it. But he stood his ground, ready for the fight. There was a sense about Newman of someone who had little left to lose. And such people were always t
he most dangerous.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t do what?’ Adam replied.

  ‘Kill the Edwards.’

  ‘I never said you did.’

  ‘But that’s why you’re here – isn’t it?’

  Adam didn’t answer, instead said, ‘You’ll appreciate there are some questions we have to ask.’

  Newman shrugged. The gesture was somehow aggressive. It was loaded with menace, a hurt that would never end.

  ‘Go ahead. It’s not as though I’ve got a family any more. It’ll be a change to have someone to talk to.’

  He was wearing another dark suit but no tie. He hadn’t shaved well, patches of bristles picked out in the glare of the sunlight. Newman was sweating too, a gathering moisture growing on the pale skin of his crown. He looked tired and drawn, and a faint smell of whisky tinted the air around him.

  Newman leaned back on the counter, produced a hip flask and took a long swig. ‘Don’t say a word,’ he muttered, in response to Adam’s look.

  ‘I appreciate it’s been a difficult time,’ the detective replied.

  And now, with only the slightest of pressure, the eggshell of control cracked. The toxic bitterness was running free.

  ‘Do you?’ He snarled. ‘You’ve had a daughter kill herself before your eyes, have you? You’ve seen the people who wrecked your life walk free and crow about it? And then you’ve had the police come to call you a murderer?’

  ‘Calm down, Mr Newman,’ Adam said, heavily. ‘No one’s accusing—’

  ‘Bollocks, Breen. It’s written all over your damned faces. I didn’t kill the bastards. But I’ll tell you this – if you do find out who did it, let me know because I’d like to shake their hand. And if you think it’s me, and you’re going to waste your time here, and that means the real killer gets away with it, that’s just fine.’

  Newman took another swig from the flask and set it down on the counter. The woman reached out a hand to his shoulder, but he pushed it away and stood glaring at Adam.

  ‘Come on then.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Adam replied.

  ‘Arrest me. Come on – do it.’

  ‘Mr Newman—’

  ‘Come on, be a man. Do it. And I tell you what—’

  ‘Now, look—’

  But Newman wasn’t to be interrupted. There was something else he had to say, and he was going to say it. ‘I hope you have as much success getting me as you did the bloody Edwards.’

  The arrow of the goad hit the very heart of the target. Adam visibly stiffened at the impact and all restraint was shed. ‘Roger Newman, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Martha and Brian Edwards,’ he intoned. ‘You do not—’

  He got no further. Newman’s voice was a shout, a screech and a scream, all in one.

  ‘Fuck you!’

  He swung a fist towards Adam. But the detective had faced these moments too many times to be caught so easily.

  He stepped inside the blow, grabbed Newman’s wrist and pushed him against the counter. Claire lunged forward and reached for Newman’s free arm.

  But they were fighting a storm. Newman was a man possessed with an inhuman strength. The power of repressed rage was running through him. The unleashed anger was filling his muscles and veins with an infinite energy. Even with Adam clinging to one arm and Claire the other, he was still moving, shaking them off. With one great heave he broke free, sending them both stumbling backwards.

  Newman let out an anguished yell, vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the storeroom, slamming the door in his wake.

  ***

  Dan went to pick Claire up from a pile of carpet tiles, but she pushed him away. Adam was hammering at the storeroom door. It was solid, unmoving, locked fast.

  ‘Where does it go?’ he barked at the thin and scowling woman behind the counter.

  ‘Stuff you,’ she said, defiantly.

  Adam turned, headed for the front of the shop. He lurched into the street, scanned left and right. Around a corner, fifty metres ahead, Newman appeared. He was running hard.

  ‘Come on, after him!’

  The city was quiet, only a few early morning shoppers walking the pavements at a leisurely pace. They turned to stare at the strange procession chasing past. Newman jumped over a barrier and turned another corner, into Royal Parade.

  ‘Claire, get some back up here,’ Adam panted.

  They were running fast, but not closing the gap. Newman was still well ahead, his long legs and fervour giving him the advantage. He passed a grocer’s, a restaurant, a baker’s, the people in the windows all watching.

  He swerved and clipped a man carrying a couple of bags. Apples and oranges rolled across the pavement. Newman didn’t break stride, just kept running. Dan danced his way through the strewn fruit. He was sweating in the heat.

  ‘Where the hell’s he going?’ Adam gasped.

  A lorry had pulled up on the kerb, the driver carrying a pile of boxes into a newsagent’s. Newman dodged around him and careered across the road. A car jarred to a halt, its horn blaring. Adam didn’t hesitate and ran across the road too.

  They were on the plaza between the courts and Civic Centre, heading towards the Hoe. The sun made a silhouette of Newman’s fleeing figure. It was quieter here away from the traffic, the sound of their sprinting shoes echoing around the square.

  ‘Roger, stop!’ Adam yelled. ‘Stop!’

  But Newman kept running. He weaved through a couple of benches and past one of the ornamental ponds. Crows took to the air to escape the cascading insanity. He was heading towards the theatre.

  ‘Oh no,’ Dan panted. ‘No, no, no. Not again.’

  ‘What?’ Adam barked.

  Newman ducked under the low boughs of a tree and disappeared through the door into the multi-storey car park.

  ‘Shit,’ Adam groaned. ‘Claire, get on to the fire brigade. And make it quick – damned quick. Dan, with me.’

  ‘But I don’t want to see another—’

  ‘Don’t argue. He liked you. We might need that.’

  They pushed through the swinging wooden door, into the stairwell. It was dark after the brightness of the open air and smelt dank. They could hear Newman running up the stairs, all footfall and panting.

  Adam began following, but a little slower now. They passed a woman holding the hand of a young child. Both eyed them nervously. The detective wielded his warrant card and apologised.

  Newman was still moving. Above, the shadow of his figure flitted on the dirty white walls. They reached level four, then five. At the top of the stairs they heard a door open and slam shut again, a sharp boom of a sound.

  ‘Shit,’ Adam groaned. ‘He’s on the roof.’

  They jogged up the last two flights. At the doors Adam hesitated, reached out an arm and made Dan wait.

  ‘Let me go first. Just in case.’

  It was a suggestion Dan was never going to argue with. He hastily took a couple of steps back. Adam gave him an exasperated look but crouched, ready to fight, and pushed at the doors.

  There was no reaction, no screaming assault, no hurtling attack. Nothing. He stepped out into the brightness. Ahead was Newman, walking slowly to the far corner of the car park. It was the one where Annette had jumped to her death.

  ***

  Pace by measured pace, they followed. The roof was deserted, too high yet for the onset of the day’s shoppers. It was just a concrete plain suspended in the sky, bounded by a low wall.

  Newman was still walking. He hadn’t once looked back. His steps were automatic, as though he were in a trance and could see only that far corner. Overhead, birds soared in blue freedom.

  The end of the car park had become a shrine. It was piled with bunches of flowers, thoughts and gifts in Annette’s memory. Some had notes attached, words of sorrow for a life lost far too soon. Cuddly toys hid amongst the colours of the blooms; a smiling cat, a grey goose and a hedgehog, peering out from behind some stems.
/>   The concrete floor was patched with the dark stains of dried oil. Occasional graffiti picked out patterns on the walls. A couple of sweet wrappers played in the breeze.

  Newman had reached the corner. And there he stood and looked out. To the green expanse of the Hoe, the cliffs, the sea, and the plaza so far below.

  They kept walking, more slowly now. Took in the distance watchfully. They were twenty metres away, fifteen, then ten.

  Newman raised a hand. ‘No closer.’

  Adam stopped abruptly, Dan likewise.

  ‘Roger,’ the detective said. ‘What are you doing? This isn’t you.’

  No reply. No reaction. Nothing. Just blankness.

  ‘Come on, Roger,’ Adam coaxed.

  On a floor below a car engine started and faded away.

  ‘Roger,’ Adam said again. ‘This is pointless.’

  ‘Is it?’ came the answer, the words soft and faraway. ‘I don’t know what’s the point of anything anymore.’

  ‘Come on. Look at all the good you’ve done. The business, the people you employ, they rely on you. All your charitable work.’

  ‘And where’s it got me?’

  Adam didn’t answer. Perhaps he couldn’t.

  ‘I’ve worked hard, tried hard, tried to do some good, and what happens?’

  There was a strange distance to the words. It was as if the man was fading from existence.

  He reached down and picked up a picture of Annette, left amid the flowers. Newman pulled it to his chest and looked back out at the city.

  ‘Roger,’ Adam said again. ‘How does this help anything?’

  ‘You think I killed the Edwards.’

  ‘Look, I’m not saying—’

  ‘You were going to arrest me for it.’

  ‘That was just… it was a… routine thing.’

  Dan winced at the hollowness of the words. Below, he could see police officers running across the plaza, ushering people away.

  A couple of fire engines had parked on the road. A series of large, inflatable bags were being carried to beneath where Newman stood.