by Simon Hall
For Dan, it was an effort to keep his legs strong and not allow his body to sag back against the panelling of the wall. The long hours of the investigation, the lack of sleep, the pressure, the emotion, all now descended upon him. The invisible weight climbed onto his back and fastened a grip around his throat.
But still he stood. For riding dominant above, the highest banner, the one which conquers all others, was hope.
They were going to be all right. They would survive. They had come through this ordeal and would fight on.
The case was solved. The police would have their charges. Wessex Tonight would have its exclusive. Roger Newman’s attack would be cast aside, forgotten in the frenzy of the revelation.
Dan would still be a television reporter, Adam a senior detective. They would remain friends and continue to investigate cases together. The unseen powers above would persist with their quiet tolerance.
It’s unorthodox, they would huff, in their backroom cabals, but you can’t deny they get results, and that’s what matters. So we’ll run with it – for now.
Adam stood before Ivy and recited the words of the caution. And buckled by the weight of understanding, the man’s strength gave way.
Adam caught Ivy before he could fall and eased him down onto one of the chairs. The folds of his robe wilted around him.
‘How – how did you know?’ Ivy gasped.
‘We got there eventually,’ Adam said, without a hint of sympathy. ‘You led us quite a dance, it’s true, but we got there.’
‘But – how? He said it was brilliant. He said we could never be caught.’
Adam snorted. ‘Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It was clever Ivy, that I’ll grant you. But it wasn’t brilliant. As you’re going to realise in the years you’ll spend in jail.’
The usher lowered his head into his hands. ‘But he said it was perfect.’
A loud thud echoed in the room. It sounded as though it came from the far corner. Adam glanced to Dan, nodded a prompt, and he walked over. Dan checked the curtains but found nothing. He opened a cupboard and a cabinet, but met only files, stationery, and a decanter and glasses.
‘There’s no one here,’ Dan said, walking back to Adam. ‘It must have come from next door.’
Ivy was still doubled over, breathing heavily. The odd sob emerged through his hands.
‘That’s enough melodrama,’ Adam said. ‘You were big enough to kill, you’re big enough to face the consequences. It’s time to get you to the police station.’
The usher half rose but collapsed back onto the chair again.
‘Come on!’ Adam ordered. ‘Start walking or I’ll get some cops here and we’ll carry you out in front of everyone.’
Ivy gripped at the sides of the chair and pulled himself to his feet. ‘But he said it was perfect,’ he bleated. ‘He had it all worked out. He said we couldn’t possibly be caught.’
‘You won’t be taking all the blame, if that’s any comfort,’ Adam replied. ‘We know you were just a little follower, doing as your master told you. Newman’s under arrest, too. It’s all over.’
Chapter Forty
The day of the Edwards’ acquittal and Annette’s suicide kindled a fury, scorching and irresistible. It was the most powerful of fires and could only be quenched by one remedy.
Vengeance.
That was how Dan described it and rather well he thought, in that familiar egotistical manner. But Adam just scowled and told him to get on with it. The it in question was his theory, the realisation of how the Edwards were murdered.
The end of the trial had left four bitter men and some unfinished business.
‘And unfinished business,’ Dan narrated, ‘Is very dangerous. Sometimes, it has to be tackled. It can’t be buried, or forgotten about. It just has to be faced. It can be that powerful.’
Adam rolled his eyes and repeated the words which he had used many times in moments like this.
‘Will you please – just – get – on – with – it. We don’t have time for your drama.’
Perhaps it was the relief, or maybe his tendency towards self-satisfaction. But as Dan watched Adam preparing to take Ivy away, he felt his mind slide back to the moment. His moment, his theory, his insight which solved the case.
They were in the police car, being driven through the rain, preparing to confront Jonathan Ivy. Adam had demanded one last playing out of the scenario, just to be absolutely sure. So much rested on them getting it right. The way the Edwards had been killed and by which man.
Or, as they now knew, which men.
‘The bitterest of the bitter, the most prominent of our four suspects has to be Roger Newman, as we’ve agreed from the start,’ Dan continued. ‘With the Edwards acquittal and, on top of that, what he had to witness…’
Both Dan and Adam looked to the distance and the highest levels of the car park, rising in the grey mist of the downpour.
‘This is what I think happened,’ Dan went on. ‘Newman is set on revenge. For all that they’ve done the Edwards have to die. But how to go about it? I’m guessing he remembers that court case, the one where the gas company was put on trial. And that gives him an idea. He looks it up, in an internet café somewhere, so there are no traces on his own computer. There’s not much time after Annette dies, but enough probably, given his determination. Plus, what he’s discovered is ideal. He can kill the Edwards on his own, without the risk of them fighting back. But, as always, there’s a problem.’
‘He’s going to be the prime suspect,’ Adam observed. ‘And he knows it. So he needs an alibi.’
‘He realises the only way to get one is if he has an accomplice,’ Dan picked up. ‘So – who does he turn to? There’s one very obvious candidate. Someone he’s known for years. Someone he’s sure he can trust. Someone who thinks they owe him. A man who’s ripe for something like this, because he’s already spent years in the courts seeing justice fail.’
Adam nodded. ‘Step forward, Jonathan Ivy.’
‘They get together and talk. There are no emails, no phone calls, as we know. I don’t think Ivy needs much persuading. He thinks the Edwards deserve what’s coming to them. He’s seen Annette die in front of him too, remember? And he thinks Newman’s plan is flawless.’
‘Ok, that makes sense. But how did they do it and still manage to have alibis?’
‘Ah, that. Now that was the clever part.’
***
Dan took out his notes and traced through the interlinking arrows and scrawled annotations. There were so many. The case had to be one of the most complex he had ever worked on.
How would he describe it in the little diary he kept hidden in the drawer beside his bed? Justice would have to feature somewhere, or a parody of justice. Something twilight, or in the shadows, perhaps a reflection.
Like a mirror of justice.
‘We went through the times which the suspects would need for their alibis and came out with the spread of 3.15 to 4.10 am,’ Dan continued. ‘That’s the period one of the four would have to be away from home in order to get to the Edwards place, break in, start the gas running, crack the light bulb and get out again. Then he’d have to wait for enough gas to fill the house before setting off the car alarm.’
‘Agreed.’
‘But that’s where we made our mistake. We assumed it was just the one man committing the crime, so his alibi had to take in the whole of that 55-minute period. But this is where Newman was clever. He realised if two people were involved, neither would need to be away from home for anything like as long. So they could give themselves much better alibis. Perhaps not watertight, but enough to make sure they weren’t prominent suspects. Combine that with the destruction of any real evidence, as Newman knew would happen in an explosion, and they should be safe.’
‘How does it all come together, with the two people being involved?’ Adam prompted, rather sharply.
‘One other point first, because it’s important. If you’ll indulge me?’
‘I indulge you too much.’
‘Then just a little more, please. The assumption that the murderer was one person acting alone – that prompted me to think about just how committed we really were to solving the case. I wonder if we might have been a little sloppy, because we had sympathy with whoever killed the Edwards.’
‘Take me through the part about the two people and their separate alibis,’ Adam insisted.
Dan closed his eyes as he imagined the events of the night. ‘Assume Newman’s alibi is genuine. He is at home at about 3.45 am, throwing things around and shouting himself hoarse. I thought that was a little too convenient, and this is why. He was indeed doing it deliberately, to give himself an alibi. It was just bad luck his neighbour was in a daze and couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure it was him. But it was. So he’s certainly at home then. But that’s not to say he was home at 3.15, or much before 3.45.’
‘So he definitely couldn’t have set off the car alarm,’ Adam said. ‘Because it starts wailing at 3.57. He couldn’t get to Homely Terrace in time.’
‘Exactly. But now look at Ivy’s alibis – and I’m using the plural deliberately. He’s emailing Templar in the run up to the time we’re interested in and then looking at websites during the moments someone is breaking into the Edwards’ place. So, he can’t have done that bit. But! The remainder of his alibi is entering the PIN to watch the porn. That happens just after 3.45. It’s not a bad attempt at an alibi for the last part of the critical period. But just because he’s entered the PIN, it doesn’t mean he actually has to be at home after he’s done it. By a happy coincidence, there’s just time for him to get to Homely Terrace, find a car with an alarm, set it off and disappear again.’
Adam thought his way through the scenario. ‘So, we’ve got two men involved in a conspiracy. One does the actual breaking in and starting the gas, then goes home to establish his alibi. The other comes along later and sets off the car alarm, having already established his particular alibi.
‘And it all fits. The timings work. And look at the men’s characters. Newman’s the most motivated, so he does the dangerous part, the actual breaking in. Ivy just has to come along and set off the alarm. That’s easy. He could even tell himself he’s hardly done anything wrong. After all, he was pretty convincing when we interviewed him.’
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes as the car waited for the traffic to move. Dan traced a pen across his notepad one more time, following his theory.
‘It all sounds plausible,’ Adam said, at last.
‘Any advance on plausible?’
‘Potentially convincing, then.’
‘You could do even better than that.’
‘All right, all right. You don’t have to flaunt your cleverness. But there’s still no evidence. Or, at least, nowhere near enough for a conviction.’
‘So you’ll have to do your tough cop bit and push Ivy into a confession. Which might be the tricky part.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Adam replied, determinedly. ‘I’ll sort that out.’
And the detective had been very much as good as his word Dan thought, as he stood in the judge’s chambers staring at the man dabbing his eyes with his robe. The breaking of Ivy and the concluding of the case had proved much easier than he’d expected.
The time was just before four. Only a few hours away from the sweet respite of home. First, Dan would have to drive to the studios and face Lizzie. But given the exclusive he had to offer, there was little to fear.
Afterwards, it was the actual broadcast to negotiate, and then finally to the flat. A cuddle with his beloved dog and perhaps a jog around the park together. A take-away to celebrate the successful end of another case and a couple of pints of whatever dusty tins of beer were left in the back of the cupboard.
And tomorrow, not far away now, delicious normality would resume. At least for as long as ever it did in his ridiculous life.
***
Adam put a hand under Ivy’s arm and began guiding him towards the door. But the usher was a dense weight as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He was whispering something, but too faintly to hear.
‘Come on man, enough of your stalling!’ Adam barked. ‘It’s over. We’ve got you, and in a few minutes we’ll go and get Newman.’
Still Ivy’s lips were trembling as he tried to find the words.
‘What’re you bleating about?’ Adam snapped. ‘This is your last chance before I have you carried out of here.’
Ivy looked up. His face was a study of misery, crumpled with tears.
‘Roger,’ he managed. ‘Why poor Roger?’
‘What?’ Adam said. ‘What’re you talking about?’
‘Roger… why have you arrested poor Roger?’
Adam stared at him. There was no deceit: that was far beyond him now, no space for doubt. Ivy was genuinely baffled.
‘Shit!’ Adam yelped, and sprang for the door.
Chapter Forty-One
Adam exploded out of the room. At the end of the corridor, the security guard was feigning interest in a couple of maritime watercolours.
‘Are you alright, sir?’ the man asked.
‘No, I’m bloody not. Who gave us that room?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why were we using Templar’s office?’
‘Because His Honour offered. He’s out working on some big legal thing. He heard you were coming to do an important interview and wanted to help.’
Adam swore bitterly enough to make even the guard grimace. He led the man into Templar’s chambers.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Collet, sir. Tom Collet.’
‘Ivy’s under arrest and you’re going to stand here and guard him. He’s going nowhere until we come back to get him, understood?’
The usher had taken the opportunity to slump back onto one of the visitor chairs. With the gown falling around him, he resembled the debris of a human loosely wrapped in black cotton. Tom Collet drew himself up to his full and imposing height.
‘He’s going nowhere,’ Collet proclaimed, in a voice of which a regimental sergeant major would have been proud.
Dan stared from Adam to Ivy and tried to make sense of what was happening. From sailing full speed aboard a luxury liner, he now felt shipwrecked.
The case had been over. Ivy and Newman were under arrest. In a stroke of inspiration – if he did say so himself – Dan Groves, amateur investigator of note, had uncovered their conspiracy. He had even begun rehearsing for the Wessex Tonight broadcast.
Tonight, we can exclusively reveal who the police believe killed Martha and Brian Edwards, Craig would intone. Our crime correspondent, Dan Groves – who was integral to the breakthrough, as I hope he won’t mind me saying – is here to tell us more…
And now what?
‘Come on,’ Adam ordered and began running towards the stairs.
It was all Dan could do to force his legs to start moving and trail bewildered in the detective’s wake.
***
Claire was waiting in the lobby by the court’s main doors, trying to ignore the admiring looks of the two security guards. Her hair was tussled from the rain and she wore it well.
Outside, the storm unleashed its venom. A waterfall poured from the small shelter of the entranceway. The trees in the plaza were being battered incessantly.
‘Are you alright, sir?’ she asked Adam, who was looking far from his impeccable best.
‘I wish people would stop asking me that,’ he grunted.
A couple of passers-by stopped to watch the strange scene, but Adam didn’t even register them.
‘Where’s Templar?’ he barked at one of the guards.
‘His Honour?’ the man corrected.
‘Whatever. Where is he?’
‘He’s gone out.’
‘No shit. Did he tell you where?’
The man smiled, revealing teeth which had encountered far too many cigarettes in their unhappy lifetime.<
br />
‘You know, he did. He made a little joke with us. His Honour likes his jokes. Well, sometimes he does. I don’t know—’
‘Where,’ Adam cut in, forcefully, ‘did he say he was going?’
‘To the car park.’ The man pointed across the plaza. ‘The multi-storey, over in the corner.’
Adam swore again. He made to head for the doors, but stopped. ‘And what the hell was funny?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t that. It was what else he said.’
‘Which was?’
‘You won’t believe it.’
‘Try me.’
‘He said he had a gun. That was very funny, I thought. He had a gun, he was in a mean mood and to be sure to tell that to anyone who came after him. Can you imagine it? His Honour with a gun? Now, that’d be some scary form of justice, wouldn’t it?’
***
Without a hint of hesitation Adam headed out of the doors and into the rain, beckoning Dan and Claire to follow.
It was like walking into an assault. Hissing droplets beat into their faces. Their hair, coats, jackets and trousers were pulled wildly around. The whipping of the air made it difficult to catch a breath. They ran down the steps and onto the plaza, bent over against the onslaught.
The wind was tormenting the young trees, bending them one way then another. The concrete was slippery with a layer of sodden leaves. Puddles were everywhere, deep and distorted with the waves of pounding weather. Within seconds, the rain had soaked them through to the skin.
‘What’s going on?’ Claire gasped to Dan.
‘No idea. I thought the case was sorted.’
A car drove past, sending a cascade of water over them. It made no difference. They could have been swimming and stayed drier. They jogged around a line of benches, the rain sounding a tattoo on the wooden slats.
Adam reached the car park and stopped in the shelter of a wall. He leaned on the doors, tried to gather his breath.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Dan gasped.
‘We got it wrong,’ the detective replied. ‘You got it wrong.’
‘What?’
‘Wrong! Who offered us the loan of that room?’