“Anything else you want me to do?” Paul Ferris asked.
Before Drake could reply, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of George Thompson, the force's senior Press Liaison Officer. Unlike some P.L.Os from other constabularies, Thomson was held in pretty high regard by the officer of the Merseyside Police. He always consulted with the officers in charge of a case before releasing any information to the media, and was quite happy to allow those officers to work with him on ensuring the accuracy of the information released to the news hounds. As he walked quietly into the room, dressed as he always seemed to be in a grey pin-striped suit, blue silk tie and pristine white shirt, Ross groaned inwardly. It was obvious to the inspector that Thompson's presence meant the press had got hold of the story and would be clamouring for the details of the gruesome killing of Matthew Remington. Ross also allowed himself a moment to wonder why George Thompson never appeared to look any older. In the years he'd known him, Thompson managed to look no older than about thirty-five or thereabouts, though he must be in his late forties by now. One day, he'd ask him how he kept looking so youthful, but now wasn't the time for such thoughts.
“Am I interrupting your briefing, Andy?” asked the PLO, knowing full well that he was.
“Hello, George. Yes, you are, but don't let that worry you. Your presence here makes me think that news of the murder has somehow leaked to the press?”
“I'm afraid so, Andy. D.C.I Porteous just called me into his office and asked me to come and see you and your people. Seems someone tipped the press off about the murder. Whether it was the priest at St. Matthew's or one of the uniforms on the scene perhaps, I don't know, but the Chief wants me to try and cap the lid on the story before the sensationalist element of the media takes over and blows it up into something like the modern embodiment of bloody Jack the Ripper.”
Detective Chief Inspector Harry Porteous was Ross's immediate superior and the overall head of the Murder Investigation Unit. An old-school police officer, Porteous was happy to leave the day to day running of the unit's investigations in the capable hands of his officers, while at the same time maintaining close contact and overall control of the team.
“It sounds as if it might be a bit late for that,” Ross said, ruefully. “I'm sure the press hounds will already be making up their own sensationalist stories before you've breathed a word to them.”
“Yes, well, that's precisely why I'm here. I know you're incredibly busy with the investigation and need to be out in the field pursuing leads and so on, so whatever you can give me to help put a short statement together will do for now, as long as I can give them something that will allow you and your team a little breathing space.”
Ross fell quiet as he thought of the best way to give Thompson what he needed without compromising the need to get out and track down a particularly vicious killer.
“Tell you what, George. We need to hit the streets, as you rightly point out, so why don't you sit down with D.C. Ferris and he can fill you in on what new have so far, little though it may be. I presume you'll want to give the local press in particular something to make the evening edition?”
“That's what I'm hoping for,” said Thompson, referring to the Liverpool Echo, the major local newspaper.
“Right, Paul, you make sure George gets what he needs, and then you can go to St. Matthew's. I want you to talk to the priest, Father Donovan. Now that we have a name, address and place of work for the victim, it might mean something to him. He only got a quick look at the dead man this morning and went into shock almost immediately so he might have remembered something that could be helpful by now.”
Ferris nodded.
“Okay, sir.”
Ross turned to Thompson again.
“George, I hope that helps and I'd like you to run anything you intend to release to the press by me before you give it to them.”
“No problem, Andy. Where will you be if I need to contact you?”
“Sergeant Drake and me are going to talk to the girl Remington was convicted of raping, either at home or at work, if we can track her down quickly. Then we'll be back here in time for any press briefing I hope. If we're delayed, you can call me on my mobile.”
“Okay,” Thompson replied. “Shall we get to work, D.C. Ferris?”
With that, Ross and the rest of the team left them to it as they left the conference room, each detective intent on playing their part in the hunt for Matthew Remington's Killer.
Chapter 7
Claire Morris
“Did you really mean all that crap you said in there about Remington being a human being, paid his debt to society etc. etc? Sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, sir, but well, it wasn't like you to sound so conciliatory about a low-life like Remington obviously was.”
Izzie Drake was talking as she drove Ross and herself to Claire Morris's home. Information obtained by Paul Ferris had told them that the rape victim had moved from her address at the time of the attack, understandably in everyone's mind, and that she now lived in a terraced house in Seaforth, which she apparently shared with her boyfriend. She knew how her boss thought, the pair usually sharing an almost telepathic understanding of each other's thought patterns, and she'd been a little taken aback by Ross's words to young D.C Curtis back at headquarters.
“Course I didn't really mean it, Izzie. What d'you take me for? But, young Curtis had to be put in his place. It's okay to think these things, and believe me I sympathized with the lad's feelings, but we have to make sure everyone is focussed on the job. If they thought for one minute that I endorsed what he said, we'd have the whole team thinking it was okay for some bastard to do what he did to Remington. I thought you'd have realised that.”
“Yes, I suppose I did really, but just wanted to hear you say it. Didn't want to think you were suddenly going soft in your old age,” she said with a grin on her face.
“We'll have less of that, Sergeant Drake,” Ross said, grinning back at her. “Old age indeed! I'm not quite in my dotage yet, young lady”
“No, I must say you're not looking bad for your age, sir. Maria looks after you well, I'd say,” Izzie replied, referring to Ross's wife.
“What makes you think it's all Maria's doing? I know how to take care of myself, you know.”
“Of course you do, sir,” Drake said with a hint of sarcasm. “Last I heard, Maria had banned you from all those juicy burgers you enjoy so much when we're out on a job.”
“Oh yeah, and who told you that?”
“You did, as a matter of fact, sir, about a month ago.”
“Oh, right, well, she may have a little to do with it, I agree.”
The pair continued their cheerful and relaxed banter as the Mondeo ate up the final couple of miles to Seaforth, one of the older parts of the city, mostly made up of old Victorian terraced houses, and home to Seaforth Dock, the largest dock facility in the modern port of Liverpool. Drake took her foot off the peal as they slowly drove along Garstang Road, looking for the home of Claire Morris.
“There it is, sir, number twenty-four,” she said as she pulled in to park the car behind a battered looking old Ford Transit van. “What do we do if there's nobody home? Don't you think we should have got her phone number and checked first to se if she was at work or at home?”
“I didn't want to phone in advance and give her the opportunity to decline to talk to us, Izzie. Rape is such a delicate subject and she may have done her best to put it all behind her. I know it'll be difficult for her to talk to us, but at least just showing up like this will make it harder for her to refuse to speak to us. It's also why I wanted you with me, a woman's touch and all that, you know? We may have to have a rethink if she's not at home, of course, but we'll soon find out.”
Drake and Ross exited and locked the unmarked pool car, and walked the few yards to number twenty-four, where Ross stood back and allowed Drake to knock on what appeared to be the recently painted dark green front door. He wanted the first face Claire Morris saw on opening her
door to be that of a woman, rather than of a man totally unknown to her.
A few seconds later the door opened, and the detectives were surprised to find themselves confronted not by the woman they were expecting, but a man, whom Ross estimated to be in his late twenties, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, somewhat reminiscent of a uniform of some kind.
“Hello, can I help you?” the man asked with a puzzled expression on his face.
“I'm Detective Inspector Ross and this is Sergeant Drake, from Merseyside Police,” said the inspector, as he and Drake both held up their warrant cards to identify themselves. “We're looking for a Miss Claire Morris and we were led to understand this is her home?”
“Claire? Well, yes, it is, but she's not at home right now. I'm her fiancé. Won't you come in, please? She'll be home very soon.”
A minute later the two of them were seated in a neat sitting room, furnished in a modern style, with a two-seater sofa, a single matching armchair, and a large wall-mounted television above the old original Victorian fireplace. In one corner of the room stood a state of the art hi-fi system and a new looking laptop computer sat in the middle of a glass topped coffee table in front of the armchair. In truth, there wasn't room for much more in the room and Ross found himself wondering whether the couple ate their meals on trays on their laps, or perhaps had another downstairs room, an old-fashioned dining room maybe. These old Victorian terraced homes could, he knew, be deceptively large inside.
“I'm Lee Denton,” the man said, introducing himself. “Can I ask why you're here, Inspector?”
“Well, we'd rather discuss that with Miss Morris, if you don't mind?”
“Is it connected with the rape?” Denton asked, bluntly.
“As I said, it's a private matter, Mr. Denton. You said Miss Morris would be home soon?”
Denton smiled.
“Yes, in the next few minutes, I'd say. She finished work not long ago, and is usually home within half an hour. She works as an input clerk for a computer services company not far away.”
“And you, Mr. Denton, what do you do for a living?” asked Ross, still feeling the man had an air of authoritative confidence about him.
“Me? I'm a customs officer, Inspector Ross.”
Ross smiled to himself. He knew it had to be something like that.
“I see, at the port?”
“No, at John Lennon,” he replied, referring to John Lennon Airport, renamed after the former Beatle from the original name of Speke Airport. “I'm home because I'm on night shift this week. We don't get many flights late at night but we have to maintain a customs presence on the site twenty four hours a day. Listen, can I get you both some tea or coffee while you wait for Claire?”
“I'd love a coffee,” Izzie spoke up, before Ross could refuse.
“Right, well, yes please, Mr. Denton. Coffee would be nice, thank you.”
“Great,” said Denton as he rose from his chair, and moved to the door, quickly making his way to the kitchen from where he called loudly.
“Milk and sugar for everyone, is it?”
“Milk and no sugar for both of us, please,” Drake called back.
“Oy, I like a spoon of sugar in my coffee if you don't mind,” he complained quietly to his sergeant.
“Think of your waistline, sir, and your cholesterol levels. I could be adding years onto your life.”
“Yeah, or driving me into a mental home,” he laughed.
Almost simultaneously, Lee Denton walked back into the living room, carrying a tray loaded with three mugs of steaming coffee, a sugar bowl, much to Ross's delight, and a plate of digestive biscuits, and the front door opened and Claire Morris arrived home.
“Hi, Lee, you there?” she called as the front door closed and before Denton could reply, she walked into the room, just as he placed the tray on the coffee table. Claire stood looking at the two visitors, smiling tentatively at the unknown newcomers to her home, The attractive young woman was smartly dressed in a dark blue pantsuit with low heeled black shoes, her shoulder length blonde hair cut in a fashionable bob, exuding an air of professional respectability.
“Oh, you've got visitors,” she said, making an obvious assumption.
Andy Ross rose from his seat and took out his warrant card as he identified himself and Izzie Drake. After he'd corrected her assumption, informing her it was herself he and Drake wanted to talk to, she sat down and asked him the obvious question.
“And how can I help you, Inspector Ross?” she asked as Lee Denton hurried out to the kitchen again to make another coffee, this time for his fiancée. Before Ross could answer her question, Denton returned with Claire's coffee and asked if the detectives would rather speak to Claire on her own but she insisted he stay with her. He sat on the arm of the sofa next to her and Ross began.
“I'm sorry to have to bring this up after all this time, Miss Morris, but we need to speak to you about the man who raped you.”
“Matthew Remington?” she snapped the name out as if it was a swear word. “Why, Inspector? Has he done it again to some other poor girl? I always said his sentence was too bloody short, and please, call me Claire. Miss Morris makes me feel like some middle-aged school teacher.”
“No, Claire, he hasn't re-offended,” Ross replied, instantly feeling stupid at his use of the police jargon, “he's dead. Matthew Pennington was murdered sometime in the early hours of this morning.”
A look of what Ross saw as genuine shock appeared on the young woman's face on hearing the news of Remington's demise.
“Murdered? How? Where?”
“He was found in a churchyard. I'm not at liberty to reveal any details yet, I'm afraid.”
“I see,” Claire responded and then, as realisation struck her she said, “But, what has it to do with me? I can't pretend I feel sorry for him, Inspector Ross, but you can't think I had anything to so with his murder, surely?”
“Not directly, no, Claire. But it's theoretically possible that someone may have attacked Remington in revenge for what he did to you.”
“You can't be serious, Inspector. I know that Remington was released from prison years ago. Don't you think if I, or someone I know was going to do something like that, it would have happened back then?”
Izzie Drake spoke before Ross could answer.
“Ever hear the phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served cold', Claire? In other words, wait until your target is least expecting it and then strike.”
Claire Morris, far from becoming angry, looked aghast at Drake and then burst out laughing.
“Sergeant, that's funny. Really, it is. All the revenge in the world could never make me feel better about what that man did to me. Do you know how I felt when I was in the hospital, being examined after the rape?”
“No, Claire. I can't begin to know how you felt,” Drake answered honestly.
“Then let me tell you,” said Claire.” First of all, I was scared in case my rapist had given me AIDS. Secondly, I was afraid of being pregnant. The thought of carrying a rapist's child filled me with more dread than you can imagine. I'm Catholic, Sergeant, so the possibility of abortion could never have been an option if I was expecting, and then thirdly, I was afraid in case the man came back and did it again. I only relaxed a little bit eventually when first the AIDS test came back negative, then I found out I wasn't pregnant, and eventually my rapist was sent to prison. When I saw him in court at his trial, I suddenly realised he was nothing to be afraid of. He was such an insignificant and pathetic excuse for a human being. I knew I'd be ready for him if he came back again after his release, and I took martial arts classes until I graduated with a black belt in Tai Kwan Do, and also in Judo, so slowly the fears went away. No amount of revenge in the world could pay me back for what he put me through that night. Listen, when I was told how rapists got treated in prison, that made me feel good, and then I knew he'd have to go through his life always looking over his shoulder just in case someone did go after him, just like what's happene
d, and that was better than any thoughts of actually harming him, just knowing he'd never really be free, even though he'd been let out.”
“Wow, that was some speech, Claire,” said Ross. “I admire your resilience and your strength in getting your life back together, but we do have to investigate Remington's murder and find his killer. Whoever did this, they had a powerful motive, I can tell you that much.”
Ross turned to Lee Denton.
“How long have you and Claire been together, Lee?”
Lee looked a little surprised that Ross had addressed him directly.
“Oh, must be about three years, Inspector. We got engaged when we bought this place together two years ago.”
“I assume you were aware of what happened to Claire?”
“She told me all about it once we found ourselves growing close. I admired her for the way she'd fought to put her life back together after such a terrible experience. As it happens, my own sister was the victim of an indecent assault some years ago, so I found I could relate in a small way with Claire's emotional turmoil. Anyway, don't look at me for your killer, Inspector. I have too much respect for the law in the first place, and in the second place, you said the murder tool place in the early hours of the morning, right?”
“That's right, and you were on duty all night I presume?”
“From ten last night until eight this morning, Inspector. I should have finished work at six, but we were short staffed as usual so I ended up doing a couple of hours of overtime. By the time I got out of work and drove home, it was about nine fifteen when I got home. I put my feet up and watched the breakfast news programmes for a while, had some breakfast and then dozed off for a while. I was about to go up for a shower and a shave when you and the sergeant came knocking on the door.”
“And you, Claire?” Drake asked.
“Me? I left for work just before eight, after Lee phoned to say he'd be late home, started at eight thirty and finished about an hour ago. I stopped for a few bits of shopping at Khan's Deli on the corner before coming home. The bags are still in the hall. I dropped them when I came in. I should get them and put the stuff in the fridge.”
All Saints- Murder on the Mersey Page 7