All Saints- Murder on the Mersey

by Brian L. Porter

  “We won't keep you much longer, Claire,” said Ross. “Just tell me, honestly, if you think anyone in your family or circle of friends could have hated Matthew Remington enough to kill him?”

  Claire laughed again, then replied.

  “All of them, Inspector, obviously. They all had a motive, didn't they? But I doubt either me Mam or Dad would have the strength or the real inclination to do it, and as for my brother Steve, I doubt he made a trip up here last night to knock Remington off and then zoomed back down to Devon in time for lectures. As for my friends, they're all female, but as much as the ones who know about my rape might have wanted Remington dead, I doubt they'd have gone so far as to murder him. You still haven't told me how he was killed, Inspector. Was he shot, stabbed?”

  “As the inspector said, Claire,” Izzie stepped in, “we can't reveal that, yet, but believe me, it wasn't something you'd care to think about, unless you feel like having nightmares for a month.”

  Claire Morris seemed to stop in her tracks, drawing a deep breath and then said just the one word, “Oh.”

  “That bad, was it?” Lee Denton asked.

  “That bad, yes,” said Drake.

  The mood in the room seemed to deteriorate further at that point, and Ross felt it was time he and Drake made their exit. He could always come back if he needed to talk to Claire Morris again.

  “Right, well thanks for your time, Claire,” he said, rising from his seat as he spoke. Drake followed his lead and stood also.

  “We'll be in touch if we need any further information.”

  Claire and Lee both stood also and Lee Denton shook hands with both detectives as he saw them out at the front door, Claire remaining in the sitting room.

  “I know you had to come and talk to her, Inspector,” Denton spoke very quietly, “but believe me, Claire's spent her time since that man was jailed doing all she can to put the rape behind her as best she can and has built a new life for herself, happily with me, She would never have had anything to do with something like this. It's not in her nature.”

  “I understand what you're saying, Lee,” said Ross, “but we have to explore every possibility in a case like this. The chance that someone saw a chance for some kind of retribution against Matthew Remington has to be investigated, and…”

  “Lee,” Claire called from the sitting room. “Are you coming in or what?”

  “I'd better get back inside,” said Denton, quietly.

  “We'll be in touch again if we need to,” Ross replied and the two men shook hands, before the two detectives walked away and the front door of Claire Morris's home closed almost silently behind them.

  * * *

  “Well, what d'you think of her?” Ross asked Izzie Drake as they motored back across the city towards headquarters.

  “I think she's done remarkably well to rebuild her life, sir,” Drake responded. “A lot of rape victims tend to withdraw into themselves after such experiences, at least from what I've heard and read. Claire Morris seems to have been something of an exception, not letting it ruin her life and trying to just get on with things as normally as possible. Having Lee Denton around obviously helps.”

  “Yes, I liked him, too” said Ross. “He's the stability, the rock she probably needed to enable her to rebuild her life. I also think he's in the clear as far as the murder goes. I know he could have been part of some sort of conspiracy to get rid of Remington, but this crime feels more like a personal one, a single perpetrator with a strong motive for doing away with Remington.”

  “I agree,” Drake concurred. “What do you think the others will find when they interview Claire's family?”

  “We'll find out soon enough, Izzie. The others should be back around the same time as us, I think, but I doubt they'll find anything.”

  “Are you saying you don't think her family or friends are involved at all, sir?”

  “It's too early to say, but we have to consider the possibility this case has nothing at all to do with Claire and what happened to her. Who's to say that Remington hasn't had other victims, and they've not reported the attacks and then taken their own revenge on him, without ever bringing us on board?”

  “Good God, I never even thought of that,” Drake exclaimed. “But you're right sir, a large proportion of rapes do go unreported. Remington could have carried out any number of attacks since his release.”

  “But we have no proof, Izzie, and we also need to keep an open mind. This could have absolutely nothing to do with his crime, or crimes. What if he upset someone during his time in prison, someone who's only recently been released and who saved up a whole lot of rage while he was inside?”

  “You want me to look into that angle, sir?”

  “No, but get Ferris on it. Tell him to contact the prison, find out who Remington was paired with, if at all. He'd probably have been on a segregated wing, being a sex offender, so he'd either have been kept in solitary or banged up with another rapist or molester of some kind. We need to know if he managed to upset anyone during his time inside, and if so, who.”

  “OK, sir. Looks like this case could turn out to be a bloody complicated one, doesn't it?”

  “With the amount of rage the killer displayed in the way he killed Remington, I think you're right, Izzie. I've got a bad feeling in my gut about this one.”

  * * *

  Back at headquarters, the rest of the team had indeed returned from their various assignments and were gathered around the incident board in the conference room as Paul Ferris updated it with the results of their findings when Ross and Drake walked in to the room.

  “Hello, boss,” said Ferris as he turned to greet the pair.

  “Paul, everyone,” Ross acknowledged the team collectively.

  “Do we have anything useful?”

  “Not really, sir,” Ferris replied on behalf of the team. “I'm just listing the fact that we've visited and to a degree, eliminated the family of Claire Morris from the list of potential suspects. How about you and Sergeant Drake, anything for me to add here?”

  “Just another elimination, I'd say, Paul,” Ross replied. “Claire Morris has a new life, a new fiancé, and was genuinely surprised to hear of Remington's death, not that she shed any tears for him, mind.”

  “Same here sir,” said Sam Gable. “Her parents were positively delighted that Remington had finally got his 'comeuppance' as they called it. When Derek here said he thought murder was a bit over the top in terms of a comeuppance they were quite vehement about it, saying they were glad it had happened, and that they could never forgive Remington for what he did to their daughter. Having said that, I don't think either of them has the gall or the strength to have murdered Remington. The mother is about five feet nothing and has arthritis in her hands and feet and anyway, together, she and the father have a solid alibi. He was at the hospital most of the night. He suffered a serious angina attack yesterday evening, was taken in by ambulance and then was kept in overnight for observation. Lots of nurses and so on to confirm he was on the observation ward until Mrs. Morris came to pick him up at about nine thirty this morning”

  “And the son?” Drake asked.

  Derek McLennan took up the reins as he answered Izzie's question.

  “He's in the clear too. Steven Andrew Morris, aged twenty, currently studying computer sciences at Exeter University. We contacted the uni, and asked the administrator to check if Morris was on campus today. Turns out he was in a lecture at the time we called, so we asked the administrator to get someone to interrupt the lecture and bring him to a phone. The lady,” he consulted his notes at that point, “er…a Mrs. Davenport, wasn't too happy about helping us out there, but relented when I told her it was a murder inquiry, involving his sister. Whether she thought his sister had been murdered, I can't say, but she suddenly seemed very helpful.”

  “You can be as sly as a Scottie Road scally when you want to be, Derek McLennan,” Drake grinned as she spoke. “You worded that so that she'd think just that, you
clever little detective, you. Well done.”

  The rest of the team, Ross included, laughed aloud at McLennan's display of resourcefulness, a display of initiative that would have been beyond the rather green and ineffectual McLennan who'd first joined the team three years previously.

  “Yes, very well done, Derek,” Ross agreed, as the young detective blushed at the unexpected praise.

  “Yeah, well, I've been learning from the best, haven't I, sir?”

  “Well said, Derek. Please go on,” Drake encouraged him.

  “Oh yes, where was I? Right, of course, so a few minutes went by and I thought the old bag, I mean, Mrs. Davenport, had left me in the lurch, but then she picked up the phone again. She said she'd sent a messenger to the lecture theatre where Morris should be and said she'd summoned him as a matter of urgency to her office. Due to the urgency, she asked for my mobile number and said she'd get him to call me back as soon as he got there. So, about fifteen minutes later he called me, and confirmed the fact that he'd been in the halls of residence all night, and his room-mate would confirm it if we needed him to. Either way, there's no way he could have got from Exeter to Liverpool and back in time to have killed Remington some time this morning and been back there in time for his first lecture. He was right relieved though when I told him his sister hadn't been murdered.”

  Spontaneous laughter broke out once again among the team, everyone grateful for the brief moment of levity in the midst of a horrific murder investigation.

  “Oh yes, he's turning into a right good joker is our Derek,” Sam Gable giggled, with a broad smile on her face.

  “Alright, you two, calm down a bit,” said Ross. “Anything from Claire's friends, if you managed to contact them after all that?”

  “Nothing at all, sorry, sir,” said Gable. “There were two witnesses, if you could call them that, listed in the file. One was Lisa Owen, a friend of Claire's. She wasn't at home, but her mother directed us to the florist's shop where she works. She confirmed her original statement, that she'd been with Claire in the pub that night and got into a taxi and said goodnight to Claire at the end of the night. She said Claire wanted to walk home to clear her head, it wasn't too far, and the next she heard, was when the police came to her door the next day, and she learned about the rape. She said she hasn't seen or heard from Claire since around the time she moved into her new house with her boyfriend. Told us Claire's built a new life and let most of her old friends and reminders of the past behind her.”

  “Yes, that last bit gels with what Claire told us herself,” said Ross. “Anything else?”

  D.C. McLennan looked up from his notebook, his composure fully returned after the previous levity.

  “The only other witness was Martin Riley, sir. He was the neighbour who told of Remington coming home late that night. He told us again what he'd told the police at the time: that he was letting his dog out for a wee last thing at night, when he saw Remington arrive home, looking dishevelled and 'aggravated' as he put it. There's a street light right outside their houses and he clearly saw scratch marks down the left side of Remington's face and neck. He asked Remington if he was okay but Remington just grunted something at him that sounded like “stupid bitch,” and almost staggered into his home. He wasn't surprised when the police came knocking at his door and he heard of his neighbour's arrest. Of course, the scratches he testified to matched exactly with what Claire Morris said she'd done as she fought with her attacker. He said he never much liked Remington who kept himself to himself but was never very friendly with anyone in the street. I can't see him as being involved, sir. He's almost sixty, and lives alone with his dog, Rex, and uses a walking stick to get around. There's no way he could have overpowered a man like Remington, even if he'd wanted to. Oh, yes, he also told us he hoped Remington's soul would burn in hell for all eternity after what he'd done to Claire Morris.”

  “Humph,” said Izzie Drake. “Sounds like the only person so far not to have wished him dead was Lisa Owen.”

  “Oh but she did, Sarge,” Sam Gable piped up. “She actually said she'd often wished him dead, and, get this for a coincidence, she said she'd often wished that someone would cut 'that bastards cock off and turn him into a fucking eunuch, so he couldn't hurt any more innocent young girls or women,' and I promise you we never said a word about what had happened to Remington. I was going to add that bit at the end, when Derek finished.”

  “Oh right, saving the best till last, eh?” said Drake, while Ross added,

  “But you didn't think she could have been involved, Sam?”

  “Oh, no sir, She was just spouting the kind of rhetoric that women often do when talking about scumbag rapists like Remington, erm, sorry, like our victim, sir.”

  “Yes, right, I think we all know the team's estimations of Mr. Remington's character, thanks Sam, but remember everyone, a crime has been committed, a bloody brutal and vicious murder, and whatever we may think of the victim, I'm reiterating for you all, our job is to catch his killer, so do not lose sight of that objective, not even for a second.”

  Grunts of assent and agreement mumbled their way from the lips of those in the room.

  “Right then, how about you Tony?” Drake said, turning to D.C. Curtis, who'd been sent to speak with Remington's employers.

  “Drew a blank there as well, Sarge. None of his co-workers knew of his past. The personnel department, who, by the way, they like to call 'Human Resources' now, knew about it, but their records are confidential, and his line supervisor knew, but that was all. Seems they have a policy of employing a limited number of 'rehabilitated' offenders at Halewood, only a small quota of the total workforce. Anyway, unless someone found out about his record from somebody outside work there's little chance any of his fellow workers would have known he was a convicted rapist. Makes you feel sick really, when you think of the women who work there, not knowing who they were sitting with in the canteen at lunchtime, for example.”

  “Yes, well, we've been through all that before, Curtis,” said Ross, so let's all drop the references to what we'd all have liked to do with Matthew Remington, or what we think should have been done with him.”

  A few more low frequency grumbles ran round the room as Ross turned finally to Paul Ferris.

  “What about you, Paul? Did the good Reverend Donovan have anything else to tell us?”

  “No sir. He was still in a state of shock if you ask me. I took a picture of Remington as he was in life to show him and he said he'd never seen him before. He might have come to his church at some time for all he knew, but he certainly wasn't a regular. If you ask me, sir, the churchyard was our killer's choice for the murder and had nothing to do with Remington, or whether he attended St. Matthew's or not.”

  “I think you're right, Paul,” Ross agreed. “And listen, everybody. I want this bastard caught sooner rather than later, because, if what you've all told me today, backed up by what Sergeant Drake and I learned from talking to Claire Morris is correct, then it's my strong suspicion that Matthew Remington's murder had nothing to do with the rape of Claire Morris. If that's the case we're not only back to square one, but we now have a crime without an apparent motive. That, as we all know, is bollocks. A crime as violent as this had to have been caused by a very strong motive, and we have to start again and try to find out just what that motive is.

  I want everyone to start digging into Mathew Remington's past. Go back to his childhood if you have to. Someone in this city hated him enough to virtually butcher him and then cut off his manhood and stick it down his throat. It takes real hatred, and real rage to do all that to a man. I want to know what Remington did, no matter how long ago to make someone feel they had to do what we saw the results of today. Any questions?”

  Silence filled the room, accompanied by a chorus of shaking heads.

  “Okay, listen, people, it's too late to do much more today. Go home, all of you, get some rest and be here bright and early in the morning. I'll be holding the morning briefing a
t eight a.m. sharp.

  With that, the working day ended for Ross's team, and within minutes, all were on their way to their homes. Ross couldn't wait to see his wife, Maria. He felt somehow soiled and sullied by the day's events and he needed to feel a semblance of normality and humdrum home life, even if only for a few hours. His neat suburban detached home in Prescot might only be a few miles from the city, but right now, as he left the headquarters building, it felt like it was a million miles from the smells of blood and death that had followed him around all day.

  Chapter 8

  Respite

  “You look absolutely shattered,” Maria Ross exclaimed as she looked at her husband, who'd just walked in to the kitchen, his sagging shoulders and downcast expression betraying the effects of a stressful day at work. Andy always used the back door as a rule when coming home from work. Nine times out of ten, his shoes would be dirty and soiled from his exposure to the 'wild side of life, as Maria described his job. Today was no exception.

  “Been a rough day, sweetheart,” he replied as he dropped exhaustedly into an armchair that looked out of place in its surroundings. The old, blue velour upholstered fireside chair had moved with them from their previous house and had previously belonged to Ross's father, where it had held pride of place in his parents' kitchen. It was probably the most comfortable chair Ross had ever sat in and Maria would never dream of asking her husband to get rid of it.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “You won't like it,” he replied.

  “Try me.”

  “We had a bad one, Maria. A man's body was found in a churchyard in Woolton. He'd been virtually butchered and…” he hesitated.

  “Go on, Andy, and what?”

  “Well, the killer opened up his body and cut out and sort of scattered all his major organs around the grave he'd been dumped on, but the worst part was the other thing he did. He cut off the guy's bloody penis, Maria, and stuffed it down his throat.”