Heaven's Door

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Heaven's Door Page 25

by Michael Knaggs


  The judge continued.

  “How do you find the defendant Jason Midanda?”

  “Guilty, with mitigation.”

  Leila Midanda’s piercing wail was cut short by Jason’s shout as he sprang to his feet.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Two days later

  Week 10; Thursday, 28 May…

  The sun shone through the restaurant window onto the two former colleagues sitting across the table from each other. The room was quite busy for a Thursday lunchtime, with all the diners nodding or speaking to David as they took their seats at their respective tables.

  “You’re quite a celebrity here, aren’t you?” teased his companion.

  “Yes, rugged good looks seem to be very popular in the village.”

  Jo laughed. “Do you remember saying to me after Ben Neville’s suicide that you wondered what would happen to the farm? I bet you never thought in a million years you’d end up living there – even though it’s a bit different now to what it was then. And certainly not having the same room where he shot himself. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Well, I guess I did think about it a bit at first. But I always fancied living on a farm and now at least I’ve got half a farmhouse. And I’ve certainly never regretted moving into the village.”

  She turned and looked out of the window onto Main Street.

  “I’ve always felt guilty about not being here that night,” she said. “You know, the night of the ‘Meadow Village Massacre’, as they called it.”

  “Yes,” said David, “I was never sure whether four deaths legitimately constituted a massacre, but it wasn’t the time to argue the point. And anyway, if you add the Enderbys, Emily Burton and Ben to the list of the deceased, I guess it’s getting close. But there’s nothing for you to feel guilty about; there wasn’t anything you could have done. It’s not something we could have anticipated and prevented.”

  “I know, but …”

  They sat in silence.

  “Anyway, Detective Inspector, what’s your point about Jason?”

  “Well, what he actually said was,” she consulted the note she had in front of her, reading from it slowly, “‘No, that’s not right, we are in this together, equal partners, a team. That’s how it’s always been.’”

  She continued looking at the note for a few seconds then looked up at David.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  He shrugged.

  “I assume, from the fact that you’ve asked the question, that this won’t be the answer you want,” he said, “but it sounds like a confession to me. Well, perhaps not a confession, but a statement made knowing that the truth was out, so to speak. And it seems the judge interpreted it the same way.”

  “You see, I don’t see it like that at all,” said Jo. “I think it was just an instinctive expression of solidarity with his best friend. The verdicts clearly implied that the jury thought Jack was the leader and Jason the follower. That Jack was to blame for Jason’s predicament. That Jack was the baddy and Jason the victim of his … influence, for want of a better word. Jason just wasn’t having it – they were real friends; they looked out for each other – and that’s what Jason was doing then – looking out for Jack.”

  “Or it was pride, not wanting people to think he was the junior partner, just a gopher.”

  “But people don’t sacrifice their lives for a bit of pride, David. The point is, can you remember any criminal, on the point of going down, sparing a thought for anybody but himself – or herself? It would have made sense if he had got the same verdict as Jack and had leapt to his feet and said, ‘it wasn’t me, it was that bastard! He was going to stop me seeing Katey if I didn’t help him!’ or something. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” he replied, thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure what all this has to do with anything.”

  A tall, gangly young man in black trousers and polo shirt walked over to them holding a pen and note-pad.

  “Ready to order yet?”

  David turned to him, eagerly picking up the menu.

  “Not yet,” said Jo, without taking her eyes off David. “We’ll call you over when we’re ready.”

  “Okay, any more drinks?”

  “No thanks,” snapped Jo.

  “Same again, please, Tommy,” said David, smiling at him.

  “Right, David.”

  “Hey, Jo, this is my local,” he chastised, gently, as the waiter left. “Don’t upset the staff. They’ll be putting something into my scampi and chips. Not that we’ll ever get round to eating.”

  “Sorry, David,” Jo relaxed a little. “Just let me share a couple more thoughts with you.”

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Well, the users who gave evidence. They were the ones who came forward – four out of the seven who initially phoned in. Now, neither of the ones the police saw talking to Jack on Delaware, nor any of the six caught on camera approaching him were actually picked up and questioned, because the police couldn’t find any of them. Right?”

  “My brain must have shut down, Jo; because I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re getting …”

  “Well, if there was a set-up.”

  David smiled and shook his head.

  “Bear with me – I know it’s a massive ‘if’ – but if there was one, then you could have two groups of people. One lot – the main actors – to turn up and give the evidence and another lot – the extras – just to walk up to Jack in a place where there’s a good chance they’d be on camera or were being watched. Then the second lot fade into the background, out of sight, can’t be found. The police …”

  “That’s you,” said David.

  “Not really me,” countered Jo. “I only got the shitty bit remember? Not the investigation. Anyway, the police don’t mind so much – they’re supposed to be fast tracking and they’ve got four in the bag anyway. That’s more than enough to get the message across.”

  “And I would agree with them.”

  “Yes, but why, when the police knew all of these people, could they not find a single one. They had addresses, knew where they hung out and who with. But no sign of them anywhere.”

  “Well, you’ve explained that, Jo. They didn’t need them.”

  “Even so, it’s not as if they didn’t try to find them; they just didn’t try very hard. I just think you’d expect one of them to be at home – or where you thought they’d be – when you called, unless they’d been told to make themselves scarce. And before NJR, I don’t think we’d have been satisfied if we hadn’t picked at least a couple of them up.”

  “But it’s not before NJR, Jo,” said David, leaning forward, “and think about the scale of this conspiracy of yours. Someone would have to take an enormous bloody risk in casting all these characters – from the most unreliable and unpredictable pool of acting talent in the country. Seven phone-ins then eight spotted by CCTV and the police. Even if the three no-show phone-ins were part of the eight, that’s a minimum of” – he paused to work it out –“twelve people involved in the scam. That’s hard to believe. Then there’s the big mystery of how the drugs were planted – at Jack’s, I mean; it’s not difficult to work out how it could have happened at Jason’s. The party was the only opportunity, but how could that have been anticipated – given that it would have to be an integral part of the plan? Pretty much the core of the plan, in fact.”

  “I know, I know. But I keep seeing Jack at the house at the time of the raid. Even allowing for the fact that it was 5.00 am, and he was probably half asleep, and that you’d expect someone who was devious enough to pedal crack these days to be able to deceive people by acting the innocent, et cetera, et cetera … Even allowing for all that, I find it hard to believe he knew the stuff was there. And the magazines. I don’t think for a microsecond he thought that’s what we were looking for. It was just that he knew we’d find them if he didn’t get them out of the way, and that might embarrass or upset his parents. If he knew the drugs
were there, you’d expect him to pile stuff into the wardrobe, not draw our attention to the hiding place by clearing it away. God forgive us, David, but what if we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “What about an appeal? Is that going to happen do you think?”

  “Well, they can’t appeal the sentence, because that’s mandatory, and they can only appeal the verdict if new evidence is presented.”

  They were silent for a few moments.

  “Look,” David said, “why don’t you eat something? I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better afterwards. I know I will.”

  Jo snorted a laugh, and looked up with a smile of resignation.

  “The weird thing is, you know, I do actually want to believe they’re guilty. The alternative is too painful to consider. I keep reassuring myself of the two biggest arguments against there being a set-up. One – why would anyone go to all that trouble to frame two people who don’t seem to have a single enemy in the world between them? And, two – the fact that someone would have had to come up with better than a hundred grand to kick-start it.”

  “Well I agree with your first point,” said David, half-reading the menu, “though I guess the police must have considered that the target might not have been Jack so much as his dad. Someone teaching Tom Brown a lesson by getting at his son. Although it wasn’t intended to put him in exile, of course, because it all started long before the new sentencing law was in place. But if that was the case then you could get your mind a bit more easily round the complexity of the set-up. You know, if big league villains were involved. They’d be able to put a lot of pressure on the players without having to get close enough to the action to put themselves at risk. Or what about political opponents, trying to discredit the family, or soften the NJR.”

  Jo started reading the menu but put it down again.

  “They did give both of those some thought, but the fact that Jason was involved as well sort of scuppered that theory. Including him in any sort of set-up would have added an extra level of complexity that just wasn’t necessary. And point two?”

  “Point two. Well, the police never recovered the bulk of the stuff that killed that young guy – somebody Johnson, wasn’t it? So it was still out there. But once it was known to be lethal, then the whole batch would have become next to worthless. Anyone in the know, finding out where it was and who’d got it, might have been able to take it off their hands for next to nothing.”

  “Jesus!” Jo gasped, turning a few heads at nearby tables. “Why the hell didn’t the Defence pick up on that?”

  “They probably did,” said David. “But there was so much other incriminating stuff around. And I did say ‘might’ have picked it up for next to nothing, not ‘would’. And what is ‘next to nothing’? Five grand? Ten? It’s only small potatoes compared to the original value, but it’s still a big spend for a long-shot chance of success and with no way of getting your money back. You know, I think I will have the scampi. What about you?”

  “Vegetarian lasagne,” said Jo.

  David breathed a sigh of relief and turned to attract Tommy’s attention.

  *

  “Is it okay?” They’d hardly spoken for nearly twenty minutes.

  Jo looked up. She had been pushing her food round the plate but had eaten very little.

  “Yes, it’s fine, thanks,” she answered apologetically. “Just not all that hungry.”

  “I’ll finish it for you, if you like,” said David, who had emptied his own plate some time ago.

  Jo smiled. “Still as helpful as ever, I’m glad to see,” she said, pushing her plate over to him. “I’m not very good company, am I?”

  “Someone once told me ‘don’t expect too much on a first date, then you won’t be disappointed’. So I’m fairly cool about this, providing there’s a next time.”

  “So this is a date, is it?”

  “Well, you should know. It was you who asked me out.”

  “Yes, I’d like to do this again,” said Jo. “I just wish I could get this off my mind.”

  A few minutes later, David pushed his second empty plate aside and leaned forward.

  “Listen, don’t misinterpret this as support for your conspiracy theory, but how about this for an idea?”

  *

  “They’ll be taken to an intermediate location,” said the woman, “the redeveloped Bull Sand Fort in the Humber Estuary.”

  Tom and Mags were seated together on the sitting room sofa. Opposite them, across the low table on which Millie had placed a tray with four cups and saucers and coffee, tea and biscuits, sat their two visitors in the wing chairs which normally occupied a position by the window. Delia Tremlett, Senior Judicial Advisor was a large woman in her mid forties. She was confident and business-like and was doing most of the talking. Gemma Gray, her assistant, was small and slight, about ten years younger, with a thin, serious face set in a permanent frown.

  “This is a designated stopover establishment,” Delia continued, “for those awaiting final posting. Places in exile are limited at present to the single off-shore facility.” She looked at Tom as if for confirmation. “So waiting time at present will inevitably be longer than for the final-state plan, when full accommodation will be available.”

  “And when will they be moved to this fort place?” asked Mags.

  “That will be on the 10th June, in thirteen days time.”

  “What!” Mags leapt to her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t give us less than two weeks with him.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s …”

  “That’s what?” Tom was on his feet as well. “Don’t tell me that’s the norm, because this is virtually the first time.”

  “For drug dealers, yes,” said Delia. “But we already have five groups of prisoner-exiles, including the two already on Alpha, and we have not been notified of any changes in procedure or timeframe for this new offence.”

  Mags turned on Tom. “So it’s you again!” she shouted, and looked for a moment as if she would storm out of the room. Then her whole body sagged and she subsided back onto the sofa.

  *

  Tom drummed his fingers on the desk as he tried to come to terms with the news of Jack’s early departure.

  His office at Etherington Place had originally been a dressing room off the large bedroom in the west wing of the house where he had been sleeping for most of the past two years. He had converted the room some time ago into a good-sized office by incorporating a box room next to it. It had a large antique walnut desk, a luxurious tilt-and-swivel chair in burgundy leather, and book cases lining two of the walls. There was a door in each of the other wood-panelled walls, one into the bedroom and one onto the corridor. The period feel of the room was offset somewhat by the six spotlights set in the high ceiling.

  He sat in silence for a long time, then picked up the desk phone.

  “He’s not available, I’m afraid,” said Shirley, as soon as his call was answered.

  “Is he deliberately avoiding me?”

  “I couldn’t possibly comment on that, Home Secretary,” she answered, unmoved by his agitation. “I know he’s very busy, and I’m sure he intends getting back to you. But your continuing absence has put an extra …”

  Tom slammed down the receiver, regretting it immediately. He phoned again. Shirley picked up straight away but said nothing.

  “Listen, Shirley, I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry that I’ve not been around and everyone has had to work harder. But please cut me a bit of slack. You have no idea what …” His voice broke slightly, enough for Shirley to pick up on it.

  “I’m sorry, too. Really I am. For Jack; for everything. But …” She paused. “Listen, Home Secretary, I’d get the sack if the PM found out I’d told you this. But he is a bit reluctant – well, let’s say, hesitant – to speak to you, because he knows what it’s about. And it’s not that he isn’t sorry about what’s happened, it’s just the bigger picture, you know, the wider implications.” She paused again. “
He says it’s impossible to do what you want right now and for the foreseeable future. So, yes, I guess he is avoiding speaking to …”

  “It’s not impossible! It’s perfectly possible!” shouted Tom. “In fact, it’s what people want! What have I done to make him so…?”

  Shirley remained silent, not saying any more.

  “Shirley,” he said, calmly, after a few moments, “thank you for telling me that. I do really appreciate it. It’s the first bit of kindness I’ve been shown for what seems like a very long time. I won’t forget it and, of course, the PM will never know you told me. Hopefully he’ll tell me himself when he gets round to it.”

  “He will, Home Secretary. I promise I’ll get him to speak to you very soon. I hope we can save Jack.”

  “Thank you, Shirley. Bye.”

  Tom slumped in his a chair.

  ‘I hope we can save Jack.’ Shirley’s words echoed in his mind for a moment as he wondered how Andrew came to know what he wanted to speak to him about.

  *

  Week 10; Friday, 29 May…

  They arrived at the visitors’ reception in the holding centre just before 10.00 am. The room was large and airy, with several full planters colourfully decorating the area along with a small central fountain. The dozen or so armchairs around the walls looked comfortable and welcoming. The atmosphere of calm seemed at odds with the grim purpose of their visit.

  Katey and Leila Midanda were already there. Katey flew into her mother’s arms and then into Tom’s, clinging and sobbing, close to hysteria.

  “She’s been wonderful, simply wonderful,” said Leila in a small voice. “I couldn’t have managed without her. I don’t know what I…”

 

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