Catalyst

by Michael Knaggs

  “So coming back to the Saturday in question, is there anyone who can corroborate your story, Mr Lorimar? Someone who will confirm that you were there? A companion, for example; who lives with you and enjoys the same TV programmes?”

  “No, no-one. But you’ll find that’s the same every night, Chief Inspector.”

  David remained silent and the man sat back. His solicitor nodded wisely in silent support.

  “That’s a great story, Mr Lorimar,” said David. “I am right in calling you Mr Lorimar, am I? You don’t have any other names up your sleeve?”

  The man smiled and nodded. “No, Lorimar it is.”

  “But what I can’t understand is why you gave us all that crap last night about Mr Anderson. All this would sound fine if it wasn’t for the fact that, twelve hours ago, you sat in that same chair and lied through your teeth!” His voice was rising. “So, come on, Mr Lorimar-hyphen-Anderson, why not complete the tale for us and tell us how you exterminated the Brady boys, rather than hold it back for the next episode when you reveal that you’re actually Spider Man in a baseball cap!”

  He could sense, with some satisfaction, that Clive Granville was bristling at the man’s side.

  “Chief Inspector!” he began, voice raised with indignation on behalf of his client. “I really don’t think… ”

  The man interrupted him.

  “I don’t know why I told you what I did last night,” said the man, very calmly and clearly unfazed by the rising anger of the DCI. “Ever since I started visiting Mrs Deverall, I’ve been playing the part of her carer in different situations, so I guess it just felt natural to keep doing it. It was clearly wrong of me. But apart from that, what I’ve told you on both occasions is true except for the reason why I got in touch with her in the first place. It wasn’t because of the Social Services, it was because of a favour to a dead friend. And bear in mind, I had no idea when you collared me last night in the cemetery that it was anything to do with a murder. I had nothing to do with the death of those people and I don’t want any complications. What you’ve heard today is true.”

  “Have you ever been with the army in Northern Ireland, Mr Anderson?” asked David.

  “Lorimar,” the man corrected him. “Yes, I did have a spell there; that’s where I first met John Deverall, in fact. Why?”

  “Had you ever met Mrs Deverall before?”

  “No, I told you, the first time I met her was about nine months ago.”

  “And how close a friend was John Deverall?”

  “Pretty close. Well, as close as anyone else in the circumstances. You get thrown together – it’s not like you clock off and go home every night, you know. You’re with people 24/7. So you’re going to get close to the guys in your outfit, aren’t you?”

  “Would you say closer than you were to other soldiers in your outfit?”

  “Yes, probably, because of the specialist work we did. There were just the two of us doing that in our squad. As I said, a lot of the guys don’t really approve of what we do, so snipers do tend to stick together.”

  “What are the names of your parents, Mr… ” he pretended to check his notes “… Lorimar.”

  “Chief Inspector,” interrupted the solicitor, “my client has fully cooperated in giving a complete version of his story; he has, in my view, satisfactorily answered your questions; and he clearly regrets giving you false information last night. You don’t have anything to link him with these killings, and because you don’t, you seem now to be asking him almost random questions.”

  David listened politely to the solicitor’s comments. “Nevertheless, Mr Granville, I’d like your client to answer the question. You can hardly claim it’s difficult or incriminating. So, what are the names of your parents – their full names?”

  “Were the names,” the man corrected. “They are both dead. James Allan Lorimar and Alice May Lorimar.”

  “Did John Deverall know their names, do you think?”

  “I’ve no idea. Why?” The man, who had been totally relaxed throughout, now seemed confused and a little uncomfortable.

  “Yes, where is this going?” asked Clive Granville.

  “Because I’m still having difficulty in understanding how you came to know the full names of both John Deverall’s parents, particularly his father, and – more to the point – why you don’t remember how you know.”

  “I really don’t see the relevance in this,” said the solicitor.

  “I’m not sure of the relevance myself, yet. But put yourself in my position,” said David, looking at a point in space between the two men opposite. “A man deliberately draws attention to himself in a crowded pub, openly challenges the three most feared toe-rags on a very tough estate, lures them away from habitation and executes them. Motive for the killings is almost certainly revenge. Now I’m sure you’re aware of an important statistic associated with crimes like this, which is, the best chance of solving them is within the first forty-eight hours. After that, it becomes exponentially more difficult.

  “Well, nearly two weeks have passed now and I am under enormous pressure to come up with a result in one of the most dramatic and highly publicised murder cases in recent years. And, based on that aforementioned statistic, it’s not looking too promising. Or it wasn’t!” He paused. “Then suddenly, we have a person,” he continued, indicating the prisoner, and turning his eyes to look directly at him, “who carries a gun, is an expert marksman, befriends a victim of the Bradys, and sees her take her own life rather than go back to face them. A man, in fact, who seems to have several identities. You do see where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

  No-one immediately volunteered to fill the silence that followed. Eventually, it was the solicitor who spoke, politely this time.

  “Chief Inspector, would it be possible if I could have a private word with my client?”

  “Interview suspended at 10:23 am,” said David, by way of an answer, stopping the two recorders. “Let’s reconvene after lunch at, let’s say, one o’clock.

  Jo stopped off in the Operations room to brief the team while David went through to his office where his boss, Detective Superintendent Allan Pickford, was waiting for him. Alan was a little over six feet tall, slim and straight-backed, with an almost military posture. His face seemed to be fixed in a permanent frown, which was a contradiction to his friendly and supportive management style. He introduced Jane Duncan of the CPS, who was waiting with him.

  “I thought it would be useful if Jane sat in while we review where we are,” said Alan. “I trust you have no objection.”

  “None at all. Morning, Jane.”

  “Morning, David.”

  “Do carry on then,” said Allan, waving Jane to one of the chairs in front of David’s desk and then leaning against the wall.

  “Well,” said David, “he’s changed his story this morning – or his identity, as he put it. He’s now claiming to be an Investment Manager called James Lorimar with – would you believe – a history of sniping for the SAS. I’m sure we’ll quickly confirm a lot of his story: address, occupation, army record, date of birth and such. Jo’s getting people on to that right now and I have a feeling that’s all going to check out. But the very nature of the killings clearly points to someone like him – the precise headshots, I mean. Oh, and he hasn’t got an alibi for the night of the killings, but it seems he hasn’t got one for any night. Very much a loner, he says – we’re checking if that’s true as well.”

  Jo entered the room and sat down on the vacant chair, nodding to Jane.

  “What doesn’t hang together at all for me is the motive. It’s hard to believe that someone fit and well, prime of life, with a good job and God knows what else going for him, should take it on himself to avenge someone in that way; someone he’s known for less than a year. Especially now she’s beyond help, anyway.”

  “So either,” said Jo, “he didn’t do it, or he’s closer to Mrs Deverall than he’s saying.”

  “Or,” put in
the Superintendent, “he simply felt he had to do it, because of the promise he’d made and the fact that he hadn’t kept that promise for so long.”

  David nodded and then turned to Jo.

  “Something you said just then, about perhaps he was closer to Mrs D than he says. If this man had been, say, her nephew, we’d be close to charging him right now, wouldn’t we?”

  He paused for a few moments.

  “Jo, get someone to check out the military records for John Deverall as well as James Lorimar. In particular, for the time they were together in Northern Ireland and, later, from the time they became snipers in Afghanistan up to when Deverall was killed. Can you also get me a list of all the soldiers in their unit at the time of his death? Check if any of them have left the army since then and, if so, where they are living. I’d like to talk to somebody who knew these two men.”

  “What about an ID parade with the landlord of the Wild Boar?” asked Allan.

  “Arranged for this afternoon,” said David.

  “Good,” said his boss. “Jane, any comments?”

  “Well, what you’ve implied, David, is absolutely right. We have nothing but circumstantial so far – compelling, but circumstantial all the same. Nothing that would point conclusively to his guilt. That situation would, in theory, change after the ID parade if he gets picked out. But even then I wouldn’t be all that confident that the landlord wouldn’t be persuaded in court to change his mind, or at least say he’s not sure. He might even feel he needed to do it for his own protection. They’re not exactly baying for the killer’s blood out there – more for his knighthood! Given that we’ve been on it for two weeks – and bearing in mind the public mood – we have to get it right. We need more. As I know you know,” she added.

  “Agreed,” said David. “I’d love to know what Granville’s telling him right now. I guess we’ll soon find out.”

  Allan and Jane left the office.

  “Right, Jo. Can you get the team digging up those army guys right away, then we’ll go back in.”

  Tom rose to his feet amid groans from the government benches and an air of almost mischievous expectancy on his own side of the House.

  “Mr Speaker, would the Right Honourable Gentlemen, the Home Secretary, care to expand on the distribution of the additional £2.5 billion ear-marked for the next phase of redevelopment? And in particular, on what basis has £1 billion of this vast amount been allocated to the establishment of more leisure centres and clubs? He said – and I think these were his exact words – ‘the initial phase would provide enough facilities of this kind to enable every person between the ages of twelve and eighteen to become members if they wished’. Has he simply not counted the number of people accurately – I know at that time of life they tend not to keep very still – or did he hugely underestimate the cost of establishing these facilities in Phase 1?

  “And if it is neither of these reasons, then I have great difficulty in understanding why, with figures showing a twenty-five percent success rate with these centres, they do not, overall, have three-quarters capacity still available. In which case, why is he proposing to build more?”

  There were the usual cries of “Hear, hear!” from around him and predictable gasps of implied disbelief at his ignorance from the benches opposite. The Home Secretary, Mr Gerald Portman, got slowly to his feet, shaking his head with an indulgent sigh.

  “Mr Speaker, the Right Honourable Gentleman’s ability to remember verbatim snippets from history in order to quote them out of context at a later date is already legendary. It must be a source of much frustration for him that such a rare skill has no use whatsoever in the real world. And although I believe he has made his best stab at the mathematics of the situation, he would be well advised to leave numbers alone and stick to words – of which he always seems to have a surfeit for what he has to say.”

  There was standard, exaggerated laughter from the government benches, and even a small smile from Andrew Donald.

  “Firstly, I would like to provide him with a little guidance in interpreting the facts correctly. The twenty-five percent success rate which has been quoted now for some time and which, until a few moments ago, I assumed everyone understood, applies to the reduction in street crime and social disturbance in the areas where such facilities have been introduced. It does not reflect the percentage of twelve to eighteen year-olds who are members of these erstwhile establishments. Is everyone clear on that so far? Or perhaps the question should be ‘is everyone except the Right Honourable Member for Princes and Marlburgh clear on that?’”

  He peered round the chamber over the top of his glasses like a headmaster imparting some complex message at a school assembly. There was laughter again from the government benches as Tom Brown rose to his feet. The Home Secretary sat down.

  “Mr Speaker, I thank the Right Honourable Gentleman for his brief seminar on statistics. Let me rephrase the question then. If the twenty-five percent improvement has been the result of providing these facilities for a hundred percent of the targeted population – and that link has been made by the government, not the Opposition – isn’t that a very poor return on investment? In which case, how can he possibly believe that the solution for addressing the remainder of the problem is to introduce more of these? Perhaps it was remiss of me to assume that there is any measurable relationship between the amount of money poured into these centres and the reduction in street crime. In which case, I apologise for wasting his time.

  “And before he responds, let me put that £1 billion into some easily recognisable context. It equates to one-tenth of the total government spend on policing for this year. It seems to me that increasing that spend by the same amount would have a greater and more direct impact on the issue than using it to produce more spare capacity.”

  There were more cheers from the Opposition benches as the Home Secretary rose again, this time more quickly. Whilst he gathered himself for the fray, Andrew Donald turned in his seat to speak briefly to Tom who was sitting immediately behind him. The Home Secretary began, speaking not directly to the questioner or even the Opposition generally, but to his own Front and Back benchers.

  “Mr Speaker, we have to believe that the Right Honourable Gentleman is well-meaning in his comments. We know that he is a great advocate of law and order, in spite of what one has read about him recently, and… ”

  There was uproar on the Opposition benches. Most of the members were on their feet with cries of “Shame!” and “Cheap!” A notable exception to this demonstration of solidarity was Andrew, who sat quietly shaking his head, catching Ellen Gormley’s eye across the House. The Prime Minister shrugged back at him.

  “Order! Order!” the Speaker shouted and the furore subsided.

  “As I was saying,” continued the Home Secretary. “I am sure his motives are genuine, but he continues to demonstrate a naivety which exposes a weakness in the pursuit of his goals. I ask the House to accept, in the interest of expediency in this debate, that direct statistical relationships are not always conveniently available to link related facts. The simple truth – I repeat – is that where leisure centres and clubs have been introduced and embraced by the target section of the community, street crime has fallen by a quarter – that is an irrefutable fact; I don’t think anyone has ever challenged that from either side of the House. We believe that further investment will continue this trend. This money will be spent on introducing more specialist clubs, for pursuits such as climbing, cycling, and other sporting activities, and improving facilities in existing ones. And we shall be focusing our efforts on the Frequent Serious Incident Areas – the FSIAs. In addition to this figure, the balance of £1.5 billion will include a generous amount to be managed by local authorities to arrange special functions such as trips, concerts and other public meeting events designed to bring together different groups within communities. That is where the money will be spent.”

  The Home Secretary sat down to cries of support from his own party. There was
silence on the Opposition side. Tom did not move but the Shadow Home Secretary, Jackie Hewlett, rose to her feet.

  “His CV checks out okay. Army record runs almost parallel to the late Mr Deverall’s from their time together in Northern Ireland right up to the time of Deverall’s death. Germaine and Rolland verify start date and current job title. His boss also confirmed that he’s a very private person – keeps himself to himself, doesn’t mix much. Omar is checking the gun club tonight regarding his membership. Given all the above, we’d expect that to be okay as well. Oh, and the warrant to search his premises has come through.”

  Jo handed David a sheet with three names and addresses on it. “Catherine got the details of members of his unit. They won’t release information on those still in the forces, but these three have left since Deverall’s death.”

  “All in the North West,” said David, reading the sheet. “Two in Greater Manchester and one in Pretherby, Lancashire. Never heard of Pretherby,”

  “That one was invalided out shortly after the incident, though there’s nothing to say whether or not it was a result of it.”

  “If we needed to, could we do three visits in one trip?”

  “We’d be hard pressed to do all three in the… ” Jo looked at her watch and calculated “… seventeen-and-a-half hours we’ve got left before we need to charge or release him. We could probably get to the first one by seven tonight if we could justify a chopper. Second one by, say, nine, and then it’s around one-and-a-half hours in a very fast car to Pretherby.”

  “That’s fantastic, Jo,” said David, wide-eyed in admiration. “How the hell do you know all that?”

  “Not me, sir. Little diddy Baxter checked all this out when she got the addresses. Even so, I think it’s optimistic to say the least. We may have to release him and bring him back. Unless you really intend doing him for threatening behaviour.”

  “Or benefit fraud,” said David. “He hasn’t informed the DWP about Alma’s death yet.” Jo raised her eyebrows. “Just a joke, Detective Sergeant, anyway, I’m pretty sure we could get an extension if we needed to. But let’s see if we can get these guys on the phone and ask each of them, firstly, can they confirm they were with the unit during the period concerned. Secondly, did they know John Deverall and James Lorimar? I’d like you personally to make contact, Jo. Do we have phone numbers for all three?” She nodded, pointing to the sheet. “Good, then can you do that now, and get back to me within the hour?” He thought for a moment, checking his watch. “Five past four. I guess we’ll be lucky to get them within that time, come to think of it; they’ll probably be at work or on their way home.”