Purple Death

by Brian L. Porter

  Connor paused, long enough for Lucy Clay to ask,

  “You think you know who it is don't you?”

  “Let's just wait and see Lucy, let's wait and see. Like I said, Harry Drew is the man who can confirm what I suspect to be true and, having said that, I have to admit that I sincerely hope with all my heart that I'm wrong!”

  Despite the hubbub of activity all around them in the incident room, as Connor fell silent and Lucy Clay sat staring at her boss with a perplexed expression on her face, at that moment, in the small area surrounding the desk where they sat, one could have heard a pin drop.

  The Meaning of True Love

  Connor and Clay re-entered Connor's office just as Harry Drew was printing off a document from the computer printer on the small desk in the corner of the room.

  Lucy Clay closed the door to the office very quietly and the two detectives waited in a hushed silence as Drew looked at the paper in his hand. A quizzical look appeared on Drew's face as he read down the list of names that had appeared as if by magic from the police computer's archives.

  “You've found something haven't you Harry?” came the question from Connor.

  “Well, I think so, though I'm not sure if it's what you expected to find.”

  “Let me see please,” said Connor quietly, reaching out his hand to take the document from the young detective constable who still had that look of quizzical puzzlement on his face, as though he wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to find in the first place and, now that he'd found it, he didn't quite know what it meant, though Connor obviously did.

  The list of names on the sheet of paper was quite long, though in almost every case the annotation beside the names stated, `retired', deceased' or just `present status unknown'. Only one name leaped out from the page at Connor as he scanned it and he nodded his head as though it had been exactly what he was expecting to find. Slowly, with an air of resignation about his movements his shoulders seemed to sag a little as he passed the paper to his sergeant who had patiently waited for him to speak or do something without interruption.

  Lucy Clay looked at the paper as her boss had done and realised why he'd been hoping against hope that his most recent theory was wrong. It wasn't! As she perused the document that she held in her hand she saw that it contained a list of all the officers who had been employed at the station during the course of the original Prentice murder inquiry. It listed those involved in witness interviews, house-to-house inquiries, and the more senior officers whose task it had been to drive and carry out the detailed investigation of the evidence. Of all the names on that list one screamed out at her from the page, as it had done to Connor. It was the name of the only officer still employed at the station, though he was no longer a uniformed police constable as he had been in those long ago days, when he'd carried out house-to-house inquiries on the street where Elizabeth Prentice had lived.

  “It's D.C.I. Lewis!” she gasped incredulously.

  “Yes Lucy, I'm afraid it is,” said Connor with a note of resignation in his voice.

  “But Sir, he's… I mean, he's the boss, he's the man who's led the inquiry all along.”

  “I know he is Lucy. That's why he was always one step ahead of us. That's why we could never get close to the killer because Lewis knew exactly what we were doing and changed his identity to keep leading us along the numerous false trails he'd laid for us. When we look a bit deeper I think we'll find that he had a long and lasting relationship with Elizabeth Prentice, and that he became totally wrapped up in her campaign against those she thought responsible for her husband's death, or at the very least for their sins of omission in allowing whoever she perceived to be his killer to escape justice. I don't know why, but he's waited all these years before carrying out his act of retribution against those people or their families.”

  “He must be sick sir.”

  “Very sick Sergeant, without a doubt. Now, I think it's time we had a word with Detective Chief Inspector Harry Lewis. Come on Drew, I want you with us.”

  Harry Drew joined Connor and Clay as they made their way to the office of their senior officer. The door was closed when they got there and Connor, leading the way, knocked hard before pushing the door open, only to reveal an empty office within.

  “He's gone Sir,” said Clay.

  “I can see that Sergeant. The question is where has he gone to?”

  At that moment Sergeant Tom Daly, the station administrative officer came bustling into the D.C.I.s office, unaware of their presence.

  “Oh hello Mr Connor,” he said to the D.I. “Is the D.C.I. not back yet?”

  “Back from where Sergeant?”

  “Well Sir, he came to see me a while ago. He said you wanted a transcript of the last phone call that D.C Fox had made from the safe house. I told him that you'd ordered that no-one but yourself should have access to that information but he reminded me that he was your boss, and mine, and anyway, he said you'd asked him to get the information because you were busy on another part of the investigation.”

  “Did that transcript have a record of the telephone number of the incoming call sergeant? Think man, it's important.”

  “Well yes, it would have done. All official incoming calls are screened and identified by the caller's number being recorded on the top of the transcript form.”

  “Bloody hell!” Connor cursed. “So there was nothing to stop him calling the Telecoms people and finding out the address that corresponded to the number the call came from?”

  “Of course not Sir. Look, is there a problem?”

  “You'd better hope not Sergeant. When I said no-one was to have access to that information, I meant no-one, and that included Lewis, or the chief super or even the damned chief constable!”

  “I'm sorry,” muttered the administration officer, but Connor and Clay, closely followed by D.C Drew were already running towards the stairway on their way out of the building. Connor pushed a piece of paper into Drew's hand, gave him hurried instructions to make a short detour and then to get hold of D.C Kelly and for the two of them to follow on in a squad car to the Tolliver house.

  As Clay pulled the Mondeo to a halt in the deserted confines of the close where the Tolliver house stood hidden behind its well-matured grove of trees Connor sensed that all was not well with the place. Everything just looked too quiet.

  “Let's take it nice and slow Lucy,” he ordered as they quietly got out of the car and moved towards the house. “We don't want any nasty surprises now, do we?”

  “Right, Sir.”

  We're going to take a look through the windows first and try to ascertain what's going on in there before we do anything. I'll take the study, you take the dining room. They're both on the ground floor at the front of the house. If we don't see anything we'll move around to the side and check the other rooms.”

  The two officers moved almost silently towards the ground floor windows that Connor had indicated. As he arrived at the window of the late judge's study Connor saw a sight that almost made his blood freeze in his veins. Lewis was there alright, and D.C Simon Fox, Henry DeVere and the two Roger Cahills were on their knees, with their hands positioned behind their heads at the far side of the room. Lewis had them all covered with a menacing looking rifle and none of the men confined in that room could have moved without the renegade officer seeing what they were doing and thus making themselves an instant target for his firearm. Connor gestured across to Clay who answered his frantic waving with a nod and the sergeant moved to join her boss as he peered over the sill of the window. After taking a few seconds to assess the situation she asked,

  “What now Boss? Any ideas?” she whispered.

  “I think we have to approach this one head-on Sergeant, as I don't think that time is exactly on our side. Lewis is highly unstable and he could pull that trigger at anytime.”

  “Lead on then, I'm with you all the way,” said Clay as Connor began to edge his way towards the front door of the house.

  Togethe
r the two officers entered the house, making as little sound as possible, though the heavy front door betrayed their presence by making annoying creaking sound as the hinges protested at the sluggishness of movement as Clay tried to close the door without announcing their presence.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Connor simply placed one finger over his lips and beckoned her onwards in his wake. They padded across the hall and stopped outside the study door, listening intently for any sound emanating from within.

  “If that's you out there Sean,” Lewis's voice boomed from within, “I suggest you come in and join the party. I was wondering how long it would take you to realise where I was.”

  Sheepishly, Connor pressed the door handle down and slowly opened the door to the study, motioning for Clay to stay where she was.

  “Oh Sean, really! Do bring the good Sergeant in with you as well. We don't want to leave her standing alone out there now do we?”

  Connor and Clay joined the unhappy band in that room and were soon on their knees, as helpless as the other captives.

  “Surely you must realise that it's over. You can't get away from here,” said Connor, attempting to reason with his boss.

  “Do you really think that concerns me now Sean, after all these years? You've no idea what it's been like, planning and waiting for the right time to put these fools out of their misery. They all made my poor Elizabeth's life one of despair and melancholic misery, and they all deserved to pay.”

  “Sir, Harry, listen. You don't have to do this. You've let your judgement be clouded by things that happened a log time ago and by the words of a woman who was stricken with grief and was prepared to lash out at anyone and anything she thought had let her down in her search for justice for her husband. She became unhinged, and you've done the same. It's not too late though. You can get help.”

  “What? And end up in a psychiatric ward or in a special hospital with all the other crazies who I've helped to put away. Cone on now Sean, we both know that's not going to happen.”

  “Then tell me at least why you killed Arminder Patel and Sam Gabriel. What did they have to do with your revenge? They had no connection at all with Elizabeth Prentice.”

  “Oh Sean, you can be so naive. Don't you realise that they had nothing to do with the Prentice case? They were Tracy's victims, not mine. Gabriel had to die because he recognised her and could put her in town at the time of the murders, and you might have traced her through him eventually and Patel, well, that was personal to Tracy.”

  “Look Sir, we can work this out. Why kill all these people when you only want Roger Cahill, and he's an old man, so why not leave him be, and let the whole thing end right now?”

  “He could have helped her more. He could have supported her story. Instead he ridiculed her and left her to fight for justice on her own. By the way Sean, I had to get his files because one day I foolishly gave an unauthorised interview to a reporter outside Elizabeth's house. I said that I believed she was a wronged woman and that I had every sympathy for her. Not much I agree, but it would have been enough for you to latch on to me if you'd found the file first. Cahill here was that reporter of course, though he never printed that interview in his paper. He was too busy putting her down and making fun of her with his lying articles about her.”

  “I wrote her story,” said Cahill from his position on the floor. “I gave her space in the paper to tell her side of things, but when she began to get unrealistic and sounded as if she was `losing it' my editor pulled the plug. She lost the plot Mr Lewis, and so have you.”

  “Shut up!” Lewis screamed at Cahill, “or I'll kill you right now.”

  As Cahill fell silent Lewis swung the rifle in his direction and appeared to be taking aim at the old man's heart. In doing so he missed the faintest of movements that came from the crack that had appeared in the internal door to the study, the one that led from the dining room. As Lewis took a step towards the cowering figure of the elderly journalist the door suddenly swung open and a voice commanded;

  “I'd suggest you drop the gun Mr Lewis. Right now!”

  Harry Lewis turned to see Detective Constables Drew and Kelly standing in the doorway, both armed with standard police issue revolvers which were pointing directly at him.

  “Ah, very clever Sean. You arranged a little surprise for me, I see.”

  “I said drop it Sir,” Drew demanded in an even sterner tone.

  Slowly, Detective Chief Inspector Harry Lewis lowered the rifle to the floor. The two young detectives moved into the room and Kelly kicked the rifle into the far corner of the study, where it was quickly retrieved by Lucy Clay who'd sprung to her feet the instant Lewis had lowered the rifle.

  Five minutes later, with the hostages safely removed to the drawing room where DeVere poured them all a stiff drink according to their individual preferences, Connor and Clay, together with the constables were left in the presence of Lewis who now sat quietly behind the desk that had belonged to Judge Tolliver. In deference to his rank, he hadn't as yet been cautioned or placed in handcuffs though he'd been told to keep his hands in full view on the desk top.

  “Well Sean, “he said as though addressing Connor across his own desk back at the police station. “It looks like you've won eh?”

  “I wouldn't call it winning,” Connor replied. “I've worked for you for, what, nine years? I've always respected you as a bloody good police officer. Yet, here you are, a self-confessed serial killer. You're no better than some of the scum we've nailed between us over the years. Why? How could you throw away a damned good career because of some twisted and distorted memories from the past?”

  “You see Sean, you'll never understand. You don't know what it's like to be so much in love that everything in your world revolves around that one single person. When Elizabeth died I had nothing left to live for except to carry out her wishes and seek justice for her and her husband. That cause kept me close to her all through the years.”

  “That `cause' as you call it has cost you your career and probably your freedom for the rest of your life.”

  “So you say Sean, so you say.”

  With that, Lewis slowly yet imperceptibly began moving his right hand back towards himself.

  “Please keep your hands where they are Sir,” said Drew, ever vigilant.

  “Ah yes, sorry Constable. I just thought that you, Sean would like to know exactly how I managed to dispose of old Tolliver right here in his study.”

  Connor nodded to Drew, who released the grip on his police revolver. Lewis reached slowly into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a small pewter hip flask.

  “A little drink first Sean, just to whet the whistle. It's a long story.”

  Lewis took a long swig from the flask. Connor estimated that he'd drained it completely.

  “Finest single malt Scotch,” said Lewis. “Simple, wasn't it? Don't worry Sean, it won't take long. There was enough to kill a whole field of racehorses in ten minutes in there. Tolliver's dose was smaller and took a little longer to hit him after I'd left to meet you for lunch as it happened, but it must have been quite a sight to watch him writhe around in his death throes, don't you think?”

  Lewis began to tremble as the tingling sensation hit him almost instantly.

  “Bloody hell Sir,” Drew exclaimed. “He's poisoned himself.”

  “What can we do for him?” asked Lucy Clay as she looked on in horror.

  “Nothing Sergeant, nothing at all,” Connor replied, calmly.

  None of the officers in that room would ever forget the sights of the next few minutes as they watched the man they'd always followed and respected die from the effects of the massive overdose of aconite contained in the hip flask. Only when the convulsions had finished and Harry Lewis lay contorted in death on the floor before them did Lucy Clay break the shocked and terrible silence that had gripped them all in those minutes.

  “You knew he was going to do that didn't you?”

  “I had an id
ea he would Lucy. Perhaps it's better this way. He'd never have lasted long in a special unit after all. There would have been too many lunatics wanting to make a name for themselves by doing him in. This way he escaped a knife in the back in the shower one day or some other ignominious death and I think that despite what he did, we at least owed him that.”

  “But what about Mary Stride? We'll never know why he didn't kill her too.”

  “Oh, I think we do know Lucy. She hated her parents for what they'd done to her by leaving her to care for her family. In Lewis's twisted mind she was thus absolved of her part of the blame because her whole life had become one of suffering like his own. It's over Lucy, finished, and I can't wait to get out of this bloody place.”

  Lucy Clay nodded. Drew and Kelly left the room and joined the others in the drawing room as Connor picked up the telephone to call for an ambulance and scene of crimes team.

  Much later, after the hullabaloo of the day had died down Sean Connor returned to his office to inform Charles Carrick of the events of the day and to write out his report on the aconite killings. As he finally put his pen down and allowed himself to relax his thoughts turned to the rest of the evening and realised that Lewis had been wrong on all counts. Sean Connor did at last know what real love was, and, armed with that knowledge he picked up the phone to call Catherine Nickels…