The Silver Knot (Forest of Dean Investigations Book 1)

by T J Harris

  Passing the document to the Clerk to give to Sean, she continued. “Can you please read out the name and address of the purchaser for me?”

  Sean focused his eyes on the paper. There, in black and white, was his name and his address beneath it. He stared at it in silence.

  “Please Mr Williams.” she harried him.

  “Mr S Williams, 35 Ivy Drive, Ledbury.” His voice was barely audible. A murmur ricocheted around the court and the judge leaned forward towards his microphone, but the hush returned before he needed to exert his authority.

  “This is wrong!” Sean shouted suddenly. “It’s not mine, I swear.”

  “No further questions, your Honour.” she said, closing her notes folder with a flourish as she sat down.

  “I’m being fitted up here!” Sean yelled at no one in particular.

  The judge leaned forward again, clearly angry. “Quiet.” he instructed Sean.

  “But. But this is bullshit. It’s not mine, I never bought…”

  “Quiet, or I’ll hold you in contempt.” The judge raised his voice and Sean stopped and slumped in his seat.

  Davis stood but was unsure what direction to take. He considered pressing his client’s denial of the new evidence but the damage was done and he didn’t actually believe him anymore anyway. Instead he dismissed Sean and moved on with his plan to present and question a handful of character witnesses. Most were friends that had known his client for years and not sensed any hint of violence or deviance in his behaviour. This strategy also backfired when Khurmi asked each of them whether Sean had been sleeping with their wives and girlfriends and whether they would have thought the same about their squash mate if he had been. Compared to the prosecution witnesses, most of which described him as creepy, they were worse than useless.

  When he rested his case it was three fifty. The court was due to adjourn for the day at four and so the judge decided to finish early and allow both closing statements to be heard first thing the following morning.

  Back in his cell, Sean was joined by Carmichael. He explained that Davis was furious with him for lying about the laptop and had left to work on his closing statement. Sean said nothing. He was exhausted and his head was thumping to the point where every heartbeat triggered a sickening explosion behind his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to deny it all over again. After five minutes of silence Carmichael left. Sean lay back on his bed and closed his eyes but the sleep he craved for wouldn’t come.

  Chapter 18

  The two sets of closing arguments were largely predictable. Khurmi held the court in her hand as she put her case, reminding the jury of the salient points in the evidence she had presented. She held her coup-de-gras to the final statement.

  “You’ve heard from the police evidence that the accused has consistently lied about every aspect of his involvement with the victim. First he didn’t know her, then she was just a patient, then they were having an affair. He’s even told you that they were in love. You’ve been privileged to see that blatant disregard for the truth for yourselves here in this very courtroom. He swore under oath that he did not own a laptop. It was a key part of his defence; the ridiculous story about his home computer being hacked. Yet, yesterday you saw even that evaporate when the police secured the warrantee receipt for the laptop in his own name. The man is a pathological liar, with a total disregard for the truth and for the victim. It is obvious that he could not take Helen Brooks leaving him and so he murdered her in cold blood. It is equally obvious that you must find him guilty.”

  She returned to her bench and sat down maintaining the grave look on her face.

  Davis stood and buttoned his suit jacket.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” he began. “The prosecution has laid out their case, but I still maintain that there is still not one piece of conclusive evidence that proves that Sean Williams is guilty of murder. He has told you that he was indeed sitting five miles away when the murder was committed and the prosecution have not been able to prove otherwise. There is not one piece of DNA or forensic evidence that puts him anywhere near the scene. The silver knot necklace that the prosecution has told you the accused kept as a trophy has never been found, despite a police team thoroughly ransacking his house, garden, even his place of work. Even the prosecution’s dramatically staged production of the laptop receipt does nothing to suggest that the accused murdered Helen Brooks.” He paused and looked from one jury member to the next, claiming eye contact. “Your job is to decide whether the prosecution has established that Sean Williams is guilty beyond reasonable doubt.” he paused again for effect. “I suggest that there is considerable doubt in this case. Doubt over the motive, doubt whether this man is capable of the savage murder that you have seen details of. Doubt whether a man who has spent his career helping and caring for people could have done this to the woman he loved. There is doubt over the means. The prosecution has no evidence of him purchasing or handling the rope used to kill Helen Brooks. There is even doubt over the opportunity as the police have not been able to prove that he was within five miles of the victim when she was killed. I believe you have no choice but to conclude that there is considerable doubt in this case and therefore I urge you to return a verdict of not guilty.”

  He tidied his papers and sat down. There was nothing further he could do, it was out of his hands now.

  The judge thanked the two legal teams then explained to the jury what he expected them to do. He also reiterated the point that they must judge the case on the evidence that had been presented and that if they did have reasonable doubt, then they should find the defendant not guilty. When he had finished they were led away to consider their verdict and the court was adjourned. Sean was returned to his cell where Carmichael joined him.

  “We can expect them to take a while, it may even take all day. In cases like this, with so much at stake, they tend to take their time.” he told Sean. “Pity about the laptop though. I think we were doing quite well up to that point.” he tipped his head to the side as he said it. The mannerism telling Sean, that he didn’t quite mean it.

  Sean sat in silence, staring at the floor.

  Carmichael made his excuses and left him alone in his cell, but was back half an hour later. “They’ve reached a verdict.” he told Sean.

  “That was quick, that can’t be good.” Sean said, looking worried.

  “Not necessarily, quite often the quick verdicts go in the defence’s favour. It’s easier to recognise the doubt than to make the decision to convict someone, especially on a murder charge. I think we might just be all right.” He smiled brightly at Sean, who risked a smile back.

  “Come on then.” Carmichael slapped him on the shoulder as the guard entered to escort him to the courtroom one last time.

  As Sean popped up on the middle of the courtroom and took his seat there was an excited buzz in the room. His headache was easing and the tension in his chest was starting to loosen.

  The jury re-entered and took their places. They gave nothing away in their expressions as the court rose for the judge to enter. He took his seat and started the proceedings nodding to the clerk.

  The man stood and read the familiar sentence from a card. “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?”

  A woman in her thirties sat in the front row of the jury box stood up to answer. “Yes your Honour.” she replied.

  “On the charge of murder, how do you find the accused? Guilty or not guilty?”

  Time seemed to stand still for Sean. He held his breath waiting for the woman to reveal his fate. Two little words would set him free from this nightmare. He closed his eyes, not being able to bear the suspense.

  “Guilty.”

  The air left Sean’s lungs like a retreating wave on a sandy beach. He opened his eyes, not able to believe what he had heard. He looked across at Carmichael who gave him a compassionate look, tilting his head to the side in the now familiar gesture. He turned to look at Khurmi who star
ed straight back at him with a pleased expression on her face. There was no remorse in her eyes; she was taking pleasure in the win, taking pleasure in his pain.

  Sean sat in a daze as the judge thanked the jury then explained that formal sentencing would take place in April but that Sean could expect life imprisonment with the minimum term being decided at that hearing.

  Sean did not stand with the rest of the court as the judge left the chamber, despite the tug on his shoulder from the guard at his side. Eventually he got up on unsteady feet and was cuffed and led back to the cell. He was instructed to change back into his prison clothes ready to be transferred back to Bristol.

  Carmichael came to see him briefly, mainly to explain what the judge had meant about a hearing and promising to visit him soon to work on their mitigation strategy. He explained that this would be key in setting the minimum term of Sean’s sentence, but Sean had stopped listening. Carmichael made his excuses and left him alone in his cell.

  As the van pulled out of the complex, bright flashes came in through the small smoked glass window as the paparazzi tried to get shots for the morning papers, but Sean didn’t notice. His eyes were shut and he was sobbing softly to himself.

  Ellis met him at the prison reception and walked him back to his cell. It was early evening and he had missed dinner. Ellis offered to take him via the canteen but Sean declined, saying he just wanted to go to sleep.

  That evening after the lights had been turned out, Sean rose from his bed and used the stainless steel toilet in his cell. He pulled at the toilet roll, tore off a couple of sheets, and then gave the roll a sharp yank. Several yards of the thin paper spun off the roll, falling by his feet in a long ribbon. He folded it in his hands, flushed the toilet and lay back down on the bed. Facing towards the wall, be unrolled the toilet paper. Slowly he pushed it into his mouth, balling it with his tongue until he had the whole wad in his cheeks. It felt about the size of a golf ball, but in reality it was only about half an inch in diameter. He took a deep breath, then breathed out slowly through his nose. At the end of the breath he forced himself to collapse his ribs, trying to squeeze out every last pocket of remaining air. He forced his stomach muscles to push up his diaphragm until his empty lungs screamed for release. At the last second, when he felt his face reddening and his skin starting to tingle, he forced the gob of paper to the back of his mouth, slowly parted his lips and took a giant gasp for air, flicking his head back at the same time. The cold air rushed into his mouth, caught the wad of balled up toilet roll and propelled it down his throat, passed his larynx and deep into his windpipe. It eventually became wedged fast between two of the round cartilages deep in his chest. His lungs fought for air, desperately pulling against the obstruction, but it would not move any further.

  Despite the intent, Sean panicked and tried to breathe back out, to force the obstruction back up into his mouth, but he had done a good job and his lungs were empty. He had no breath left to blow with. Stars started to appear in his vision as he thrashed about on the bed. He pounded his chest hoping to dislodge the blockage but to no avail.

  His vision darkened and his heaving movements slowly subsided, being replaced by involuntary jerks of his legs. A face came into his mind. It was the face of a woman. He groped for the image to clear. She was slim, attractive, with long flowing hair. At first he though it was his wife, but no. Was it Helen, come to greet him? As his oxygen starved heart took its final few beats, the image cleared momentarily. It was Khurmi. She stared at him with that look of contempt she had given him at the start of the trial. As quickly as she had appeared, she faded away, leaving only complete blackness.

  Chapter 19

  On what would have been their twenty-sixth anniversary, Tony Brooks paddled the small open canoe away from the little green boathouse towards the middle of Derwent Water. Just like the previous year, the weather was warm and calm.

  When he reached what he judged to be the middle of the lake, he stopped and stowed the paddle in the bottom of the small boat. There was no one else within two hundred yards as he sat back and sighed. In front of him was a small rucksack. He reached inside and pulled out a navy blue urn with the name Helen Brooks written on the side.

  He sat for a few minutes with the remains cradled in his arms before carefully removing the lid. He placed it gently on the floor of the canoe and rolled forwards onto his knees, being careful not to rock the small boat.

  Tears came to his eyes as he held the open urn over the side and started to slowly and gently tip the contents into the blue water. Memories flashed through his mind; the night he had proposed; Helen in a party dress at some function or another; her excitement and zest for life; her passion.

  The urn was not quite empty when Tony let it slip from his hands. It hit the surface with a splash and as the water rushed in, it coughed up the last of her remains into the air before rushing to the lakebed. The tears in Tony’s eyes had dried and a grim expression took over his face.

  He reached back into the rucksack and pulled out a small red laptop. Without hesitation he dropped it quickly over the side of the boat, watching as it sank rapidly below him until it vanished from sight, leaving just a string of tiny bubbles.

  Rocking back on his knees he slowly shook his head contemplating the last sixteen months.

  Back in February of the previous year, he had never suspected that his wife of nearly twenty-five years was cheating on him. He had discovered the truth completely by accident. Helen had been working on her laptop in her study when he had surprised her with a cup of herbal tea. She had closed the lid when he came in and looked sheepish.

  “What are you up to?” he had enquired in a playful voice.

  “Nothing to do with you, nosy.” She had replied. He had assumed that she was checking out something she wanted to buy herself. Her birthday was coming up, and as usual Tony had no idea what to get her. Later that evening, when she was in the bath, he had crept into her study and opened the laptop to see what she had been browsing for, looking for inspiration for a present. He knew it was a bit underhand, but she had done the same thing to him before Christmas. That’s how she had known which Honda sit-on lawnmower to get him. And besides, they had no secrets from each other.

  What he had found however had shocked him to the core. He noticed the online email service in her browser history straight away. He had hesitated before clicking on it, but his curiosity had been piqued. It logged in automatically and he found himself reading through the messages she had sent and received over the previous two months. It took great effort not to storm into the bathroom and confront her, but he managed to gain control, close the laptop and give himself time to think.

  He needed more information. A couple of days later, again when Helen was taking a long soak after a hard day, he pried into the machine’s activity again. The browsing history had been cleared but when he started to type the email service’s domain name into the browser’s address bar, it quickly brought up the site and logged itself in. He had his laptop with him and navigated to the same site. He stared at the login page on his screen, unsure what to do next. Then he had a thought and clicked on the password reminder icon next to the login area. It prompted him for his email. He looked across at Helen’s screen and copied in the email address. ‘John Smith, very original’ he muttered to himself.

  Within seconds, the screen on Helen’s machine registered that a new message had arrived. He clicked it open and there was the password. He entered it into his browser and was rewarded with an identical image of the logged in email service. He jotted down the password on a scrap of paper, pushed it into his pocket then deleted the reminder email and carefully closed down both laptops.

  Helen was away in Cumbria the following day on business so he spent the evening going over the email draft messages in detail. He felt nauseous, hurt and angry. How could she do this to him? Who was this arsehole that wanted to tear his life apart? Who thought he could take her away from him.

  He poured ov
er every message looking for clues, scrolling back and forward through the list for hours. He noticed the name Sean crop up a few times. He also noticed a reference to playing squash.

  I’ve got a squash league match tonight and can hardly walk after the workout you gave me last night, not complaining though…

  He brought up another browser window and started searching for ‘Sean, squash league’ but didn’t get anywhere. Google responded with 407,000 results, but they were too broad. He gave up on the fifth page. He sat back and thought. The man must be reasonably local, he re-entered the search adding Gloucester. Nothing. He tried Hereford with the same result. He brought up the Google map page and methodically entered town after town until he got to Ledbury.

  The top result for this search pointed to a local league organised by a Sean Williams. The webpage was basic but included a pdf membership form with a postal address for Mr Sean Williams, the league secretary. He put the address into the map search box and was rewarded with a satellite image of a house backing onto the sports fields on the outskirts of the town.

  He poured himself a whiskey and stared at the image. He needed to find out more. He put the address into the Land Registry website and paid the £3 fee to download the title deeds for the property. The document confirmed that the house was indeed owned outright by a Mr Sean Williams. It indicated a change five years previously when a Mrs Rachel Williams had been removed from the deeds. ‘Probably divorced’ thought Tony. “Got caught shagging about did you Sean?” he shouted at the screen.

  He switched his strategy and searched for other details about this Mr Sean Williams. Some more squash related responses emerged including an article in the Ledbury Reporter with a photo and short interview promoting the league. Tony stared at the photo. The man was younger than himself, athletic looking. Tony hated him. He read the article.