‘That’s what you would like everyone to think happened, but the facts speak for themselves,’ said Vicky. ‘There was no break in. Oh yeah, there was a poor attempt to make it look like there was. Was that your idea?’
He made no reply.
‘Billy Simpson was stabbed whilst wearing a mask, your mask that he just happened to come across in the hallway you would have us believe, wouldn’t you?’
He made no reply.
‘Billy Simpson was stabbed three times, once in the chest and twice in the back. The latter we know was inflicted when he was already down on the floor. It has been shown that these two subsequent wounds were caused by a different knife to the one used to strike him in his chest; your knife, from your toolbox, which we can now prove has got Billy Simpson’s blood on it. This knife is the right length, thickness and it has a double edged blade. A dead ringer for the murder weapon,’ Dylan said. ‘Isn’t it about time you starting telling us the truth?’
He made no reply.
‘Well?’ Vicky said after a moment or two.
‘She must have taken it. Put me back in the cell. I’d rather be in there than listen to this load of shite.’
‘If that’s true, Richard,’ Dylan said. ‘She must have also managed to get it out of the house after the incident and back into your toolbox without your knowledge. Can you tell us how you think she could do that?’
He made no comment.
‘Your present girlfriend we understand is a Penny Sanderson. She has admitted to printing off information from police computers she says was for you. Is that right?’
‘Might be.’
‘We have also found other such material at your home address. Did you encourage her to do that for you?’
‘Might have.’
‘Why do you think anyone would risk the chance of being sacked from her job and face prison for the likes of you?’
‘I didn’t make her do it. She said she could and she did.’ Richard Bryant shrugged his shoulders.
‘You don’t care how many lives you wreck with your deviant lifestyle do you? Or maybe you do and you enjoy the power you seem to have over others? The truth I suspect is that you killed once and enjoyed the thrill.’
Richard Bryant didn’t answer but turned his head away.
‘Is there anything further you wish to say to us?’ asked Vicky.
He made no reply. The interview was terminated.
The prisoner was escorted back to the charge desk where in the presence of his solicitor he was charged with the joint murder of Billy Simpson. He was then brought back to the interview room. ‘What the hell’s going on now?’ he asked. ‘You’ve charged me.’
His outburst was ignored as they all took their seats and invited him to take his. He sat down reluctantly. Vicky made the relevant caution.
‘We wish to inform you that in respect of the Kirsty Gallagher murder we now have further evidence that we feel you should know. The blood found in the rear of your van has been forensically examined and it has been identified as belonging to Kirsty Gallagher. How do you wish to explain that?’
‘It’s not, not, not, not. Lies, lies, lies, lies,’ Bryant chanted over and over again.
‘That depends on which side of the table you’re sitting at,’ Dylan said. Richard Bryant raised an eyebrow at Dylan.
***
Richard Bryant was taken back to his cell. Dylan could hear him dragging his feet on the corridor. The smirk had been well and truly wiped off his face and Dylan hoped he would think about what had been said in the interview and offer some explanation to his solicitor. Dylan gave the nod for the next interview with Jane Simpson to commence. Again the interview procedure was instigated in the same interview room. She was told of the developments in connection with the offence for which she was charged which was the murder of her ex-husband Billy Simpson and the fact that Richard Bryant had also been charged jointly with his murder. She remained silent.
‘I also wish to inform you that you are being arrested in connection with the murder of Kirsty Gallagher,’ said Paul who further cautioned her. Her expression changed to one of utter disbelief as she turned her head sideways to glance at Lin Perfect, her solicitor.
‘Can they do this?’ she said.
‘Have you ever been to 14, Bankfield Terrace, Harrowfield.’
‘I don’t…’ she said hesitantly touching her nose. Dylan saw the slight tremor of her bottom lip.
‘Your fingerprints had been found at that address.’
‘They have?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘I remember Richard, Bryant, was doing some work up Bankfield Terrace.’ Jane Simpson’s face was flushed. Her mouth opened and shut without her speaking. The hands she clasped on her lap began to fumble with the hem of her cardigan.
‘Is there anything else you want to tell us?’
‘We, well we... we .... Richard was working on his own there.’
‘Go on...’
‘We had sex there.’
‘Where?’
‘In the bed.’
‘Were you aware that Richard Bryant was having a relationship with the owner of the house, a Kirsty Gallagher?’
‘No, no I didn’t,’ she said. Jane Simpson looked as if the wind had been taken out of her sails.
***
The interview over, Dylan opened the door for Vicky to go before him. There were certain times in an investigative officer’s life that were more exciting than others and that was no more so than when updates of proven facts and evidence on an enquiry were coming in thick and fast from all different departments and partners. Dylan, Paul and Vicky worked through the paperwork and took the phone calls.
‘Fingerprints have almost concluded the examination and identification of all marks but for one fingerprint that had been lifted from the rear door of Richard Bryant’s van. It’s important as it has traces of Kirsty Gallagher’s blood in it and it doesn’t belong to Simpson, Harper or Bryant,’ Paul said.
‘No chance it is Penny Sanderson’s?’ asked Dylan.
‘No, sir. I think to all intents and purposes her involvement appears to be on the periphery to the murder investigations.’
‘So we’ve got potentially another party involved?’ Dylan said.
‘The telephone links show activity between Harper, Bryant, Simpson and Gallagher and Barrington Cook when they were alive. It’s all becoming clear on the charts.’ Vicky said. ‘But we have a lot of other links especially via telephone data to enter.’
‘How soon will the Anacapa Chart be ready?’
‘When it is, I guess.’
‘See if Ruth will work some overtime. We need the crime pattern analysis working flat out on this right now. What about the computer team? Is the historical data flagging anything up? How are we doing at proving the links there?’
‘They need time,’ Paul said.
‘Don’t we all. Forensic update?’ asked Dylan.
‘There’s nothing new. Although they are checking footprints found at the murder scene with shoes taken from the suspects’ addresses. You wouldn’t believe how many men are a size ten shoe size and women a size six. That’s not likely to prove today,’ said Paul.
‘So it’s back to basics. We’ll have another interview with Jane Simpson again Vicky, about Kirsty Gallagher’s murder to see if she can or will tell us anything more. Then you and I, Paul, will drop it on Harper’s toes about what we know about his network, and see if that gets a response. I’m hoping something comes out of the cell corridors tonight. Quick sandwich?’ he asked.
Acting Detective Sergeant Vicky Hardacre sat eating her sandwich at her desk and was in conversation with DC Andrew Wormald and DC Ned Granger. Pen in one hand, she briefly picked up her cup in the other, and alternated it with holding her sandwich to take a mouthful. Eagerly she wrote notes. On the other side of the office, DS Paul Robinson mirrored her image concentrating instead on writing down points as he conversed with Ruth who was working on the Anacap
a Chart. Dylan was impressed how the team was working together. Lisa on the other hand, who sat directly outside Dylan’s office looked across at Dylan who was watching them intently.
Before he knew it he was once again back in the confined space of the interview room. ‘Jane you admitted in the last interview, you had been to Kirsty Gallagher’s house?’ Vicky said.
‘I told you I went there to see Rich.’
‘Yes, do you remember the date, or was there more than one occasion when this happened?’
‘What?’
‘What was the date, or the dates that you visited Richard Bryant at 14, Bankfield Terrace?’
Dylan remained silent as he let Vicky talk to Jane Simpson, woman to woman.
‘I didn’t say that I’d been there more than once,’ she said looking somewhat confused.
‘No, I’m asking you, did you?’
‘Well yes… Rich wanted me to meet her. He wanted me to... you know... try it on with her. I thought she was pretty but she said it was a non-starter.’
‘Well, for whatever reason he killed her. Were you party to that?’
‘No. I know nothing about it.’
‘Do you know a Derek Harper?’ Dylan said.
‘Yes, he’s a bit strange. Rich calls him G.D.’
‘G.D?’
‘Grave Digger. He told me he’d known him for years. One of those people you call uncle because he was his dad’s friend, but he’s not related really. Well at least I don’t think he is…’
‘Has he introduced you to any more of his friends?’
‘No.’
Dylan was pleased. She was opening up and in his estimations she appeared to be being quite genuine.
‘Has Richard or Derek Harper ever taken a photograph of you in the nude,’ Vicky said.
‘You’re a bit nosey, aren’t you? Yes, but we used a webcam more. He liked me to send him pictures of myself to him from my mobile a lot.’
‘Do you know if he showed the pictures to anyone?’
‘Probably. I don’t mind if it turns him on. If you’ve got it flaunt it, that’s what I say.’
‘Did you know he took pictures of Kirsty too?’
‘I guess he would’ve.’
‘Did you see any?’
‘Of me? Yeah.’
‘No, of Kirsty,’ Dylan said.
‘No.’
‘Have you ever talked to him about how she died?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know a Penny Sanderson?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never heard that name.’
The interview didn’t feel to be going anywhere and didn’t reveal any more. As they strolled back to the Incident Room, Vicky was morose.
‘We’ll get there,’ Dylan said. ‘Don’t look so down. ‘Paul and I will go straight into the interview with Derek Harper, if his brief David Scacchetti has arrived. Let’s see what he will say to us now we can put more to him.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Derek Harper had lost weight on remand, in prison. The former gravedigger looked grey and gaunt. His nose marked out by a little red triangle with its congested tip and a network of minute blood vessels.
Looking a picture of health in contrast, Leeds based solicitor David Scacchetti sat next to him. Dylan explained to Harper why they had him brought to the police cells.
‘It’s a waste of everybody’s time,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying anything.’ Harper constantly laboured his reply to all questions put to him when he bothered to answer at all.
‘Your production from prison is to tell you of the evidence against you we have now secured since your arrest and affording you an opportunity to comment if you so wish.’
‘I’ve enjoyed pissing on a few graves in the past, who knows who’s I’ll piss on in the future. Yours maybe?’ said with a cold, defiant stare.
With that inference, and his negative response to answer any further questions put to him, Dylan ended the interview and Harper was returned to his cell.
All three prisoners were in their relevant cells. Their location manufactured to enable them to communicate with each other – albeit by shouting through the small observation hatch in the cell door. The opportunity to be a fly on the wall for the team was too good to miss. Dylan hoped the prisoners would speak freely, especially during the night when there would be limited movement in the corridors. This intelligence seek he hoped would glean something that the team didn’t already know.
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ he said to Vicky as they prepared to leave DC Granger whose job it was to sit on the bleak cell corridor till his shift ended in the early hours. Only tomorrow morning, when Dylan and Vicky returned would they know if the exercise had been worthwhile.
‘I know you’re here G.D. You dirty old git can you hear me?’ shouted Richard Bryant. There was no reply.
‘Rich, I’m here. I wish you were in ’ere with me.’ Jane shouted at the top of her voice.
Just at that moment the whole cells erupted with a couple of drunk and disorderly prisoners who had been brought into police custody.
‘Damn,’ said Dylan. He and Vicky looked on as they watched the prisoners shouting and lashing out at everyone in their path. Their voices, along with the officers trying to restrain them echoed around the holding area with its shiny, white tiled walls.
Drink and drugs were a massive catalyst. It was no excuse for people’s behaviour and never would be, but defence solicitors would plead their client’s case and tell the judge and jury that the causation of their downfall was the cocktail of drink and drugs. The solicitors should tell it as it was, in Dylan’s view, that the obnoxious twats that stood before them were violent, aggressive individuals who upset and sometimes destroyed the lives of thousands of peace abiding citizens with or without any kind of intoxication. Now that would be a breath of fresh air. He knew that would never happen.
The staff in the cell area showed great restraint. The prisoners spat and kicked out but all was under control. Hopefully, and in Dylan’s experience, once in their cell the prisoners would sleep it off and not ruin the possibility of his officers listening to the rants of their reprobates, who were strategically housed for best interaction.
***
Back in his office, Dylan picked up his phone to speak to personnel at the Imaging Department. ‘Any news for me on that request to enhance the computer image showing the boot on the Harper pictures from the Pullman enquiry,’ he said.
The guy on the other end of the phone was upbeat and positive. ‘I’m working on it now, sir,’ he said. ‘We’ve enhanced the stills from the computer images and photographed Bryant’s boots for comparison purposes. I am pleased with the similarities thanks to the specific wearing to the heel of the boot that can be clearly seen. Mr Bryant has a unique gait to his walk it seems. The cuts and stains to the leather uppers are also providing especially encouraging results, even at this early stage. I will have a report supported with appendices of photographs outlining the similarities for you within the next few hours,’ he said.
Still with the boots, he wondered if Forensics had identified any blood splattering. If so identifying who that belonged to was of paramount importance. Dylan wanted, no he needed, as many nails as possible in Bryant’s coffin. He picked up his ringing phone.
‘Yes,’ was the first word he heard. ‘Yes! DI Dylan we have found a minute trace of blood on Bryant’s left boot and on checking it on the database it had been positively identified as Kirsty Gallagher’s.’
Things were coming together. The evidence trail was building nicely but Dylan wouldn’t become complacent. He was feeling tired and it was time for home.
‘I’ll be at the end of the phone, Andy, if you need me,’ he said to Detective Constable Wormald, who was to take the reins as the night detective.
Dylan drove towards Harrowfield. The market square spread out in front of him. A big open space into which the more dark shadowy High Street flowed. Beyond, as he sat in traffic, he co
uld see Stan Bridge where he had spent many an hour as a force negotiator for suicide intervention. Dylan’s car came to a standstill beside one of the two semi-elliptical arch ribs that supported the Yorkshire stone piers. He marvelled at the architecture. Not a bad place to be stuck to feel that life was less of a hectic scramble. A policeman came towards him in the middle of the road. Dylan wound down his window. ‘Don’t tell me, I’m required,’ he said with a low groan.
‘No sir,’ he said jerking a thumb in the opposite direction. ‘A minor accident, no one injured. It’ll be clear before you know it.’
The time out gave him time to ponder. Although the evidence against the three prisoners was excellent and continued to increase in value to him, he still didn’t have a motive? He couldn’t see why for the life of him anyone would go to the extent of murdering two people. Little did he know that the vacuum of silence he was experiencing alone in his car was in vivid contrast to the noise that the detectives were experiencing in the cell corridor.
***
Detective Constable Andy Wormald and Detective Constable Ned Granger were on two hourly shifts in the cell area. They were to all intents and purposes spending the night in the cells, like a prisoner. As the night rolled into the early hours the silence became deafening. Had they missed their chance?
Suddenly a male voice pierced the silence. Ned’s pen jolted ready to take down the talk that ensued, verbatim. The noise echoed around the tiled walls.
‘G.D. Talk to me before they come round to check on us. Have you grassed?’
‘No.’
‘Well, remember to keep it that way, otherwise you’ll be digging your own grave, old man,’ he said. Richard Bryant laughed like a hyena.
‘Rich?’ asked Jane Simpson.
‘What?’ Bryant said.
‘Will I see you in court?’
‘Looks like it. Every time the bastards speak to me they charge me with something else. Just remember it was self-defence and we’ll be alright.’
‘Shh… Someone’s coming.’
The gaoler was on his rounds. The sound of his keys rattling gave him away. Ned screwed his face up tight. ‘Hell fire,’ he whispered. What a conversation stopper. The night returned to a dark silence and that’s how it continued. It was a long night for which the officers didn’t have anything that could be used as evidence or actioned further. The next morning after breakfast, arrangements would be made for the prisoners to be returned to prison.
Reprobates Page 26