by Ernesto Lee
Murray’s slight nod is rewarded with a smile from Erin, which, in turn, prompts a verbal response. “It’s a picture of the girl that was murdered and dumped in the Ship Canal over Christmas?”
“Shelley Wilton?” Terri offers.
“Yes, I think that was her name.”
“It is,” Erin confirms. “She was drinking in The Bamford Arms on the night she was murdered. The Bamford Arms is just a short distance from The Twisted Friar and The Frog and Whistle. In fact, all three pubs are within a five- or six-minute walk of each other.”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Murray blusters. “I’d never even seen her or heard of her before the news came out in the papers.”
“I didn’t suggest anything… yet,” Erin snipes. “I am, though, finding it hard to believe that you had never seen this young woman before.”
“Do you have anything to suggest or prove otherwise?” Quinlan asks.
“Nothing specific, but Miss Wilton was a regular in The Bamford Arms, and regardless of whether your client was or wasn’t in there on the 29th of December, or indeed any other day over Christmas, I’m sure he was in there often enough to have seen her before.”
“Well, we’re all entitled to our opinion,” Quinlan says smugly. “But if an opinion is all you have, then I suggest you move on.”
Shaking her head, Erin smiles before asking Murray if he knows how Shelley died.
“Yeah,” he says. “It was in the papers, wasn’t it?”
“And what did the papers say?” Erin asks.
“Quite frankly, that’s not for my client to say, Chief Inspector. This little fishing expedition is wholly unprofessional. If you have evidence conclusively linking my client to the death of Shelley Wilton, I strongly suggest that you produce it now,” Quinlan demands.
Shrugging him off, Erin turns again to Murray. “Let’s go back to where you were drinking on the night of the 29th of December. I need you to think carefully about where you were and what time you finished for the night.”
“I told you already. It was probably The Twisted Friar first. I normally start there and then finish the night at The Bamford or The Frog and Whistle. I didn’t go to The Bamford over Christmas, though, so it must have been The Frog. Yeah, in fact, I’m sure of it. There was a band playing that night.”
“Are you completely sure about that?” Terri asks.
“Yeah. I’m sure. There were a couple of fit lasses singing and the lads on bass and drums were spot-on. I stayed there until just before closing time.”
“Which was when?”
“I dunno. I probably left sometime between eleven thirty and midnight.”
“Okay,” Erin says with a nod. “We can get this checked out. Where did you go after you left the pub?”
“I went home.”
Terri refers to a note in her pocketbook and asks, “That’s Flat 14b, Saddlebrook House, Cheetham Hill?”
Murray nods, and Terri asks him to confirm for the tape.
“Yes, that’s where I live.”
Raising her eyebrows, Erin says, “That’s not far from where Shelley Wilton was living. Did you know that? Of course you did, Johnny. Her address was published in the newspapers, and you already knew who she was anyway, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know her. I never met her before,” Murray asserts again before turning to Quinlan for support.
“Tell them. I didn’t know the girl. I was in The Friar, then The Frog and Whistle that night watching the band. Ask the landlord and the regulars. They all know me.”
“We intend to,” Terri says. “You can see how this is looking, though. There are just too many coincidences and too much evidence for you not to have been involved in these deaths.”
Tapping his own notebook, Quinlan asks again, “This is all very interesting, Inspector, but do you actually have any forensic or witness evidence linking my client to this murder? Because if you don’t, everything you have just told us thus far in relation to the death of Shelley Wilton is circumstantial at best. At worst, it smacks of desperation, Inspector Marchetti.”
“Desperation?” Erin asks. “I’d appreciate it if you could explain exactly what you mean by that, Mr. Quinlan?”
“Oh, come, come,” Quinlan tuts. “We’ve all seen the headlines, Chief Inspector. Nobody likes to be so publicly accused of incompetence, do they? It’s no wonder you are so desperate for a conviction. Shame on you, though, for thinking my client is the easy answer to your team’s failings.”
As he reclines smugly in his seat, it momentarily crosses Erin’s mind to drag Quinlan across the table by his throat to punch him square in the face. To see the smug grin wiped off his face would almost be worth it. Instead, she takes a breath and silently counts to three before calmly placing three fresh photographs onto the table in front of Quinlan and Murray.
Both men instantly recoil in horror, and Murray once again desperately protests his innocence. “No, no. That wasn’t me. Tell them, Mr. Quinlan. I didn’t do it.”
Ignoring Quinlan’s objections and her own barely concealed disgust, Erin points to the first picture. “You’re right, Mr. Quinlan. We are desperate for a conviction. Desperate to catch and convict the animal that did this to these young people.”
Then snapping her fingers to get Murray’s attention, she says, “This is what was left of Shreya Singh’s face after you went to work on her with your hammer, Johnny. This second picture is what was left of Shelley Wilton’s face. You did this with acid, didn’t you?”
Refusing to look up or acknowledge the question, Murray shakes his head desperately from side to side. “No, no, no. Make them stop, please.”
Much as he would like to intervene, Quinlan’s own nausea leaves him struggling for words. Taking full advantage, Erin pushes the picture of Shelley’s horrifically disfigured face closer to Murray. “You threw acid in this poor girl’s face, then you finished her off with a blow to her temple with the same hammer that you later used to kill Shreya Singh, didn’t you?”
His anguished howl is oddly reminiscent of a cruelly mistreated dog. “Noo… it’s not true. I’d seen the girl a few times before. But I never saw her on that night, and I didn’t kill her.”
Seizing on the admission, Erin presses home her advantage. “So you lied when you said earlier that you had never seen her before. What else are you lying about? You did kill her, didn’t you? Why did you lie?”
“I was scared and confused!” Murray babbles.
By now, a hint of color has returned to Quinlan’s cheeks. Desperately fumbling for Murray’s arm to stop him from incriminating himself further, he angrily smacks the tabletop with his free hand. “Chief Inspector! I demand that you end this interview now. I have never in all my years experienced such abominable tactics as those I have witnessed today.”
Tutting to herself and sharing a sideways smirk with Terri, Erin asks, “And by ‘all those years,’ how many are we talking about exactly, Mr. Quinlan?”
His response is ended before it can begin by a dismissive wave of Erin’s hand. “It’s okay. I’m sure I can work out the answer to that question for myself. Suffice to say, I think I have socks that have been around for longer.”
Quinlan is now beside himself with embarrassment, and Terri’s barely suppressed snigger does nothing to make the situation any better for him. Erin, though, is pleased to have been able to put him in his place, even if her method of doing so has been rather less professional in its execution than she would have preferred.
Quinlan tries to speak again, but Erin is quick to silence him. “Your request to end this interview is duly noted, Mr. Quinlan. We do, however, have a few more questions to ask your client before we finish. Would that be okay?”
Quite frankly, Erin couldn’t give a flying fuck if it’s okay with him or not, but she accompanies the question with a smile anyway in the hope of his cooperation.
“Do we have any choice?” Quinlan asks with a distinct air of submis
sion.
“No.” Erin shakes her head. “Not if you want to get this over with. If your client continues to cooperate, though, we can keep this as brief as possible.”
Pointing out the third picture on the table to Quinlan, Erin says, “You asked if we had any evidence linking your client to the murder of Shelley Wilton. The picture you are looking at now shows two enhanced images of the back of Shelley Wilton’s skull and her temple. If you look carefully, you can see two distinct and almost identical indentations. We believe these indentations were caused by the same hammer used to kill Shreya Singh.”
“You have DNA evidence to support that theory, Chief Inspector?”
“No, we don’t. Not yet anyway,” Erin replies.
“Then you’re fishing again,” Quinlan growls.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Quinlan. The strike pattern and dimensions are identical to the strike pattern and dimensions of the hammer used in the Singh murder.”
“Flimsily circumstantial and, once again, highlighting the extent of your desperation. What else?” Quinlan asks.
“After your client disfigured Shelley, he killed her with a single hammer blow to the temple. It could almost have been a dress rehearsal for what he did to Shreya a few months later.”
For the last few minutes, Murray has been looking decidedly spaced out. Erin’s latest statement, however, brings him back to earth with an almighty crash and he starts to well up again. “No, it’s rubbish. I didn’t bloody hurt no one.”
Then to Quinlan, and in a desperate burst of aggression, he cries, “They’re trying to fit me up. Don’t just sit there like a spare prick at a wedding. Fucking say something, will ya?”
Brushing the insult aside, Quinlan states again that Erin is clutching at straws. “Quite frankly, the evidence presented in the Singh case is tenuous, to say the least. In the Wilton case, however, you have nothing more than the fact that my client was drinking nearby on the night of that poor girl’s murder.
“By my reckoning, and if we were to apply that same logic to everyone else living and drinking in that area on that night, you are your team are going to be extremely busy, Chief Inspector.”
“Think what you will,” Erin says. “You know as well as I do that the evidence gathered so far for these two cases is more than enough to convince the Crown Prosecution Service to allow us to formally charge and hold your client pending further enquiries.”
Shaking his head, Quinlan pushes the three photographs back across the table and asks, “Are we done?”
“No. Not quite,” Erin replies. “Just one or two more things if you don’t mind?”
Visibly disappointed that the interview isn’t yet over, Murray shakes his head and quietly sobs to himself.
“We won’t be too much longer,” Erin assures him. “Johnny, do you have access to any kind of acid in your workplace or at home?”
“Don’t answer that,” Quinlan urges. “This is over, Chief Inspector. I demand that you end this interview now.”
“We’re nearly done,” Erin responds. “I already know the answer to the question anyway. Your client’s employer has confirmed that in addition to battery acid, they also keep hydrochloric acid on the premises. Why hydrochloric acid, Johnny. What’s that used for?”
Again, Quinlan advises him not to answer.
Quietly prompting again, Erin says, “It can be pretty nasty stuff if you don’t handle it properly. What do you use if for at your place of work?”
Barely audible, Murray mumbles, “It’s used for etching.”
“What kind of etching?” Erin asks.
“Security etching. Onto the engine block. It’s quite popular with customers that have expensive cars. We etch the chassis number low down on the engine block where thieves are unlikely to see it. It helps the police trace the owner if the car is recovered after being stolen, or if the car is stripped down later for parts in a chop shop.”
Smiling, Erin says, “That’s really helpful. Thank you. It’s nasty stuff, though, isn’t it?”
While Quinlan shakes his head in frustration, Murray nods and quite innocently says, “Yeah, it burns like buggery if you don’t wash it off quick.”
Pushing the image of Shelley’s disfigured face back across the table, Erin shakes her head in disgust. “Yes, and knowing that, it makes me wonder what kind of an animal could do this to another human being. What had Shelley Wilton ever done to you to deserve such inhumane treatment?”
“I didn’t do it, I tell you!” Murray howls.
He tugs on Quinlan’s sleeve and implores him to do something. “You’re meant to be bloody helping me. For fuck’s sake, say something.”
With nothing more helpful to say, Quinlan again requests for Erin to terminate the interview. “This circus has gone on quite long enough, Chief Inspector. Please end this interview now to allow me to confer privately with my client.”
Sensing she has them on the back foot, Erin calmly pulls the photographs towards her and places them into an envelope. She checks the time on her wristwatch, then passes a handwritten note to her colleague. Terri carefully reads the note, then acknowledges its contents and meaning with a nod before addressing Quinlan. “We do just have some final questions for your clien—”
“This is outrageous,” he interrupts. “What more could there possibly be?”
“The whereabouts and movement of your client on the 26th of December last year,” Terri replies.
“On Boxing Day, Inspector?”
“That’s correct,” she confirms.
Laughing quietly to himself, Quinlan shakes his head in disbelief. “Now I know just how desperate you both are.”
“Meaning what exactly?” Erin asks.
“Meaning that you are now trying to implicate my client in the disfigurement and murder of Darren Pope. That really is desperately tragic, Chief Inspector.”
“I take it from your last statement that you know about our interest in the Pope case?” Terri asks.
“Of course I do!” Quinlan snaps. “I’m perfectly well aware of what was discussed at your recent press conference.” Then turning his attention to Erin, he says, “You were challenged by members of the press to establish a link between the deaths of Darren Pope, Shelley Wilton and Shreya Singh. This, Chief Inspector, is the root cause of your desperation. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Hopeful of a breakthrough in his favor, Murray leans forward in anticipation of Erin’s response. His hope, however, is desperately short-lived. Ignoring Quinlan completely, Erin gestures to the envelope in front of Terri. “Go ahead, please, Inspector.”
She removes a fresh set of images from the envelope and places them down in front of Murray and Quinlan. “For the benefit of the tape, I am now showing three photographs previously unseen by Mr. Quinlan and his client. These images clearly show a message daubed in blood across the chests of Shreya Singh, Shelley Wilton and Darren Pope. We believe this to be an irrefutable and conclusive link between the murders of Darren, Shelley and Shreya.”
Terri allows a moment for Murray and Quinlan to view the images before calmly asking, “Why, Johnny? Why did you do this to them? Darren and Shelley were both homosexual. Was that the reason you killed them and then desecrated their bodies in this way? Did you think that Shreya might also be homosexual? Do you have a problem with homosexuals? Is that why you killed them?”
Wisely adhering to his legal counsel’s advice for once, Murray turns away and remains silent. Before Terri can ask him again, Quinlan smirks and passes a sheet of paper across the table to Erin.
“What is this?” she demands.
“It’s the fly in the ointment,” Quinlan snipes. “Read it for yourself, Chief Inspector.”
While Erin reads through the photocopied charge sheet, Quinlan says, “You’re probably wondering why I came prepared with this, aren’t you?” Raising his eyebrows, he sarcastically answers his own question. “Even a lawyer that’s been around for less time than your socks could have predicted that you were
going to try to pin all three of these murders on my client.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Chief Inspector, but as you can see, Mr. Murray was being held on suspicion of a public disorder offense in a holding cell at Cheetham Hill Police Station in Manchester from 2.43 pm on the 26th December until he had sobered up sufficiently to be released at just after 9 am the following morning.”
Turning to Terri, he then adds, “If it is a conclusive link to all three victims that you are looking for, then this is conclusive proof that my client is not that link. Or do you doubt the honesty of your counterparts in the Greater Manchester Police?”
For the first time today, both Terri and Erin are lost for words. Whilst they were always clutching at straws by introducing the link to the Pope murder, this latest revelation, if true, also now casts doubt on Murray’s involvement in the other murders.
Either that, or the multiple-killer scenario raises its ugly head once again. With a blur of unanswered questions in her mind, Erin takes a deep breath before shaking her head. “Mr. Quinlan, there are no further questions at this time. Before we end the interview, would you or your client like to say or ask anything?”
“There are plenty of things I would like to say about the way in which this interview has been conducted,” Quinlan tuts.
“I’ll keep things professional, however, and end by stating again that my client is innocent of any involvement in the death of either of these young women, and that in the absence of any credible evidence, he should be released without charge immediately. That’s all.”
“Very well,” Erin says. “Mr. Murray, you will now be taken back to a holding cell, where you will have time to consult further with your legal counsel. Interview terminated at 11.23 am.”
Keen to be out of the room, Erin gets to her feet without another word. Terri advises Quinlan that the duty sergeant will be along shortly to escort them both back to the cell block before she catches up with Erin in the corridor. “What now, boss?”
“My office to compare notes,” Erin replies. “We may not have Murray yet for killing Darren Pope, but we will. In the meantime, I need the chief super onside to convince the CPS to allow us to formally charge and remand him for the murders of Shelley and Shreya. He killed all three of them, Terri. I’m sure of it. But two will do for now.