by Adam Croft
Tyrone knew he couldn’t change his past. Who could? The best you could hope for was to deal with things in the only way you knew how. Either that or find a better way. Life didn’t tend to give you too many options on that front.
But stability had helped. Every day had been a day further away from those days, although it had always been at the back of his mind that it was also a day closer to the inevitable — to the day he knew the past would come back to haunt them all.
He’d been weighing up his options and quickly realised he didn’t have any. He didn’t have the money to move away and start somewhere new. And, in any case, why should he have to? He had no right to feel guilty about anything, to feel victimised. Even if he had, starting afresh somewhere else wouldn’t be as straightforward as it sounded. Where would he go? How would he start to lay down new roots? A black guy from a council estate couldn’t just fit right in on a strange council estate miles from home, and perhaps less so in a quiet country village somewhere. The way the world was, the way society operated, he was stuck exactly where God had dumped him the day he was born. Social mobility didn’t exist when you were one of the people society kept immobile.
As he went to walk around the outside of the empty kids’ playground and onto the path towards the exit from Edgefield Park, he became suddenly aware of a presence behind him — almost right on top of him, making him wonder how the hell he hadn’t spotted anyone.
He didn’t have time to think, though. He barely had time to put his hands out in front of him as he went crashing to the ground, a skull-splitting pain shooting through him as he tasted blood and tried not to choke on it, instinctively bringing his arms up to cover his head as the black boot swung towards him.
He felt the crunch of his nasal cartilage and the sensation of warm blood pouring down over his mouth as he curled tightly into a ball, his head ringing and orientation screwed, knowing he could do very little at this stage other than pray to God the beating ended soon.
31
The rest of the team had noticed Jack Culverhouse’s demeanour as he came back from his meeting with the Chief Constable, and they all knew it would be best to give him a wide berth for the rest of the day. He wasn’t a man who hid his thoughts or feelings particularly well — not when it came to work, anyway — and the team knew the tell-tale signs that meant you were likely to get your head bitten off if you tried to talk to him.
Steve Wing, though, didn’t have much choice. The call he’d just taken on his phone could potentially have an impact on the investigation into Freddie Galloway’s death, and keeping it from Culverhouse would only make him angrier when he eventually discovered what it was. Steve told the rest of the team what he’d discovered, and they all agreed that it could be very significant.
Holding his breath, he paused and knocked on the door of Culverhouse’s office.
‘What?’ came the barked response from the other side of the door. Steve took this as an invitation to enter.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said, ‘but I’ve just taken a call which might have a bearing on Operation Mandible.’
‘Go on.’
‘Benjamin Newell, the shit safecracker on the Trenton-Lowe job. He got married at the weekend.’
‘That’s lovely, Steve. Send him a card from me.’
‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you,’ Steve replied. ‘Looks like it might be one of the shortest marriages in history. He decked one of his new wife’s work colleagues at the evening do.’
Culverhouse looked up at Steve for the first time since the DS had walked into the office. ‘Oh, did he now? The nice, newly reformed, born again Christian Benjamin Newell, you mean?’
Steve raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s the one. His new wife’s gone off to stay with her parents. No arrests made, but word got back to us via an officer’s sister, who was at the do.’
‘Well, that sounds to me like the hallmark of a man who reacts very badly when provoked or when he holds a grudge against someone, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I’d say it’s worth having a word with him, yeah.’
‘Who went out to speak to him after Galloway was found dead?’ Culverhouse asked.
The other officers looked at each other, before soon realising that no-one was speaking up.
‘Are you taking the piss?’ the DCI said, his voice rising. ‘This bloke’s done time because of Galloway’s job that went wrong, and no-one thought to go and speak to him about the fact Galloway’s just been killed?’
Frank Vine spoke up quietly from the back of the room. ‘It wasn’t given as an action in any briefings, guv.’
Culverhouse fired his trademark icy glare at Frank. ‘Do you need me to give you an action to wipe your arse? No. I didn’t think I needed to state the bleedin’ obvious to you.’ He looked around the room, before mumbling, ‘Want a job doing, do it your bloody self,’ and grabbing his coat. ‘Knight,’ he said, raising his voice again. ‘Get your arse over here. You’re coming with me.’
32
John Lucas entered the local branch of Pemberry’s and watched as the man behind the counter finished cutting a new set of keys. A young woman was resoling a pair of black shoes a few feet away from him.
The man registered Lucas’s arrival and greeted him.
‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’
Lucas shuffled awkwardly. ‘Uh, yes, I’m looking for John Ayling.’
‘Ah,’ the man said, a look of faint recognition crossing his face. ‘You must be John Lucas.’
Lucas nodded.
‘Come with me,’ the man said. ‘Lucy, can you hold the fort for a few minutes?’
The girl nodded, and Lucas followed the shop’s manager behind the counter and out into the office at the rear.
Ayling closed the door behind them. ‘So. I got the message from your probation officer yesterday.’
Lucas recognised what Ayling was doing. He was leaving it open, giving him the chance to explain himself in his own words. The problem was, he knew Ayling had probably made his mind up already.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Lucas replied. ‘Something happened with one of the people I used to be involved with, and the police took me in to speak to me.’
‘Arrested you, I heard.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What for?’
Lucas took a deep breath. ‘Arson and manslaughter.’
Ayling raised his eyebrows and scratched the back of his head. ‘And have they bailed you or released you?’
‘Bailed me. There was... There was stuff in my garage which they reckon linked me to what happened. But it’s all bollocks. I’ve not even been in that garage since I got out of prison. They’ll do forensics or fingerprints or something and they’ll find out it wasn’t me. But in the meantime I’ve got this all hanging over me.’
‘You sound pretty sure they’ll drop it. I’ve got to say, John, your probation officer didn’t sound quite so certain.’
‘Yeah, well the probation officer isn’t me, is she? I’m me, and I know I didn’t do it.’
‘Alright. Fine. But how do we know? I’m not going to lie to you, John, we get a lot of ex-offenders working for Pemberry’s. It’s one of the things we do, trying to help them integrate back into the community and give them a second chance. That’s a big thing to do. Not many other retailers or businesses would be willing to take that chance. But we need something in return. We can’t just take on everyone who comes out of prison regardless of who they are or what they do. We have a zero tolerance approach when it comes to reoffending.’
‘But I haven’t reoffended!’
‘No, but you have been arrested for an offence within hours of being released. I appreciate the police are investigating and that they’ll decide to either charge you or release you — hopefully the latter — but in the meantime there’s very little we can do. The same rules apply to all our staff, whether they’re ex-offenders or not. If you’re under investigation for a potentially serious crime, we have to sus
pend you from work.’
Lucas closed his eyes. He feared that would be the case. And all before he’d even come into the shop and done his first day’s work.
‘We’re not trying to make a judgement, but we have certain responsibilities as a retailer and an employer,’ Ayling said. ‘I hope you understand.’
‘So what, I’m out before I’m even in?’
‘No, it’s a temporary suspension. Just while this is all up in the air. You’ve got to look at it from our point of view, John. You haven’t even started working here yet. We’ve never met you before. And the first thing we hear is that you’re not turning up for your first day of work because you’ve been arrested. For arson and manslaughter.’
‘Yeah, and then bailed a few hours later. They don’t just bail people on an arson and manslaughter case, especially not if they’re ex-cons. The only reason they’d do that is if they didn’t really believe I’d done it.’
‘In which case they’ll drop the case and release you fully in due course, at which point you’ll be more than welcome to come back and join us here.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Like you say, you didn’t do it. So that’s not an option, is it?’
Lucas tried to hold his frustrations inside, but he was struggling. He desperately wanted to tell Ayling to stuff his stupid job. He could stick it up his arse as far as he cared. But he knew that wouldn’t do him any favours.
He wanted the job. It wasn’t exactly a burgeoning career, but what else would he have in his position? He was fortunate to have that much. He just prayed to God — if there was one — that whoever had tried setting him up hadn’t done it too well.
Then again, they’d had eleven years to plan it. What if they’d covered every angle, thought of every possible way in which their plan might fall down?
He knew he was innocent. But he didn’t have the same level of trust in the British justice system as most people did. And he knew what some of his past associates were capable of.
He had to hope, had to pray that logic and common sense would win out. Because he already had too much to lose if it didn’t.
33
As Benjamin Newell hadn’t been arrested for the assault on Ollie Hardcastle, Wendy Knight and Jack Culverhouse went to visit him at his home. This was the sort of man who’d likely give you more in an informal statement than he would in an official interview situation.
Newell’s home certainly had traces of a female influence, although it looked as though that influence had been absent for the past couple of days.
‘Missus not in?’ Culverhouse said, after the introductions had been made and Newell had ushered them through into the living room.
‘Uh, no,’ he said, scratching the back of his head. ‘She’s not.’
‘Not nipped out to the shops for a pint of milk, I’m guessing.’
‘No. She’s staying with her parents.’
‘Interesting choice of honeymoon.’
‘Yeah, well it’s cheaper than the Seychelles,’ Newell said, sitting down in an armchair.
‘How long’s she away for?’ Wendy asked, sitting down on the sofa next to Culverhouse.
Benjamin Newell shook his head. ‘No idea. You tell me. How long do women need to get their heads straight?’
Wendy wanted to say she didn’t know because she didn’t tend to go for men who started fights on their own wedding day, but decided against it. She hadn’t had the best track record when it came to dating, but she could honestly say she’d so far managed to avoid the violent types. Maybe it was her background as a police officer. Perhaps she could spot them a mile off, or them her.
‘So, what happened?’ she asked.
Newell looked at them for a moment before averting his eyes back towards the carpet. ‘I’m guessing you already know that. This isn’t a social call, I take it.’
‘We do need it in your own words,’ Culverhouse said.
Newell looked at them again. ‘Aren’t you arresting me?’
‘We just want to get your version of events at the moment,’ Wendy replied.
Newell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nah, this is something else, isn’t it? If that Hardcastle prick had made a complaint or pressed charges, you’d have arrested me on the doorstep and asked questions later. So if this isn’t about the incident at the wedding, what is it?’
Wendy looked at Culverhouse, whose face told her she should try to stick to the agreed line of conversation for now.
‘It’s to do with an incident we think might be connected in some way. We haven’t arrested you because we’re not accusing you of anything. We just want to get some background information that might help us with our enquiries.’
‘What enquiries? Something Hardcastle’s done? If it is, count me in. I’d love to see that little wanker get sent down.’
‘Does the name Frederick Galloway mean anything to you?’ Culverhouse asked, going straight for the jugular. Occasionally, it was necessary to jerk an interviewee with a short, sharp shock, then watch their reaction as they were jolted into reality. He could see from Benjamin Newell’s face that it’d had the desired effect.
‘You know damn well it does,’ Newell replied after a few seconds. ‘You didn’t come out here without looking at my record first.’
‘Freddie Galloway died in an arson attack on his home the other night,’ Culverhouse said.
Benjamin Newell swallowed, but otherwise gave no reaction.
‘You don’t seem too surprised to hear that,’ Wendy said.
‘Yeah, well, news travels fast round these parts.’
‘Good news or bad news?’ Culverhouse asked.
‘Both,’ came the response.
‘So you’re not upset to hear that your old boss died slowly and painfully in his own home?’
‘He wasn’t my boss.’
‘He ran the Trenton-Lowe job. The one you did three and a half years’ porridge for.’
‘Yeah, well I wasn’t the only one.’
Culverhouse nodded slowly. ‘I know. There were two of you who had good reason to hold a grudge against Freddie Galloway.’
He left this hanging in the air for a few moments, watching as Benjamin Newell tried to formulate his next response.
‘I don’t do grudges,’ he said, eventually.
‘And what about John Lucas?’ Wendy asked.
‘What about him?’
‘Does he hold grudges?’
‘You’d have to ask him that, wouldn’t you?’ Newell folded his arms and leaned back in the chair.
‘Are you aware that John Lucas has been released from prison?’ Wendy asked.
Benjamin Newell seemed to start blinking faster than usual. ‘I heard someone mention something, yeah.’
‘He was released on the same day Freddie Galloway’s house burnt down,’ Culverhouse said. ‘A few hours earlier, in fact.’
Newell was silent for a few moments, before raising his shoulders and upturned palms like a caricature French waiter. ‘And what do you want me to do about that?’
‘Well, offer us your thoughts and opinions, perhaps,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Did John Lucas hold a grudge against Freddie Galloway? Enough to want to burn his house down and kill him a few hours after getting out of prison, knowing damn well the trail would lead straight to him?’ He could see from Newell’s face that he didn’t agree with this line of thinking. ‘What is it? You know something, don’t you?’
Newell shook his head. ‘No. I don’t know nothing. All I do know is John Lucas weren’t stupid. Listen, he’d been inside a long time. He had a lot of space to think and plan something if he was going to do it. He wouldn’t just come out, go round and torch the place. That’d be stupid.’
Culverhouse had to agree. But that left only one or two possibilities. Either John Lucas was that stupid, or someone else had set him up. The only person they could find who had a direct grudge against Galloway and was connected to Lucas was Newell himself, so why would he all but acquit Lucas
, knowing suspicion would fall on himself as a result? Something still didn’t feel right.
‘Do you have a habit of reacting quickly and violently, Mr Newell?’ Culverhouse asked, again trying to catch him off guard.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, for example, reacting to another man talking flirtatiously about your wife by kicking his head in at your own wedding, or perhaps reacting to one of your old criminal accomplices being released from prison by burning someone’s house down to try and frame him.’
‘You still haven’t arrested me, Detective Chief Inspector,’ Newell said, avoiding the question.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘But let’s face it. John Lucas is the reason you went down, wasn’t it?’
‘I went down because I got caught by a traffic patrol car driving away from the scene.’
‘Yes, and you would’ve had a fine and a slap on the wrist for driving without insurance, if it hadn’t been for John Lucas blasting half a pound of lead shot into a policeman’s face.’
Culverhouse could see Newell’s jaw moving as he ground his teeth.
‘I served my time. So did John. He served three times what I did, too. Justice was done. I’m happy with that. I’ve changed now. I’m a family man.’
‘A family man who hides a dark secret, Mr Newell. A family man who can’t even keep that darkness under wraps on his own wedding day.’
‘Listen, you would’ve reacted in exactly the same way if someone had said that about your missus,’ Newell said, looking at Culverhouse.
‘Would I?’ the DCI replied, his voice level, locking eyes with Newell.
‘Yes. Yes, you would. Now, are you going to arrest me or not?’
‘That depends,’ Wendy said, trying to defuse the situation. ‘Where were you on the night Freddie Galloway died?’
‘In the evening I was out for a few drinks with some mates. It was the night before my wedding. Then I stayed at my mate Cameron’s place to get ready the next morning.’
‘And they can vouch for that?’ Wendy asked.