Soon after her conviction, he was persuaded to transfer to another area, another division, another force, and he relocated to Middlesbrough where he now served as a superintendent. The hierarchy of the Yorkshire police were keen to avoid having him tarred with the same brush as his supposedly-violent ex-wife. He had taken some convincing, but eventually agreed, and from all she understood (he had never visited her in prison. It was not the done thing for a serving officer to be seen, consorting with an offender, even she was his ex-wife) he was doing well, but at the lunchtime meeting in the Duke of York he quickly confessed that his life was incomplete.
“I need a woman in my life, Rachel. Someone to give me a bit of stability.”
He was a good-looking man; tall, square shouldered, muscular with a handsome profile marred only by the hook of a broken nose, a souvenir from a pub brawl back in the days when he was a uniformed constable and a member of the squad sent to quell the fight. Curiously, it fitted his image as a hardened police officer, one who would not tolerate any nonsense. As a detective, he was uncompromising, and used any means possible (including the occasional slap) to bring suspects to heel, but as a husband, he was attentive, easy-going, fun to be with, and as a lover, he was among the best of the few she had known.
Unfortunately, she was not the only one to experience his bedtime skills, and that led inevitably to the breakdown of their marriage. John had argued against it, begged, pleaded, but she could no longer trust him, and after months of virtual separation in their home, he reluctantly left. He never contested the divorce, but work was a problem. Trentham, ever alert for those areas where the operation of CID might encounter metaphorical troubled seas, called them together in an effort to iron out any difficulties, and his inevitable solution was that one of them – Rachel – would have to transfer to another division.
She refused. She was Landshaven born and bred. The divorce was not her fault. Why should she move to another town? The same arguments applied to John, and as nominal head of CID, he saw no reason why he should be transferred elsewhere. Eventually, Rachel was seconded to the team looking after Fraisby, a satellite town ten miles down the coast. She reported directly to her inspector, who would then report to John, precluding most of the direct contact between the estranged couple.
As was obvious from their ‘chance’ meeting in the Duke of York, the torch John carried for her had never been extinguished. He bought her a drink, and they sat in a window corner, chatted over old times, new developments, carefully avoiding the subject of her conviction and imprisonment, and eventually, he made the inevitable suggestion.
“Listen, Rachel, this is only an idea, but I’m settled in Middlesbrough. I’ve got a good beat, a good team working under me, and I get on well with the bosses. Why don’t you move up there, ship in with me? No strings. At least, not at the start. We can try and patch up our differences, maybe give it another go in time.”
She dismissed the idea instantly. “Don’t come that with me, John. You’re just after getting your end away, same as you always were.”
He begged to differ. “No, no. All right, so I’m on my own, and I do get a bit pissed off with it, but it’s not just about me, girl. I’m thinking of you. Face it, you’re about as popular as fish and chips at a slimmer’s convention in this town.”
“I’m also innocent. I didn’t bloody do it. That bastard, Oxley, and your pal, Barker, saw the chance to wrap it up quickly, and they railroaded me. No, John, forget it. I’m a Landshavener. I belong here, not in Middlesbrough, and I don’t give a damn how much these people hate me.”
All the same, she was grateful for his offer.
And the truth about Barbara’s slaughter? She knew the truth, but it would take a genuinely super-detective, one who could counter inevitable pressure from political quarters, to unravel it, and she saw absolutely no reason why she should help them. She was free. Her name may not be cleared, but she was free. Because the conviction was declared unsafe rather than completely quashed, she may struggle to get compensation, but she was free. She owed a debt of gratitude (and a few pounds) to Hayley, but beyond that she was beholden to no one.
She was a free woman.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam dropped Barker back at Landshaven House, then went home to change into her business suit, a dark grey jacket and skirt, offset with a pale green blouse, and she returned to the station at a few minutes after nine, only to be greeted with the news that Chief Superintendent Trentham wanted to see her.
As she rode the lift up to the fifth floor, she ran through her memories of the morning, and guessed that Trentham would present her with a complaint, probably from Hayley Killeen.
The superintendent’s normally placid demeanour was noticeably absent. He appeared ruffled. The moment he spoke, Sam congratulated herself on her perspicacity.
“I’ve had a complaint, Samantha.”
She raised her eyebrows deliberately. “Only one?”
She said it with the hint of a smile, but Trentham did not share her humour. “I should be expecting more?”
“Two, at least. Hayley Killeen and possibly Rachel Jenner.”
“In fact, it was Colin Ranworth, the harbourmaster.”
Sam could already see which way the conversation would go. “Oh yes?”
“You’re comparatively new here, and I don’t think you’ve had much to do with him, but he is one of the most important men in this town. Control of the harbour is his domain, and there have been times in the past when his people and ours have had to work closely together. Putting that aside, he’s a fellow Rotarian, and a personal friend.”
Sam compelled him back to the topic. “The substance of the complaint, Neville?”
“Apparently Detective Sergeant Larne visited him and demanded the CCTV footage from the beachside of the harbour. I can understand why you need it. However, there are procedures for securing such footage, as you’re well aware. It has to be requisitioned. Colin has a responsibility under the Data Protection Act, and the paper trail must be in place. According to him, Larne insisted on having it there and then, and threatened him with arrest. In Larne’s defence, he said you had ordered him to arrest Colin if he resisted.”
“Quite correct. But I also told Larne to ring me if he had any problems. He didn’t, so I assumed there were none. This is a particularly brutal murder, Neville. Echoes of Barbara Shawforth. I don’t have three days to wait for a nit-picker like Ranworth to fill in his bits of paper. He’ll get the requisition, early this afternoon with luck, but I need that footage now. I don’t know whether it will tell us anything, but we need to see it.”
“I accept the urgency of the situation, Samantha, but procedures are procedures, and we are obliged to stand by them.”
“Not when we’re dealing with a serious crime, and don’t pretend you don’t know that.”
Sam was about to rise and leave, but Trentham was not finished. “Colin had a second complaint. The presence of a civilian consultant, Wesley Drake, while Larne was following your orders. Not only that, but Drake was quite confrontational. The first question I have to ask is why did you authorise Drake to go with Larne.”
“I didn’t. He volunteered. Early morning, we were short of bodies, and it was obvious from the moment I gave him the order, that Larne was reluctant to carry it out. Drake said he’d go with him, and I never got the chance to say anything before they went. As for confrontational…” She sighed. “That’s Wes Drake. At least, it’s Wes Drake now. He wasn’t always like that, but losing his partner hit him hard, and frankly we have very little control over him.”
Trentham pursed his lips. “I had the impression you were friends.”
“Of a kind. This is a different man to the one I met at the beginning of the year, and to be honest, I wish Iris hadn’t sent him.”
“Was the business on the beach any of his concern?”
Sam’s answer was hazy. “I didn’t want him there, but when I spoke to him on the telephone, he insisted th
at he needed to see a situation first-hand, and that goes for anything which may be linked to the Shawforth murder, and by default, Rachel Jenner. I have enough on my plate as it is, without getting into arguments with the DCC for obstructing the work of a consultant she’s sent along. You could take it up with him, but I wouldn’t advise it. He’s likely to kick back. If you’re at all unhappy with him, I’d recommend speaking to Iris Mullins, but don’t expect any great change. Like it or don’t, Wes is one of her blue-eyed boys, and he has an extraordinary record when it comes to counselling stressed out or injured officers, and witnesses.” Sam turned her index finger to point at her breasts. “I’m living proof of that. Before he turned up unannounced, I was on the verge of resigning. The fact that I’m here now is down to him.”
“I’ll bear it in mind, and have a word with Iris. Now, what about the woman on the beach? You mentioned Hayley Killeen and Rachel Jenner. Presumably, you’ll be pulling Jenner in for questioning.”
Sam nodded. “Eleven o’clock. I’ve been to see Rachel, and insisted that she be here. No doubt, she got straight on to Hayley Killeen, so you might get a complaint from her as well, but it makes no difference. Olivia Bradley – Frank Barker positively identified her – was beaten to death in exactly the same manner as Barbara Shawforth, and I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t take a statement from Rachel.”
Trentham sucked in his breath, and chewed his lips worriedly. “Tread carefully, Samantha. Our reputation has suffered as it is, without allegations of harassment.” He held up his palms before him, a gesture of defence. “I appreciate you must speak to her, but please be careful.”
“I need a positional statement from her, and while she’s here, I’ll be taking a statement from her on the Shawforth murder.” Sam read the doubt in his face again. “I have to do it, Neville. But unlike the last time, I’ll be interviewing her as a potential witness rather than a suspect.”
“Very well. I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Please, keep me informed, and in the meantime, I’ll speak to Iris Mullins regarding Drake.”
In a state of high dudgeon, Sam made her way down to the CID room, spoke briefly to Larne who confirmed Ranworth’s complaint, and from there, she called Barker into her office.
“The poop is already beginning to hit the fan,” she told him, “but I want to speak to you about the Shawforth murder. I mentioned it in the car this morning, and Wes Drake brought up one or two problems with the initial investigation, which I need you to clear up.”
Barker relaxed in the seat opposite her. “Fire away. But remember, I was only SIO for a couple of days, until Oxley and his MIT turned up.”
“It’s the early part of the investigation we’re concerned with. Drake noticed in the file that when Neville, you and John Jenner arrived at the Bellevue, Neville barred every other officer, with the exception of the SOCOs, from the hotel. What the hell was going on there?”
The inspector was not fazed. “Simple enough. When the victim’s ID came through, Neville shit his pants. Important women like that battered to death? He ordered everyone to keep out. It was an absolute bastard. We had to search the entire hotel, me and John. I did the ground and first floors, John did the second and third. We were there for hours, and we turned up sod all.”
“Which brings me to the next point Drake raised. Leonard Pearson and Alex Walston. Why wasn’t their clothing taken for analysis?”
Barker shrugged. “We collared Walston back in his office, and dragged him into the station. We also have statements from his staff. He was spotless clean when he got back to his office at four o’clock. If he’d mashed her, he’d have been covered in blood and no way would he have got all of it off. So we didn’t bother with his clothing. The same goes for Pearson. We took a statement from him in the hotel, but he was spotless, and I checked his laundry. He hadn’t changed his clothes.”
“For Christ’s sake, Frank, it is criminal investigation 101. Their clothing should have been checked. Both Walston and Pearson had time to wash their hands and scruffy necks and faces long before you turned up.”
Barker shrugged. “I wasn’t SIO. John Jenner was.”
“Next point. Barbara’s knickers. I mentioned it in the car this morning, remember. Why the hell wasn’t it noted in the case file? And this isn’t what Wes Drake pointed out, it’s me. I read that file, too, and there is no mention of her knickers having been taken. What the hell were you two playing at?”
Again he shrugged. “Neither of us gave it a thought. We knew why they were meeting at the Bellevue; a really good shag. When we got there, it looked more like an abattoir, the last thing we were thinking of was her trolleys.”
Sam fumed in silence for a moment. “Thank God I’ve come here. I don’t hold with this kind of inefficiency, Frank. I don’t consider myself over-fussy, but when we get cases like this – and I’m thinking now of Olivia Bradley – I want all the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. Whoever killed Olivia took her pants, and when Wes Drake gets to work on that, he’ll find a completely different motive to the one you lot worked on four years ago.”
“Fair enough. Just so we all know where we’re up to, Sam, dare I ask what the state of the parties is between you and Drake? Personally, I mean.”
“He was my counsellor. After the business with Don in Bradford, I went down. Drake picked me up again, dusted me off and set me back on the right track. That’s as personal as it gets between us. All right, we are friends, after a fashion, but don’t read anything into that.” The thought occurred to her. “And while we’re talking about Drake, he’ll be in the observation room when we interview Rachel in —” She checked her watch. “— an hour and a half.”
“Is that wise? According to Dom Larne, Drake’s already upset Colin Ranworth. If he pisses Hayley Killeen off, they’ll hear her screaming in York.”
“You don’t know him. I do. He won’t give a toss.”
Chapter Sixteen
After leaving the harbour, Drake went back to his hotel, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the dining room, then returned to his room, showered, shaved and changed into his business suit, white shirt and a plain blue tie to offset the suit’s medium grey.
As a consequence, it was almost half past ten before he got to Landshaven House and Sam was preparing the interview room.
She made it plain that he would not be permitted to sit in on the interview. “You’ve caused me enough trouble for one morning. However, you will be allowed to sit in the observation room, and when Frank and I are finished, I’ll introduce you. From there, it’ll be up to Rachel to decide if she’s willing to speak to you or not, but I’m warning you, if she says no, that’s an end of it.”
Drake agreed, and when he asked what kind of trouble he had caused for her, she told him of Ranworth’s complaint. He shrugged it off, and went further into the arrangements in the observation room and later in the interview room.
“You don’t need to be wearing an earpiece. You don’t need any prompt from me to tell you what kind of questions to ask.”
The rationale was not quite true. Experience had taught him that often a client’s answers to questions depended upon how the question was couched. Sam and her colleague were seeking factual answers, and while he was too, he would be less interested in the answers than Rachel’s reactions; her body language. He would guarantee that it would be different for him than it was Sam.
He pressed on with the arrangements for his interview. “When I speak to them, while you’re at liberty to observe, if they don’t want you there, it’ll be up to you to leave, or I’ll make alternative arrangements. Better if you just move to the observation room.”
“You’re afraid Rachel might say something which we can use?”
“No. But she might be worried about it, and she’s no use to me if she’s hesitant to talk. I need absolute honesty from her.”
“Okay. No problem.”
The observation room was smaller, more cramped than the interview room. It consisted of
a couple of chairs and an audio setup. He could hear, quite clearly what was going on in the interview room, but they could not hear him, and while he could see them, a two-way glass prevented them from seeing him. The downside of that arrangement was that he could not have a light on, and any notes he made would be under the filtered lighting from the other side of the glass.
From the moment they arrived, the attitude of both Rachel and her solicitor was antagonistic. Hayley Killeen – a woman Drake knew vaguely through his family connections – launched an immediate attack on the grounds of police harassment, Rachel sat alongside her, arms defiantly folded, glowering at Frank Barker.
Sam rode out the tirade, then informed them of the murder of Olivia Bradley. “A crime with overtones of Barbara Shawforth’s killing.”
Rachel half rose, and jabbed a furious finger in the air before them. “I didn’t kill Barbara Shawforth and I had nothing to do with this tart’s death.”
Ignoring the vehemence, Sam pressed her on her knowledge of Olivia’s profession.
“I was a cop, remember. Before this prick and his pals railroaded me.” She pointed an accusing finger at Barker. “Of course I knew her. Chances are I booked her more than once.”
When asked about her whereabouts between the hours of eleven o’clock and three in the morning, Rachel insisted that she was in her room at Ruth Russell’s place.
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“No. The women hate me because I was a cop, so when I got back yesterday evening, I went straight to my room and stayed there until you knocked me up this morning.” She delivered another scowl on Barker. “Not that that will cut much ice in this place. Their entire case against me was based on me not proving where I was, rather than them proving I was in the Bellevue.”
It was one of those aspects which had occurred to Drake when he studied the case. Although they found a single trace of Rachel in the room at the Bellevue, no one could actually confirm seeing her anywhere near the hotel.
The Frame - from the author of the Sanford Third Age Club (STAC) series (A Feyer and Drake Mystery Book 2) Page 9