Written in Blood

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘We haven’t got time to waste. If he is involved, the sooner we interview him the better.’ Drake stood up, grabbed the keys to his car and, collecting his jacket from the coat stand, gestured to Sara that they had to get going.

  During their journey to Britannia Chambers, the marked police car from the City of Manchester police force, sitting outside the premises, kept them regularly informed. Michael Kennedy hadn’t moved from the building.

  Driving on the A55 and then the motorway through Cheshire to the centre of Manchester gave Drake the opportunity to order his thoughts and prepare questions for the interview later that evening. Kennedy must be preening himself, Drake thought. The case against Selston appeared to be strong. He had admitted lying to the police about travelling to see Nicholas Wixley on the night of his death. Planting the knife with Wixley’s and Levine’s blood at Selston’s property had been the masterstroke of Kennedy’s plan.

  By late in the afternoon Drake parked behind the marked police car. Both officers inside jumped out and joined Drake and Sara on the pavement. ‘We’re here to arrest a Michael Kennedy on suspicion of murder.’

  ‘Are you taking him back to Wales tonight?’ one of the officers asked.

  Drake nodded. ‘I don’t expect any trouble.’

  The reception staff at Britannia Chambers gawped as Drake and Sara marched in with the two uniformed officers. Drake asked politely for Michael Kennedy’s whereabouts. A young girl stammered a reply, pointing down one of the corridors that led off the main reception.

  ‘He’s in our training suite. He wasn’t to be disturbed.’ The last few words died on her lips as Drake ignored her.

  As Drake and Sara and the uniformed officers entered the room, a dozen inquisitive faces turned to look at them. Questioning expressions soon changed into gasps and mouths fell open. ‘Will everyone please leave except Michael Kennedy.’

  Drake engaged Kennedy directly with his eye contact. He shuffled back a step or two and then his pose stiffened. An exodus of staff filed out of the room past Drake and Sara in absolute silence.

  He stepped towards Kennedy. ‘Michael Kennedy I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything…’

  * * *

  Arranging a solicitor, processing the paperwork and protecting Kennedy’s rights as a prisoner were all done in double-quick time. Drake was determined he would be interviewed that evening. He ignored telephone calls from Andy Thorsen.

  By eight pm Drake sat on a hard plastic chair in the windowless cork-lined interview room staring over at Michael Kennedy. He had expected Kennedy to have opted for a lawyer from one of the firms in Manchester to represent him but had raised no objection to the local duty solicitor being called.

  ‘This is most irregular,’ Penny Hughes complained. ‘I haven’t had nearly enough time to consult with my client. I want to formally record my objection.’

  Drake brushed her comments aside. ‘Objection noted. We proceed.’

  Hughes fell into a sullen mood. Kennedy stared over at Drake, a plastic mug of coffee in front of him. Kennedy’s expensive silk tie was knotted neatly against the collar of a white shirt and his suit jacket was draped over the rear of the plastic chair, the same sort that would give Drake a stiff back by the end of the evening.

  ‘Michael Kennedy, you have been arrested on suspicion of having murdered Tom Levine.’

  ‘I know. I killed him.’

  For a split second, Drake thought he imagined the admission. He glanced over at Sara, who had a dazed look on her face. He squinted over at Kennedy, sharpened his gaze. The next obvious question was to ask him for confirmation. ‘Can you repeat that for the tape once again?’

  ‘Yes, I killed him.’

  Drake sat back and looked over at Penny Hughes, wondering exactly what was going through her mind.

  The interview textbook suggested that an interview should always start with that simple question – did you kill the victim? But Drake hadn’t even asked that question. Kennedy had admitted his involvement without prompting. This looked likely to be the easiest interview Drake had ever conducted.

  Drake placed his arms on the table and then forward slightly. ‘Mr Kennedy, perhaps you could tell us exactly the circumstances of why you committed this crime?’

  ‘Tom Levine had threatened to tell chambers that I had taken a substantial bribe from him to secure the lease of the premises from the company he controlled. I had debts I was struggling to pay off. There was a house in Spain and credit cards and I couldn’t manage financially. I saw the chance of making some money.’

  ‘What did Tom Levine threaten?’

  ‘He was going to tell Julia Griffiths, the head of chambers, that I had demanded payment of £50,000, which chambers paid as a premium. He was an evil, vicious bastard.’

  ‘Explain the circumstances of how you got access to his yacht.’

  ‘He’d been drinking heavily in the sailing club.’

  ‘Did you spike his drinks?’

  ‘I didn’t need to. I could see that he was going to be comatose before the end of the evening. So when I got back to the chalet I took my boat over to the marina. It was easy to get alongside the pontoons and he was there in the forward berth, crashed out. I took my chance and sliced him up.’

  This wasn’t going to be a cat-and-mouse sort of interview with Michael Kennedy. Drake had his admission. He would be charged, bail would be refused, and he would be remanded in custody.

  ‘The knife used to kill Tom Levine also had traces of Nicholas Wixley’s blood.’

  For a second Kennedy frowned.

  ‘I couldn’t stand working for the man a moment longer. It was a living hell, a daily nightmare having to tolerate the ritual humiliations. If ever there was a man deserved to die it was Wixley.’ Kennedy barely paused for breath. ‘I left the Portmeirion Hotel where I was staying and drove to his home. I could tell he’d been entertaining some expensive escort again. The man sickened me.’

  ‘Describe how you were able to get Wixley onto the bed.’

  ‘I overpowered him with chloroform and after that it was easy to drag him into the bedroom.’

  Drake took a moment to rearrange the papers on his desk. Kennedy’s frankness had wrong-footed him; it meant the interview notes were redundant. All they now needed was a confession to the killing of Norman Turnbull and Drake could confirm that no further action be taken against Justin Selston, bring Kennedy to court and live with the consequences that an innocent man had been caught up in the case.

  ‘Yesterday Norman Turnbull was killed in his car at Porth Neigwl near Abersoch.’

  Kennedy nodded. ‘He’d been scratching around for a story for so long. He knew all about Tom Levine. He was threatening to speak to Dorothy Levine, so I drove over to see him. He had all the evidence he needed. I had no alternative. He knew too much.’

  Once Kennedy was safely back in his cell Drake sat nursing a coffee in a nondescript mug in the canteen, Sara sitting opposite him, working her way through a chocolate bar. Doubts about prosecuting Selston had been replaced by relief that they had a confession from Kennedy to multiple murders.

  ‘I have never seen anything like that,’ Drake said.

  ‘It was almost too easy,’ Sara said.

  Drake agreed, and that worried him.

  * * *

  ‘Andy Thorsen and Rhodri Boyd weren’t pleased,’ Wyndham Price announced in an I-don’t-give-a-damn tone. ‘Justin Selston’s defence team had a collective fit, demanding to know if there was any evidence or details we hadn’t disclosed to them.’

  Price sat across from Drake and Sara in a conference room at area custody centre. Three empty plastic cups stood on the table between them. Drake couldn’t remember whether the taste of the coffee was acceptable or not. It was late and he was tired but at least they had a confession.

  ‘When will we formally discontinue the charges against Justin Selston?’ Sara said.

  ‘We’ll formally conduct a review tomorrow
afternoon with Andy Thorsen. He can formally notify Selston and his lawyers that he won’t face further action. We shall have to deal with any fallout, but we did the right thing.’

  For a few seconds nobody responded. Exhaustion seeped into every part of Drake’s body. His thoughts were a jumble of contradictions. Had they been justified in interviewing and arresting Justin Selston? The man’s reputation was in tatters. Should they have done something differently? But they had the forensic evidence, and had Selston been honest would they have made the same decision?

  ‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight,’ Price said. ‘Go home.’

  Annie was waiting for Drake when he arrived back at his apartment. ‘You look tired.’ He held her close in a tight embrace. He had returned to the apartment to spend a lonely evening by himself far too often and he had been looking forward all day to seeing her smiling face and her presence next to him.

  He took a bottle of chilled lager from the kitchen fridge and slumped onto the sofa in the sitting room, Annie by his side. He took a long slug of the drink. His eyes burned, his back ached and more than anything he wanted to have a long, hot shower.

  ‘Is the case finished?’

  Drake nodded. ‘Thank God for that.’

  Chapter 49

  Saturday 10th April

  8.47 am

  Drake woke from a dreamless sleep, sensing that he hadn’t moved in bed all night. Sunshine filtered into the bedroom and he moved a hand to touch Annie, but the bed was empty next to him. The sound of activity from the kitchen filtered into the bedroom. He couldn’t remember going to sleep last night – but he could recall her telling him he needed to take some time off now the case had been finalised. Had she mentioned going to Cardiff for a long weekend?

  Getting up, he pulled on an old T-shirt and padded out into the kitchen.

  Annie smiled. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the lips. ‘It’s wonderful having you here.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired.’ Drake sat down by the kitchen table.

  Annie produced a perfect cup of coffee for him.

  ‘You need to have a break, Ian. There’s this wonderful walk through the forests near Dolgellau. Perhaps we could go tomorrow?’

  ‘How far is that?’

  Annie shrugged. ‘Somebody at work told me about it and gave me the details of a website. It’s so easy to work out how long a car journey will take these days. I don’t think it’s far. We could stop for a meal on the way back.’

  That afternoon Drake had a difficult meeting with Andy Thorsen and Price, and he hoped he would be able to relax with Annie on Sunday. ‘I may not be the best company.’

  ‘I won’t take no for an answer; you have to unwind.’

  Drake’s mobile rang from the cradle where it had been charging overnight near the bed. He answered the call after striding from the kitchen. He recognised Mike Foulds’ number.

  ‘I hear there have been developments,’ Foulds said. ‘I don’t suppose this will make any difference, but we’ve had the toxicology report back on Tom Levine and there were traces of Rohypnol in his body.’

  Drake thought of Michael Kennedy’s denial during his interview that he had spiked Levine’s drinks. Drake refocused his mind on Michael Kennedy’s interview. Something made Drake ask: ‘Was there any trace of chloroform in the toxicology report on Nicholas Wixley?’

  ‘We didn’t request a test for chloroform. But chloroform takes minutes to be effective –it’s only in TV dramas that it has an instantaneous effect. Do you want me to organise a test?’

  At that moment, his mind wanted to shake everything. But more than anything he wanted to know why Michael Kennedy hadn’t admitted to using Rohypnol.

  ‘Ian, are you still there?’

  Drake shook off the troubled thoughts dominating his mind. ‘Yes, get a toxicology report done on Nicholas Wixley.’

  Foulds rang off and Drake turned his mobile through his fingers, desperately wanting to identify why he was feeling apprehensive. The smell of frying bacon tickled his nostrils and Annie calling that breakfast was ready disrupted his thought process. He parked it for the moment, something to mull over before his meeting with Andy Thorsen and Superintendent Price.

  Returning to the kitchen, a plate of bacon and eggs and freshly toasted bread waited for him. Annie was tapping away on her tablet computer. ‘It’s only a drive of an hour and a half and that’s assuming average traffic.’

  Drake ate his breakfast and then organised a second cup of coffee. He listened to Annie as she planned their day out. But he paid her little attention: his mind was troubling him about the inquiry.

  ‘What time could we start?’ Annie said.

  Drake returned to the chair by the table – the crema on the top of his coffee took his attention. Annie was still tapping on her tablet.

  ‘Start?’ Drake said.

  ‘Yes, I’ve told you Ian. I’ve been able to check how long the journey will take.’

  ‘The journey?’

  Annoyance crept into her voice. ‘I’ve checked the length of the journey.’

  Drake stood up, abruptly realising the one thing he hadn’t checked. ‘I need to get to headquarters.’

  Hurriedly he showered, found a pair of denims, a casual shirt and a half-zip top.

  He stood in the hallway in front of the mirror drawing a comb through his hair. Annie gave him a troubled look. ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘I’ll call you later.’

  He could sense the worry on Annie’s face. She squeezed his forearm. ‘Be careful, Ian.’

  He kissed her lightly and pulled the door closed behind him, already dialling Sara’s number. ‘Get over to headquarters immediately; we need to check something.’

  He didn’t bother calling at the newsagent for his daily fix of the Soduku from the morning paper. He made straight for headquarters. After parking he jogged over to reception, taking the stairs to the Incident Room two at a time. In his office, he scrambled to find the CCTV footage of Michael Kennedy passing the café on the morning of Turnbull’s death.

  The time on the screen said 7.57.

  Quickly he googled the journey time from the middle of Abersoch to Porth Neigwl/Hell’s Mouth. It would be at least eleven minutes. But these were country roads, unfamiliar to Kennedy. There might be tractors or a caravan – anything to impede Kennedy’s journey.

  Then it took a few minutes to find the statement from the eyewitness who had seen the fire take hold of Turnbull’s car. Drake printed out a copy and read each line focusing carefully. He didn’t hear Sara entering the Incident Room. He ignored the good morning greeting as she stood on the threshold of his office. It was only when she rapped her knuckles on the door that his concentration was interrupted.

  He looked up, waved her in.

  ‘We’ve missed something.’

  Sara gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘I’ve checked the timings for the morning Norman Turnbull was killed.’

  ‘Timings, sir?’

  ‘Michael Kennedy didn’t have time to reach Porth Neigwl.’

  Sara frowned. Drake knew he wasn’t making any sense.

  ‘We’ve got Kennedy on the CCTV footage passing the café at 7.57. It would have taken at least eleven minutes to reach the car park where Norman Turnbull was killed in his car. That takes us to at least 8:08. But it’s probably going to take longer.’ Drake’s voice had become louder at the implication of what he was about to say. ‘But even so, the eyewitness we have says that the car started burning at eight o’clock. Just before the news headlines on the Today programme.’

  ‘That means he can’t have been the perpetrator.’

  Drake flopped back into his chair.

  Sara continued. ‘So why the hell did he admit to murdering Norman Turnbull?’

  Drake tried to measure his breathing. Foulds’ initial conversation with him that morning had created a jumble of thoughts. He had to sort them.

  �
�Mike Foulds called me this morning. There was a trace of Rohypnol in Tom Levine’s body.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘I know. Kennedy specifically denies he had spiked Levine’s drinks.’

  ‘So who did?’

  ‘The killer had to overpower Nicholas Wixley somehow but there wasn’t any trace of a struggle.’

  ‘Was Wixley drugged?’

  Drake shook his head. ‘No suggestion in the toxicology report. And Kennedy’s suggestion of using chloroform doesn’t make sense. It would have taken far too long to have incapacitated Wixley. And do you remember yesterday in the interview he looked surprised when I told him about the blood on the knife.’

  ‘What are you suggesting, boss?’

  ‘Turnbull photographed him in the café near the meeting place of Gamblers Anonymous and Holly Thatcher mentioned she thought he liked a flutter. So if he was being honest, why not tell us he has a gambling problem?’ Drake took a deep breath. ‘It’s someone else… It must have been a woman. Someone Wixley went with willingly to the bedroom.’

  Sara’s mouth fell open. ‘But… Kennedy has admitted the murders. Who is he protecting?’

  ‘Wixley had an affair with Pamela Kennedy.’

  ‘That was no more than office gossip.’

  Another recollection fell into place in Drake’s mind and he cursed to himself as he realised he’d ignored it at the time. ‘Selston told us that Pamela had access to the Euan Levine prosecution papers.’

  Sara looked unconvinced.

  ‘And what if it wasn’t Michael Kennedy who went to the Gamblers Anonymous meeting, but his wife? And while she’s in the meeting he visits the café where Turnbull takes the photographs.’

  Sara raised a doubting eyebrow.

  ‘Call that fisherman you spoke to. I want to double-check he was absolutely certain it was a man – he might have assumed he saw Michael Kennedy. I think we got the truth from Kennedy about his financial problems. But it was probably only half the truth. I’ve got to check the list of debtors that Tom Levine acquired when he bought the bookmakers.’