Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Well he said someone was, didn’t he? And it seems Gary went into a shed — Simon’s shed — to change his clothes and dump his hood before he went home. How did he know there’d be clothes in that shed if Simon hadn’t told him? How did he know the shed even existed?’

Will Churchill strode back and forth, like a maths teacher Terry had once known. ‘Look, there’s still one question that hasn’t been answered by any of you lot.’ He tapped his teeth with a pencil. ‘And that is, what exactly is the connection between this woman’s son and Gary Harker? I mean, I know what you think he was doing in that shed, Terry, changing his clothes after the rape — but why there ? Did the boy know what Gary’d done, or didn’t he? Was he an innocent in all this, or an accomplice?’

‘What about the other way around, sir,’ Tracy suggested. ‘Was Harker completely unconnected with the murder of Jasmine Hurst? Or was he an accomplice there too?’

A tremor of excitement passed around the room. The three men — Churchill, Terry, and Harry — shivered as though someone had walked over their graves. Churchill waved his pencil at Tracy in a chauvinist compliment. ‘Not just a pair of pretty legs, eh, sergeant? There’s a brain behind that beauty, gents!’ Then before Tracy had time to take offence, he continued: ‘And that, of course, could be another reason why Mrs barrister Newby won’t sign a statement against Harker! Because he knows something about her son which he might blurt out in court!’

‘Oh, wait a minute, sir,’ Terry protested. ‘She must hate him more than we do — it’s not Harker she’s trying to protect, it’s her own reputation!’

‘She still has one, does she? I’m not so sure, Terence. She got him off the rape charge, she met him in that shed in the middle of the night — how do we know there isn’t something in Gary’s story after all? I mean what was she doing there? Not looking for sex maybe but what about the balaclava and those clothes and the rest of it? Maybe she was doing a deal with Harker to get rid of them. In which case she’d be an accessory after the fact.’

‘Accessory to what, sir?’ Tracy asked. ‘The rape of Sharon or …’ Her sentence hung unfinished in the air. They tested the extraordinary possibilities in their minds. More than one crime might be linked by the events in this shed. A keen, hungry grin began to play around Will Churchill’s lips — like a wolf sighting his prey.

‘Her reputation she’s trying to protect, you said, Terence? She’ll need to, won’t she, if it turns out she not only knew Harker was guilty of rape, but that her own son helped him, and that son’s guilty of murder! The Bar Council won’t look too kindly on that, will they?’

‘It’s not possible,’ Terry said. The whole idea shocked him. ‘There’s no proof, nothing to connect her with either the rape or Jasmine Hurst’s murder …’

‘Only the fact that Gary did the one and her son did the other; Gary and Simon seem to know each other; and she met Gary in her son’s shed!’

‘Yes, but she didn’t choose to meet him there,’ Terry insisted. ‘It was an accident. She went to park her bike, and there was Gary getting his watch back.’

‘Just a coincidence, eh, Terence? That’s not what Gary said.’

‘The man’s a nutter! A fantasist! Anyway we saw what he was doing.’

‘Then why won’t she press charges?’

‘To avoid publicity, sir,’ Terry repeated. ‘You understand her, don’t you, Trace?’

Tracy frowned. ‘I understand, sure, but there are other explanations. What we need to know, surely, is what the connection between Gary and Simon actually is. Until then …’

‘Right.’ Churchill stood up. ‘We’d better be quick. You haven’t released him, have you?’

‘No, sir. We’ve got him till ten thirty tonight, unless we charge him.’

‘Right then. Come on, Terence; let’s you and me go and see this thug, shall we?’

As they were leaving Sarah sighed and said: ‘If only it could be Gary that killed Jasmine. But the pig was on remand, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy said putting on her coat. ‘ No! No, he was free then, surely?’

‘I thought it was the day the trial ended?’

‘No. Your memory’s playing tricks.’

They stared at each other in shock. A wild hope lit in Sarah’s eyes. ‘What are the dates?’

Feverishly, they scrabbled in Lucy’s desk diary. ‘There, I was right! Last day of trial, Thursday 13th. Gary was released at what? Three, four o’clock. And Jasmine’s body was found next morning, the 14th. She was killed around midnight on the 13th.’

‘So he could have done it!’ Sarah breathed.

‘Yes, but what motive would he have? What reason?’

‘That man doesn’t need a motive, Lucy. He’s a monster. He raped Sharon and he attacked me. He ought to have been grateful to me if anything — I’d got him off, for Christ’s sake. But when I met him in that shed I was just there, I was a woman, I asked him what he was doing and he snapped. Did what he’s good at. He might have killed me if the police hadn’t turned up.’

‘Yes, but how would he have met Jasmine?’

‘I wish we knew,’ Sarah breathed quietly. ‘I wish we knew.’

‘Now then, Gary,’ Terry began. ‘How well do you know Simon Newby?’

Gary shrugged. ‘I’ve met him, around. On building sites and such.’

‘Mate of yours, is he?’

‘I know him, yeah.’

‘All right, tell me about him. What do you know?’

‘His mum’s got a juicy arse.’

‘Apart from that, Gary. We’ve been through all that.’

‘Been through it, copper? You wish!’ Terry tried to keep his face neutral, but Gary could see the effect his words were having. Churchill intervened, in his sneering southern accent.

‘What about her son, then, Gary? D’you fancy him too?’

‘You shut your filthy mouth! Anyhow he’s got his own bird. The dead one.’

‘Oh yes. Justine.’

‘Jasmine.’

‘Jasmine, sorry.’ Churchill corrected himself slyly. ‘You met her then?’

‘Yeah. So?’

‘Fancy her, did you?’ Terry resumed, intrigued by this discovery..

‘She was all right. Better’n he deserved.’

‘What did she look like, Gary?’ Churchill asked. ‘Describe her for us, will you?’

Gary thought for a moment. ‘Well. Quite tall for a girl. Stunner to look at. Long brown hair, pretty face. Big tits.’ He laughed, making a squeezing motion with his hands. ‘Like melons.’

A little worm of excitement woke at the base of Terry’s spine, and began to crawl up towards his brain. ‘Did you touch them, then, Gary?’

‘No chance. The lad would have killed me.’

‘But you’d have liked to touch them?’ Terry persisted. ‘If you could?’

Gary eyed him pityingly. ‘Not getting enough, are you, copper? I could take you places …’

Smoothly, Churchill took over. ‘You say young Simon would have killed you. Is that how he behaved then, when she was around? A bit violent, protective, perhaps?’

‘Him, violent?’ Gary laughed scornfully. ‘Say boo to him and he shits his pants. I’ve seen it. Girls might be scared of him but no one else.’

The two detectives were silent for a moment, each, from their different perspectives, taking this in. It said as much about Gary as Simon, Terry thought. The casual menace in the villain opposite them came from his sheer muscular bulk. How would a woman feel, confronted with such brutal, overwhelming force? A woman like Sarah, Sharon, even Jasmine Hurst perhaps …

‘So how often did you meet Jasmine, altogether?’ Terry asked.