Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

Gary shrugged. ‘Three, four times, perhaps. Can’t remember.’

‘Always at Simon’s house?’

‘Think so. Yeah.’

‘Think hard, Gary. You never met her anywhere else? Didn’t follow her home, maybe, try to get your hands on those breasts like — what was it — melons?’

‘You’re obsessed, you are,’ Gary jeered. ‘You need help. And no …’ He spoke directly into the microphone. ‘I did not follow Jasmine home. Nor did I shag her. Or murder her. How could I–I was in court!’

‘Nobody’s accused you of murdering her, Gary,’ Terry said smoothly. ‘But in fact you weren’t in court when this girl was murdered. You were released that afternoon, and she was killed between nine and midnight that night. So where were you were for the rest of that day?’

Gary’s jaw fell open. ‘You’re not accusing me …’

‘You brought the subject up, Gary. Not me. Answer the question.’

‘I … well, I went home, to get changed and have a wash. Then I went out for a few jars.’

‘To which pub?’

‘The Lighthorseman , if you want to know. They had the football on the big screen. Arsenal vs Real Madrid.’

‘Who won?’

‘ Real , 3–2. There were half a dozen lads there who saw me.’ He gave Terry the names, sneering triumphantly. ‘I stayed till closing time, then went home to bed.’

‘Did you see Jasmine that night? Or Simon?’

‘No.’

‘All right, Gary, that’s very helpful.’ Churchill intervened impatiently. ‘Now let’s get back to why you’re here, shall we? This business of sexually assaulting Simon’s mother — your own barrister, for Christ’s sake, the woman who got you off! Come on, son, help me out a bit. I’ve not come across this sort of thing before.’

‘I told your mate there,’ said Gary stubbornly, nodding at Terry. ‘She asked for it.’

‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m the king of China’s grandmother. Listen, Gary, what I want to know is, why you were in that shed in the first place. Simon Newby’s shed.’

Gary stared back, bemused. No sensible answer seemed to occur to him.

‘You found a watch, Gary, I believe,’ Terry prompted helpfully. ‘And a ring, and some clothes which we’ve sent for forensic analysis.’

‘Did Mrs Newby see these things?’ Churchill asked. ‘Or talk to you about them?’

Gary looked confused. ‘What would she do that for?’

Churchill leaned forward, staring intently into Gary’s face. ‘Well, think about it, Gary. This woman, your barrister, meets you in this shed at night. It’s a surprise to both of you. You have an argument, and you resolve this argument by trying to rape her, like the dickhead you are. So what was this argument about? She saw you trying to get rid of the evidence, was that it? She realized for certain that you were guilty, and …’

‘No!’ A cunning grin crossed Gary’s face. ‘ I wasn’t trying to get rid of that stuff. She was.’

‘What?’ This time, even Churchill was taken aback. There was a stunned silence, from which Terry recovered first.

‘You’re talking out of your arse again, Gary.’

‘Am I? You prove it then.’

‘I don’t have to. It’s as big a load of crap as you told us yesterday.’

‘Are you going to charge me with raping her then?’

If there was such a thing as low criminal cunning, this bastard had it, Terry thought. He wasn’t bright, he was a common violent thug who’d spent a large part of his adult life in prison and yet, when he was confronted with seemingly irrefutable proof of his guilt, his mind instantly homed in on the one route of escape. No one had told him that the charge of attempted rape was likely to be dropped, but he had guessed nonetheless.

Churchill tried to cover it up. ‘Just answer the questions, son, then we’ll see. Look, with you in that shed was all the evidence we needed to convict you of raping Sharon Gilbert, right? Are you seriously trying to tell us that your barrister was trying to hide it, not you? Why on earth would she do that?’

‘I were found not guilty, remember?’

Churchill gazed at him wearily. ‘Yeah, sure. The courts get it wrong sometimes. But come on, Gary — all that stuff in the shed proves your guilt, for Christ’s sake! The watch, the ring, the hood — Sharon Gilbert’s identified the lot, you know.’

‘So? It doesn’t mean I put them there, does it? I just found them — my watch, anyhow.’ Gary hesitated, looking from Churchill to Terry, who smiled mockingly, not believing a word. ‘And then she comes in and says …’

‘Yes, Gary, what did she say? Come on now. Make it up quick or we won’t believe you.’

‘She says get rid of it quick, my son did it.’

Terry burst out laughing. ‘Oh, very good, Gary, well done! Brilliant. You’re saying your barrister came into the shed, saw you pawing all this evidence that proves your guilt, and said get rid of that quick because my son raped Sharon Gilbert. Is that it?’

‘It was in his shed.’

‘Yeah, sure. But instead of helping her get rid of it, you tried to rape her, remember. Is this an example of your social skills, or what?’

‘It’s not bloody funny, copper …’

‘… not good manners though, is it? Your idea of etiquette?’

‘ … I could go down for eight years …’

‘And so you should.’ Terry was still smiling at the sheer effrontery of it all, but Churchill, to his surprise, put a hand on his arm.

‘Just a minute, Terence. Gary, are you seriously asking us to believe that your barrister, the woman who defended you, told you that her son, Simon Newby, raped Sharon Gilbert?’

Gary nodded defiantly. ‘That’s what I said, yeah.’

‘And you’re prepared to make a statement to that effect?’

‘I might.’

The room fell silent. Terry was appalled. What was Churchill playing at? A pulse began to throb violently in his ears. ‘Come on, Gary, this is total crap and you know it. Sharon identified you , not Simon — and so did her little kid, remember? The little boy who tried to protect his mum when you were raping her in front of him, you great hulking thug …’

‘I were found not guilty!’

‘Yes, but you were guilty, weren’t you? Everyone knows that — even your barrister, who actually got you off. And how do you reward her? By trying to rape her and then accusing her son of your own filthy crime! You make me sick, you do!’

‘I don’t give a fucking toss …’

‘Shut up and listen! Let me tell you what happened when she came into that shed, shall I? She saw you fumbling with that watch and hood and ring and all the rest of it, and she realised for certain that you were guilty, where before perhaps she’d given you the benefit of the doubt. And so maybe she did say get rid of it , I don’t know, but if so it was to save you , not her son! Or more likely she just said what she really thought of you, you filthy slob, and that’s what triggered your anger. What would you have done if we hadn’t turned up when we did, eh, Gary? When you’d finished your rape? Would you have strangled her and left her for dead like you did with Maria Clayton, is that it?’

Gary glowered at him, menacing, furious. ‘You weren’t there.’

‘I bloody well was, and so was DCI Churchill here. We saw exactly what you were doing to that woman …’

‘Why don’t you charge me then?’

The question stopped Terry dead, like a glass door he’d walked into. It was the one answer they couldn’t give. Gary was going to get away again, and he knew it. Bitterly, Terry stared at Gary, so safe behind the glass door, and said: ‘You murdered Maria Clayton, didn’t you, Gary? You followed her onto Strensall Common and then you raped her and throttled her to death, just like you were doing with Sarah Newby. Isn’t that right?’