Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

Gary shook his head, sneering and contemptuous. ‘Who?’

‘You know who. And for all I know you did the same to Jasmine Hurst as well!’

‘You’re a madman.’ Gary turned to Churchill for help. ‘Is that who you employ now, madmen like him? I don’t know who he’s talking about.’

Churchill spoke to the microphone on the wall. ‘Interview suspended at nine twenty seven. DCI Churchill and DI Bateson leave the room. Come on, Terence. I want a word. Now. ’

‘My office!’ Churchill snapped, compelling Terry to follow his short, stocky, visibly furious superior upstairs to the room which he had once hoped would be his own.

‘Do you mind telling me what the bloody hell you think you’re playing at?’

‘I might ask the same of you, sir.’ Terry was six inches taller than Churchill and almost equally angry, though for a different reason.

‘Well you might but you bloody well won’t. Do you have a single shred of evidence that that man could have killed Jasmine Hurst?’

‘Not at the moment, sir, no, but …’

‘No, of course you don’t! And the reason, as even a blind man in a box could see, is that Simon Newby did it. We have blood, semen, motive, opportunity, even the goddamn knife, for Christ’s sake! Where have you been all these days? Lost in a dream?’

‘Yes, OK, but you’ve seen what the guy’s like, haven’t you …?’

‘Oh great, so we’re judging by appearances now, are we? Gary looks like a thug so he must be guilty, is that it? We’re back in Victorian times now?’

‘Well it’s more sense than saying Simon raped Sharon, anyway,’ Terry said furiously. ‘That’s just utter crap — surely even you could see that? Sir.’

The antagonism between them was open now. Churchill met Terry’s eyes coolly, making it clear that he, by virtue of his rank and the way he controlled his temper, was in the ascendant.

‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Where’s your interrogation technique, Terence? You’ll learn nothing by blurting out wild accusations like you did just now.’

Terry took a deep breath, trying to control himself. ‘In my view, sir, the only wild accusation is to suggest that Sarah Newby, who we saw being assaulted yesterday in front of our own eyes, would conspire with a thug like Harker to conceal evidence about her son. She’s got enough to deal with as it is, for God’s sake!’

‘Oh, I get it now.’ Churchill smiled knowingly. ‘So that’s why Harker was needling you — you’re soft on the woman, aren’t you? Even though she chewed you up in court you’re carrying a torch for her!’

Terry’s silence only confirmed Churchill’s suspicions, and as he rejoiced in his discovery his anger subsided. He had a new weapon to use now.

‘Well, well,’ he mocked. ‘Terence in love! Better watch out, old son, she looks a dangerous bird to me — married too. But try not to let your emotions cloud your judgement, eh? At least when you’re at work.’

‘I didn’t think I was, sir. I thought I was seeing things exceptionally clearly.’

‘That’s one of the delusions of love, old son. Come on — is it seeing things clearly to accuse Gary of killing Jasmine when we know Simon did it? And then accuse him of killing Maria Clayton, too — what’s the evidence for that?’

‘Only the evidence we’ve always had — he worked on her house, he’d boasted about having sex with her, he wore trainers similar to a footprint we found near the body, he has no alibi and a record of violence to women. It seemed like a good enough case to me …’

‘But he CPS said it was too thin, right?’ A pitying look crossed Churchill’s face. ‘And they were right, Terence, it is. I’m sorry, if you’ve nothing stronger than that we’ll have to let him go.’

‘Again.’

‘Yes, again. However much you hate him, we follow the rules. If you think he did this Clayton murder, dig up the evidence and charge him. But until then …’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘We let this violent rapist back onto the streets?’

‘If you choose to put it like that, yes.’

‘So he’s free, then?’ Bob asked.

‘Probably, by now.’ Sarah lay back in the armchair, an icepack over her face. Bob had bought it this afternoon; it relieved the throbbing slightly. ‘Things don’t always go to plan.’

‘But if you think he killed Jasmine, Sarah …’

‘There’s no proof of it, none at all. It’s just that he was free and he’s like that. For all I know it could have been a wandering maniac from Outer Mongolia. I just don’t believe it was Simon, that’s all.’

Bob said nothing. The question lay between them, like a huge unbridgeable canyon. Since the assault he had been kindness itself, ringing her at work, having a meal and this icepack ready in the evening, her favourite CD on the hi-fi. He hadn’t questioned her decision not to give evidence against Gary. But he hadn’t expressed faith in Simon.

They could hear Emily and Larry talking quietly in the kitchen. A nightjar shrieked outside the window. The silence between them lengthened.

‘It makes me so angry, Bob,’ Sarah said at last. ‘Angry with Gary and the police but most of all angry with Simon for getting himself into such a stupid, stupid mess. When I asked him in prison he said the hood might have been used for a joke , for Christ’s sake! Either that or he was lying. And yet he expects me to wave some magic wand and get him out.’

‘You’re too involved, Sarah. For your own health you should back off, leave it to Lucy. She’s a professional …’

‘And I’m not? Is that what you saying?’ She pulled off the icepack and sat up, irritably.

‘Not in this case, Sarah, you can’t be. You’re too emotionally involved.’

She got up and walked slowly across the room, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. ‘It’s for my own health that I am emotionally involved, Bob. If I don’t feel I’ve done the best for Simon, then I will crack up, really. And you wouldn’t want to know me then, Bob. No one would.’

Next morning Terry found himself back in front of Churchill’s desk. The animosity was still there, smouldering under the ashes of a night’s sleep.

‘No hard feelings, I hope, Terence? A few harsh words are natural in a job like this. I’ve always encouraged blokes on my team to speak their minds, you know.’

‘Sir.’

‘Listen, Terence, I didn’t get much sleep last night, I was thinking. It was one of your mistakes which set me off, matter of fact. But then nobody’s perfect. It sometimes takes fresh eyes to come in and see what was there all the time.’

It was years since Terry had hated a senior officer so much. ‘I don’t understand, sir,’ he said woodenly. Except that you’re younger than me, and took my job.

‘No, I know.’ Churchill studied him with deep satisfaction. ‘But look at the evidence, old son. We’ve got six assaults on women — Clayton, Whitaker, Gilbert, Steersby, Hurst and now Sarah Newby. Your original idea was that they were all committed by the same lad — Gary Harker. But that won’t work. The DNA proves he didn’t attack Karen Whitaker. He couldn’t have attacked Helen Steersby because he was in custody at the time, and Jasmine Hurst was murdered by Simon Newby. So the only assault we know he committed was the one on Sarah Newby, because we saw it with our own eyes.’

‘And Sharon Gilbert, sir.’

Churchill nodded sagely. ‘I agree Sharon claims he raped her and there’s evidence to support her claim, but not all of it does, even now.’ He smiled enigmatically at Terry. ‘Unlike you I examined that hood, when I took it down to forensics. What do you think I found?’