Хилари Боннер - A Moment Of Madness

‘I can assure you, sir—’ she began. But Tomlinson interrupted her before she could even put a sentence together.

‘The only assurance I want from you is that you’re going to charge John Kelly with the murder of Angel Silver, and fast. We need somebody in the frame. We’ve got the man, and I don’t want him slipping through our fingers. God knows what will come out in court about the bloody mess we seem to have made of the whole Silver case so far, but we’ll just have to weather that one when it happens. I’m talking about damage limitation, DCI Meadows, and you, I may remind you, have a hell of a lot of damage to put a limit on.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Karen.

She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but, in any case, it didn’t matter much. By the time she had muttered even those two words she was already speaking into a buzzing receiver. Harry Tomlinson had hung up.

Cooper came into Karen’s office then, just in time to see her looking quizzically at the telephone receiver in her hand. She put it down at once.

‘Yes, Phil?’

Karen did not intend to tell anyone about her conversation with the chief constable, not even Cooper. The political machinations of Harry Tomlinson were her problem.

‘The team we sent round to Bridget Summers’ place in Exeter have just reported back, boss,’ Cooper told her. ‘Apparently the house is all shut up, and the neighbours say they haven’t seen her for weeks. We’re still checking it out.’

‘And Ken James?’

‘Not around either, according to his mother, anyway. She claims he took off up north several days ago to work on some building job. That is what he does, boss. Kips in his van most of the time, I understand, and picks up a whole bundle of black money.’

Karen grunted, unconvinced. ‘And no doubt his mother has no idea of his exact whereabouts?’

‘Naturally not,’ said Cooper.

‘Keep the guys on to that, Phil.’

‘Sure, boss.’

‘They’re a vengeful lot, you know, those Jameses.’

‘I know. There’s never really been much doubt that it was Ken James who chucked that brick through Kelly’s window, has there?’

‘Nope. And then when Angel was charged with his brother’s murder Ken’s anger was redirected at her. We know well enough how he was in court and then out at the house after Angel was cleared.’

‘So perhaps young Kenny’s managed to do for both Angel and Kelly as well in a way. Is that what you’re getting at, boss?’

‘God knows, Phil. I just don’t want anything left to chance, that’s all.’

However, during the next twenty-four hours little progress was made. The team seeking Bridget Summers found out that she was in America at the Kansas headquarters of the One God, One People sect, and were able to confirm that she had been there for almost two months. That put her beyond suspicion.

Further inquiries failed to unearth Ken James, against whom there was in any case no evidence.

Meanwhile, Karen, as well as everything else under orders from her chief constable to charge Kelly, ultimately had no choice but to do so.

She didn’t like pressure from above, but even without that she knew that there really wasn’t an alternative. Logic dictated that Kelly was guilty of the murder he had indeed confessed to.

The post mortem showed almost beyond doubt that Angel had been killed by a single blow to the back of the head administered by a blunt instrument. A police search of Kelly’s home unearthed no further evidence and there was no sign of a murder weapon, but Kelly’s fingerprints were found all over Maythorpe Manor, as DS Cooper had predicted. Also particles of skin were discovered lodged behind Angel’s fingernails, which the police confidently expected DNA tests to later prove to be Kelly’s, probably gouged from his injured cheek by a frantic Angel fighting for her life. In addition, tiny drops of blood, almost certainly from Angel, and spattered when her nose had bled, were found on Kelly’s clothing.

Based on all of that, his own confession, and the evidence of the taxi driver who had driven him to Maythorpe Manor, John Kelly was duly charged with the murder of Angel Silver and remanded in custody.

The call came two days later. ‘Check out Kenny James before you make fools of yourself again,’ said a husky, slightly distorted voice.

‘Who’s that?’ the DCI asked quickly.

‘Never mind who I am. Just check James out. He wanted revenge for his brother, didn’t he? Have a look in the back of his van.’

‘Who is that?’ the DCI repeated. But the line just went dead.

Karen immediately dialled 1471 and was mildly surprised to be given a number at all. But it turned out merely to be a call box in Exeter, a result unlikely to take the inquiries any further.

Karen hated anonymous tips, but once again had little choice. She knew she must follow this one through. It was time to go heavy on the James family, she reckoned. First she obtained a search warrant and then, along with DS Cooper and a couple of uniformed boys, set off to Paignton.

Ken James’s mother answered the door of number 24 Fore Street none too enthusiastically and stood forbiddingly in the doorway.

‘Are you going to do this the hard way or the easy way?’ enquired Karen mildly, holding up the search warrant in one hand.

With obvious reluctance Mrs James stood aside then.

‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ she snapped as she escorted them into her living room. ‘You’re persecuting us, that’s what you’re doing. My Terry was murdered, that’s what happened to my Terry, and you lot did nothing about that at all.’

It now seemed that Mrs James might be absolutely right, thought Karen glumly, but this was not the moment to share that with the woman.

‘I just want to talk to Ken,’ she told her instead.

‘Well, you can’t. I told you, I’ve no idea where he is.’

‘I think you have, Mrs James.’ Karen looked around the plushly appointed room. ‘And if you don’t start remembering pretty darned fast I’m going to throw the book at you.’

She turned to DS Cooper and gestured at the state-of-the-art music system in one corner. ‘Get the serial number of that and all the other electrical goods in this house,’ she ordered. ‘I have reason to believe that Mrs James is guilty of receiving stolen goods.’

The older woman paled visibly. The James family matriarch had, somehow or other, so far avoided ever being charged with a criminal offence of any kind, which was something of a miracle for anyone in that household, Karen reckoned.

‘They were all gifts,’ Mrs James blurted out. ‘I don’t know where they came from, do I?’

‘Tough,’ said Karen, and then, lowering her voice, she added, ‘You should know that this is not just a very serious murder inquiry, it’s my arse on the line. I don’t intend to stop at anything in order to get to the truth.’

Mrs James’s face puckered up into an expression of peeved resignation. She was a woman who instinctively understood how this kind of game was played.

‘Oh, all right, all right. Kenny’s holed up in our caravan on that site over by the holiday camp. When we heard that Angel Silver’d been killed I knew you lot would come looking for him, so I told him to lie low for a bit. Keep out the way.’

Karen nodded. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs James,’ she said in her most charming way.

The older woman scowled.

‘He didn’t do it, not that you lot care, and, anyway, you’ll waste your time going over there now,’ she said, sounding almost triumphant. ‘He’s gone to Birmingham for that football match tonight. God knows why he still supports Torquay after the way they’ve performed lately, but he does. He’s a loyal boy, my Kenny. All my kids are loyal.’