Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

Jones mulled this over. “I suppose we shouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

“Looking at the remainder of those calls, the last text between these two is from Anonymous 1 to Anonymous 2 at 22:07. That’s just a couple of minutes before Severino’s swipe card was used to leave the building. There’s nothing then between them until the following morning. In between those calls there were calls between Severino’s woman and Anonymous 3, then between Anonymous 3 and Anonymous 4.”

Warren drummed his fingers on the desk in irritation. “We really need to put some names to those damn SIM cards. I think we need a few more heads in here.” The numbers were starting to swim in front of his eyes now and a headache was starting to build. He had a possible scenario in mind and he needed people with a fresh perspective to check it for holes.

Getting up, he stretched his back.

“Karen, can you go round up Tony Sutton and Gary Hastings and ask them to meet us in the briefing room in five minutes?”

Nodding her assent, Karen also stood up, but before she could take a step towards the door it burst open. It was Sutton again. One look at his face and Warren’s heart sank; he could tell it wasn’t good news.

“You’d better come and see this, guv. Severino’s mum is live on the BBC.”

Sutton’s announcement sent a surge of adrenaline through Jones. “Shit,” he groaned as he leapt to his feet, following Sutton into the main briefing room. Projected on the far wall was the familiar backdrop of The Mount Prison. A local BBC anchorman holding a microphone was gesturing silently towards the prison’s main building. A scrolling ticker across the bottom announced that a prisoner on remand had attempted suicide early that morning. The next banner read ‘Prisoner’s mother blasts lax security’. The camera panned away from the anchor to reveal an uncomfortable-looking Daniel Stock standing next to a middle-aged woman of Mediterranean appearance. Beside them stood a dark-skinned man in a black suit. The woman, Mrs Severino presumably, was talking forcefully into the microphone.

“Some sound would be good!” called out Sutton.

“Sorry, leads aren’t connected. There we go.” A sudden blast of Italian came from the speakers as the stressed-looking DC fiddling with the laptop finally plugged the jack into the correct socket. They must be streaming live off the BBC’s website, Warren realised.

The woman stopped speaking and the man in the black suit took over, speaking in heavily accented English. Her translator, Warren realised.

“Mrs Severino demands that there is a full enquiry into how her son, who strenuously denies all of the allegations against him, was able to attempt to kill himself when he should have been on suicide watch.”

Another blast of Italian. “We would also want to take this opportunity to demand that the police continue to investigate the crime that Antonio Severino has been wrongly charged with. Her son has clearly been framed for this murder. Evidence found at his house is little more than circumstantial. Her son has given the police a description of a woman that he believes-” At this point Daniel Stock stepped forward, cutting off the translator mid-flow.

“About bloody time he did something,” snapped Sutton, angrily.

“Um, obviously this is the subject of an ongoing investigation and it would be unwise for us to comment any further,” the young solicitor stammered.

“Too bloody late,” said Warren quietly. “I don’t speak Italian, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that Mum said everything she wanted to.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, what a mess. The press are going to be all over this one.” He shook his head in dismay. “I can’t believe the BBC gave her air time. How damned irresponsible of them.”

“Uhm, guv, I don’t think they had much choice.” The young DC who’d been setting up the laptop looked up from another computer. Warren stepped over.

“They were just keeping up with the Joneses…er, so to speak.” The constable flicked quickly through a half-dozen tabs on the computer’s web browser. Warren groaned inwardly as the front page of every major news outlet proclaimed the same breaking news, with varying degrees of breathlessness. The page that caused the coldest chill to run down his back was that of the most popular tabloid.

‘Tomorrow — Exclusive. Free my innocent son before he kills himself for real!’

Below a picture of Mrs Severino, a bulleted list promised to reveal:

‘The woman who set my son up’

‘Anger and hatred in top scientist’s lab leads to brutal murder’

‘How under-pressure police grabbed the nearest suspect’.

Warren rubbed his eyes with his thumb and his forefinger, hoping to ward off the burning sensation in his temples threatening to become a full-blown headache. “If anyone can think of a way that this day could get any worse, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”

As if on cue, Superintendent Grayson’s voice rang out across the room. “DCI Jones. In my office, please.”

Be careful what you wish for, thought Warren ruefully.

* * *

“Damn it, Warren, this is the last thing we need.” Superintendent John Grayson slumped back in his chair, massaging his eyes in the same manner that Warren had been doing moments before. Warren wondered if it would be any more successful for his boss than it had been for him.

“I agree, sir. This is an ongoing investigation. These details should not be released to the press, for fear of prejudicing the case.”

“Yes, quite, that as well. In the meantime, the suggestion that a killer is still running around Middlesbury on the eve of that huge conference could be disastrous. And the suggestion on top of it all that we arrested the wrong man means that this department will be a laughing stock. This needs sorting out and quickly, Warren.”

Well, there it was, Warren thought. It was quite clear that the biggest concern that Grayson had was political. Warren doubted he had even thought as far ahead as to what effect the threatened revelations could have on the court case.

“Where the hell did this all come from, Warren?”

“As far as I can tell, it all seems to be coming from Severino’s camp, sir.” He went on to outline to Grayson his visit to The Mount Prison and his subsequent investigations into the mysterious young woman that had visited Severino the week before the murder.

Grayson tapped his pen against his teeth thoughtfully, before shaking his head. “I don’t know, Warren, it all seems pretty tentative. Compared to the evidence that we have against Severino, this is pretty circumstantial.”

“I agree, sir, but-”

At that point, Grayson’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and motioned for Warren to wait as he picked up the phone. “Grayson here.”

He listened intently for a few moments. “I agree, we should be able to get an injunction blocking publication. I’m a bit surprised they even tried. They must have known we weren’t going to let them prejudice the case.” He listened again. Warren tried not to fidget; he always felt uncomfortable listening to one side of a telephone conversation. Couldn’t he just put it on speakerphone?

“He’s here now, sir.”

Shit, thought Warren. There were only a few people that Grayson called ‘sir’, none of whom Warren was comfortable about being discussed with. Grayson put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Warren, are you certain that you haven’t spoken to the press? The governor of The Mount Prison is doing his nut. Apparently the papers have all of the details of the suicide attempt.”

Warren shook his head emphatically, “No, sir. Not a word. If I were to speculate, it probably came through Severino’s lawyer, Daniel Stock. He’s a bit inexperienced. Severino may have told him what happened on a visit and he hasn’t got the good sense to advise his client not to speak to the press.”