Peter James - Death Comes Knocking - Policing Roy Grace's Brighton

Meanwhile, DC David Gaylor — who later in his career would become the inspiration for Roy Grace himself — DC Chris Cox and the rest of the incident room team back at Shoreham were beavering away, trying to turn suspicion and intelligence into something that might stand up in court.

A careful count back from the time flashing on the alarm clock had led them to the moment that the power had been restored to the flat — 3 a.m. That gave them a possible time of the killings.

Through the Police National Computer, they had discovered the check carried out by the cop on George Teed’s poorly driven Range Rover outside Buckingham Palace. Paul’s alibi depended on the police believing that he could not have committed the murders as he had been in Bradford. The witnesses there were not providing much help but the timings of those two events showed that he could have wiped out his family and then made the journey north. A case was starting to build.

After a restless night planning his next move, George steeled himself for what he knew would be a landmark interview.

Soon after Paul had arrived in West Yorkshire the police had allowed his uncle, Frank Towel, to visit him. Frank brought with him a friend, John McKenna, who happened to be a solicitor’s clerk, as well as a retired police inspector. George met both and was struck by how caring and genuine they were. They were allowed a private visit with Paul at which no police officers were present.

Following that visit, it transpired that something had been said that had troubled John and after much soul-searching he told George that Paul had admitted the murders.

George stepped into the dark, grey, airless interview room at Leeds Police Station. Paul agreed that John could be there, as a friend rather than a solicitor, to support him through what would doubtless be a very difficult few hours. The prisoner sat ashen-faced and trembling on a cold metal chair that, together with the scarred and scorched table, was shackled to the floor by rusty chains.

Taking the only other seat, George built up the tension by arranging his papers into neat piles. The silence was only broken by the distant slamming of a cell door and the plaintive cry of another inmate demanding a light for his cigarette.

George cleared his throat, then in a quiet, fatherly tone he rearrested Paul, reminded him that he was under caution, then revealed that John had told him of the admission he had made.

Paul became furious, glared at John, turned to George and demanded, ‘I don’t want him here. Can I see you alone?’ Without another word John slipped out leaving just George and the very frightened young man in the room.

‘Paul, for the past few days you’ve been bottling it up, something has got to give. Look at the state you are in. Would you now like to tell me?’ said George.

‘Mr Smith, I’m frightened,’ Paul confided, tears spilling from his bloodshot eyes.

‘Shall we discuss what happened?’

Desperately he replied, ‘I don’t know if I can trust you.’

‘Hopefully over the past few days you’ve got to know me. I’ve treated you with consideration and compassion. I’m not going to act any differently whatever you decide to tell me,’ George reassured him.

‘How can you say that, Mr Smith? It was so wicked,’ cried Paul.

The cracks were starting to show. Those last four words were the first glimmer of truth. George knew he had to strike now or risk losing his chance forever.

‘Paul, why did you do it?’

A wild and uncontrollable wail was all Paul could offer. He wept from his very core. George sat there silently, feeling sorry for the young man. This conflict is quite common in the more humane officers. It is not our place to forgive but equally we are not there to hate or condemn. George could see Paul’s conflicting grief and guilt but knew he was seconds away from the elusive confession he needed.

Pulling himself together Paul continued between the tears.

‘I’m so frightened, I feel so cold. What’s going to happen to me? I’m not mental. I don’t want to go to a loony bin. I don’t want to be locked away for thirty years. Be honest with me, Mr Smith, what’s going to happen to me?’

Sensing that Paul was veering away from the facts and focusing on himself, George steered him back on track.

‘Let’s sort it out first and we can deal with that matter later. Why did you do it?’

As if it suddenly dawned on him Paul declared, ‘I loved them! I loved them both. They both told me to clear out and never come back. Dad was sloshed and he was shouting at me. He said I was lazy and never had been any good. They were both shouting at me and treating me like a child. I couldn’t handle it. Then she was dead on the floor, all covered in blood. I was standing there holding the bat. It was horrible.’

Crestfallen he went on to describe how he had snapped under a torrent of abuse and lashed out wildly with his brother’s metal baseball bat. The strategy he was using was now becoming clear. He was trying to mitigate the horror by implying impulse and provocation. It’s rare that people in such tight corners have the clarity to think these things through though.

Was it really likely that they had such a row at that ungodly hour of the morning? What about the convenient fact that his wife just happened to be away? What about that shotgun? Why was all the money in his pocket and none in his dad’s?

It was time for the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

‘Paul, tell me about Larry. What do you know about him?’

‘Who? What’s this about?’ a startled Paul replied.

‘The man you tried to get to kill your dad,’ George continued. ‘The man who let you down at the last minute. The man you gave your shotgun and this sketch to. Ringing any bells?’ he queried, laying a faxed copy of the drawing in front of him.

Paul’s world crumbled. The game was up. No more excuses. No more lies.

Piece by piece, Paul tearfully confirmed Larry’s account, that it was not an impulse crime but a cruel, cynically planned execution for revenge and a few thousand pounds. Defeated, he wrote a statement. With Paul’s permission George invited John back into the room, whereupon the account was read out and endorsed by all.

Years later, Paul was adamant that if his request for legal assistance had been met in Sussex, this could have all been wrapped up very quickly. He had only wanted someone by his side, he claimed. He knew what he had done was evil and unforgiveable but just needed some support.

On his arrival back in Shoreham Police Station the next day, Teed asked to see a vicar. Paul would assert in 2014 that in the course of the killings something deep had happened within. In his words, ‘I went through the door of the flat an atheist and came out a believer.’ But at the time his ecclesiastical consultation, rather than eliciting a deeper confession of what drove Paul to do what he did, only triggered a further demand for a solicitor and an attempt to retract his admissions.

This time his request for legal advice was granted. In a further confirmatory interview Paul resorted to a cornucopia of lies, denials, half-truths and silence. George wasted no more time; Teed was charged with the three murders just half an hour later.

Cadet Jim Sharpe had now become PC Jim Sharpe and had recently been posted to Shoreham. One of his first tasks was to escort Teed to court for his initial remand hearing. Handcuffed to him on the bench seat of a rickety blue police prison van Jim, in his customary convivial way, struck up a conversation. While his memory of the exact nature of that chat is less clear now, he recalls the empathy he felt. Here were two young men about to start on very different life journeys, one in the police, the other in prison.