Peter Robinson: When the Music's Over

‘He was a serving police officer, now retired.’

‘Long memory, then? And honest with it?’

‘We also have another witness.’ Banks moved on quickly. ‘A witness who saw two burly men half-carrying and half-dragging someone towards the toilets the night Tony Monaghan died.’

‘This gets better,’ Feldman said. ‘Two someones carrying a third someone in the dark.’ He folded his arms. ‘Please go on. I’m intrigued. I assume you can produce this witness?’

Caxton wasn’t saying anything, but Banks had noticed him getting progressively paler, an anxious look in his eyes. He pressed the advantage. ‘We think those two men were the Stott brothers, well-known criminal enforcers at the time and, we understand, acquaintances of Mr Caxton.’

‘They worked at a club I had an interest in,’ said Caxton. ‘I—’

‘Danny, be quiet,’ said Feldman, raising a hand. ‘Don’t say another word. Leave this to me.’

‘We know where they worked,’ said Banks. ‘They were bouncers at the Discothique nightclub in Bradford. You first met them at a boxing club you had also had an interest in, and we have it on good authority that they were employed from time to time as your minders, Mr Caxton, and that on at least one occasion they faced criminal charges for GBH.’

‘That was nothing to do with me,’ said Caxton.

‘Are you saying you have a positive identification on these two gentlemen?’ Feldman asked.

‘Maybe not,’ Banks went on. ‘But their victim in the GBH case was the boyfriend of a waitress who claimed to have been sexually assaulted by Mr Caxton at the Discothique nightclub shortly after closing time one night.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Caxton, though he was looking paler. Banks noticed a tic developing under his left eye. He seemed worried by the direction the interview was taking.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, Danny, they’ve got nothing,’ Feldman assured his client. ‘And even if what they’re saying about these Stott characters is true, there’s no positive identification, no way they could be linked to the body found in the public toilets.’

‘You think I don’t know that, Bernie?’ snapped Caxton.

Banks leaned back and turned to Winsome. ‘DS Jackman.’

‘Let me tell you what we think happened,’ said Winsome. ‘Tony Monaghan was with Mr Caxton in the Majestic Hotel, Blackpool, when the assault on our complainant occurred. In fact, she was raped first by Mr Caxton and then by Mr Monaghan.’

‘So you take the word of a rapist—’

‘Danny, be quiet,’ said Feldman. ‘Let’s hear the lady out.’

Winsome inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Mr Feldman. I’ve done a lot of hard digging on this case, so I think I can spell things out clearly for you. One thing Mr Caxton might not have realised was that Mr Monaghan was a man of conscience. He’d done a foolish thing, a serious thing, committed a crime, but he couldn’t live with it as easily as... well, as easily as some people seem able to do. He felt the need to unburden himself, so after a great deal of soul-searching, he told his wife all about what happened and what he intended to do about it. Monaghan’s widow is still very much alive and was able to fill in a few blanks for us.’

Caxton shot Feldman a frightened glance. ‘What is this, Bernie? What are they saying?’

‘Let the lady talk, Danny. They tell a good tale, but they still have no evidence. Witness to the crime, was she, this wife?’

‘Though she wasn’t present when the crime was committed, we do have a strong witness in Mrs Monaghan,’ said Winsome. ‘Her husband told her what happened that afternoon in the hotel. She was horrified, of course, that someone she loved could commit such an act, but she also saw that he was genuinely repentant and wanted to atone. His atonement was to confront Mr Caxton with his decision to go to the police. Apparently, he also had in his possession a number of compromising Polaroid photographs of Mr Caxton with young girls, some of whom are also in the process of telling us their stories. Needless to say, these photographs disappeared long ago.’

‘Pity,’ said Feldman. ‘It’s a touching tale, but no evidence there, either. Hearsay. And from the man’s wife. In fact, it seems that stories are all you have.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Banks cut in. ‘But juries love a good story, as I’m sure you’re aware, and we think we can put together a good narrative of events. Carry on, DS Jackman.’

Winsome turned over a page in her file. ‘So Mr Monaghan crossed Mr Caxton in a serious way. It wasn’t so much the threat to tell the police that worried him, or even the photographs. He could easily have squared all that through his establishment contacts. It was his right-hand man’s betrayal. He couldn’t stand that. Either he lost his temper and killed Mr Monaghan himself, then got the Stott brothers to get rid of the body in a place where it would be assumed to be a gay killing, or he had the Stott brothers do the lot. Either way, Monaghan was killed and his body placed in the toilet. Sad to say, police at the time didn’t exactly pull out all the stops on homosexual victims. After a cursory initial investigation — which we do know revealed that Tony Monaghan most likely hadn’t been killed in the toilet and that two men had been seen half-dragging a third towards that very place on the night in question — orders came from above that there was no case, nothing more to be done. A short while later, the few case files that had been kept — including medical and forensic reports and witness statements — simply disappeared.’ Winsome took the enlargement of the newspaper photograph from her file and slid it across the table so that Feldman and Caxton could look at it. ‘As you can see,’ she went on, ‘here Mr Caxton is handing over a large cheque to Chief Constable Edward Crammond. Also in the photo are a number of other high-ranking police officers of the time, including Detective Chief Superintendent Dennis McCullen, who was immediately in charge of the Monaghan case. Both Chief Constable Crammond and Chief Superintendent McCullen were dismissed from the force in a corruption scandal over accepting bribes some years later.’

‘I take it this scandal has nothing to do with my client?’

‘It was a separate incident, drug-related, but it indicates the characters of the men concerned. Mr Caxton and the chief constable were known to be good friends. They dined together, played golf together and even, on one occasion, went on a holiday in Majorca together. All paid for by Mr Caxton.’

‘I did a lot of charity work for the police,’ said Caxton. ‘You can’t accuse me of bribing Ted Crammond with—’

‘But isn’t that exactly what you were doing, Mr Caxton?’ said Winsome. ‘This photograph was taken on the twenty-seventh of October, around the time the Monaghan investigation came to a full stop.’

‘You can’t possibly think that such a senior police officer would cover up a murder,’ said Feldman.

‘Perhaps not,’ said Banks. ‘Though stranger things have happened. It’s possible that, despite his later troubles, Chief Superintendent McCullen had no idea that Mr Caxton had killed Mr Monaghan, or arranged to have him killed. What he was covering up was his friend’s involvement with a man who, it appeared, had turned out to have homosexual inclinations. The fact that Mr Monaghan worked for Mr Caxton was never mentioned in any of the media reports at the time. That, I think, would have been a far easier thing to do, and easier for Chief Constable Crammond to settle with his conscience than murder.’ Banks glanced at Caxton, who seemed to be slipping further and further away from the conversation, looking puzzled and confused, as if he couldn’t understand what he was being accused of any more. It was either arrogance, Banks guessed, or another act, an attempt to put the faltering mask of innocence back in place.