Next to Die Page 22

  Sam relaxed for the first time since he’d joined the squad. ‘I’ve got a thing about bullies, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s no bad thing,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Sam grabbed a chair from a desk nearby and wheeled it over. ‘I went to Julie’s house yesterday and saw her bedroom. Something has been bothering me about it today. Can I look at what you’ve taken?’

  ‘I hope you know where to look,’ she said, and pointed towards the bags.

  ‘It was near the computer. Every time I try to think about it, I go back to the monitor.’

  Charlotte bent down to rummage through the bags. She pulled one out and put it on the desk.

  ‘This was the stuff from around her monitor,’ she said, and opened the bag to put them on the desk.

  Sam looked through, everything in exhibit bags. They were just scraps of paper mainly, some showing calculations, others showing girlie doodles, with drawings of flowers and love hearts. Then he saw it. It was what had been in his mind, the niggle, the itch.

  It was a photograph. It had been attached to the shelf behind the computer screen. A teenage boy, pretty and smiling. But her parents had said she didn’t have a boyfriend. There was something about the photograph that was familiar, except he couldn’t place it.

  ‘Is this boy on her Facebook page?’

  Charlotte brought up Julie’s profile on her screen. It was being left open in case someone posted something useful. She went to the ‘Friends’ page and scrolled down, looking for the person in the photograph. She stopped at a couple, just to check, but then moved on. When she got to the bottom, Charlotte shook her head. ‘He’s not there.’

  He held up the photograph. ‘I need to go back.’

  Charlotte looked at the photograph and then at Sam. She must have seen his resolve, because she said, ‘I’m coming with you,’ and grabbed her coat.

  ‘Where did you see Carrie and Grace?’ Joe said.

  ‘I’m not supposed to tell you.’

  ‘Who told you that? Carrie? Because she’s trying to get away from Ronnie?’

  Terry shook his head and then looked down. ‘I can’t say anything.’

  ‘You need to talk, Terry, because this will come out in court, whether or not you tell me now.’

  Terry nodded slowly, and Joe watched his resolve slowly build until he said, ‘The police told me to stay quiet.’

  Joe and Gina exchanged glances. ‘The police? Why would the police say that?’

  ‘They said if I didn’t keep it to myself, Ronnie would get away with it.’

  ‘Get away with what? If Carrie and Grace are alive, there’s nothing for Ronnie to get away with.’

  ‘That’s what I said, but they told me not to be concerned, that it was their job to worry about these things, and that it would all turn out right in the end.’

  Joe was confused. He knew there was an obsession about figures and targets in the force, but covering up evidence that could free an innocent man was a step back to the seventies.

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ Joe said. When Terry clenched his jaw, Joe added, ‘You want to tell me, don’t you, because that’s why you’ve been watching me, walking to my office and then turning away, because it’s bursting out of you, your need to let me know.’

  There was still no answer.

  ‘Terry, talk to me,’ Joe said. ‘Please.’

  Terry swallowed. ‘Okay, I’ll talk.’

  ‘Where did you see them both?’ Joe said.

  ‘In the city centre.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last week.’

  Joe pointed to his dictation machine, which he had clicked on and placed on the small coffee table, the red light showing. ‘This is recording now. Just tell me your story.’

  Terry took a deep breath. ‘I’d gone into town. I go sometimes, just to see people, because no one knows me there, and so I can walk around and be myself.’

  Or be someone else, the war hero, was Joe’s thought, but he didn’t voice it.

  ‘I got the train to Victoria,’ Terry continued. ‘I was walking towards the shops, and there are some seats in that new part, you know, where it was rebuilt following the IRA bomb, next to the large glass building.’

  ‘I know it. The Football Museum, by the Cathedral Gardens.’

  ‘That’s right. Well, I like it there, because there are a lot of things going on, but just behind it is sort of peaceful, because of the cathedral and the music school. So, I was just sitting there, watching everyone, when I heard something behind me. It was a little girl’s voice. She was laughing at the fountains they have there, because they just pop up, and they must have surprised her. I turned round, and there they were, Carrie and Grace. She was different though, Carrie.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Her hair was shorter and darker.’

  ‘So how can you be sure it was her?’

  ‘It was the little girl I recognised. She’s such a sweet thing. Hard to believe that she’s their child. Pair of drunks, both of them, but Grace, she is so cute. She has these blonde curls and a lovely smile, because it isn’t yet worn down by all the rubbish Ronnie and Carrie will put into her life. And she laughs so much. I would hear it, even on my floor, Grace singing and laughing.’ Terry paused as he enjoyed the memory, and Joe and Gina looked at each other, eyes wide.

  ‘How close were they to you when you saw them?’ Joe said.

  ‘Close enough to tell.’

  ‘That answer isn’t good enough. In distance. Feet and yards. Metres, if you prefer.’

  Terry thought about it, and then said, ‘Thirty yards.’

  ‘Was it busy?’

  ‘There were a lot of people walking around, but I saw them. They were on the other side of the fountains.’

  ‘So you saw them from thirty yards away, through crowds and the water from the fountains, and Carrie’s hair was different?’

  Terry scowled. ‘That’s what the detective said when I told him. He sounded like he didn’t believe me, just like you.’

  Joe tried not to smile. He knew the question he was about to ask would destroy the case against Ronnie Bagley, because he had learned one thing about witnesses from his own trial experiences, and that is if you challenge them about how sure they are, they will do their best to remove any doubts, because what makes a witness get involved in a case is that they want to be helpful. He glanced at the dictation machine to make sure that it was still recording, and asked, ‘But are you sure?’

  Terry leaned forward, determination in his eyes. ‘Absolutely sure, one hundred per cent,’ he said, and then sat back again, his arms folded.

  Joe smiled. It was game over. Terry Day would never be allowed to come back from that certainty, and without Terry Day, the prosecution would lose the argument Ronnie had with Carrie, and the threat that he was going to kill her. Joe had to work out how to play it, because if he tipped off the prosecution, there was no guarantee the case would end; they might still hold out for two bodies, just in case Terry had got it wrong. Joe couldn’t use Terry himself, because he said too many things that harmed Ronnie. He could leave the recording to the trial itself, and use it to undermine everything, but again, that was a gamble, because the prosecution might be able to persuade the jury that Terry could be mistaken. Identification is a difficult area of evidence, because a mistaken witness can be a genuine witness, but still mistaken, a mantra that had been drummed into juries for decades.

  It wasn’t quite as bad for Ronnie, because Joe had to create enough doubt, nothing more, but leaving everything to the coin tosses in the jury room was like planning an English summer barbecue a month in advance.

  Joe reached for the dictation machine and switched it off. ‘Thank you, Terry, for speaking to us. I’m going to try to do something with this. You’ve done the right thing.’

  Terry didn’t respond. He stayed in his chair as Joe and Gina let themselves out. They stayed silent as they went down the stairs. It was only when they were
back in Joe’s car that they spoke.

  ‘What the hell was that all about?’ Gina said.

  Joe looked up towards the window. Terry was watching. ‘I don’t know. Someone will be in trouble for this though, for withholding it, because Carrie being alive is one of our defence strategies, and there it is, straight from the mouth of a crucial witness.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Gina said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Would Terry’s identification stand up in court?’

  ‘It wouldn’t convict anyone. From a distance, with different hair, and through water. Recognition evidence is always easy to disprove. You can turn it into assumptions and guesswork with the right questioning. And when we ask whether the witness has ever been about to say hello to someone in the street but then stopped at the last moment when they realise they have it wrong, the case just crumbles. They say yes, and everything becomes another possible mistake, and if they say no, the jury doesn’t believe them, because everyone has done it.’

  ‘But we’re not trying to convict anyone.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Joe said. ‘All we have to do is create some doubt. That will be enough to keep Ronnie out of prison.’

  ‘There might be another way we can use him,’ Gina said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to a lot of killers in my police career, more than you ever will. I’ve seen how they behave before they get caught. Terry reminded me of one of them, trying to make himself important. Look how he was with his fake medals. That’s the kind of man he is, wants to be the centre of everything, but the real Terry Day shone through when he talked about Grace. His eyes lit up, he was animated, distant. He has watched that girl, I can guarantee it, and men like him, well, what do you think?’

  Joe was surprised. ‘I thought you were against blaming Terry Day.’

  ‘I was, but I’ve met him now, and know more about him.’

  ‘So you think we make it look like Terry did it after all?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we need to have a strategy, not just blunder into questions not knowing which one ours is. Do we believe him? All we have to do is make the jury think that he might be telling the truth. If we try to convince them that he’s a liar because he’s the killer, that is a higher risk, because the only evidence for that is your suspicion, because Ronnie’s daughter is cute. Even Ronnie will agree with that opinion.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Simple. We find out why we weren’t told about it. I know where I’m going. I need you to do something as well. Find out where Monica is, because I’m uneasy. She hasn’t called in sick and this isn’t like her.’

  ‘I know, I don’t like it either,’ Gina said quietly. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  Forty-Seven

  Sam was quiet all the way to Julie McGovern’s home, Charlotte, the young detective, in the passenger seat. Charlotte tried to start a conversation, just to break the awkwardness.

  ‘I heard that your brother is a defence lawyer,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Charlotte waited for him to expand, but when Sam stayed silent she gave up and stared out of the window instead, at the mix of the old and the new, terraced streets and clusters of new housing, where the old grime had been bulldozed away to make space for the new grime. Long strips of houses lined along cobbled streets had been replaced by low-rise redbrick, surrounded by straggly grass, the only colour from dandelions, all connected by alleyways that provided hiding spaces for drug dealers, the streetlights smashed in the darkest corners, featureless tarmac showing the way.

  The streets opened out as they got closer, into the long curves of suburbia, the houses getting further back from the road.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rude,’ Sam said. ‘I’m distracted today. There was an incident with my sister last night and, well, it’s on my mind.’ He turned to her. ‘Me and my brother? We don’t always see eye to eye over our careers. And he’s Ronnie Bagley’s lawyer. What are the chances?’

  ‘Does it bother you?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I’m sick of having the same argument with him about it.’

  Charlotte thought about that, and then said, ‘Is your brother honest?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam said without hesitation. ‘He fights dirty sometimes, and I don’t think he follows all the rules, but he is honest, without a doubt.’

  ‘So wouldn’t you rather it be your brother who represents Ronnie Bagley? What if Ronnie had gone to one of the others, who cheat their way through cases and get witnesses to lie, just to get a win? At least this way, everyone plays fair and we get the result the case deserves, whichever way it goes.’

  Sam considered that, and then he laughed. ‘I’ve never thought about it like that.’

  ‘There’s always another way,’ she said.

  Sam was smiling as they arrived at Julie’s house. He saw that the press had thinned out, down to one television cameraman. The lens swung round as Sam pulled up and he and Charlotte climbed out of the car.

  As they headed towards the front door together, a uniformed officer by the gate ensuring that only police and family made it through, they were met by the Family Liaison Officer.

  ‘How is it?’ Sam whispered.

  ‘Not as angry as yesterday,’ she said.

  As Sam got inside, he saw what she meant. The day before had been frantic, wondering where Julie had gone, part anger, part distress. All that noise had gone and been replaced by silence, with her parents sitting in chairs, staring into space. It was all about waiting.

  They both looked up at Sam with dread in their eyes, wondering if he was the one who was about to deliver the bad news.

  Sam shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t have any information.’ They sat down and Sam pulled out a clear plastic bag from his pocket. It held the photograph. ‘You told us that Julie didn’t have a boyfriend.’

  Julie’s parents looked at each other. Sam watched them carefully, to see whether either gave anything away, if one of them held a secret, but all he saw was confusion.

  It was her father who spoke first. ‘She has never brought a boy home, and never mentioned one.’

  Sam passed over the photograph. ‘Do you know this boy?’

  Julie’s father’s hands trembled as he looked at the picture. His jaw was clenched as he handed it to his wife, who just shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never seen him,’ he said.

  ‘It was pinned to the shelf behind her computer monitor,’ Charlotte said. ‘Some of the scraps of paper on her desk had love hearts on them.’

  It was Julie’s mother who spoke up. ‘She’s a teenage girl. She’s bound to have crushes.’ Then she frowned. ‘Julie has been very quiet lately. We were getting worried, but she’s a teenager, and that’s what they’re like, isn’t it? Moody, quiet. We don’t know about the boy though.’

  ‘So who is he?’ Julie’s father said. ‘Do you think he has something to do with Julie going missing?’

  Sam wondered how to answer that, because the truth was that he didn’t know. Except there was something about the picture that troubled him.

  ‘Sometimes we have to eliminate possibilities to see what we have left. That’s all I’m trying to do, by eliminating him.’

  Sam stood as if to go. Julie’s parents stayed where they were. Sam recognised the look in their eyes. They were waiting, and waiting was all their lives would hold until Julie was found. Waiting, wondering, hoping, imagining, dreading, until eventually they will come to one final conclusion: acceptance that Julie was gone forever.

  Joe paced up and down outside court number four. Gina had gone to Monica’s apartment to try to find her, and Joe was waiting for Kim Reader.

  The court corridor was quiet. It was almost lunchtime, and the crowds had thinned out to those people stuck at the bottom of the court list. He had a view across Crown Square through high windows, the sun outside filling the steak restaurant with customers and the steps outsid
e the court with office workers looking for some brightness, small clouds of cigarette smoke giving away their positions. There was a noise behind him, voices and then the creak of a door. When Joe turned round, he saw it was a barrister, his wig askew, talking to the client walking behind him, who looked pleased with whatever had happened in there. Kim wouldn’t be far behind.

  He was right. Kim came out, pulling a small suitcase that contained all her files. As she edged past the defence barrister and his client, they were silent, the defendant’s smile turning to a scowl. When she saw Joe, she looked towards the defendant and rolled her eyes.

  ‘He had the best of the morning, did he?’ Joe said, following Kim’s gaze, the defendant now hugging a young woman in hipster jeans.

  ‘Another final chance,’ Kim said. ‘If you look closely at the blonde wrapped around him, you’ll see a scar over her eye. He did that, with a bottle. She wrote to the court, wanting to take some of the blame, and now they’re in love again. It won’t last though, and no one knows what she’ll have to suffer next time the booze rests on a bad mood.’

  ‘We can’t change their lives, Kim. We just show up now and again, and then go back to our own. Don’t let it get to you.’ He smiled. ‘So are you still speaking to me?’

  ‘What, because of your brush off when I rang you this morning, or about your Terry Day stunt?’ She returned the smile. ‘My heart will survive you, Joe Parker, and as for Terry Day, I’m used to your little games. I just wish Joe the lawyer was more like the Joe the… well, you know.’ She blushed. ‘And speaking of violence,’ she continued, looking back to the reconciled lovers, ‘your eye doesn’t look any better this morning.’

  ‘It will mend. And besides, I know who did it now.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘A father of someone killed by one of my clients. I don’t think it’s going to happen again, but he was the one who put me on to Terry Day.’

  ‘So tell me what Terry Day said, unless you’ve just come to buy me lunch.’

  Joe laughed. ‘I suppose I’m sounding a little, what’s the word?’