The Chameleon's Shadow (34 page)

‘Go on.’

‘The only meaning I can take from that is that Jen thought Charles had been as excited by her dominatrix act as she was.’

Jones smiled cynically. ‘That’s a big leap of imagination.’

‘I’m not saying it’s rational, Superintendent. I’m saying it’s what an intensely egotistical woman might think.’

‘Yet according to Dr Campbell, Jen told Charles’s psychiatrist in Birmingham that she hoped his amnesia covered the end of the relationship. She sent him a series of love letters that didn’t even mention the rape, let alone how close he came to castration.’

‘But he didn’t read them and he didn’t reply.’

‘So?’

Jackson shrugged again. ‘If you were Jen what would you take from that?’

‘That the letters never reached Charles.’

Jackson nodded. ‘And what do you take from the fact that the contents were anodyne and only mentioned how good the relationship was?’

‘That she hoped he’d forgotten?’

‘Or she was afraid a nurse would have to read them to him because she didn’t know what his injuries were.’ She paused. ‘The more interesting question is why Charles was willing to hand them unopened to his psychiatrist when he was so resistant to revealing anything about the relationship.’

‘Go on.’

‘He knew Jen would do what his parents have done all his life . . . keep their secrets under wraps. He prefers it like that. The only way he knows how to deal with pain is to absorb it.’ She sighed. ‘He’s said all along you were out to crucify him . . . and that’s what you’ll be doing if you force him into court to support a prosecution. He’s carrying too much baggage to cope with having all this dragged into a public arena.’

Jones shook his head. ‘You underestimate him, Doctor. If I’ve learned anything about the lieutenant in the last few days, it’s that he’s a great deal more determined to face his fears than you and I are.’

METROPOLITAN

POLICE

INTERNAL MEMO

To:	ACC Clifford Golding
From:	Det Supt Brian Jones
Date:	20 August 2007
Subject:	Interview procedure

Sir,

Re Concerns expressed by Jennifer Morley’s legal representative

Please find attached a copy of Morley’s custody record, showing that she was charged well within the 36-hour time-limit allowed under PACE.

In the view of the interviewing officers and myself, the ‘breakdowns’ cited by Morley’s legal representative were determined attempts to run down the detention clock. Morley employed fainting spells, panic attacks and constant requests for healthcare assistance to disrupt her interviews. Despite these delays, she was charged at 11.45 on Friday, 17 August 2007, with the murders of Harry Peel and Kevin Atkins, making a detention time of 32 hours and 15 minutes. She appeared before magistrates three hours later and was remanded to HMP Holloway.

The custody officer is entirely satisfied that we had reasonable grounds for detaining Morley, and that all interviews were conducted in accordance with Codes of Practice. She was allowed several rest periods, including a sleep break, and was given appropriate assistance and monitoring at all times together with regular offers of food and beverages. Most of these were declined. A copy of her custody record was made available to her legal representative.

The following is a brief summary of events

DI Beale and DC Khan pursued a line of questioning, proposed by James Steele (psychologist), which was designed to persuade Morley that she had control of the interview. As Steele predicted, this led her to offer easily disputed alibis about where she was and who she was with over the murder weekends. In the first two cases (Peel & Britton), she claimed to have been in London in the company of Lt Charles Acland; in the third (Atkins), to have been in a hotel in Birmingham, following a visit to Lt Acland in hospital.

Morley’s first fainting spell occurred after DI Beale showed her the register from Lt Acland’s base, and read parts of his statement, detailing her violence against him. Thereafter, the ‘breakdowns’ became more frequent as new evidence was disclosed. On the insistence of her legal representative, Morley was given time to recover after each occasion.

In her next interview, she denied assaulting Lt Acland and made counter-accusations that he’d brought the stun gun and the knobkerrie into the relationship in order to assault her. She portrayed herself as an abused ‘spouse’ with battered-wife syndrome. When asked if this had given her a fear of men, she agreed that it had, although she refused to comment on information retrieved from her computer that suggested a continued willingness to put herself in danger from men in the role of prostitute/escort. This information included the names and/or telephone numbers and addresses of Peel, Britton and Atkins.

Following a two-hour break at the request of her solicitor, she offered drug dependency as a reason for her prostitution. She further claimed that her victim status as an abused spouse had driven her to self-medicate on ‘uppers’ in order to treat her depression and low self-esteem. She blamed Lt Acland for her dependency, laying prolonged stress on his violent and jealous behaviour. As explanation for having Peel/Britton/Atkins’s contact details on her computer, she claimed to work part-time for a sex chat line.

On James Steele’s advice, DI Beale and DC Khan allowed these statements to go unchallenged and ‘rewarded’ Morley with an overnight sleep break. She was woken at 06.30 and given an opportunity to perform basic ablutions and apply make-up. Breakfast was offered, but declined.

Morley’s demeanour remained upbeat until she was shown the forensic evidence obtained from two different sets of clothing in her flat. Blood-spot DNA traces on a dark jacket, linking her to Atkins, and similar DNA traces on a pair of shoes, linking her to Peel. In addition, FSS made matches with fibres taken from a woollen scarf in Morley’s apartment to fibres found on Atkins’s premises.

After another ‘breakdown’ and a lengthy consultation with her legal representative, Morley admitted involvement in the deaths of Peel and Atkins. She offered self-defence and ‘battered-wife syndrome’ as justification, saying both men became aggressive under the influence of alcohol. She claimed to have lashed out in a panic with the first thing she could lay her hands on. In the case of Peel, a table lamp base. In the case of Atkins, an unopened bottle of wine.

Morley was then shown the hemp duffel bag and its contents and was asked to account for the stun gun and the knobkerrie. On the advice of her legal representative, she refused to answer further questions, and I took the decision to charge her with the murders of Peel and Atkins.

The detailed investigation of Morley’s property continues, and FSS are confident of linking her to Martin Britton’s premises and murder.

Three strands of hair found on the inside of the hemp bag have provided a DNA link with Morley, although this will certainly be contested in court. It is feasible, if unlikely, that Lt Acland carried them on his clothes for several months and transferred them unwittingly to the duffel.

The ongoing examinations of Morley’s computer and mobile telephone, also Peel’s and Britton’s phones, continue to produce evidence. Information retrieved and followed up to date shows that Morley had had previous contact with all three men.

• Harry Peel in his role as taxi driver – Morley was an occasional customer.
  
• Martin Britton through his partner, John Prentice –
  

Morley was commissioned for at least two photo-shoots of

silk fashion in a chinoiserie room at the Britton/Prentice

house. (Prentice said the slender Uma Thurman look

suited his company’s designs.)

• Kevin Atkins as a builder – his company carried out maintenance work on Morley’s apartment block in 2004.

All contacts in Morley’s email folder and cell-phone address book are being traced and questioned. From interviews conducted so far, a picture is emerging of erratic behaviour over a period of years. Morley has had no contact with her family since punching and kicking her younger sister during an assault in 2001. Her mother admitted to being afraid of her.

Two ex-boyfriends, who dated Morley for less than a month each, have described stalker-type behaviour following breakup – threats, late-night visits, nuisance phone calls. A theatre company sacked her after two days for ‘anger issues’. Three escort agencies have taken her off their books because of client complaints.

A high percentage of the telephone numbers recorded in Morley’s computer have been disconnected. Three, including the ex-boyfriends, have been tracked through their servers and interviewed. All cite harassment from Morley as the reason for the disconnection. The third, who lives in Newcastle, admitted to using her services during a business trip to London. ‘I told her she wasn’t worth the money. She sent fifty obscene texts during the following two weeks.’

Despite Morley’s claim that it was Peel and Atkins who approached her ‘for sex’, there is no evidence to support this. Both men’s cell phones have listings for ‘Cass’ under a number that was discontinued around the time Morley met Lt Acland. We believe the initial contact came from Morley, either via a pay phone or by turning up ‘on spec’ at their houses, and that a need for money was the driving force. (Steele argues that Morley’s drug dependency/cravings would have become critical following the encounters with Lt Acland.)

If her intention had been to find a client for the evening, she may have tried other contacts before receiving a green light from her victims. (This might explain her use of a pay phone to avoid her name appearing and giving the recipient a chance to ignore the call.)

Steele’s theory is that all three murders were ‘opportunistic’

– i.e. various factors collided to create a ‘killing’ environment. He suggests the following scenario:

• Morley was angry/destabilized by Lt Acland’s refusal to continue the relationship and/or support her financially.
  
• If Morley was rejected by a number of potential clients, this would: a) frustrate her need for cash; b) fuel her anger; and c) persuade her to adopt a different approach.
  
• Her first victim, Harry Peel, was easily accessible as a taxi driver and only accepted payment in cash. This would have been known to Morley. If her initial request was for his taxi service, he was unlikely to refuse her.
  
• Her second victim, Martin Britton, was described by everyone who knew him as ‘courteous’. Britton’s brother believes Martin would have invited Morley in because of the connection with his partner. From her previous visits to the house, Morley may have known that the two men kept cash on the premises.
  

• Morley’s third victim, Kevin Atkins, may be the only one who responded to an offer of sex. His ex-wife says, ‘He hated being on his own, particularly at weekends. We used to do things as a family and he missed that terribly.’ Atkins preferred to be paid in cash for ‘VAT and tax reasons’ and kept it in a ‘roll’ until he could get to a bank.
  
• Despite inviting Morley on to their premises, Steele believes all three men reacted negatively afterwards. Either by questioning the value she put on herself or by refusing requests for money.
  
• Lt Acland’s evidence offers a pattern of how Morley uses a stun gun to exercise control. He was told he’d be allowed to recover as long as he followed her orders – ‘crawling naked round the floor pretending to be a dog’ – but any show of disobedience would result in another hit.
  
• Lt Acland refused to comply, but it’s doubtful that less fit, older men would have been willing to do the same. They may also have believed that being instructed to dress in bathrobes and lie on their beds was merely a device to prevent them following her when she left.
  
• Because her victims lived alone, there was no bar to Morley’s behaviour. She did what she did because she could.
  

Conclusion

My team and I have come to know Harry Peel, Martin Britton and Kevin Atkins during the months we’ve worked on their cases. These were good, decent men who deserve better than to allow their killer to plead self-defence or diminished responsibility.

All efforts are now being directed at proving that Morley’s motive was financial gain, and that she was prepared to murder her victims because they knew her and could identify her.

I trust this deals with your concerns.

Best wishes,

Detective Superintendent Brian Jones

D
AISY APPEARED QUIETLY
in the open bedroom doorway and watched Acland pack his kitbag. Everything he owned was laid out neatly on the bed and, like others before her, she was struck by how little he had. To her, the most poignant articles were the single mess tin and mug which spoke of a life that wouldn’t be shared with anyone else.

She shifted her position slightly to draw attention to herself. ‘Jackson doesn’t want you to go,’ she murmured quietly to avoid her voice carrying downstairs, ‘but I don’t think she’ll tell you herself.’

‘Has she actually said that?’ Acland asked, folding a T-shirt.

‘Not in so many words . . . but I’m sure I’m right.’

He glanced at her with genuine warmth in his expression. ‘I don’t think you are, Daisy. Jackson’s a realist. She knows there’s no way I can suddenly redefine myself as an anonymous paying guest . . . not if she keeps watching me for migraines and you keep trying to feed me.’ He tucked the T-shirt into his kitbag. ‘Thanks for saying it, though.’

‘Will you keep in touch?’

‘Sure.’

Daisy didn’t believe him. ‘I know you think Jacks is strong-minded and tough, but most of that’s a front. She worries about everything underneath. She’ll worry about
you
.’

Acland pushed the T-shirt to the bottom of his kitbag. ‘She can always find out where I am from the police. I have to report in on a weekly basis in case I’m needed for further questioning.’

‘I can’t see you doing that either,’ said Daisy with sudden conviction. ‘You’ll disappear and leave everyone wondering where you went and what happened to you.’

Acland eyed her for a moment. ‘It worked for Chalky,’ he said.

* Jones had expressed the same doubts as Daisy when Acland sought him out on Monday morning to tell him he was planning to leave the Bell the next day. With his bail conditions lifted, he was free to travel again. ‘Are you about to do a runner on me, Lieutenant?’ ‘No.’ ‘How good is your word?’ ‘As good as it’s ever been.’ The superintendent nodded. ‘But I’d like to be sure you really understand what’s at stake here. We’ll get a conviction of some kind without you . . . but I doubt we’ll have justice. Any accusation Jen chooses to fling at you will go unchallenged if you’re not in court to defend yourself.’ ‘I won’t be the one on trial.’ ‘But your good name will, along with the reputations of Jen’s three victims . . . and dead men don’t have voices. The blacker she paints you the better her chances.’ Acland hesitated. ‘You might do better without me,’ he said. ‘In a contest between Quasimodo and Uma Thurman, I can’t see the jury believing Quasimodo.’ Jones looked amused. ‘You’re the wrong body shape for Quasimodo, Charles. Dracula, possibly.’ ‘Same problem – Beauty versus the Beast – and I’m not sure my name matters that much to me, Superintendent. It hasn’t done me any favours so far.’ ‘Then here’s where we part company,’ said Jones, ‘because I have a lot of respect for Lieutenant Acland.’ He looked for a response in the younger man’s expression and shook his head when he didn’t find it. ‘The doctor’s right. You’re far too keen on

martyrdom, my friend . . . and it’s your least attractive quality.

Your forte is fighting.’

‘I’m not allowed to do that any more.’

‘There’s more than one way of skinning a cat. Pick a legal fight. Become a champion.’

‘Of what?’

‘Three dead men would be a start. Justice doesn’t come automatically. It has to be fought for.’

Acland wondered if Jones realized that he was using the same kind of language that politicians use to justify wars. In the end, the only satisfaction was to settle one’s scores for oneself. ‘Isn’t justice the job of the police?’ he asked without emphasis.

‘Certainly,’ the older man agreed, ‘but we can’t do it on our own. You’d have been called as a witness whatever happened, you know. Your association with Jen would have come under scrutiny as soon as we fixed on her.’

‘Only because I gave her to you. If I hadn’t come back to Bermondsey, you’d still be in the dark.’

Jones smiled slightly. ‘We’d have got there eventually. We found the name “Cass” on Kevin Atkins’s mobile.’

‘I gave you that as well . . . and the duffel bag.’

‘You didn’t know it was Jen’s.’

For the last time Acland toyed with keeping to himself the only secret he had left, but Jackson had urged him to be fair. ‘You can’t destroy all the evidence,’ she had said. ‘At least give the police a chance with the Harry Peel photos . . . even if you don’t like Jones much.’

She was wrong about that. Acland had a great deal of respect for the superindentent. He’d recognized the man’s strength the first time he met him, just as he’d recognized Jackson’s. With a sense of regret that he was about to lose Jones’s sympathy, he shook his head. ‘I was watching from across the road when Ben snatched the bag off her,’ he admitted. ‘I always knew it was hers.’

The superintendent didn’t bother with surprise. ‘Did you know who Ben was?’

Acland nodded. ‘I recognized him as the kid who set his girls on Chalky. Jen didn’t make a sound, just got to her feet and stood there as white as a sheet. It made me wonder what he’d stolen.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

‘I did. I said several times that I thought a bag existed.’

‘You
knew
it existed, Charles.’

‘Not for certain. I couldn’t see what Ben was carrying when he arrived in the alleyway. He collapsed almost immediately, and it was so dark I wasn’t even sure he was the kid I wanted until I shone a torch in his face and checked his breathing. I think that’s when Chalky buried the duffel in one of his own bags.’

Jones tapped his forefingers together. ‘You could have told us you’d witnessed the theft.’

‘There was nothing to tell. For all I knew, Ben had stolen a pile of magazines.’ He saw the irritation in the superintendent’s face. ‘I hoped the bag contained something I wanted. That’s the only reason I went to the alleyway. I thought Chalky might be able to tell me where the kid usually hung out.’

‘What’s the something you wanted?’

Acland hesitated. ‘These,’ he said curtly, putting his hand into his jacket pocket and placing a couple of USB flash drives on the desk. ‘It wasn’t Jen who smashed my laptop, it was me. That’s why I went back to her flat two weeks later. She’d loaded some photographs on to it that I didn’t want anyone to see. I hoped that was the end of it till she sent me a letter the day I went to Iraq with one of these memory disks in it.’ He squeezed his temples between a thumb and forefinger. ‘She said she’d made copies before the laptop was destroyed.’

Jones looked at the two small rectangular objects. ‘Why did you think they were in the duffel bag?’

‘I didn’t . . . it was a possibility, that’s all. Jen was carrying a memory card in her handbag when she came to the hospital. I took it and ran it through Susan Campbell’s computer the next day.’ He shook his head at Jones’s questioning expression. ‘Publicity shots.’

‘What were you doing outside her flat last Friday?’

The good side of Acland’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘Working out how to get in. I could have done it if she hadn’t been so shell-shocked by the theft. A minicab turned up a few seconds later, but she cancelled it and went back inside. That’s what made me curious about the contents of the bag.’ He paused. ‘I had no idea there was anyone else involved. I truly believed it was all about me.’

Jones wasn’t impressed. ‘You must have wondered when you found Kevin Atkins’s mobile in Ben’s rucksack.’

The lieutenant shook his head. ‘Not at the time. I assumed Ben had nicked it along with the iPods and the BlackBerry. I might have guessed if he’d transferred the stun gun.’ He fell silent.

Jones studied him for a moment. ‘Perhaps you didn’t want to believe there was a connection?’

Acland shook his head, but whether in agreement or denial Jones couldn’t tell.

Out of habit, he used the tip of his pen to pull the USB flash drives towards him. ‘Were you searched when you were brought here from the Crown?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why weren’t these on you then?’

‘They were under the mattress in the bedroom. I needed to see what was on them before I handed them in.’

‘And?’

‘One’s blank and the other has some photographs of someone who might be Harry Peel. I think Jen may have loaded them on to my laptop before I destroyed it. If she took pictures of Britton and Atkins, they’ll be on her own computer.’

‘We haven’t discovered any.’ Idly, Jones moved the USB disks again. ‘You should have trusted me, Charles. We wouldn’t have put pictures of you into the public domain. These are worse than useless if you’ve contaminated the evidence.’

Silence.

‘Whose computer did you use to download and delete your images? Dr Jackson’s?’

Acland shook his head.

‘Are you going to force me to serve her with a subpoena?’

‘You’ll be wasting your time. There’s no way you’ll be able to retrieve anything, either from the disk or from a hard drive. Will you trust
me
on that?’

‘Why should I?’

There was a brief pause before Acland drew himself to attention. ‘Because you’re the person I wanted to keep the photographs from, sir. There’s no way you’ll ever see them. I’d rather have your respect than your pity.’

‘You’re a pain in the arse, Lieutenant,’ said Jones with a growl. ‘You’d have had my respect either way.’ He stood up abruptly and held out his hand. ‘Will you give me a personal promise that you’ll come to court?’ He saw the hesitation in Acland’s face. ‘You told Inspector Beale you’d never betray a friend. If you refuse to shake on it, should I take that as a compliment?’

Humour creases appeared around Acland’s eye. ‘Not necessarily.’ He grasped the other man’s hand. ‘I prefer enemies. At least I know where I am with them.’

* Jackson was straddling a chair at the kitchen table, head bent over some accounts, big shoulders hunched forward. She flicked an amused glance at the lieutenant as he appeared in the doorway with his packed kitbag, and he saw with relief that she wasn’t proposing to be sentimental about his departure. ‘You owe Daisy a fiver for breakfast,’ she said, tapping the top page, ‘otherwise you’re up to date.’ Acland took out his wallet. ‘She force-fed me a horse in case I starved.’ ‘It’s her way of saying goodbye,’ said Jackson, folding the note he handed her. ‘What’s yours?’

She reached over to open the money drawer. ‘A fifty-quid fine for making me reformat my hard drive. You’re lucky I’m a computer whiz.’ She watched him sort through his remaining notes. ‘On second thoughts, you can make it a hundred. I hardly had any sleep over the weekend because I had to reinstall my own data afterwards.’

Acland placed five twenties on the stash that was already there. He didn’t think the drawer had been emptied since the last time he’d paid a fine. ‘Who are you planning to give it to?’

‘I’m a businesswoman. What makes you think I hand out gifts?’

‘Intuition,’ he said with a gleam of a smile. ‘I’ve discovered I have a feminine side.’

‘You’re making progress, then.’ She watched him sling his kitbag across his shoulder. ‘Do you want me to come to the door and wave you off?’

Acland shook his head. ‘You’ll only pester me about whether I’m going to keep in touch.’

‘Not my style,’ she said firmly. ‘Either you will or you won’t . . . but I’m damned if I’ll massage your ego by asking.’

His smile deepened, pulling his scar into something approaching a laughter line. ‘According to Daisy, you’ll worry if you don’t hear from me occasionally.’

Jackson placed his five-pound note in the money drawer. ‘You’d better believe it,’ she said.