Authors: Barrie Turner
Irene was obviously pleased with this news, and she told Harry she was certain that he had made the correct decision. Then she outlined the progress the defence team were making in the Clarkson case. She deliberately stopped short of revealing anything connected to Timothy Harris preferring instead to confine her remarks to the false evidence given at the trial, and although she knew she couldn’t guarantee this would overturn the verdict, nevertheless she could see at once the effect this good news had on her client. She urged Harry to have a drastic rethink over his version of events in the shower block, but there was no way he would change his story. After a little light-hearted conversation, the meeting ended and she made her way quietly out of the room. Before leaving she made it known to Bertram Carter, that as far as she was concerned, this attack on Harry was no accident, and he and his staff had to make considerable improvements in the way they looked after, and protected, Harry Thompson whilst he was in their care.
Now that Harry had changed his mind it pleased her no end because it made her job a little bit easier. She could devote all her energy to the task in hand which was to secure his release. She reached the car and swiftly seated herself and started the motor. The engine started effortlessly, and she drove slowly out of the car park heading back to the office for a meeting with Michael Mulrooney.
The solicitor was already waiting for her when she arrived back and, from the look on his face, she could see something was giving him a little more than cause for concern. As she placed her briefcase beside her desk before sitting down, she asked apprehensively, “Come on Michael is it good news or bad?”
He responded quickly saying, “Well, when I last spoke to you we were both a bit pleased because we thought we might get somewhere if we could appeal the cases individually. Even when we found that this wasn’t possible, it looked as though we might be in with a chance especially with Bridget Riley and Royston Chambers about to admit to giving perjured evidence. With Theresa O’Rourke willing to testify and, since she’d also been requested to testify to the same evidence as Bridget, it really did look as though we were going somewhere with this case but now there is this to contend with. With that he pushed a number of documents across the desk whilst continuing, “these came today from the Crown Prosecution team and, on the face of it, it looks as though we don’t have one chance in hell. According to this, the scientists at the forensic laboratory have come up with a method of obtaining DNA results from clothing. Until now, this was something which was not possible before. According to these documents, they’ve carried out tests on the clothing of Angela Clarkson and Diane Wilson, after which they compared the results with the sample from Harry Thompson. The result is, Bingo, it’s him. Of course if this is true, he’s run us round absolutely ragged and, to make matters worse, he’s known all along he was as guilty as sin.”
For a moment, the news shattered Irene and she was completely lost for words. All she could do was read the contents of the correspondence over and over again, unable to believe the message it contained.
Eventually she spoke, “Michael, this is indeed a body blow but it’s a good job that we have been given this information now, and that it’s not just been dropped on us when we arrived at court. We do have a little time to find our own forensic expert who may be able to contradict this evidence. He might be able to tell us that the tests have not been carried out properly. After all, it’s a new procedure and we may be able to cast sufficient doubt upon it. Then, with two of our three musketeers revoking their earlier evidence, we might still be in with a chance. The thing that bothers me about this though is if this is correct, only two things are possible. Either Harry had been with the Clarkson girl earlier or he actually is the killer. Really, I cannot believe it. All this time, all this effort and just when we think we are getting close something like this has to happen. I’ve just come from the prison Michael, and I’ve just seen Harry and although he’s recovering nicely from the attack that we discussed earlier, nevertheless, he’s still adamant he slipped on a piece of soap. That’s all I, and the prison authorities, can get out of him. However, as a direct result of the attack, he knows it’s in his own interests to get himself out of there as soon as possible, even if it means freedom on a technicality so to speak. On my way back here from prison I was feeling quite pleased thinking we might be going somewhere, and then you come up with this. Jesus Michael, whatever next, eh?”
Michael breathed a heavy sigh as he replied, “Yes Irene I know. This is why I had to get round here straight away because I can’t believe it either. “Furthermore, I never thought I could ever be taken in by anybody like this, and I would have bet everything I have that our man was innocent.”
Still grimacing, Michael remained unconvinced and continued, “I know we still have to go through the procedure but, quite frankly Irene, I’m sure it’s well nigh hopeless, and I reckon the press will have a field day when this gets out. However, for our sakes as well as Thompson’s, I’ll get my hands on the best forensic person I can locate. Meanwhile, in the forlorn hope that we might yet be granted a miracle, may I suggest we keep this to ourselves for the time being. That includes not even telling Thompson.”
Irene had recovered from her surprise, and her brain was moving into overdrive as she snapped, “No Michael. I don’t agree. Please listen. We haven’t got much time so first I think you’d better contact the prosecution. Tell them we need samples providing for our own independent analysis. In the meantime, find me the best forensic expert in the country, or even Europe for that matter; somehow, we’ll have to dig up something ourselves on this. Meanwhile, I’ll go and see our man Thompson to have it out with him, and boy oh boy, he’d better come up with some answers. If I can get him to admit he was one of Clarkson’s clients, and she was still alive when he left her, we might be in with half a chance. On the other hand, he might possibly admit to some kind of necrophilia, or similar sexual act if he’d stumbled across her body before the alarm was raised. Either way, he won’t come out of it with any credit at all, but at the moment I do not see what else I can do. One thing’s certain however, the appeal will still go ahead because I’ll also try to get the judges to refuse to admit this new evidence.”
She was in full flight now as she continued, “Remember Michael, at the trial, Judge Ewing made mincemeat of me over the fact there was no DNA sample involving the Clarkson case. He stopped me from even mentioning it as the crown were not going to introduce it in evidence. Therefore, if I can reverse the argument now, their lordships might just throw this new evidence out. Even so, I’ll go and visit Thompson to see if he’ll admit to any involvement, although when I confront him with this he’ll have a hard time denying it.”
As the solicitor left her office, she looked again at the new evidence lying on the desk before her, thinking it was turning out to be a very bad day indeed. Totally unaware of what she was doing even, she gathered up the papers and made her way to the office of Sebastian Kreiff, the head of chambers. At the moment she felt an urgent need to confide in someone.
Sebastian was kindness personified, and he sat back in his large leather armchair whilst he digested the information which Irene had just given him. He read the forensic report again, then, shaking his head replied, “Well Irene, this looks like bad news. Let’s face it, if you can’t shake their forensic expert and this evidence counts, it seems to me this is the end of the line for Harry Thompson. Obviously, I’m sure you’ll give this your best shot. I wouldn’t expect anything else but after this, if the cause is lost, I’d strongly urge you to put the case to bed. I’m sure we can find you plenty of other worthwhile causes in this practice. In the meantime, let me say, irrespective of the outcome of this case, in this practice we are all very proud of you and the way you have conducted this case. Let me tell you Irene, nobody else could have done any better and I really mean that. Remember this, in the case of Regina v Thompson, you took on a hopeless case. One that nobody else wanted to even look at and the odds were stacked hopelessly against you right from the beginning. I can assure you everyone in these chambers is extremely proud of you and your effort in this case.”
Thus heartened, Irene Yarwood took her leave, and returned to her own office.
Theresa and Bridget were walking slowly along Rodney Street. Although it was almost midnight, they were both hopeful they would find another punter or two before they went home. They saw the sleek black car turn into Rodney Street, heading slowly towards them. As the driver switched his lights on and off quickly they knew one of them was in luck. With the car noticeably slowing down, Theresa walked quickly towards the door which the driver had already opened. She entered the vehicle and sat down. “Before closing the door, she said a swift goodnight to Bridget adding, “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow Bridey,” then the car sped rapidly away into the night. Bridget turned to watch the car disappear then she began to walk towards the traffic lights at the junction, determined to give her shift one last try before going home. At the bottom of the street she didn’t notice the car turn into Rodney Street, making its way silently towards her. As the vehicle drew alongside the driver spoke through the open window, “Hello Bridget, have you got time for a quick chat. This won’t take a minute and it is important.”
Before venturing towards the car, Bridget looked up and down the street but it was still deserted, apart from her and the driver. Cautiously she moved towards the vehicle and spoke to Detective Sergeant West, “If you think you’re on for a quick jump or anything, you can think again you bent bastard.”
“Bridget,” appealed the driver, “just come here. I’m trying to help you and there’s no need to get in the car if you don’t want to.”
Despite recognising the voice, it was still a very nervous Bridget who moved towards the stationary car and enquired, “Well then, what is it you want, and make it bloody quick?”
Sergeant West held out his hand through the open window and Bridget could see that his outstretched hand held an envelope. She took it quickly and opened it. In order to read the contents of the letter, she leaned through the open window. The letter was from The Chief Constable’s Office of the Merseyside Police, informing her she was not to be prosecuted for possession of an illegal substance and she was being let off with a caution.
“How’s that for good news then Bridget?” enquired the detective. “I thought things got a little out of hand last time so I put in a good word for you and Theresa, and I persuaded those two rookie cops this was the best way forward under the circumstances. Don’t you agree?” Before she could answer, his hand was at her throat, and the electric windows started to push up, trapping her head with the top of the car door. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound, she felt the full force of a blow to the head with the hammer he had concealed beside him. With the windows slowly retracting and the door already open, he had her inert body in the car beside him in seconds. Then unseen by anybody he drove quickly away from the scene. As he drove, he muttered to the still figure beside him, “I’ll teach you to try and put the squeeze on me you little bloody tart. After tonight, you won’t be telling any bugger anything about me and you won’t ever be in a position to cause trouble for me either.” He knew he was wasting his breath, because, the girl was already dead but it made him feel better, and it gave him a complete sense of satisfaction. Driving along the deserted streets, heading towards Southport and the sand dunes at Ainsdale Beach, he began to relax as he whispered over and over to himself “Easy innit!”
It was another grey and miserable Tuesday morning when Michael Mulrooney arrived at his office. He was surprised to find Theresa O’Rourke waiting for him. Just one look at her extremely nervous state confirmed to him that something totally unexpected had occurred, because this certainly wasn’t the hard-bitten, streetwise prostitute he had recently got to know. He ushered the woman into his office and asked his secretary to put the kettle on. As they both sat down, he asked Theresa what was the nature of her visit.
Even though she knew they were alone, she kept looking nervously around her before blurting out that Bridget Riley had disappeared.
At once a dozen questions sprang to his mind and from his lips, but her answers were always the same. Yes she’d been there and she’d telephoned here, there, and everywhere but, as far as she was concerned, there was no trace of her friend whatsoever.
“Mr. Mulrooney, what am I going to do now? You see I’m frightened for my own safety. I think it’s all something to do with this bloody murder case, and the fact we were going to give evidence against the police.” At this point she began to break down, and he realised she really did think her own life might be threatened.
He poured out the tea, and began to talk quietly to her saying, “Come on Theresa, think hard. Tell me when you last saw her, and when did you plan to meet again. Also, do you think it’s possible she might have decided to take off for a couple of days without saying anything to anybody?”
Theresa didn’t think long, or hard, she looked up at him and replied, “On Sunday night we were both on Rodney Street. It was getting late, but at the last minute I got a client which left Bridget alone. As it was getting late, she said she was going home and that was our signal. Whenever it’s getting late and one of us is alone, we make a point of going home leaving the one with the client to telephone afterwards to make sure everything’s all right. Later, well in the early hours of the morning, I telephoned Bridget to say all was well but there wasn’t any answer. I got up and dressed and I went round to her house but it was all locked up. My first reaction was to telephone you, but I decided to wait until today, just in case she turned up but there’s no trace of her. Mr. Mulrooney, what am I going to do now? You see I’m certain she’s been killed because it is so unlike her not to keep in touch.”
Taken aback by this turn of events, he realised he must do something to placate her. He began by asking if she had voiced her concerns to any of their other friends, or even the police. These enquiries drew a negative response although he noticed that she visibly recoiled at the mention of the police. After a few more minutes, during which time she appeared to become much more composed, he leaned across his desk and spoke softly to her, “Theresa, you must listen to me. First of all, just because you haven’t had any recent contact with Bridget it doesn’t mean that you can automatically assume she’s been murdered, and somehow the police are involved. Think of it this way. Why on earth should a man, with some twenty years service in the force, risk throwing it all away by murdering a person whom he persuaded to commit perjury? Really it doesn’t make sense. To me, it seems his most obvious way out would be to brazen out all these allegations in the hope that our appeal will fail, and this will all die a natural death. I think you’ll find your friend Bridget is every bit as afraid as you are and she’s decided to go away for a few days. Once she’s sorted herself out, there’s is no doubt in my mind that she’ll get in touch with us. Why don’t you do the same thing? Take off for a couple of days, keep it to yourself where you decide to stay, and give me a ring at the office each day to let me know you are safe and well.”
Theresa dried her eyes once more then, with her voice barely above a whisper she replied, “To you, no doubt that makes a great deal of sense, but I can’t see it the same way because I’ve also received this. She paused for a moment before pulling out a brown crumpled envelope from her pocket. From it she extracted a small typed letter, addressed to herself from the Chief Constable’s Office stating, “Following a review of your recent arrest for possession of a small amount of a controlled substance, the authorities have decided not to prosecute in this instance, and they will deal with the matter by the issue of a caution. Should any further offences of this nature be committed, this offence will then be taken into consideration.”
“Mr. Mulrooney, I received that letter the Tuesday morning after I last saw Bridget. You can see if she received a similar letter, and she should have done, surely she would have been in touch with me? This is simply that lying bent copper trying to cover his tracks, thinking if we’re not charged, then there’s nothing to be afraid of and there’s no need for her to admit her evidence was false. What you don’t seem to appreciate is now she has even more reason to be afraid! Just suppose Westy comes along, after I’ve left her, and he tells her he wants a quick word. He tells her she’s got no need to get into the car if she doesn’t want and he gives her a copy of this letter addressed to her. Once she’s read it she’s no longer suspicious, and she might even have accepted an offer of a lift home.”
Brushing aside Michael’s attempt to interrupt, she continued, “When I went to her house later that day, there was no sign of a letter to Bridget similar to the one I received. Now, I’ll bet you, if you telephone the station you’ll find they did send one out. No Mr. Mulrooney, you’re quite wrong, Bridget’s dead and I am going to take your advice and disappear. You can rest assured that I will keep in touch, and whatever happens now I’ll still testify for the defence.” With that she picked up her handbag and proceeded to make her way out.
Michael managed to get to the door first in order to let her know he would notify the local police of her disappearance, and he would also ask about the issue of a caution to Bridget. Urging Theresa to take care and, stressing the need to keep in touch, he closed the door quietly behind her.
Once she had left, he telephoned the Bootle police station to alert them regarding the disappearance of Bridget; then he telephoned Merseyside police headquarters, from where he ascertained it was recorded that a caution had been issued and sent by post to Bridget Riley.
A further telephone call was made to Irene Yarwood. She greeted the news of the disappearance with some dismay because, coming on top of the new forensic evidence, it was beginning to look that the appeal would be rejected almost out of hand.
It is often said that the best laid plans of mice and men oft times go astray. So it would prove to be in the case of Detective Sergeant West. He was feeling well pleased with himself since he had received the news of the new forensic tests. Although it opened up new and exciting possibilities concerning the Wilson and Clarkson cases, settling both matters without leaving room for any doubt regarding Thompson’s guilt, he kept telling himself it was indeed a pity the news had not come through a few days earlier. Had it done so, he might not have had to kill Bridget Riley. Regarding this matter, he now sought solace from his evil deed by telling himself Bridget had to go because she had told him she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. He went over the events again in his mind. He could see her there telling him in no uncertain manner, that come what may, she’d had enough, and she was still going to go ahead with her action against him and the Merseyside force. With all his years of service behind him, he knew he couldn’t afford to allow that to happen, so there was no other option. With one swift and telling blow from a hammer, it was all over in seconds and it was goodnight Bridget. ‘Pity,’ he sighed, ‘but it just had to be.’ Now, as a result of receiving the news concerning the new forensic tests, he hadn’t gone into the office today. Instead he was enjoying a leisurely drive down to Stafford prison where he had arranged to see an old acquaintance, Royston Chambers. For him the news of the new forensic evidence could not have come at a more opportune time, and he could hardly contain his satisfaction as he drove towards the prison. All that mattered to Detective Sergeant West was matching criminals to their crimes, even if it meant, on occasions, that evidence had to be tailored a bit to ensure the perfect fit.
In this case, that no longer mattered as the end had been justified by the means. He permitted himself another smile as he whispered to himself, “easy innit” and he allowed himself to wallow in his self belief that Harry Thompson had finally been nailed as a scheming, lying, and cold blooded murderer far too incompetent to make a fool of Detective Sergeant West.
As he drove his face wreathed in smiles at the prospect of confronting that old lag Chambers with this latest development, he told himself this would ensure that Chambers toed the line, and now he would forget everything he knew about his own evidence being made up. He was back to his old buoyant self, savouring every moment as he glanced at the report lying on the passenger seat beside him. He told himself this really would be easy. Just let Chambers know there was now irrefutable forensic proof Thompson had killed Clarkson, and the odds were he had also murdered his girlfriend. Therefore, even if Chambers went over to the defence team, there wouldn’t be a cat in hells chance of the judges believing his retraction and that the evidence he had given in the murder trial was false. Now, he was going to tell Chambers that he truly was a spent force, and his only hope of any salvation lay in his own hands, and that it was time to do his bird, and try to get some time off for good behaviour.
He parked his car at the gaol, and presented his identification at the visitor’s gate. Once his police card had been verified, he was shown quickly inside to the office of the assistant governor.
Whilst waiting to be admitted to see Royston Chambers, he couldn’t stop his mind from dwelling on Bridget Riley. It was only temporary and he consoled himself again with the thought that, if she hadn’t threatened to cause the trouble over her own evidence, she would still be alive today. Soon back to his own self, he allowed himself another smile as the thought occurred to him that she wasn’t going to cause any more trouble for him, or anyone else, in the future. It would only be a matter of time before the body was discovered on the sand dunes at Ainsdale Beach, a local popular beauty spot and, he reasoned, it would also serve as a warning to others not to mess with Westy, even though, he knew that there would be nothing at all to connect him with the killing. He was still smiling to himself, and thinking about how easy it had been to kill her. Once the body was discovered the police would probably be looking for a homicidal maniac, with a pathological hatred of prostitutes. When the assistant governor entered and after a quick drink and a talk about prisoners and prison life in general, it was time to go and see arch criminal Chambers.
When the door of the interview room opened to admit the prisoner, Royston Chambers could see at once that this was not a meeting he was going to enjoy. Detective Sergeant West greeted him in a very curt and abrupt manner. He lost no time telling him that, as a result of new evidence, they now had positive proof Harry Thompson was the killer of Angela Clarkson. He then went on to say, although he couldn’t stop Chambers from lodging an appeal, there was absolutely no chance that he would offer any assistance. This was because, with this new evidence against Thompson it didn’t seem possible that any judge in the land would believe the story that he, Chambers, had made it all up. “Face facts son,” he said, “they will bloody well laugh at you and accuse you of inventing this story just to see if you can get some time off. Well take a tip from me, Roy, just go and forget the whole thing. Before I leave, let me tell you that the only time I want to come down here again is to hear you, telling me, that you’ve got some hot tips for me. Then, I might be persuaded to try to do something for you. Do I make myself clear?”
Royston Chambers nodded and silently watched as Detective Sergeant West walked triumphantly out of the interview room whispering, “Easy Innit!”
Timothy Harris was seated in the sumptuous office of Jerome Jerome the senior partner of Jerome Woolff and Solomon. He was also feeling pleased with himself, despite the news of the recent death of his son. Today he intended to ask his legal team to drop the divorce proceedings against his wife. It wasn’t a change of heart; it was more a case of saving himself the fees involved. A couple of days ago, whilst alone in his flat with a large brandy in hand he realised that, if he went to court and requested permission to switch off his wife’s support systems, then there was no need for costly divorce proceedings, and he would be free to enjoy life as a single man again. He, too, permitted himself a wry smile as he savoured the prospect, whilst cursing himself for not thinking of pursuing the matter earlier. The thought never occurred to him that this avenue might have been denied him had Anthony been alive at the time.
Jerome Jerome looked straight at his client; he began on a cautious note, “I can understand what you are saying Timothy, but first of all, you will have to get the divorce proceedings cancelled. After which I would advocate you leave things for a little while, as I don’t want us to be in a position where we go before the judge to ask permission to switch off whilst it is still in the eye and the mind of the public that you have been in the process of divorcing your wife. You do understand don’t you, adverse publicity and all that. He sat back in his chair in order to allow his comments to sink in, but Timothy was unmoved, and he steadfastly refused to be swayed by such reason as he replied, “Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, but I hardly think these are normal circumstances. First, consider this, over the past few months I’ve hardly been out of the public eye, or the press, with one thing or another. You know the allegations, the libel trial, the death of my parliamentary secretary, my divorce action, the illness of my wife, and most recently the tragic death of my son. Therefore, do you not think it feasible that I might still receive more than my share of the sympathy vote from the general public?”