Morley wrote down the details and the two policemen left. ‘If anyone lifts that phone to warn Shanks, we’ll come back and charge all of you,’ was Giles’ parting shot.
Giles paused before getting into the car and Morley asked, ‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘I was just thinking about the parade at the Cenotaph a couple of weeks ago,’ he replied. He inclined his head in the direction of the flat they’d just left. ‘That lot make you wonder why these blokes bothered.’
Morley turned into a pleasant suburban crescent of 1930s bungalows and brought the car to a halt outside number 27.
Giles read, ‘Hellvellyn,’ on the house name plate by the side of the door. ‘Must have more imagination than me . . .’
Giles stopped half way up the garden path and said, ‘Something tells me Shanks is going to do a runner when the door bell goes. You go round the back.’ He waited for half a minute to give Morley time to get into position then rang the bell. After the second ring a light clicked on and a girl’s voice asked, ‘Who is it?’
‘Police, open the door please.’
‘My God, do you know what time it is? Give me a moment to get some clothes on.’
Giles sighed. ‘No thoughts of mummy and daddy and the terrible accident they might have been involved in?’ he murmured.
Time passed and the door did not open but Giles did not bother to ring or knock again. He felt he had read the situation correctly. ‘Any second now . . .’ he said under his breath. The sound of shouting and a short struggle came from the back garden. Seconds later Morley appeared with a red haired man held bent over in an arm-lock in front of him.
‘Mr Shanks was just on his way out for an early morning run, sir.’
‘Nice of you to postpone it, sir,’ said Giles pleasantly, then with a change of demeanour, ‘Kevin Shanks, I’m arresting you in connection with the murders of Robert Lyndon and Timothy Devon. You need not say . . .’
A girl appeared at the front door, protesting loudly. ‘Leave him! Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything!’
‘Mr Shanks is being arrested in connection with a murder inquiry, Madam. Step back please.’
‘Murder?’ exclaimed the girl. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Kevin wouldn’t hurt a fly. He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’
‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about,’ said Giles.
‘Tell him, Kevin,’ pleaded the girl. ‘Don’t let them walk all over you. Don’t let them fit you up.’
‘Fit you up? You watch too much television, Madam,’ said Giles.
‘Tell them about the skinheads, Kevin,’ pleaded the girl.
The red headed man looked like a deer caught in headlights. Giles noticed that he’d put his T-shirt on inside out in his haste. His allegiance to Nirvana had to be read backwards. ‘I’m sorry, Mandy,’ he stammered. ‘I never meant to . . . honest to God, I never meant to hurt Stig but he wouldn’t see reason. I did it for us. I told him no one would ever believe the truth.’
The girl looked at him in horror and took a step backwards, holding her hands to her face. ‘You killed Stig? . . . It was you? How could you? You said it was skinheads . . .’
Giles lowered himself into his chair in the interview room and Morley switched on the tape and initialled it. Giles looked at Shanks and said, ‘It’s been a long night, son. Let’s not make it any longer. You killed Robert Lyndon. You killed him because he was planning to come to us and confess to the murder of Timothy Devon at the Crick Institute.’
‘Christ no!’ said Shanks, almost leaping out his chair. ‘We had nothing to do with the old guy’s murder. Sure, Stig was threatening to tell you about us doing the institute. He thought you’d believe him when he told you we had nothing to do with the old guy’s death. I kept telling him you would stitch us up anyway but he wouldn’t listen. I tried reasoning with him, honest to God, I did but he was shitting himself. We had a bit of a fight after we left the pub and Stig ended up getting stabbed. I never meant for it to happen . . . it just did. Christ, I’m really sorry . . .’ Shanks broke down in tears and Giles looked at Morley.
Giles scratched his neck: it was itching because he needed a shave. Three hours had passed, the dawn had come up on a frosty, misty morning and Shanks still refused to admit to the torture and murder of Timothy Devon.
‘You do realise what your defence amounts to, don’t you?’ he said. ‘A big boy done it and ran away . . . How believable is that? The Prosecution will be in danger of dying laughing. Why don’t you just come clean and get it off your chest? You’re already going down for the murder of Robert Lyndon so what odds does it make?’
‘I didn’t do it!’ insisted Shanks. ‘I keep telling you that. Stig and I were there and we sprayed the walls and messed up the furniture but the old guy was alive when we left.’
Giles pushed the photographs of Devon across the desk.
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Shanks and turned away with his hand to his mouth.
‘I don’t think Jesus is going to listen to you either,’ said Giles.
‘It must have been Ally,’ said Shanks, shaking his head. ‘He must have gone back.’
‘Ah,’ said Giles flatly. ‘The big boy.’
‘It was his idea in the first place.’
‘Of course,’ said Giles. ‘Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?’
‘It bloody was,’ protested Shanks.
‘Does the big boy have a last name?’
Shanks shook his head.
‘Let me guess,’ said Giles. ‘You have no idea where he lives either?’
Shanks shook his head.
‘I seem to have known that big boy all my life,’ said Giles. ‘The things he’s got up to in his time . . . Take him away.’
‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Morley when they had both returned to Giles’ office.
Giles shook his head. ‘I’m sorely tempted to charge the bastard with both murders and be done with it but there’s something not quite right . . .’
‘He’s not the type, you mean?’
‘Exactly that, Sergeant, he’s not the type.’
‘He could have been on drugs at the time.’ suggested Morley.
‘That’s a thought,’ said Giles. ‘And one I didn’t consider . . . Do you know why not?’
Morley shook his head.
‘Because I’m bloody knackered. Let’s get some sleep.’
* * * * *
‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ said Chief Superintendent James Rydell.
‘I think that might be a bit premature, sir,’ replied Giles, wishing he could say otherwise.
Rydell’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m not with you. ‘You’ve got the villain who broke into the Crick and you’ve charged him with a double murder. What’s the problem?’
‘Shanks was one of those who broke into the institute and he certainly murdered Robert Lyndon who was also concerned in the break-in but I don’t think Shanks murdered the professor . . .’
‘Are you trying to tell me the professor was already dead when these two broke in?’ exclaimed Rydell.
‘No, of course not, sir, but Shanks claims a third man was involved and that he was responsible for torturing and murdering Timothy Devon.’
‘A big boy done it . . .’
‘That was my first thought too, sir, but . . .’
‘So the other two just stood and watched while this third man put Devon through a living hell?’
‘No sir, Shanks claims that he and Lyndon weren’t present. The third man went back to the institute on his own.’
Rydell looked incredulous. ‘And you believe this rubbish?’ he exclaimed.
Giles felt uncomfortable in pursuing a line he had no real wish to. ‘I just can’t see Shanks as the sort who would . . .’
‘Commit murder?’ exclaimed Rydell. ‘He stuck a knife into his best friend for God’s sake. What more do you want?’
‘It’s the systematic torture thing, sir. It just doesn’t fit. Shanks isn’t the type in my view.’
‘He’s known to take drugs, isn’t he?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Well, Inspector, people change ‘type’ when they get into that sort of business. I’m surprised you didn’t realise that.’
‘Yes sir, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘I’d like another go at breaking him down before we charge him with both murders. He may know more about this third man than he’s letting on.’
Rydell looked at Giles in silence for a long moment before saying, ‘Have your go but then you charge him with both murders whether he breaks down or not. Understood?’
‘Yes sir.’
Giles returned to his office where Morley was waiting. ‘I take it he didn’t wear it?’ said Morley, interpreting the expression on Giles’ face.
‘’Fraid not,’ said Giles. ‘What do you think, Morley? Honestly.’
‘I think I’m with the Chief Super, sir. I think Shanks and Lyndon did it.’
‘Set up the interview room, will you?’
Shanks and his appointed legal representative were seated at one side of the table when Giles entered and Morley prepared to start the tape. Giles nodded and Morley initialled it.
‘So, tell us about Ally,’ said Giles.
‘Not much I can tell you,’ replied Shanks.
‘C’mon, you’ve had a whole night to make something up. I take it you didn’t sleep too well?’
‘I’m not making it up,’ said Shanks.
‘So tell us about him.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know anything.’
‘You mean he was a stranger who turned up in the pub on the day of the raid and asked if he could come along for the fun of it and you said, yeah, why not.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then don’t waste my time! There was no Ally, was there?’
‘Yeah, I swear on my mother’s life. He set up the whole thing.’
‘If you think for one second that a jury is going to swallow that, you probably still write letters to Santa. But maybe you think it doesn’t matter as you’re going down anyway but it does . . . Being in denial of a crime you’re convicted of will stop you even being considered for parole. There will be no review board. You will go down for ever and ever, amen.’
‘I did not kill the old guy.’
‘So Ally did it; why?’
‘Ally was really intense about things. He really hated what they were doing to animals in these places.’
‘So did you.’
‘Yeah, but . . . not like Ally. He was . . .’
‘A nutter?’
‘Fanatical, I suppose. He sort of despised the rest of us for being so soft. He said that nothing would change unless we took some real action that would make people sit up and pay attention.’
‘Well, you certainly did that, son,’ said Giles quietly. Once more he pushed the photograph of Devon’s body across the table.
Shanks shied away from it as he had done before. He said, ‘I didn’t think he would do anything like that . . . Christ!’
‘Where did you first meet him?’
‘We were sabbing a hunt near Leicester.’
‘He just turned up?’
‘Yeah, he turned up on the day and really pissed some people off by telling them they’d be as well waving their dicks in the air as waving the placards they were carrying. No one read them. No one gave a shit.’
‘What did he do himself?’
‘He pulled one of the huntsmen off his horse and gave him a bit of a kicking. He said that’s what they really understood.’
‘Was he arrested?’
Shanks shook his head. ‘Ally was too smart for the pi . . . police. He said that anyone who was with him should meet him in the Black Flag that night then he pissed off smartish.’
‘But you met up with him later?’
‘Stig and I went along to the pub to hear what he had to say. None of the others did because of the way he’d made fun of them. He told them they were nothing more than a bunch of middle class tossers having a laugh. He said they would never do anything effective to help the animals in case it upset mummy or daddy.’
‘So, what did he have to say later?’ asked Giles.
‘More of the same, really. If we really cared about the animals we’d do something about it, something that hit the bastards where it hurt. He said he was going to carry out a raid on a research lab and wreck it so they couldn’t hurt the animals any more. He asked if we were with him and we said yes. He gave us the time and place to be and he picked us up in his van. He supplied the paint and everything. We tied up the old boy and wrecked the place; then we pissed off.’
‘All three of you?’
‘God’s honest truth. Ally dropped Stig and me off in Swaffham where we went for a drink. Ally didn’t want to come: he didn’t drink. That’s the last we saw of him.’
‘Description?’
‘Older than us, early thirties, black hair, six one, medium build.’
‘What was the name of the hunt you met him at?’
‘The Thorne; bunch of wankers.’
Giles nodded to Morley who said, ‘Interview suspended 11.27 a.m. Inspector Giles leaving the room.’
‘Still feel the same?’ Giles asked Morley when he joined him.
‘I think we have to check this guy out, see if he exists,’ said Morley.
‘Good. Get over to the pub he mentioned, the Black Flag; take along some pictures of Shanks and Lyndon; see if the landlord remembers them. In particular, does he remember a third guy?’
‘Yes, sir. You’re not going to charge him with Devon’s murder?’
‘Not just yet.’
‘Rydell won’t be pleased.’
Giles shrugged and tried out a bad John Wayne impression. ‘Sometimes, Morley, a man has to do what a man has to do.’
‘Yes sir, and what do you have to do exactly?’
‘Talk to the master of the Thorne Hunt.’
EIGHT
Steven phoned to make sure that Nick Cleary was back at work before driving up to the Crick Institute in the morning. He was. Thinking about Cleary and his behaviour on the journey up made him think about the uneasy relationship between science and society. Cleary’s first reaction on finding out what Devon had been doing had not been to blow the whistle and issue a warning, it had been to keep quiet and say nothing. Why? What was behind that? Did loyalty to a dead colleague come before duty to the public in trying to prevent a possible national disaster? Was the public school ethos still that strong in the UK? There was certainly more secrecy around than in the USA where public scrutiny of government was accepted if not encouraged. Trying to get information from UK government departments was often like trying to get blood from the proverbial stone. It seemed as if low level clerks were trained to say, ‘I am not at liberty to divulge that information,’ on their first day while their masters hid behind, ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on individual cases,’ or ‘It would be inappropriate of me to comment at this moment in time.’