A Game of Proof (35 page)

The two detectives were silent for a moment, each, from their different perspectives, taking this in. It said as much about Gary as Simon, Terry thought. The casual menace in the villain opposite them came from his sheer muscular bulk. How would a woman feel, confronted with such brutal, overwhelming force? A woman like Sarah, Sharon, even Jasmine Hurst perhaps ...

‘So how often did you meet Jasmine, altogether?’ Terry asked.

Gary shrugged. ‘Three, four times, perhaps. Can’t remember.’

‘Always at Simon’s house?’

‘Think so. Yeah.’

‘Think hard, Gary. You never met her anywhere else? Didn’t follow her home, maybe, try to get your hands on those breasts like - what was it - melons?’

‘You’re obsessed, you are,’ Gary jeered. ‘You need help. And no ...’ He spoke directly into the microphone. ‘I did not follow Jasmine home. Nor did I shag her. Or murder her. How could I - I was in court!’

‘Nobody’s accused you of murdering her, Gary,’ Terry said smoothly. ‘But in fact you
weren’t
in court when this girl was murdered. You were released that afternoon, and she was killed between nine and midnight that night. So where were you were for the rest of that day?’

Gary’s jaw fell open. ‘You’re not accusing me ...’

‘You brought the subject up, Gary. Not me. Answer the question.’

‘I ... well, I went home, to get changed and have a wash. Then I went out for a few jars.’

‘To which pub?’

‘The
Lighthorseman
, if you want to know. They had the football on the big screen. Arsenal vs Real Madrid.’

‘Who won?’

‘
Real
, 3-2. There were half a dozen lads there who saw me.’ He gave Terry the names, sneering triumphantly. ‘I stayed till closing time, then went home to bed.’

‘Did you see Jasmine that night? Or Simon?’

‘No.’

‘All right, Gary, that’s very helpful.’ Churchill intervened impatiently. ‘Now let’s get back to why you’re here, shall we? This business of sexually assaulting Simon’s mother - your own barrister, for Christ’s sake, the woman who got you off! Come on, son, help me out a bit. I’ve not come across this sort of thing before.’

‘I told your mate there,’ said Gary stubbornly, nodding at Terry. ‘She asked for it.’

‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m the king of China’s grandmother. Listen, Gary, what I want to know is, why you were in that shed in the first place. Simon Newby’s shed.’

Gary stared back, bemused. No sensible answer seemed to occur to him.

‘You found a watch, Gary, I believe,’ Terry prompted helpfully. ‘And a ring, and some clothes which we’ve sent for forensic analysis.’

‘Did Mrs Newby see these things?’ Churchill asked. ‘Or talk to you about them?’

Gary looked confused. ‘What would she do that for?’

Churchill leaned forward, staring intently into Gary’s face. ‘Well, think about it, Gary. This woman, your barrister, meets you in this shed at night. It’s a surprise to both of you. You have an argument, and you resolve this argument by trying to rape her, like the dickhead you are. So what was this argument about? She saw you trying to get rid of the evidence, was that it? She realized for certain that you were guilty, and ...’

‘No!’ A cunning grin crossed Gary’s face. ‘
I
wasn’t trying to get rid of that stuff.
She
was.’

‘What?’ This time, even Churchill was taken aback. There was a stunned silence, from which Terry recovered first.

‘You’re talking out of your arse again, Gary.’

‘Am I? You prove it then.’

‘I don’t have to. It’s as big a load of crap as you told us yesterday.’

‘Are you going to charge me with raping her then?’

If there was such a thing as low criminal cunning, this bastard had it, Terry thought. He wasn’t bright, he was a common violent thug who’d spent a large part of his adult life in prison and yet, when he was confronted with seemingly irrefutable proof of his guilt, his mind instantly homed in on the one route of escape. No one had told him that the charge of attempted rape was likely to be dropped, but he had guessed nonetheless.

Churchill tried to cover it up. ‘Just answer the questions, son, then we’ll see. Look, with you in that shed was all the evidence we needed to convict you of raping Sharon Gilbert, right? Are you seriously trying to tell us that
your barrister
was trying to hide it, not you? Why on earth would she do that?’

‘I were found not guilty, remember?’

Churchill gazed at him wearily. ‘Yeah, sure. The courts get it wrong sometimes. But come on, Gary - all that stuff in the shed
proves
your guilt, for Christ’s sake! The watch, the ring, the hood - Sharon Gilbert’s identified the lot, you know.’

‘So? It doesn’t mean
I
put them there, does it? I just found them - my watch, anyhow.’ Gary hesitated, looking from Churchill to Terry, who smiled mockingly, not believing a word. ‘And then she comes in and says ...’

‘Yes, Gary, what did she say? Come on now. Make it up quick or we won’t believe you.’

‘She says get rid of it quick, my son did it.’

Terry burst out laughing. ‘Oh, very good, Gary, well done! Brilliant. You’re saying your barrister came into the shed, saw you pawing all this evidence that proves your guilt, and said get rid of that quick because my son raped Sharon Gilbert. Is that it?’

‘It was in his shed.’

‘Yeah, sure. But instead of helping her get rid of it, you tried to rape her, remember. Is this an example of your social skills, or what?’

‘It’s not bloody funny, copper ...’

‘... not good manners though, is it? Your idea of etiquette?’

‘ ... I could go down for eight years ...’

‘And so you should.’ Terry was still smiling at the sheer effrontery of it all, but Churchill, to his surprise, put a hand on his arm.

‘Just a minute, Terence. Gary, are you seriously asking us to believe that your barrister, the woman who defended you, told you that her son, Simon Newby, raped Sharon Gilbert?’

Gary nodded defiantly. ‘That’s what I said, yeah.’

‘And you’re prepared to make a statement to that effect?’

‘I might.’

The room fell silent. Terry was appalled.
What was Churchill playing at?
A pulse began to throb violently in his ears. ‘Come on, Gary, this is total crap and you know it. Sharon identified
you
, not Simon - and so did her little kid, remember? The little boy who tried to protect his mum when you were raping her in front of him, you great hulking thug ...’

‘I were found not guilty!’

‘Yes, but you
were
guilty, weren’t you? Everyone knows that - even your barrister, who actually got you off. And how do you reward her? By trying to rape her and then accusing her son of your own filthy crime! You make me sick, you do!’

‘I don’t give a fucking toss ...’

‘Shut up and listen! Let me tell you what happened when she came into that shed, shall I? She saw you fumbling with that watch and hood and ring and all the rest of it, and she realised for certain that you were guilty, where before perhaps she’d given you the benefit of the doubt. And so maybe she did say
get rid of it
, I don’t know, but if so it was to save
you
, not her son! Or more likely she just said what she really thought of you, you filthy slob, and that’s what triggered your anger. What would you have done if we hadn’t turned up when we did, eh, Gary? When you’d finished your rape? Would you have strangled her and left her for dead like you did with Maria Clayton, is that it?’

Gary glowered at him, menacing, furious. ‘You weren’t there.’

‘I bloody well was, and so was DCI Churchill here. We saw exactly what you were doing to that woman ...’

‘Why don’t you charge me then?’

The question stopped Terry dead, like a glass door he’d walked into. It was the one answer they couldn’t give. Gary was going to get away again, and he knew it. Bitterly, Terry stared at Gary, so safe behind the glass door, and said: ‘You murdered Maria Clayton, didn’t you, Gary? You followed her onto Strensall Common and then you raped her and throttled her to death, just like you were doing with Sarah Newby. Isn’t that right?’

Gary shook his head, sneering and contemptuous. ‘Who?’

‘You know who. And for all I know you did the same to Jasmine Hurst as well!’

‘You’re a madman.’ Gary turned to Churchill for help. ‘Is that who you employ now, madmen like him? I don’t know who he’s talking about.’

Churchill spoke to the microphone on the wall. ‘Interview suspended at nine twenty seven. DCI Churchill and DI Bateson leave the room. Come on, Terence. I want a word.
Now.
’

‘My office!’ Churchill snapped, compelling Terry to follow his short, stocky, visibly furious superior upstairs to the room which he had once hoped would be his own.

‘Do you mind telling me what the bloody hell you think you’re playing at?’

‘I might ask the same of you, sir.’ Terry was six inches taller than Churchill and almost equally angry, though for a different reason.

‘Well you might but you bloody well won’t. Do you have a single shred of evidence that that man could have killed Jasmine Hurst?’

‘Not at the moment, sir, no, but ...’

‘No, of course you don’t! And the reason, as even a blind man in a box could see, is that Simon Newby did it. We have blood, semen, motive, opportunity, even the goddamn knife, for Christ’s sake! Where have you been all these days? Lost in a dream?’

‘Yes, OK, but you’ve seen what the guy’s like, haven’t you ...?’

‘Oh great, so we’re judging by appearances now, are we? Gary looks like a thug so he must be guilty, is that it? We’re back in Victorian times now?’

‘Well it’s more sense than saying Simon raped Sharon, anyway,’ Terry said furiously. ‘That’s just utter crap - surely even you could see that? Sir.’

The antagonism between them was open now. Churchill met Terry’s eyes coolly, making it clear that he, by virtue of his rank and the way he controlled his temper, was in the ascendant.

‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Where’s your interrogation technique, Terence? You’ll learn nothing by blurting out wild accusations like you did just now.’

Terry took a deep breath, trying to control himself. ‘In my view, sir, the only wild accusation is to suggest that Sarah Newby, who we saw being assaulted yesterday in front of our own eyes, would conspire with a thug like Harker to conceal evidence about her son. She’s got enough to deal with as it is, for God’s sake!’

‘Oh, I get it now.’ Churchill smiled knowingly. ‘So that’s why Harker was needling you - you’re soft on the woman, aren’t you? Even though she chewed you up in court you’re carrying a torch for her!’

Terry’s silence only confirmed Churchill’s suspicions, and as he rejoiced in his discovery his anger subsided. He had a new weapon to use now.

‘Well, well,’ he mocked. ‘Terence in love! Better watch out, old son, she looks a dangerous bird to me - married too. But try not to let your emotions cloud your judgement, eh? At least when you’re at work.’

‘I didn’t think I was, sir. I thought I was seeing things exceptionally clearly.’

‘That’s one of the delusions of love, old son. Come on - is it seeing things clearly to accuse Gary of killing Jasmine when we know Simon did it? And then accuse him of killing Maria Clayton, too - what’s the evidence for that?’

‘Only the evidence we’ve always had - he worked on her house, he’d boasted about having sex with her, he wore trainers similar to a footprint we found near the body, he has no alibi and a record of violence to women. It seemed like a good enough case to me ...’

‘But he CPS said it was too thin, right?’ A pitying look crossed Churchill’s face.  ‘And they were right, Terence, it is. I’m sorry, if you’ve nothing stronger than that we’ll have to let him go.’

‘Again.’

‘Yes, again. However much you hate him, we follow the rules. If you think he did this Clayton murder, dig up the evidence and charge him. But until then ...’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘We let this violent rapist back onto the streets?’

‘If you choose to put it like that, yes.’

‘So he’s free, then?’ Bob asked.

‘Probably, by now.’ Sarah lay back in the armchair, an icepack over her face. Bob had bought it this afternoon; it relieved the throbbing slightly.  ‘Things don’t always go to plan.’

‘But if you think he killed Jasmine, Sarah ...’

‘There’s no proof of it, none at all. It’s just that he was free and he’s like that. For all I know it could have been a wandering maniac from Outer Mongolia. I just don’t believe it was Simon, that’s all.’

Bob said nothing. The question lay between them, like a huge unbridgeable canyon. Since the assault he had been kindness itself, ringing her at work, having a meal and this icepack ready in the evening, her favourite CD on the hi-fi. He hadn’t questioned her decision not to give evidence against Gary. But he hadn’t expressed faith in Simon.

They could hear Emily and Larry talking quietly in the kitchen. A nightjar shrieked outside the window. The silence between them lengthened.

‘It makes me so angry, Bob,’ Sarah said at last. ‘Angry with Gary and the police but most of all angry with Simon for getting himself into such a stupid, stupid mess. When I asked him in prison he said the hood might have been used for a
joke
, for Christ’s sake! Either that or he was lying.  And yet he expects me to wave some magic wand and get him out.’

‘You’re too involved, Sarah. For your own health you should back off, leave it to Lucy. She’s a professional ...’

‘And I’m not? Is that what you saying?’ She pulled off the icepack and sat up, irritably.

‘Not in this case, Sarah, you can’t be. You’re too emotionally involved.’

She got up and walked slowly across the room, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. ‘It’s for my own health that I
am
emotionally involved, Bob. If I don’t feel I’ve done the best for Simon, then I will crack up, really. And you wouldn’t want to know me then, Bob. No one would.’

Chapter Twenty-Five