Design for Murder (4 page)

Paula Gray’s features stiffened at the mockery in Sharon’s tone. ‘We dealt with what we had. Forensic reports, psychiatric reports, surveys of the location of the killings, the careful tracing of the carvings all played their part. The combination led us to the accused. And finally, to positive DNA evidence.’

Sharon nodded. ‘Ah, yes. The scalpel …’ She paused, eyeing the witness curiously. ‘Where was the scalpel found?’

‘In the flat belonging to and used by Raymond Conroy.’

‘Who actually found it?’

‘It was located by Detective Sergeant Arlington.’

‘In the course of a search of the premises owned by the accused.’

‘That is correct,’ DC Gray stated firmly.

In an almost offhand tone, Sharon Owen asked, ‘The search was legal, of course, backed by a search warrant?’

‘Of course.’

Sharon brushed away an errant lock of blonde hair from her eyes; her fingers wandered down her cheek to rest, touching her lips thoughtfully as she held the glance of the woman in the witness box. ‘DC Arlington found the scalpel. Who was it first made contact with Raymond Conroy, in the course of the investigation?’

‘Who first questioned him, you mean?’

‘That’s not what I asked,’ Sharon corrected her. ‘Who made the first
contact
?’

There was a short silence. ‘That would have been me,’ Paula Gray admitted carefully.

‘How did that come about?’

‘We met sort of casually, in a pub.’

‘Casually? By chance? Or were you acting under instructions at that time?’

The witness hesitated, then nodded. ‘I was acting under orders. That is correct.’

Eric leaned forward in the silence that followed. Sharon Owen had proceeded with care to this point, but now she was about to make use of the claims that her client in the dock had made. In the long discussions that had taken place in Durham Prison, neither Eric nor Sharon could be certain that Raymond Conroy had told them the truth but it was about to be tested in the courtroom.

‘Can you explain the circumstances of the first meeting?’

Paula Gray’s tongue flickered over her lips. She took a deep breath. ‘We had been making enquiries in the area for some time and we received various information about the habits of the accused, his use of certain pubs in the area. I was instructed to attend one of these pubs.’

‘To seek out Raymond Conroy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why him?’

Paula Gray’s tone was careful. ‘His name had come up. Or at least, his description. He didn’t talk to many people. And he was thought a bit … odd. An outsider in the area.’

‘When you met him, you were in uniform?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Of course not. How were you dressed?’

The witness frowned, shrugged. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

Sharon smiled. ‘But I imagine it would have been casually. An attractive woman, dressed for an evening in a local pub. So the idea was to try to attract his attention, perhaps get into conversation with him.’

DC Gray hesitated. ‘That is correct.’

‘And did he make contact?’

‘Almost immediately. Yes. When he saw I was alone, he approached me. We had a drink together. After that, there were other occasions, several conversations.’

Sharon raised her eyebrows. ‘Other occasions? Several conversations? Was a record kept of these meetings? Were you wired, for instance?’

After a moment’s hesitation, the detective constable nodded. ‘I was wearing a wire, yes. For my own safety as much as anything else. There was a back-up team in the area. We could not be certain what would happen.’

Sharon nodded, frowning. ‘But no record of these … conversations have been put forward in evidence.’

Paula Gray shrugged. ‘There was nothing on the tapes which could help us.’

‘The conversations between the two of you were
innocent
, you mean?’

Paula Gray wriggled slightly. ‘You could say that. But I still felt uncomfortable. There was something about him, his attitude….’

‘So the continued meetings … they were effected because you felt
uncomfortable
about him. Yet there was nothing said, specifically, which could have connected him to the killings?’

DC Gray chewed at her lip. ‘Well, not really. Nothing that could be produced for evidentiary purposes. But we did talk about the murders. He didn’t seem to take them seriously.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He seemed to think the women had been prostitutes and were facing the kind of risks that … but in fact only one of the women had been working the streets. I didn’t like his attitude. I reported it. We were suspicious of him. I discussed it with the team and it was then decided we should seek a warrant to search his premises.’

‘For the scalpel.’

Paula Gray’s eyes were suddenly watchful. ‘Not specifically, no. Of course not. We had no idea what we might find. As it happened—’

Sharon held up an imperious hand, stopping her from continuing. ‘One moment. I’m puzzled. Without having any specific reasons for suspecting the accused in the first instance, other than that he was an artist who frequented the area, visited pubs, talked to local women, and was thought by locals to be a bit
odd
, you were instructed to deliberately make an attempt to speak with him, make his acquaintance … but then found that his conversations were upsetting, but essentially innocent.’

‘I didn’t say—’

‘The tapes of your conversations weren’t considered useful to the investigation! So one can only presume they would have been nothing more than friendly, innocent banter, perhaps – a man chatting up an attractive woman! Yet on the basis that he failed to think or talk seriously about
the murders in the area, a search warrant was obtained to turn over his flat, find something that might link him to the murder of these women?’

‘There were other pointers! He stood out in the area, he was always hanging around there, and he fitted the forensic profile information we had! Single, artistic, a loner. We felt there was something
odd
about Conroy, a coldness, a sort of indifference, something that made us believe he might be the man we were looking for!’

‘So a search warrant was obtained, on such flimsy suspicions?’ Sharon shook her head in mock despair. ‘But now tell me, exactly
when
was the search warrant sought?’

‘I’m not sure what you—’

‘When was the warrant applied for, in relation to your meetings with the accused? To be more precise, how long after you had
personally
visited Conroy’s apartment, Detective Constable Gray?’

There was a brief silence. Paula Gray’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘Surely you know
exactly
what I mean! What was the lapse of time between your first visit to Conroy’s apartment and the issue of the search warrant?’ Sharon paused, then leaned forward, speaking carefully and clearly. ‘Let me put to you exactly what occurred. Under instructions from your senior officers you, a junior member of the team but perhaps the most attractive one, made the acquaintance of Raymond Conroy casually, in a pub. You met a second time, and struck up a closer friendship. When he later suggested that you go to his flat with him, you agreed. He’s a handsome, unattached man; you’re a good-looking, single woman. This was nothing more than a honey trap!’

‘It was nothing of the sort!’

‘He did not know you were a police officer. He was
attracted to you. He invited you to his flat. And you agreed, because you had been instructed to find out as much about him as you possibly could. And if you could find out what was wanted, it would mean a success for you, a movement to the detective squad, maybe later promotion, a feather in your cap. And when he made the perhaps inevitable approaches to you, at the apartment, in the call of duty,’ Sharon asserted scornfully, ‘you did not resist.’

‘This is rubbish!’ the witness expostulated, but there was fear in her eyes.

‘I put it to you, Detective Constable Gray, that in your eagerness to find out more about this man, you got carried away, you succumbed to his advances, you slept with him, not once but several times, and in the course of using his apartment you had occasion to see where and how he worked. You saw that he used a scalpel when working in oils, and when you reported this fact back to your superior officers the decision was made to take out a search warrant. Perhaps, as you suggest, it was to find incriminating evidence in general terms, but also, specifically, to lay hands on the scalpel you’d seen among his effects.’

‘This isn’t true,’ Paula Gray asserted vehemently.

‘What isn’t true? That you didn’t see the scalpel when you were there?’

‘I didn’t—’

‘You’re not going to deny you and Raymond Conroy were lovers, are you?’

‘We never—’

‘You’re not about to claim you never went to the apartment with him? Or deny that you saw the scalpel there? Or perhaps take the opportunity to
plant
the scalpel in the apartment, the one that you had found beside the body of the third victim? Or perhaps one you tainted with DNA
evidence, to bring a case against an innocent man?’

Counsel for the prosecution was on his feet, protesting. ‘While a certain latitude is allowed in cross-examination of a witness, I must protest here that in this instance the witness is not even being allowed to provide answers to the ridiculous charges counsel for the defence is making!’ Quentin Pryce rubbed his prominent nose, glaring at Sharon. ‘Badgering the witness is hardly a suitable way of carrying on a cross-examination.’

There was a tense silence in the courtroom. There had been no response to prosecuting counsel from the bench: it was almost as though Mr Justice Abernethy had not heard prosecuting counsel. His eyes were fixed on the witness, and his brow was thunderous. Sharon stared at Detective Constable Gray. ‘Are you prepared to answer the questions I have asked? How many times did you visit Raymond Conroy’s apartment?’

The witness seemed petrified, a rabbit caught in the headlights.

‘Were you and Conroy lovers?’ Sharon continued more quietly. ‘Did you allow him to seduce you in order to obtain his trust? Did you then abuse that trust by placing a stained scalpel in the apartment?’

‘You can’t say I would do something like that,’ Paula Gray gasped.

‘You were all under pressure in your team,’ Sharon asserted. ‘I put it to you that you were encouraged to get close to the accused, and help the investigation a little further down the line. You went along with that, but when it didn’t seem to be getting anywhere nearer the solution you were seeking, your senior officers suggested to you that you “find” the evidence linking Conroy to the crimes. Yes, I’m sure it was someone else who put his hand on the scalpel
during the search, but it was you who told him where to look!’

Detective Constable Gray found her voice. ‘That’s not true! Conroy and I were never lovers! We never went to bed together when I went to his flat! I got the feeling he was … asexual, even. I don’t think he’s interested in women, not in that way! He….’ Her voice died away suddenly, as if she was unsure as to what she had admitted to, involuntarily. Her glance flickered around the room, resting on some of her colleagues seated in court. She seemed to want to say something more, but her voice died in her throat as uncertainty strangled her. She was put out of her misery by the judge.

Mr Justice Abernethy leaned forward on the bench. His brow was heavily lined; he glared at the witness, then at the prosecuting counsel. His pendulous lower lip was almost trembling with contempt. He turned back to the woman in the witness box. ‘Let us be certain of one thing at least. Did you visit the apartment owned by the accused?’

‘Yes, my lord, during the search I….’

‘Did you visit the apartment before the search warrant was executed?’ the judge demanded in a threatening tone.

‘I … I did not….’

It was clear from his attitude that Mr Justice Abernethy did not believe her. He glared at counsel for the defence and prosecution. ‘I would like to see you, in my chambers, immediately.’

The court rose as he swept indignantly from the room. Ten minutes later all three came back into the courtroom. It took only a few more minutes for Mr Justice Abernethy to thank the jury for their attendance and discharge them from any further duties. He then turned his ire on the prosecution. It was clear to him that the female officer had been instructed
to begin a relationship with the accused; that she had visited his flat; and there was consequently the distinct opportunity for forensic evidence to have been created. It did not matter whether such malfeasance had in fact occurred; it was enough that there was the possibility that the police might have done so, that the opportunity was present. There had been a clear honey trap, and the forensic evidence offered in court was unsafe to rely on.

He was dismissing the prosecution; Raymond Conroy, on the evidence produced so far, was adjudged to have no case to answer.

After a stunned silence, the noise in the courtroom crashed about their ears.

As Raymond Conroy stepped smugly down from the dock, a surge of men and women surrounded him. Mr Justice Abernethy left the courtroom hurriedly, and court officials attempted to hold back the flood of journalists who were almost fighting to get close to Conroy. There was some shouting at the back of the court and from the corner of his eye Eric caught sight of a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a shock of red hair waving his fist towards Conroy and shouting, while a woman, presumably his wife, pulled at him, trying to persuade him to leave the courtroom. Her features were tear-stained, her demeanour shaken.

Sharon was already on her way to the robing room; Eric was still gathering up his papers when someone near to his elbow spoke to him. ‘I guess you can understand that guy’s fury.’

Eric turned his head to the speaker. The man was perhaps
in his early forties, with deep-set eyes, lean features, a
thin-lipped
, cynical mouth. He was of middle height, wore an old leather jacket and jeans and the collar of his shirt was frayed. He held a notebook in his left hand, and Eric gained the impression that he might be one of the more restrained members of the media pack that was attempting to obtain an interview with Raymond Conroy.