A Dreadful Past (22 page)

‘Oh …' George Hennessey turned to his son. ‘That sounds like it is a very serious offence.'

‘It is, it's a very serious assault. Because of the attack his victim is now an epileptic and has had to give up his driving job and he'll also walk with a permanent limp.' Charles Hennessey's eye was caught by a swallow which swooped low over the lawn and did so with clear purpose as if intercepting a flying insect. ‘It seems to be the case that the victim will be serving the much greater sentence, one of life in this instance.'

‘That happens all too often,' George Hennessey growled. ‘We see that all too often. In fact, recently in York Magistrates Court one man was convicted of causing death by dangerous driving and another was left permanently disabled in the same accident. The driver got a modest fine and an eighteen-month driving ban and he walked out of the court wearing a grin and making a “let's go for a beer” sign to his family and friends. As you say, it is so often the case that the victim pays the real penalty.'

‘I don't think my man is that sort of heartless psychopath.' Charles Hennessey continued to watch the swallow which darted hither and thither in pursuit of the flying insect. ‘He does not seem to refuse to accept his guilt; it's more a case of him being terrified of going to prison. He is, by all accounts, a notorious bully on the rough housing estate where he lives and seems to have gotten used to getting away with his acts of violence, but he's just digging himself deeper by insisting on a not guilty plea, and woe for him, he's up before Morley-Ffrench.'

‘Who's he?' George Hennessey once again turned to look at his son in whom he had great pride. ‘I haven't heard of that judge.'

‘Mr Justice Bernd Morley-Ffrench, German mother, English father. He's a real hanging judge, a man not noted for his my-brother-is-in-the-dock Christian leniency. He's a very short man, not of great stature, just over five feet tall with a high-pitched, whiney sort of speaking voice. He's just not a great courtroom presence, perched up there wrapped up in his scarlet and ermine robe which I always think just serves to make him look even smaller. It's as if his short stature and lack of charisma makes him seek out victims and is or is not my man going NG before Morley-Ffrench for committing an assault which left his victim permanently disabled? Well, I tell you, if I know Morley-Ffrench my man is looking at fifteen years, possibly out in ten, but only if his behaviour is nothing less than perfect while he is a guest of Her Majesty; that and, like I said, a strong display of remorse. Although somehow I don't think the prison authorities will see much of either. Not if my measure of the man is correct.'

‘You know, it's interesting what you have just said about small men with a chip on their shoulder seeking victims,' George Hennessey commented, and then he related the case of the gang of four which was believed to include one Gerald Womack who stood less than five feet tall and had vicious winkle-picker shoes.

‘How many victims did they take?' Charles Hennessey took his eye off the swallow.

‘Eight, that is eight that we know of but there will likely be more; the link was not seen at the time because of the different MO and the different victim profile but as one of my team said, “the differences are the link”. It's only taken twenty years for us to realize it.'

‘Will you get a result, do you think?' Charles Hennessey sipped his tea. ‘I mean, twenty years … there'll be little forensic evidence and witness statements will be unreliable. That is a given, the effect that time has on memory. I'd worry away at that issue if I were the counsel for the defence. I would see it as a real chink in the prosecution's armour.'

‘We're gradually and steadily closing down on them. One changed his tune and has become a probation officer,' George Hennessey drained his mug of tea, ‘but, as you say, after twenty years, getting a result will indeed be difficult. It really needs one of them to turn Queen's evidence.'

‘Well, the best of luck,' Charles Hennessey smiled, ‘but at least a probation officer will know the value of pleading guilty in the face of a watertight case.'

‘That's the issue.' George Hennessey sighed. ‘After twenty years how watertight a case can we make? So, anyway. how are the children?'

‘Anxious to see Grandad Hennessey again.'

‘That's because I spoil them rotten.' George Hennessey grinned broadly. ‘I mean, isn't that what grandads are supposed to do?'

‘Perhaps … So, when do we meet your lady friend? We're all anxious to make her acquaintance.' Charles Hennessey smiled warmly at his father.

‘Soon,' George Hennessey replied. ‘Soon … very soon now, I think.'

It was Friday, 17.45 hours.

‘T
he uniformed boys checked the wood near to where Gerald Womack's body and the can of petrol were found and they discovered evidence of alcohol and illegal substances, particularly solvents, but also cannabis, having been used. So the wood is a location for illegal activities involving local youths, and is something for them to keep an eye on.' George Hennessey reclined in his chair. ‘It explains the large amount of footprints on the path beside Womack's body, and it seems to be the case that the two men took Womack out of his house and, having murdered him, were about to set fire to his body when the partygoers arrived, intent on some woodland merrymaking. I think it safe to assume that the two men must have crouched low in the shadows to avoid being seen and then decided that they could not go ahead and incinerate the corpse with the merrymakers just a few hundred feet away, so left Womack's body to be discovered and quit the scene, forgetting to take the can full of petrol away with them. But, from their point of view,' Hennessey raised his right index finger at his team, Yellich, Pharoah, Webster and Thompson, who sat in rapt attention in a semicircle in front of his desk, ‘the main task had been completed, the important job had been done and Womack had been silenced. We were able to identify him sooner than might otherwise have been the case by means of his fingerprints, but his DNA would have enabled us to make a positive identification of Womack even if his body had been torched.'

Hennessey leaned forward and picked up a large manila envelope which lay on his desk. From it he extracted five black-and-white photographs, handed one to each member of his team and retained one for himself. ‘Meet Cornelius German,' he announced as the team members looked at the photograph. ‘Mr German, spelled as would be a native of Germany, is a probation officer and is employed locally. He is also believed to have once been the tall, silent one in the gang of four.'

‘A probation officer!' Yellich gasped. ‘That is a turn up for the books.'

‘Yes,' Hennessey grinned, ‘it is somewhat astounding, somewhat unusual, I agree. I was also quite surprised when I learned of his occupation but if you have covered your tracks carefully enough you can then apply for any employment and not have to declare any offences, and thus not submit a fraudulent employment application form. So he matured and obtained legitimate employment despite having murdered eight people and committed a series of serious assaults. Frankly, it would not surprise me if a number of serving police officers and school teachers and the like up and down the country are only in their posts because they avoided arrest for this and that when in their youth. Anyway … he … Mr German, was recognized by the publican of the George and Dragon where they used to drink and where they'd boast about that they'd done and what they were going to do when he, the publican, did jury service and Cornelius German stood in the witness box in his capacity as a probation officer. I asked my “snout”, whom you may know as “Shored-up”, if he was able to recognize the probation officer in question from the description I was able to provide and he gave me with Mr German's name, more because of his attitude, I gather, than from his physical appearance.' Hennessey paused. ‘Now I wish to stress that at this time, Mr Cornelius German is only under suspicion. It's important that we all remember that. There is, as yet, no evidence that he was in fact one of the so-called gang of four when he wore younger men's clothing and drank with a loudmouthed thug who boasted about beating people up. So these photographs are to remain in the police station.'

‘Understood, sir,' Yellich replied for the team.

‘If he is one of the gang,' George Hennessey continued, ‘if he is indeed the tall, silent, handsome one who would likely make middle-aged women go weak at the knees … if he wore a clerical collar … then my guess is that the two big fish in the gang of four, him and the other tall one believed to be called Keith who speaks with a London accent, have contacted each other, having heard in the media about the police reinvestigating the murder of the Middleton family. Acting together they have decided to silence the two little fish, being Womack and the short female who wore a jacket with the logo of an American football or basketball team on the back and which means that that woman, now in her forties, is in grave danger. We have to find her. So brainstorm, team; pitch in, everyone … Any ideas, anyone?'

‘The one avenue we have not explored yet, sir,' Somerled Yellich sat forward in his seat, ‘is that of the girl who gave the Wedgwood vase to Billy Watts in lieu of a debt … what was her name?' Yellich glanced to his right. ‘Oh, yes … that was it … Moore, Janice Moore. She's reportedly in custody at the moment and if that is the case she will be very easy to trace. It might be a dead-end, of course, but we can but see.'

‘Yes,' Hennessey clasped his hands together, ‘we can but see, as you say. It's all we can do. All right, Somerled, you have just talked yourself into a job – you and Reginald get on that one, if you'll be so good. Find her and visit her, see what she can tell you. We especially want to know how she acquired that Wedgwood vase which started all this.'

‘Yes, sir,' Yellich replied as he and Reginald Webster nodded to each other.

‘We'll have to pay another call on Miss Graham. We'll have to break some bad news, so that's a job for you, Carmen. It must be done as soon as possible.'

‘Yes, sir.' Carmen Pharoah smiled.

‘That is you and Thompson,' Hennessey clarified. ‘I want you two on that.' He glanced at Carmen Pharoah and then at Thompson Ventnor. ‘Miss Graham might want to see her son's body; she has that right, so if she does, then escort her to the hospital. Notify the hospital first, of course, because they'll have to make arrangements for the viewing.'

‘Yes, sir,' Carmen Pharoah replied solemnly. ‘We'll get on that immediately. As you say, we can't delay breaking news like that to the next of kin.'

Janice Moore sat in an upright chair in the agents' room of H.M. Prison Wroot on the Isle of Axeholm which, Yellich discovered, like the Black Isle in Scotland is, despite its name, an area on the UK mainland, totally landlocked. Janice Moore was, in Yellich's eyes, best described as waiflike. He found her to be very small – finely made, he thought, with a look of fear and bewilderment in her eyes. She had short black hair. She sat with her feet on the chair, her thin arms wrapped around her shins with her bony knees under her chin. Yellich fancied that if she was put in a school uniform she could pass for a twelve-year-old. Life in an adult woman's prison, he pondered, could not be hugely pleasant for her. She looked nervously from Yellich, who sat directly opposite her, to Webster, who sat next to Yellich, and then back to Yellich again.

‘Is this the first time inside the slammer for you, Janice?' Yellich asked warmly. ‘It can be a bit of a shock if it's your first time inside prison. You have to find your place in the hierarchy.'

‘What's a hierarchy?' Janice Moore spoke in a low, timid voice. She wore a blue T-shirt, blue jeans, white ankle socks and white tennis shoes, all items of clothing being clearly faded with years of use.

‘It's a bit like a pecking order,' Somerled Yellich explained. ‘Some women are at the top and you don't mess with them, not if you want to survive. Other women are below you and they can be persuaded to share their tobacco allowance with you.'

‘Oh … yes …' Janice Moore managed a brief smile, ‘… it's just like that in here. My ounce of tobacco wasn't mine for very long. And that was to last me for a week.'

The room in which Yellich, Webster and Janice Moore sat contained just a table and four upright chairs, two each on either side of the table, facing each other. Yellich estimated that the room measured approximately ten feet by fifteen feet, with walls perhaps twelve feet high. The floor was of a hard surfaced material, grey in colour, and the walls were white tile. A block of opaque glass, set high in the wall, provided a source of natural light, but a filament bulb behind a Perspex screen on the ceiling provided the illumination. The room smelled – eye wateringly so – of disinfectant.

‘So, the vase …' Yellich prompted. ‘Tell us about the vase.'

‘The vase.' Janice Moore blinked at Yellich. ‘What vase do you mean?'

‘I mean the vase you gave to Billy Watts, that vase. The old blue vase with white trim – you must remember it. You gave it to him because you owed him money. Remember now … that vase?'

‘Oh, yeah … the vase … yeah.' Janice Moore looked beyond Yellich and seemed to be staring into the middle-distance. ‘The vase … yeah …'

‘You're on medication.' Yellich sighed.

‘Medication …' Janice Moore smiled again, slightly and briefly. ‘Yeah, I've got a bit of a temper … I've got a bad temper really … I attacked a couple of prison officers this morning, little me; I did that and they held me down while the prison doctor put something in my arm. She said it would calm me down. It did that, all right. I just want to lie down and sleep for a month.'