Beyond Innocence (8 page)

On the Wirral, a car driven by Michael Mulrooney was slowly making its way to Walton Gaol. He was not alone because this time, he was accompanied by another man Trevor Bailey QC. He was the man empowered with the job of securing the release from prison of Harry Marcus Thompson and, from what he had heard of the case so far, he did not particularly relish the prospect. To him this job was just another case with a nice fee at the end of it. Secure a not guilty verdict if possible but don’t go overboard on it because, the word was already about that Thompson was a psychopath and that he should really be in a secure place. Given half a chance that’s where Trevor Bailey intended to place him.

As Michael Mulrooney and Trevor Bailey entered the gaol, they were shown into a small, dark dank room where the interview was to be conducted. A solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling stained almost brown with the constant nicotine from the everlasting supply of cigarettes and tobacco, which had obviously been consumed there. Paint was peeling from the walls and the only furniture to be seen was a small table with four chairs arranged untidily around it in the middle of the floor. The sound of the door opening heralded the arrival of Harry Thompson and both men stood in readiness for the introductions conducted by the solicitor.

Michael extended his hand to Harry saying, “Nice to see you again Harry, I’ve brought along Trevor Bailey; he’s going to be your defence QC. I’ve worked with Trevor before on a number of cases and they don’t come much better I can assure you. As a matter of fact, I think we have been very fortunate to secure his services so let’s get straight down to business.” After Harry shaking hands with Trevor Bailey they all sat down and the meeting began.

Trevor Bailey began speaking whilst taking his papers, together with his notes from his brief case. “Mr. Thompson”, he began. That was as far as he got, as Harry interrupted him saying, “Please call me Harry.”

Pretending not to hear, his QC. began again, “ Mr. Thompson.”

Harry interrupted him again saying rather angrily this time, “Mr. Bailey, Trevor, I asked you to call me Harry. It might not seem anything to you but I’m cooped up in this stinking cesspit all day long. I appear to be in trouble right up to my bleeding neck and, at this moment in time, it seems to me that I don’t have a friend in the world. Please cut out all the crap and try to be a little bit friendlier by saving all the official lawyer bit for the courts.”

The QC looked at him for a moment, observing his body movements that he found a little odd considering the circumstances. Unlike many other clients that he had represented, Harry seemed to have this habit of locking his fingers behind his head and rocking backwards on the rear legs of his chair. In addition, he alternated this movement by occasionally wrapping his arms around his body as if he was reassuring himself that all was or, would be well. Finally, dismissing this situation from his mind, he resumed his task, “all right Harry, he said but first of all you listen to me. I don’t have to take this brief if I don’t want to, so just to make sure that we don’t get off on the wrong foot again, I want to know quite a lot about you pretty quickly and, I need to confirm some facts. Your name is Harry Marcus Thompson and you live with your foster-mother at Eastham Cottages, Eastham Rake, South Wirral, Merseyside. I also understand that you are twenty six years of age and that you are a bachelor.”

Harry confirmed these facts thus allowing the QC to continue, “You have been charged with the murders of Diane Wilson and, Angela Clarkson. Did you kill either one or both of these women?”

Harry immediately answered, “No,” in a very firm and positive voice...

“On the first charge, Miss Wilson, I understand she was your girlfriend and that you had been going out together for some time?” Harry nodded now in assent allowing the questioning to continue.

“Did you have regular sex with this woman and was this straight sex or did you indulge in any games or fantasies such as role play or, anything kinky?” Again the answer was negative allowing the barrister to continue.

“Whenever you had sex with Miss Wilson was she satisfied or did she want more? Did she ever complain about your performance and did she ever refuse your advances?”

Harry was getting annoyed now and, it was beginning to show as he couldn’t see, let alone comprehend, where this line of questioning was going and he responded fiercely, “This is none of your business. We were just a happy, normal courting couple having sex whenever we felt like it. What we did or, how often we did it is no possible concern of yours.”

Leaving these issues aside, Trevor Bailey tried a different approach. “All right then Harry consider this. Diane Wilson had a vicious temper, she flew into a terrible rage, perhaps she hit you and, before you knew it you had strangled her with her own tights. Obviously you were out of your mind at the time and you didn’t know what you were doing. Afterwards, when you saw what you’d done you knew that somehow you would have to dispose of the body.”

Harry was on his feet now. He was really annoyed with this man Bailey after all what did he know and, by what right did he consider that he could assume so much, “Bollocks,” he exploded “that’s a load of balls, I didn’t strangle her. We had sex, we had an argument and she left.”

Trevor Bailey let him finish before he began again as though nothing had happened. “Angela Clarkson, why did you kill her?” Although he wanted to follow up immediately with additional questions, Harry, didn’t give him the chance.

He was still on his feet and decidedly edgy, “Look and listen to me, this is getting out of hand. I never saw the woman, I never had sex with her and I don’t associate with prostitutes.”

“How did you know she was a prostitute?” Countered the lawyer seizing his opportunity to press home another point. “Did she tell you?”

Harry was growing tired with this line of questioning adopted by Trevor Bailey, barrister or not and he was beginning to take a distinct dislike to him as he retorted,

“I never knew the woman, I never saw her and the rest. Well it must have been something I read in the papers.”

However Trevor Bailey did understand and his tone became a little more sympathetic, “Mr. Thompson sorry, Harry, I’m here to help you and, I am trying really hard to do just that. What you’re going through now is nothing compared to the ordeal you will face in court especially under cross-examination. From my point of view as your barrister, responsible for your defence, I don’t have an awful lot to go on. Let me tell you how the case for the prosecution is coming along. First of all, they have the body of your girlfriend from which they have a DNA sample that matches yours. They know you were with her the night she died. They know you both quarrelled and, as far as any other person is concerned, you were the last person to see her alive. Regarding Angela Clarkson, all right there’s no DNA but, Harry, this is what the police have. She is found in close proximity to your home. All right that’s entirely coincidental but she is also strangled with her own tights, another coincidence. The tights are knotted in the same way indicating the same person who killed Diane Wilson carried out this crime. Another coincidence. Her body is found very close to where you walk with your dog and where you say you used to walk with Diane Wilson. Now I know many visitors walk in and around the vicinity but hardly any of those people would be aware of the ditch hidden beyond the fence but a local lad would and you are a local lad. As if this is not enough, close to the spot where the body was lying and, before the discovery of it, you claim to have found a watch that you hand in at the local police station. Harry, believe me, I really would like to help you but, before I can even begin to try, I have to believe in something about you. To be absolutely precise at this very moment I myself, would have to doubt your innocence. Now, if you were to agree to undergo psychiatric tests to determine your sanity, and, we can show the jury that you were unbalanced or mentally disturbed at the time, then I’m sure I can at least get the charges lessened. Afterwards and once the proceedings are out of the way, we can arrange for you to receive all the help you need and I’m sure you’ll find that a much better option to a life in prison.”

Harry Thompson had sought the comfort and support of his chair in the face of this onslaught as it had taken him completely by surprise. Now he wanted to stand up and hit him, barrister or not. He felt that, if he could get close enough he would probably kill him. What on earth was he saying, me… Harry Thompson insane? plead insanity? As he rose from the chair he felt his legs begin to buckle and, unable to take the strain, he sank slowly to the floor shouting, “Get out, get out, Michael get this bastard out of here.”

Harry had recovered a little when the solicitor returned, and there was an uneasy silence for a moment or two as neither person spoke and with neither man looking the other directly in the eye, Harry knew that he had to speak and that he had to ask the big question now, before the moment was lost. “Michael,” he said, “Don’t mess about, tell me honestly what’s your own frank assessment of my position?” “Harry,” he replied, “although I’ve only known you since this thing started, I can’t in all sincerity believe you’re guilty but, now that you’ve asked me, I must be honest and frank with you. At the moment we haven’t got a defence and you’ve probably just lost the best brief I could get you under the present circumstances. All I can do is promise you I’ll do my utmost for you on each and every charge they throw at you.”

With that, Michael Mulrooney departed leaving Harry alone with his rambling thoughts and deeply troubled mind. His brain desperately searching for one clue or any scrap of information which might provide the key with which he could extricate himself from the unsavoury position in which he found himself. But there was to be no such relief forthcoming and, when he returned to his room on the remand block, he found that he had a new neighbour. Royston Chambers.

Meanwhile urgent enquiries had indeed been made within government circles, and it was confirmed by the Chief Constable of Merseyside that Timothy Harris had been asked some routine questions in connection with initial enquiries about Angela Clarkson. This, and subsequent enquiries, showed he had been able to give a more than satisfactory account of his movements as a result of which, as far as the police were concerned, he would not be of any further assistance to their enquiries. The statement also pointed out that a number of people who had been in the hotel or the vicinity, had come forward in response to an appeal by the police and they too had been eliminated. The following afternoon, the Prime Minister was able to announce to a packed House of government supporters that he was more than satisfied that no member of his government had been involved in any way with Angela Clarkson or with her tragic demise. This announcement was greeted with loud murmurings from the government benches together with a tremendous waving of order papers. The Prime Minister then asked the Honourable Member for Knutsford if he was satisfied with the reply to which, there were cries of “Shame” and “Apologise” from the benches. However, whilst Dennis Panter acknowledged the reply given there wasn’t any way he would even consider an apology let alone offer one. He was quite content to wait until his source made contact again, and, he was sure he wouldn’t have to wait very long.

As always there’s no smoke without fire and this was a story that refused to lie down and die. The curiosity of the press had been aroused and, together with that of the public, it needed to be satisfied. Behind the scenes moles were digging. Digging into every sordid little detail they could get their hands on in an effort to discover the identity of the unnamed member. No. 1 on their rapidly shortening list was Timothy Harris. Later that evening, Paula Harris picked up the telephone and dialled the number of a mobile telephone. It was the number she always rang whenever she wished to contact Quentin Russell. After two short rings she heard his soft voice at the other end of the line saying, “Russell here.” In answer to this she said one word, “Rose” and contact was established. She began with an apology because she felt Quentin would be angry or annoyed over recent happenings. Nothing further had resulted from their last contact and she was relieved when he told her it wasn’t necessary as both he, and his editor, felt there was still quite a lot of mileage in the story anyway. She assured him she genuinely believed there was some truth behind the question which had been asked in the House and that she would contact him again whenever she found out anything which could be relevant. With the connection broken, Quentin Russell relaxed allowing himself a large smile. He could afford to smile now because he knew he was on a winner and that, eventually, it might prove to be the biggest coup of his journalistic career. It was patently obvious to him now that there was more to follow in this saga otherwise Rose would not have telephoned. She would have let the issue die a natural death and, because she hadn’t, that meant she intended to do some digging of her own. It also meant that his other long-held suspicions concerning the identity of his source, Rose, built up over the years from previous calls, were being confirmed. He resolved to put the matter to the test the next time they spoke.

Three days had passed and Michael Mulrooney was on his way to Walton Gaol for another meeting with Harry Thompson. On this occasion, he found he had to concentrate on his driving as he found himself being continually distracted by the thoughts and issues which dominated his mind and, made his journey so essential. As he entered the interview room his face still bore traces of a worried frown that told Harry that all was not well. With the briefest of handshakes, the lawyer came straight to the point. “Listen Harry, I’ve just spoken to Trevor Bailey.” Straight away he could see his that client was becoming visibly annoyed but he made no effort to stop. “It appears the police have got some more evidence in the Clarkson case. They are now saying that one of her associates has come forward and that she is prepared to swear on oath she saw Angela Clarkson wearing the watch you claimed to have found.”

“Christ almighty”, Harry groaned. It was like a bullet in the brain; he brought his fist crashing down onto the desk in front of him and in sheer desperation, and pounded it over and over as he wondered where or when this nightmare would end.

After a few moments, he realised his solicitor was speaking softly and quietly to him.

“Listen Harry, Trevor Bailey told me to tell you it’s still not too late to change your mind about your decision to fire him. In view of this latest information he is urging you to reconsider your position, plead guilty through insanity and he will defend you.”

Harry was visibly shaking as he looked up at his lawyer. Through clenched teeth, with as much hatred and venom as he could muster he spat out his reply “Michael, you can tell that bastard to piss off. Tell him I don’t need him and, if the worst comes to the worst, I’ll defend myself...”