Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3) (30 page)

From her position against the painted brick wall beneath the small barred window
, Marsh flicked her gaze from one to the other. She studied Ray’s features for anything that might betray his guilt. She found herself also studying Romney’s to see if she could detect what on earth had come over him. This wasn’t the DI she knew. There was compassion and empathy, two qualities she did not readily associate with her senior officer’s regard for the villains of the world or anyone come to that.

‘Knowing what I know now, I would guess you’ve been feeling frustrated, angry and neglected for as long as you’ve been aware. We know, Je
z. We know about Paul Henry – the Frenchman – and we know about Edy Vitriol. We know that because of their dereliction of duty you were orphaned. Believe it or not I understand something of what you must have had to endure over the years. I’m an orphan too, Jez. I lost both my parents in a car accident when I was nine. You lost both your parents before you had a chance to even know them. I can only guess at how the system treated you. Nothing would ever have been able to replace your mum and dad.’ Jez Ray sat stone still. His hands rested in his lap. He was hanging on Romney’s every softly spoken, sympathetic word.

‘Let me tell you what we now know and how we see it
, Jez. At the commemoration ceremony for the lost of the Herald of Joint Enterprise you found out about Paul Henry. You saw him and you discovered his role in your fate and it was a face you would never forget. It was imprinted on your memory. When he stumbled across the battlefield towards you, you lost control of yourself, the red mist descended and you lunged at him. You knew who he was Jez. It wasn’t an accident. But it still doesn’t have to be pre-meditated murder. We can work with you and your legal team on that. Perhaps, it could even stay as Involuntary Manslaughter. Like you said, it’s what we’ve agreed.

‘
Edy Vitriol, however, is different and, for you, not in a good way. There’s no getting away from the fact that his murder was pre-meditated. I think that when you realised what you’d done on the battlefield you feared we’d catch up with you, find out your secret and that you’d go to gaol for a long time. So, you thought you might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb. You failed on the first attempt, but not on the second.’ With his sleeve, Jez Ray wiped away a tear that threatened to streak his cheek. Marsh leant against the wall in awe of the DI and this compassionate side of his that she was feeling privileged to witness.

‘I can see I’m right, Jez.’ Romney leant across the table on his elbows, but far from meaning it in a threatening way, the act was clearly designed to add force a
nd positive impact to his words, to impose a bond between himself and the young man looking more distraught by the moment. ‘I’ve got a job to do, Jez. Sometimes I don’t much like it. There aren’t many times in my career that I’ve wanted to help a murderer, but this is one of them. And I can help you. I won’t promise that you won’t have to do serious gaol time, because the truth is that you will be going to prison for a long time, but I will promise you that I can speak to people. I can speak up for you. I can work with you and your legal representation for sentence reduction. And I can see that you get the help that you need. Proper help. Psychiatric help. But you’ve got to work with me and the system, Jez. You’ve got to own up and show remorse. The system can help you, Jez, but you’ve got to come clean and willingly. It’s up to you. I’m not going to press you for an answer now. I want you to think about it. I want you to think seriously about it. Discuss it with your legal representation if you like. If I don’t hear from you by this time tomorrow then I can’t help you and you’ll have to face your choices and live with them.’

‘What about them?’ said Ray. ‘What did either of those bastards get for taking all that life?’

Romney had no answer for him. He stood and went and banged on the door. Locking mechanisms were released. ‘Think very carefully, Jez.’ The door opened and Marsh followed him out.

They were standing by the car, alone for the first time since the prison’s interview room, before Marsh could say what was on her mind. ‘Sir, I want to say that that was one of the most moving interviews I have ever had the good fortune to sit in on. The way you reached out to that damaged young man, really let him know he could be helped, that we’re not just in the business of crime and punishment, well, I wish that we could be more like that sometimes.’

Romney looked at her as though she’d suggested something obscene. ‘What? Don’t be soft, Sergeant? It’s all about results. Doesn’t matter how you get them. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, you know. It’s all a game, them and us, and we have to do whatever it takes to screw the bad guys and put them away where they belong. Anyway, I doubt that after a chat with his brief he’ll feel like spilling his guts in a neat confession for a second time, so we’ll be back to the square one. Still, it was worth a try in my opinion. Especially with his emotional instability. You never know. I don’t think that shouts and threats would have made him blub or more cooperative, do you?’

‘But the bit about your parents? You are an orphan, right?’ It was very personal but Marsh needed to know how low he’d stooped.

‘They’re sunning themselves in the Algarve at the moment. Lucky buggers. Come on. I’m hungry.’ Romney opened the door and eased himself into the driver’s seat leaving Marsh standing there open mouthed, bewildered and feeling a complete fool.

***

18

‘But you don’t actually have any proof as yet?’ said Falkner, looking at Romney through narrowed eyes for a full grasp of the situation and what could be expected vis-a-vis the clean-up statistics for the month. ‘It’s all just conjecture, right?’

Romney didn’t like this analytical need-to-know side of his
senior officer, especially when what he, Romney, was suggesting was uncorroborated supposition. It generally had the effect of dampening his spirits. ‘We’re confident we’ll turn up photographs showing both Jez Ray and Paul Henry attending the event commemorating the ferry boat disaster. There was something on the local news too, so maybe we’ll get lucky with film as well. If we need to, we’ll go looking for independent witnesses. When we tie them both to that we can use Ray’s history of death threats to lend weight to at least up the ante on Involuntary Manslaughter, if he decides he doesn’t want to come clean on the other one that is. If he wants to cooperate I’d be inclined to settle for what we agreed on with the Frenchman’s death, despite how it looks now. Fair’s fair. It would take some proving anyway and while I’m sure he knew what he was doing and who he was doing on that battlefield, I’m not sure it would be worth the effort. If he comes across for Vitriol’s murder he’ll get a long enough sentence that trying him for a more serious offence regarding the Frenchman wouldn’t necessarily add anything to his time. Personally, I don’t see him as a great danger to society. I think that he’s got it out of his system. What would be really welcome, of course, is if he sees that the way to a clear conscience and redemption is a full and candid confession to his crimes.’

‘And what are the chances of that?’

‘By the time his lawyer has finished with him, slim to nil, as usual, I suppose. They all like to think they can get away with it in the end and lawyers like to practise their craft not sit idly by as their clients sign up to their guilt on the dotted line. It’s their game, isn’t it? Win or lose they just walk away after collecting their fat fees.’

‘And in that eventuality?’ said Falkner, refusing to be drawn away from his primary interest. ‘Will we be able to successfully pursue a conviction, do you think?’

‘He as good as admitted his guilt with his reaction when I spoke to him in the prison. It wasn’t so much a case of me thinks he doth protest too much as me thinks he didn’t protest at all. So, at least we know where we’re looking now. We’ll be tracing his movements, making all the usual appropriate enquiries, of course. It’s the bloody hospital that’s infuriating me. I still find it hard to believe he could just walk in off the street, find his way to Vitriol’s room, stab him to death and then walk out again. We’ll be tracing staff who were on duty that day and showing them Ray’s photograph. We might get something out of it. He must have spoken to someone to find Vitriol. That place is like Minos’ labyrinth. I’d defy Indiana Jones to get in and out without a map and a sherpa.’

‘How about Crawford’s film?’ said Falkner, sounding less than satisfied.

‘Our enquiries are on-going, sir.’ Romney explained the idea they had arrived at regarding the likelihood that the film had been appropriated from the ARE for profit. ‘While we’re still trying to find it ourselves, it’s just as likely the film company might receive some kind of demand directly. And then, of course, we would expect them to involve us. We can’t help them if they won’t let us, sir.’ Romney was glad of the opportunity to plant the germ of this argument in his senior officer’s fertile conscience. When the matter was resolved –assuming Crawford was able to reach some sort of agreement with whoever was now trying to sell his film back to him – and the Crawfords – both major and minor – started criticising the role of Dover police, the germ might have matured to a healthy perspective and Falkner might be encouraged to close ranks to protect his station’s officers and reputation. It would all reflect on him ultimately anyway and so would be in his self-interest.

Falkner allowed himself to seem placated with this. It was as much as Romney should be hoping for, for now. However, now that he had volunteered a good line of enquiry very soon, no doubt, his
senior officer would be hounding him for results.

‘There is something else I need to speak to you about, Tom,’ said Falkner. The gravity of what was occupying his mind tugged at his features so that his jowly face seemed to sag further than usual. Romney could think of nothing that he, personally, should be worrying over. ‘It’s a bit delicate. And I have to say, as commander of this little outpost of the law, a little disturbing. It’s related to a complaint I’ve had from one of the civilian staff.’

‘About me?’ said Romney.

‘No, no. Not about you, Tom. Not this time.’ Falkner smiled a hollow, mirthless smile. ‘But the complaint relates to your department. I want you to deal with it. I don’t want to make it anything official by getting involved myself. It wouldn’t look good for anyone and could be quite damaging for the individual concerned. I hope you can have a quiet word and that this can be nipped in the bud, Tom. I think I’ve managed to mollify the plaintiff by passing it off as an unfortunate lapse by an officer who left sensitive material relating to a current investigation open on his computer. If there is no repeat of the problem
, I’m confident we can leave it at that. Just make sure that it doesn’t happen again.’

Romney’s worry was replaced by a strong sense o
f intrigue. He wished the superintendent would just get on with it. ‘Who is it, sir? What did he do?’ he said.

‘One of the female evening cleaners – an elderly and deeply
religious woman by all accounts – was vacuuming around CID and, apparently, knocked into one of the workstations activating the monitor screen on one of the computers. The cleaner in question claims to have glanced at the screen and been confronted with an image involving,’ he consulted his notes through his half-moon spectacles,
“a naked man in a state of arousal defecating on the leg stumps of a naked female double-amputee in a wheelchair.”
She hasn’t been back to work since. She is claiming she’s been traumatised by the event, which she describes here as,
“deeply disturbing”.
No one’s talking about legal action yet, thankfully.’

‘Quite a detailed description for a glance,’ said Romney.

Falkner shrugged. ‘As you probably know, we have to monitor and record Internet traffic and online behaviour from the station’s terminals. Here is a print out of websites which have been accessed recently by one of CIDs computers. Knowing your case load at the moment, I doubt any of them are work related.’

Romney didn’t know and wondered where his
senior officer would have got such information and was minded to be more cautious about his own personal use of the facilities.

Falkner gingerly pushed across a sheet of paper sla
shed with fluorescent green ink as though he were afraid of catching something from it. ‘I’ve taken the trouble of highlighting some that give me cause for concern and others that I can’t even begin to pretend to understand what they are about. I have no idea regarding the content of these websites and I have no wish to know. I can’t even make sense of most of these domain names if I’m honest.’

Romney picked up the paper and registered the terminal’s operator: Grimes. He looked down the list, his eye naturally attracted to the garish colouring made by the random strokes of the highlighter pen: www.lickmystumps.com, www.pooporgy.com, www.pukeonmyprivates.co.uk.

Romney had read enough to understand what had happened. He opened his mouth to explain the conversation he and his officers had engaged in that might have then prompted Grimes out of curiosity – or more likely childish foolery with Spicer – to investigate further and find amusement in the sexual irregularities of others in the way that boys, big and small, always had and always would. Then Romney realised he would only serve to implicate himself in the issue, something he didn’t find necessary. He also remembered how Grimes had been responsible for leading Falkner to believe that he, Romney, had been seeking professional mental help at the local psychiatrist. He owed him for that.