One Dead Witness (47 page)

‘
Done,’ she said, and dropped the files onto his
desk.

‘
Excellent.’

‘
Now I’m going to have a word with Grace, which I should have
done yesterday.’

‘
Don’t spend too much time with her tonight, Danny. Just a
quick hello, how are you, we’re still with you, then get yourself
to bed. It’s been another long day.’

‘
Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she said, leaving the office, giving Henry
a tired wave over her shoulder. ‘See ya in the morning.’

She nipped into the CID office, commandeered the keys for one
of the cars and five minutes later was heading north out of
Blackpool.

St Jude’s was a former primary school, saved from certain
demolition about twenty years before when an overflow problem at
various juvenile detention centres and children’s homes saved it
from the bulldozer. Little money had ever been spent on it and much
of its refurbishment was merely cosmetic.

Danny parked in front of the building and went to the huge
double doors. She rang the bell and heard it echoing somewhere
inside. Footsteps drew nearer and the door was opened by a very
formidable-looking woman. Danny knew this to be the matron, named,
appropriately enough, Miss Steele.

Danny flashed her badge and introduced herself, already having
phoned ahead in advance to warn of her arrival.

‘
She’s in room number four.’ Miss Steele answered Danny’s query
and gave her directions.

‘
Is there just yourself on duty?’

‘
Aye, me and nine kids. Want me to take you down to her
room?’

‘
I’ll find my own way, thanks. I’ll
see
you on the way out. Only be about ten minutes.’

‘
I’ll be in the office, just here.’ She pointed to a slightly
open door.

Danny thanked her and walked down the corridor. She passed a
common room, which she glanced into. Several young girls were
lounging around, watching TV. Danny walked on, turned right down a
hallway, off which were the private rooms. Grace’s room was the
last on the right.

As she walked she felt a distinct chill from a draught blowing
thinly down the corridor. At the far end she could see a fire door
which was open, banging in the breeze. Danny thought it was
unusual, but nothing more than that. She decided she would tell
Miss Steele on the way out.

She stopped at Grace’s door and tapped. ‘Grace, it’s me, Danny
Furness,’ she cooed. ‘I’ve come to see you.’ Her fingers wrapped
around the handle, Danny pushed the door open.

Inside the room, the man sub-contracted by Maurice Stanway
looked up. He had not quite finished the job and he forced the
pillow down with all his weight onto Grace’s face and at the moment
the door opened, she ceased squirming.

Danny could not believe her eyes, but incredulous though the
image was, she reacted instantaneously. She threw herself across
the room screaming, ‘Get off her, you bastard!’ Her arms flailed as
she launched herself over the last few feet.

The man fended her off with the pillow, held like a shield
before him, taking all the blows Danny rained down on
him.

But he was big and mean and the concept of striking a woman,
particularly in this predicament, did not play on his conscience at
all. Using the pillow he forced Danny away from him, pushing her
roughly. She staggered back.

He dropped the pillow, bunched the fingers of his right hand
into a large, hairy fist and drove it towards Danny’s face. It
caught her hard, sent her spinning back against Grace’s bed, over
the prone figure of the dead girl. Danny knew she did not have the
strength or the fighting skill to win here, but she had one thing
going for her - long fingernails.

Though dizzy from his punch, she spun round like a panther and
lurched towards him again, willing herself to get her claws into
his cheeks and dig them in as deeply as humanly
possible.

She succeeded. Dramatically so.

Eight fingernails gouged down both his cheeks, drawing
rivulets of blood and flesh with them and a howl of pain from the
attacker, who reacted by whipping up both his forearms, flicking
her hands away and leaving her very open for his next
onslaught.

He pummelled her down to the floor and would have gone on,
probably to kill her, if Miss Steele hadn’t appeared at the door
and shrieked something incomprehensible.

He leapt over Danny, punched Miss Steele out of the way and
hurled himself down the corridor towards the open fire escape,
which had been his means of entry, and was gone.

Blood dripping from her nose, Danny dragged herself up by the
edge of the bed. She looked at Grace’s pale face and placed the
tips of her first and second fingers onto her warm neck, checking
for the beating of a pulse which she knew she would not
find.

Danny then inspected her own fingernails and hoped she had got
enough of the man underneath them to identify him through
DNA.

Chapter Twenty

In comparison to the previous evening, Saturday morning found
Maurice Stanway in his element. He stood before the three
magistrates on the Bench in the specially convened court and
carefully stacked the files on the table in front of him, adjusted
his spectacles and cleared his throat. He squinted contemptuously
at the CPS solicitor sitting a few feet away from him; Stanway
believed he could run rings round the bugger. He smiled benignly at
the magistrate’s clerk and the Bench beyond.

‘
If it may please Your Worships,’ he said with a mouth full of
syrup, ‘I represent the defendants in this case, Messrs Gilbert and
Spencer. . .’

In the dock, sitting mutely side by side behind the high brass
bars, were the two named persons. Four cops hovered behind them.
Neither prisoner was handcuffed.

‘
You have heard my learned friend,’ and there was a slight
sneer as Stanway emphasised the word ‘friend’, ‘and I have several
submissions to make on behalf of my clients this morning. Firstly,
as you know, both are charged with murder, a serious allegation. My
first submission is in respect of this charge. It is within my
knowledge that the police do not have any evidence to substantiate
this charge whatsoever. As you are aware, a dreadful, dreadful
incident occurred last night which resulted in the death of the
only police witness to this case. It was an incident, I hasten to
add, purely coincidental and unrelated to my clients being in
custody. . .’

‘
My arse!’ hissed Danny Furness through clenched teeth. She,
Henry and FB were seated at the rear of the court. Henry quickly
laid a hand on her arm. He sensed she was about to stand up and
heckle some very unprofessional points of view. She was convinced,
as was Henry, that Grace’s death was no coincidence.

‘
Shush,’ Henry admonished her.

‘
The prosecution evidence, as I understand, relied one hundred
per cent on this unfortunate girl’s evidence.’ Stanway sounded sad.
No one could have guessed he was the one responsible for sending
her killer round. ‘There is no supporting evidence - nothing. And,
to put it simply, the prosecution no longer has a case. To proceed
on the evidence of one dead witness would be ludicrous and a
criminal waste of public money. On those grounds, I submit to the
court that the charge is withdrawn and the case
dismissed.’

He paused for effect, then went on: ‘The prosecution have also
stated their desire to interview my client about other matters.
What are these other matters?’ Stanway took a breath. ‘Let me tell
you: in relation to Mr Gilbert, one of Blackpool’s most respected
businessmen, a man who supports many local children’s charities,
these are matters concerning certain documents found in his house.
Yes, Your Worships, documents. I ask you! Does that require a
further seventy-two hours in custody? No, I submit it does not. Mr
Gilbert will gladly make an appointment to come to the police
station and be interviewed at any time suitable to the police, not
himself. It is imperative that Mr Gilbert is given his liberty
today. He has many businesses to run, many people to employ who
depend on him. . .’

‘
God give me strength,’ Danny blurted, unable to contain
herself.

Stanway stopped talking, swivelled slowly and glared at Danny,
as did everyone else in court. He pulled his spectacles down his
nose and looked over the frames at her. Danny stared defiantly
back. Fuck them, she thought.

‘
Please keep quiet, Officer,’ the clerk of the court warned,
‘or I shall have to consider you to be in contempt of
court.’

Danny breathed impatiently down her nose.

Stanway resumed his address, but Danny did not hear another
word of it. Her mind suddenly felt as if an express train was
roaring through it, whilst reliving last night’s horror at the
children’s home. Henry kept one eye on her, fully responsive to her
tension, knowing she was close to explosion.

When Stanway had finished his submissions, the CPS solicitor
asked for a short adjournment.

‘
We are
not
going to let those bastards back out on the streets!’ Danny
smashed a fist onto the table in the police room at the court. ‘No
fucking way.’

‘
Danny, Danny. Calm down,’ Henry tried to cool it. ‘We’ve no
intention of doing so, but we’ve got to get the submission to the
court correct. If we shout at them, they’ll just let them
go.’

She took a deep drag on her cigarette, defying the No Smoking
signs.

FB addressed the CPS solicitor. ‘That murder charge stands. We
are not going to withdraw it. Understand?’

The man nodded.

‘
And,’ FB went on, ‘we don’t want him to have bail, even with
conditions. There’s lots more than just documents to talk to him
about, such as that other death in East Lancashire and the
controlled drugs found in his home. You’ve really got to lay it on
thick.’

‘
Right, right.’ The man scribbled on a pad.

‘
Henry - brief this guy up properly, but don’t forget, we don’t
want to give away too much in court.’

The court reconvened.

The CPS solicitor stood up nervously. This was his biggest
case so far and he wanted to do well.

‘
Your Worships,’ he began when the three men had settled, ‘the
charge of murder will not be withdrawn and neither will the
application to keep the defendants in custody for further
questioning.’ After he’d said those opening words he relaxed into
solicitor mode and delivered the half-truths, half-lies Henry had
fed him. ‘In relation to the charge of murder, whilst it cannot be
denied that the dead girl was a vital witness, we believe it is
only right and proper that these two defendants face and answer the
allegations in a court of law. Whilst the witness may be dead, her
evidence remains valid. Also, as I speak, scientists are still
working on the forensic side of things and fully expect to have
evidence which supports and complements the evidence of the dead
girl.’ That was - almost - a lie. ‘Secondly, not only do the police
wish to interview Gilbert about documents found in his house, but
also about many other items which point towards other serious
offences, and also the police need to question him about another
suspicious death, the details of which I do not wish to divulge in
open court as they would prejudice the police investigation. If
Gilbert did get bail, there is a real possibility of him
absconding. He spends a great deal of his time abroad and we
believe he would immediately leave the country, together with his
co-accused, Spencer, about whom I have the following, submissions
to make. . .’

Stanway subsequently countered all the prosecution arguments
and then the magistrates adjourned to consider the matter over a
cup of coffee.

Danny paced the corridor outside the courtroom door. Nerves,
like little electric shocks, flickered around her stomach
walls.

Henry sat and watched her until he could stand it no longer.
He pulled her into an empty witness waiting room. ‘Danny, you’re
driving me up the wall!’

‘
Well, I won’t apologise for it. That bastard - those bastards
- are going to be out on the streets again. I can feel it. I just
know. And we’re powerless to do anything about it.’

‘
Danny, sit down. . . I said
sit.’

Meekly, she obeyed.

Henry sat next to her and tenderly pushed a strand of her hair
back from her forehead. ‘You’ve been through a tough time these
last few days.’

‘
You don’t know the half of it,’ she snapped.

Henry was hurt by the remark, but kept a cool head. ‘No, I
know I don’t. But you need to take a step back from this and get it
into perspective. We have done everything and more that’s expected
of us. We’ve put away Louis Trent for the rest of his life and
we’re on track to sending those two bastards down the corridor
behind him. Now, if we don’t succeed, then we’ll have to accept it,
okay? Let’s just make sure we do everything right, to the book, and
keep a professional head on - just like you told me the other day,
remember?’