Concrete Evidence (16 page)

              “Crimewatch, bloody hell you’ve done very well there!”

              “They’ve squeezed us into the program at short notice. The DS pulled some strings.”

              “Alec is a good copper. Sounds like you’ll have the animal in custody pretty soon,” he smiled again although Stirling sensed something behind the smile and offered no more information. After a few seconds of baited silence, the DI spoke. “I have pulled her paperwork for you to take with you,” he said in a serious tone. “And we’ve emailed her electronic files across to your DI. How else can I help you?” he asked sliding the file across the table.

              “I won’t bullshit you, Guv,” Stirling shrugged his huge shoulders, “but when we were trying to identify Jayne Windsor, I contacted her sergeant and I was given the impression that she wasn’t very popular with her colleagues. He couldn’t get off the phone quick enough.”

              DI Haig puffed up his cheeks and then blew out the air slowly. He looked Stirling in the eyes and shook his head. “Station gossip, Sergeant. You’ve been in the job a long time, you know how these things work,” he shrugged. “No one likes Special Constables to begin with, ‘plastics’ they call them here.” His smile reappeared. “Everything is in that file for you to read. I wish I could give you the details of a cover-up that would help you catch the bastard that killed her but there simply isn’t one.”

“This case will come under intense scrutiny.” Stirling shrugged again. “There’s rarely any smoke without a fire, Guv.” He persisted. “Once the television appeal goes out, all the rumours and gossip will resurface. Something started the rumours. We’d be interested to know what it was so that we can deflect them.”

The DI grimaced and thought about his next words carefully. He paused and folded his arms. “You heard about the Barton case about four years ago?”

              “I know as much as I’ve been told and I’ve heard some of the gossip but I don’t know all the details.” Stirling said frankly. “The devil is in the details, right?” Stirling sat forward and grinned. “I heard that someone dropped the ball and the killer walked?” 

              “Killer?” Haig tilted his head. “We never recovered his body.” The DI looked mildly offended and shook his head. “We arrested the uncle, Peter Barton, for the boy’s murder but we never recovered the boy’s body. Everyone on the case had him nailed as the killer from day one. He had this long mad grey curly hair going on like an aging hippie. On paper, he was the ideal candidate for ‘Uncle Pervert’ but he was an ex-copper. Did you know that?”

              “No, I didn’t,” Sterling said surprised. “That was never mentioned in the news.”

              “There was a lot of detail withheld because we didn’t have a body.”

              “That must have hampered the investigation?”

              “It did. He was always one step ahead of the investigation. He knew what we would do before we did it. Add to that the fact that all the evidence was circumstantial and we we’re struggling.”

“What did you have on him?”

Haig sighed. “We had suggestive text messages sent from Barton on the boy’s phone and inappropriate images of the boy on Barton’s Blackberry.”

“Surely that’s evidence of abuse?”

“Not enough. They weren’t pornographic images or sexual text messages. They just weren’t right. We found DNA in the boot of his car but it was degraded so it was only a partial match but it was compelling evidence none the less. On top of that he had no one to corroborate his alibi for the night of the disappearance. It took the jury four days to deliberate but they came back with a guilty verdict anyway. He got life.”

              “Sounds like you had enough to keep him inside so what went wrong?”

              The DI looked down at the desk and shrugged. “Before the appeal hearing the defence presented new evidence.”

“What new evidence?”

“An alibi. They argued that when the boy was taken, Barton was at a music festival being held at Sefton Park. During the original trial, no one could corroborate his story but when they submitted their appeal they had new evidence that he had had a conversation with a stallholder and a Special Constable about the time that the boy went missing.”

              “Jayne Windsor gave him an alibi?”

              “No,” the DI shook his head, “the stallholder did and she testified that Windsor was there. Jayne Windsor couldn’t remember talking to him, but,” he shrugged, “she wasn’t a hundred percent sure that she hadn’t either. The abduction was twenty miles away from the festival so if he was there then there was no way that he could have taken the boy. The judge ruled that no jury could convict beyond a reasonable doubt and because the DNA evidence wasn’t conclusive on its own, he overturned the verdict to save the cost of another trial. Barton walked from prison and a lot of people here blamed Windsor.”

              “And the alibi?”

              “Solid. The stallholder was there over the two day event. She had the booking confirmation from the organizers, hundreds of customers backed up with receipts and she had a debit card receipt from a purchase that Jayne Windsor made herself around the time the kid was abducted.” He sat back and folded his arms. “Faced with all that, we had no reason to question it.”

              “But if Jayne Windsor had testified that she had never seen or spoken to Barton, he would still be inside?”

              “Exactly, we’ll never know if the appeal jury would have upheld the verdict without the alibi but with it, the case was dead in the water. The Barton family are very popular around here. Their son played for the local football team, the father runs the local scout troop. Pillars of the community. He was a good kid and Barton’s release sent ripples through the area.”

              Stirling mulled over the information and decided that it shed little light on their case. There was plenty of reason for her colleagues to lose respect for her but no motive for murder. “That would explain her sergeant’s attitude when I enquired about her absence.”

              “Indeed,” the DI stood and held out his hand. “If there’s anything else that I can do to help, please call me directly.”

              Stirling followed his lead and shook his hand. “Thanks for your time, Guv.”

He felt a sense of disappointment as he walked to his car although he wasn’t surprised that there was no sinister plot to uncover. Rumours often circulated in the police force and were rarely based on substance. Jayne Windsor had apparently screwed up her career by ‘telling the truth’. She simply couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that she had spoken to Peter Barton and she wasn’t prepared to testify under oath that she ‘definitely’ hadn’t spoken to him. Some would have to admire her principles but others wouldn’t think twice about twisting the truth slightly to keep a killer behind bars.

              He started the engine and reversed out of the parking bay. As he looked over his shoulder through the rear window, he noticed the desk sergeant walking towards him. He had a thick padded jacket over his uniform and Stirling guessed he had finished his shift. He tapped on the passenger window and bent down to peer inside. Stirling pressed the button to lower the glass.

              “Any chance of a lift?”

              “Jump in, Arthur.” Stirling said instinctively brushing the material of the passenger seat. He leaned over and picked up three empty coffee cups, dumping them in the back. “Excuse the mess but I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

              Arthur climbed in and winced in pain as he shuffled into the seat. “My hips are knackered. Age is a terrible thing,” he moaned.

              “The alternative to getting old is worse than a bit of arthritis,” Stirling grunted. “Count your blessings!”

              “I’m allowed to moan at my age.” He said putting his seatbelt on.

              “Not in my car. If you want to moan, get on the bus.”

              “Charming.”

Stirling knew the old sergeant wanted more than a lift but he put the car into gear and steered into the light traffic without a word. He had no idea where he wanted to go but headed towards the city anyway.

              “I live near Calderstones Park,” Arthur said matter of factly. “It’s on your way back into town.”

              “No problem.”

              “How did your meeting with DI ‘vague’ go?”

              The play on the DI’s name didn’t go unnoticed. Stirling smiled to himself. “He was very helpful to be honest.”

              “I bet he was,” Arthur scoffed. “He wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow. He’s on a fast-track, you know. Another token ethnic in my opinion.” He turned to Stirling. “Have you forgotten the Toxteth riots?”

              “That was in the 80’s, Arthur.”

              “It wasn’t that long ago when you put it in context.” 

              “You’re a dinosaur, Arthur. That kind of prejudice doesn’t go down well anymore,” Stirling grumbled. “It’s probably why you’re riding a desk.” Arthur’s face reddened. Stirling couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment and he didn’t care either way. Fast tracking detectives had never been popular especially with officers who were still in uniform. Fast tracking women or officers from an ethnic background allowed the bigots to feel that their failure to progress was somebody else’s fault. He had no time for their poisonous rhetoric and no sympathy for their plight.                       

              “Oh, I know why I’m on desk duty,” Arthur laughed sourly. “You’re right. I am a dinosaur but that doesn’t make me a bad copper. I’ll be glad when I’m out of it. The job has gone to pot. We’ve got kids running around with their magnifying glasses playing at detectives while the real experienced coppers are drowning in paperwork to stop criminals from suing us. We know who the bad guys are but we can’t do anything about it nowadays. We can’t have a crap without filling in a risk assessment form.”

              “It’s called progress, Arthur,” Stirling yawned and opened the window a few inches. “In your day we just arrested anyone who fit the bill and bullied them into a confession and if we locked up the wrong guy, who cared because they were bad ones anyway!”

              “We had respect from the public back then. Not anymore. School kids nowadays have no respect and no fear for authority. It’s no wonder society is going down the toilet.”

              “Just because we can’t beat confessions out of people or give a schoolboy a good hiding for stealing from the local shop doesn’t mean we’re failing. The force is more efficient now and we do things by the book.” Stirling shook his head and looked across at the aging sergeant. “Are you going to whine all the way home or are you going to tell me what it is you have to say?”

              “I wish I had got the bus.”

              “So do I.” Stirling looked along the pavement and spotted a bus stop. “I can drop you here if you would rather?”

              “Yes, pull over. There’s a bad atmosphere in this car.” Stirling sighed and indicated left, sliding the vehicle into the stop. Arthur undid his seat belt and looked directly at Stirling. “What did the DI tell you about the Barton case?”

              Stirling took a deep breath and debated what to tell him. “He told me that Jayne Windsor couldn’t testify categorically that she hadn’t spoken to Peter Barton and that allowed him to walk.”           

              “They brushed it all under the carpet the first time around in my opinion.” He sat back and gloated. “There’s nothing more damaging than a youngster dying on your patch, if you know what I mean. The quicker it goes away, the better.”

              “What are you trying to say, Arthur?” Stirling said irritably. “Spit it out.”

              There was a twinkle in Arthur’s watery eyes. “I have been following the news on your case closely,” he smiled and tapped his nose. “Unlike DI vague. I told you he doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

              “I’m lost,” Stirling sighed. He could see a double-decker bus approaching in his rear view mirror. “There’s a bus coming, put your belt back on.” He put the car into first and moved out of the way. “I might have a detective’s badge, Arthur but I’m not a bloody psychic.” A car beeped its horn as he pushed into the traffic. Stirling responded with the middle finger of his right hand. The other driver caught a glimpse of the size of him and sped by without responding. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

              “Peter Barton had an alibi, which Jayne Windsor couldn’t confirm or deny, right?”

              “Right,” Stirling shrugged.

              “Drop me off here,” Arthur said suddenly. Stirling shook his head angrily and pulled the car over to the curb. “Like I said earlier, I have been following the news ever since I heard Jayne Windsor was the victim.” He opened the door and struggled out as fast as his aching joints would allow him. He leaned back into the vehicle and pointed to the manila file that was on the back seat. “Take a good look at that file, Detective,” he winked. “Take a look at who the stallholder was.” He slammed the door with more force than was necessary and walked away back towards the bus stop. Stirling turned to grab the file but another burst of horns from frustrated drivers told him that he was blocking the traffic. He swore beneath his breath and drove on towards the city. The file would have wait until he got back to the station.