Delayed & Denied (3 page)

‘Understood.’

‘And one last thing. I assume that we’ve got full access to Adam Burke?’

‘Of course.’

‘And he understands that he’ll be questioned like a suspect, Sarah? Because that’s exactly what he is. When your wife goes missing, whether or not she’s been playing away, then the husband is first in the frame. I know it sounds like lazy policing, but it’s not. It’s just boring mathematical probability, I’m afraid. So at some point we’re going to need to press him.’

‘All right, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ll talk to Ray Dixon first?’

‘I will, maybe even today, and if he’s on for this my next move will be to see what I can get out of the force in terms of the investigative file, and also any other materials that they might have kept. After that, we’ll talk to Burke. And then we’ll see, OK?’

When Ray Dixon answered the phone he sounded out of breath, and Hall said, as politely as ever, that he hoped he hadn’t called at a bad time.

‘Christ, no, boss. I’m trimming the bloody hedge along our back.’

‘I hope that’s not a euphemism for something, Ray.’

‘Is that a bit like a trumpet? No? What can I do for you, anyway?’

‘I wondered if you might be interested in a bit of work.’

‘You bet. I’m going bloody mad here, boss. We live in a three bed semi, but I swear that the list of jobs for me to do hasn’t got any shorter since the day I bloody retired. I’ve repainted that back bedroom three times already. I wouldn’t mind, but the kids never even come to stay. The furthest one away only lives in Endmoor.’

‘Glad to hear you’re being kept busy. And it’s Andy now, Ray. You know that I’ve retired as well?’

‘Aye, I heard you’re a what’s-it-called now. A house husband, aye, that’s it. So I hope it’s not childcare, or owt like that, you want me for. Never so much as changed a nappy, me.’

‘No, it’s more in your old line of work.’

‘Oh, aye? And it’s all above-board, like, is it?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Shame, but aye, I’m in. You want to meet up to talk it through?’

‘How about this evening? The Brewery, at eight?’

‘Aye, that’s fine. Assuming that I’m not supposed to be steam-cleaning the carpets then, like.’

When Hall arrived Dixon was already ensconced in one of the old mash tuns, two pints in front of him.

‘I took the liberty, like. Thought you’d need it after a day of nappy changing.’

‘It’s not all fun, you know’ said Hall, smiling and reaching out and shaking Dixon’s hand. ‘Did you read the stuff I sent you?’

‘Aye, most of it. I remember that case, vaguely. Well, talking to a couple of the lads who worked on it, anyway. They always thought it was the husband, I do remember that, but they couldn’t charge him until the body was found. I remember this old DS saying to me that Burke was nervous as a kitten, right from the off, and he thought that the bloke would ‘fess up, sooner or later, but he never did.’

‘What about the transcript of the trial? Any thoughts?’

‘Doesn’t tell us much, does it? Same old story, really. Both sides just pick and choose what they fancy, don’t they? But the defence did a pretty crap job, I must say. Without any forensics or relevant eye wits I doubt it would even come to trial these days. The chances of a conviction would be too small to justify the costs. That’s what the accountants would say, and we all know that they outrank any detective in the whole wide world these days.’

‘I agree, a prosecution would be very unlikely. But on the basis of what you’ve read, do you think that Burke is guilty?’

Dixon took a sip from his pint. ‘Is there a right and a wrong answer to that question, like?’

‘Do you mean have I formed a view? Well, we worked together for nearly ten years, so what do you think?’

‘No, it’s too soon. Nothing like enough information. And I agree with you, there’s not. But I’d say he probably did do it, because in cases like this the hubby has to be favourite. But I’d like to have had a proper look at this Jack Lee bloke, I will say that.’

‘He had a solid enough alibi though, didn’t he?’

‘Aye, but just on the day she went missing. That’s not necessarily the day she died though, is it?’

‘Exactly. What if she died the next day, or the next week? What if she was off with her new bloke, tucked away out of sight somewhere, and he killed her a few days later?’

‘This Lee bloke?’

‘Possibly. But nothing came up in the trial to support that hypothesis. The defence certainly didn’t try to run with it, anyway.’

‘But the victim did know Lee?’

‘Certainly. Adam Burke and Jack Lee had been friends since they were at school, they weren’t just workmates. So Lee has to be a possibility. But that’s not where I’d start.’

Dixon nodded and smiled. ‘What’s it you used to call it? Occam’s razor? It means that the most likely explanation for something is probably right, doesn’t it?’

‘More or less.’

‘You’d start with Burke, wouldn’t you? See if you could prove he didn’t do it, or…’

‘Prove that he did. Yes, that’s what we’ll do first. Concentrate on Adam Burke.’

‘And is Sarah Hardcastle all right with that? I’m not sure that it’s exactly the way that she’d see it playing out, like. Putting her boy straight back in the frame like this.’

‘Yes, she’s OK with it. How we go about this is totally up to us, she was quite clear about that. He’s done his time, so if we find new evidence in support of his conviction then it won’t matter, unless we connect him to other offences.’

‘All right. So long as they know what might happen. But of course there is the other interested party in all this, isn’t there?’

‘Our former colleagues on the job? Yes, I’ve been thinking about them.’

‘I bet you have. I can’t see them giving us access to the case file, and without it we’re sunk. And it’s all too long ago to start again, right from scratch, Andy. We’d get nowhere.’

‘I know, but I’ve got my pitch worked out.’

‘Which is?’

‘Basically that if it’s not us poking about in all this then it’ll be someone else, someone that the force doesn’t know. People in the job know me, they know us both, and they know we’ll be professional, and we won’t go shouting the odds to the press. That’s what’ll have the bosses at HQ worried. There’s been too much negative publicity lately, and now there’s even more cuts coming, so they won’t be keen to have a reporter poking his nose into their past cock-ups, or potential cock-ups.’

‘And that’s what you’ll threaten them with?’

‘I’ve agreed a form of words with Sarah, yes. It says that if we don’t get access to the case files then she’ll turn it all over to a TV reporter from down south who contacted her about the case.’

‘Is that true?’

‘This is Sarah Hardcastle we’re talking about, Ray, not you. So yes, of course it’s true. The bloke’s well up for it, apparently.’

Dixon smiled, and took a sip of his drink. Then he nodded, and Hall wasn’t sure if it was in agreement with Hall’s plan, or in praise of the beer. Perhaps it was both.

‘All right, Andy, so when do we start?’

‘Tomorrow. But you are up for this, Ray? It’ll mean hard graft, for not much cash. We’re not talking nine to five here, mate.’

Dixon held up his hand.

‘Say no more. Listen, Andy, I’ve been meaning to say this anyway. I was a right pain, that last year or two at work, always going on about retiring, and how good it would be to be gone, and all that cobblers. Well, I was talking right out of my arse. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the job since. So I won’t let you down. Shit, I’d probably do it for nowt, if the wife would bloody let me.’

‘Steady on, Ray. Tell you what, I’ll get another beer in, and then I’ll talk you through exactly what I intend to say to his nibs next week, how’s that?’

Tuesday, 7th August

Outside the Capstone residence.

DC Gail Foster tried not to fidget, not least because DS Mann had already told her off about that. She’d like to listen to the car radio, but Mann had turned that off too. Gail wondered what time it was, and thought about all the statements that they were supposed to be taking that morning. She liked the DI, but the boss always seemed to know exactly where her team were, and exactly what they were doing, or supposed to be doing. But the DS had turned off his phone as soon as they’d parked up on the estate, so now they’d only know if they were in bother when they returned to the nick.

‘Can I go the shop and buy some crisps, Ian? I’m starving.’

‘Have one of my apples. In the bag behind my seat.’

‘I don’t like apples.’

‘Banana, then. There’s plenty.’

‘I wanted crisps.’

‘There’ll be no crisps eaten in this car. The crumbs get everywhere. And I thought you youngsters were health conscious?’

‘I would only have had half a packet. I’d have shared them, like.’

Mann smiled. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be out in a minute, you mark my words.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do, all right?’

Gail thought about it for a moment.

‘Have you been watching him, Ian? I thought the boss said to leave it alone.’

‘Aye, well, maybe. What I do in my own time is my business though, isn’t it?’

‘But this isn’t your time.’

He smiled again. ‘When you reach the rank of DS you’ll be able to make executive decisions too, but for now you just do exactly what I say, when I say it, all right?’

Mann’s tone was friendly, and his smile hadn’t quite faded, but Gail didn’t answer. And when she thought about it, just for a moment, she couldn’t really imagine any situation in which she wouldn’t do precisely what Mann said.

‘There he is, look,’ said Mann. ‘Now, you remember what to do?’

‘Keep my distance, but keep eyes on. If I think he’s rumbled me, I come back to you.’

‘How fast?’

‘Sharpish.’

‘Exactly. If that bastard fancies his luck assaulting a bobby then I want to make sure that it’s me he has a go at, OK? Come on, let’s get moving. I’ll not be far behind you, but he knows me, so I’ll stay out of line of sight. Just note any address that he goes into, OK? That’s very important.’

But there wasn’t time for Gail to reply, because Mann already had his door open. Capstone moved surprisingly fast for a big man, although Gail seriously doubted that he’d be able to keep that pace up for long, and for the next hour she followed him round the estate. He made four calls, and only one of them lasted longer than a minute or two. He’d looked around once or twice, usually when he came out of houses, but she was confident that she hadn’t been spotted. And when Capstone went into the pub on the edge of the estate Mann called her back to the car.

‘I’ll have that banana, please, Ian. I could eat a scabby horse.’

‘You should have followed him right into the pub then, love. It’s on the menu five days a week in there, I hear.’ He took the large plastic box from behind his seat and passed it to Gail. ‘Help yourself.’

She opened the box and extracted a banana.

‘Thanks. So what’s next?’

‘We go and pay a visit to young Lizzie Robinson.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘The one who lives at number 23. The one he stayed at longest. How long was it?’

‘Nearly fifteen minutes.’

‘That’s plenty long enough for Brian Capstone, I’d say.’

‘You mean…’

‘Aye. I’ve got a feeling that he was collecting this week’s payment in kind, like.’

‘Yuck. Really?’

‘I’m afraid so, love. Come on, let’s see what the lovely Lizzie has to say for herself. Assuming she’s got her breath back, that is.’

Lizzie Robinson opened the door eventually, and quickly tried to shut it again. But Mann’s boot prevented that.

‘We just want a chat, that’s all.’

‘You can’t come in.’

‘All right. But if you want to talk about what you owe Tony Jones, and exactly how you’re making the repayments, with us two stood out here on the doorstep, then that’s fine with me, love.’

The door swung open.

‘Why don’t you bastards ever leave me alone? I’ve done nowt.’

It was almost 3pm, but Lizzie was still wearing a dressing gown, one pocket bulging with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. And Gail had already been doing the job long enough not to notice the pile of empty bottles in the hall, like an art installation for the poor. But she did notice the young woman’s expression. It was as if she wasn’t really taking anything in, although she didn’t seem to be drunk or stoned. Lizzie led the way into the kitchen, with its empty draining board, full sink and bulging bin.

‘I’d offer you a brew, but I haven’t got any tea bags. Or milk, neither.’

Mann laughed. ‘You’re all right, love. I was going to say that we just wanted to offer you a way of getting that Brian Capstone off your back, but if I said that you’d think we’d been peeping, I expect.’

Lizzie didn’t smile back. ‘I’m saying nowt about nowt, mate, and you can’t make me.’

‘I can’t, that’s right. But we all know what’s going on here. You owe Tony Jones, you can’t pay, and Capstone has suggested an alternative repayment plan, like. Well, we could make all that go away for you. Right here and now, in fact.’

‘And how’s that, then?’

‘You make a complaint against Capstone, and Jones too if you’ve actually had direct contact with him, and we nick one or both of them. And even if we only nick Capstone that’ll be enough to put Jones right out of the loan sharking job. Because he couldn’t intimidate a nervous five year old, let alone any of his actual punters. I doubt you’d end up paying back a penny, like.’

Gail was watching Lizzie Robinson’s eyes. And then, to her surprise, Lizzie laughed. A dry, creaking sound, like a rarely opened door.

‘You what? Does anyone actually believe that old shit any more? You’ll be telling me that I’ll be on the witness protection job next, with a new identity and a nice little maisonette in Stockport.’

‘You wouldn’t need witness protection, love, that’s what I’m saying. Capstone would be gone. Out of the picture.’

‘Bollocks. It’s all bollocks, and you know it. Because I’ll tell you exactly what’d happen if I was bloody stupid enough to make a complaint. You’d nick Brian right enough, and Tony too, probably. But twenty four hours later they’d be out again, and they’d be looking for me. And don’t give me that shit about keeping my name out of it. They’ll probably already know that you’re here. So then, about half an hour after they were out, that fat bastard Capstone would be using my face as a football. And what would you lot do about it? Fuck all, that’s what. Just the same as always.’ She turned to face Gail. ‘So you tell me, love, what would you do? If you were in my shoes, like?’

Andy Hall wasn’t particularly enjoying being back in HQ’s small reception hall, but at least he wasn’t carrying a changing bag, and his best suit was reasonably clean. A few people passing through reception said hello and chatted awkwardly and briefly, just as he had with recently retired officers who, for one reason or another, just couldn’t stay away after they’d retired. Conversation had always been stilted, because without work to discuss, what else was left to say?

The ACC kept him waiting, but that was to be expected, and Hall spent the time productively enough, reading the notes that Ray Dixon had sent him. The spelling was much as he remembered it, but the thinking was too, and that was what actually mattered. Dixon was sceptical, to the point of contrariness, but that was just how Hall wanted it. Because if and when Ray Dixon started talking about a miscarriage of justice then Hall would know that they definitely were on to something. Until then this was just an interesting intellectual pursuit, a five-finger exercise for the mind.

But as he sat on the uncomfortable red leather chair, which looked as if it had been chosen by someone who wanted the gentlemen’s club look without ever actually having been to one, Hall knew exactly where he stood on the Burke case, at that precise moment. He had no view as to whether or not Burke was guilty, because he simply didn’t have enough information to go on, but one thing he was sure of. On the basis of the prosecution evidence presented at trial there was no way that Burke should ever have been convicted. Because beyond the alleged conversation with Jack Lee - which Burke had always denied ever took place - all of the evidence against him had been entirely circumstantial. And just because Adam Burke could have killed his wife, and probably had a credible motive too, that didn’t mean that he did.

Why Jack Lee might have lied was an interesting question, and it was one that Hall had already spent some mental energy on. The most obvious explanation, of which old Occam would no doubt have approved, was that it was Lee who’d committed the crime. But there was no apparent motive, and the investigating officers had never taken him seriously as a suspect, and that much was obvious from the trial transcript. But why would that have been? Was it because Lee convinced them, over the course of numerous interviews and extensive background checks, that he was telling the whole truth about Burke? That was certainly possible, although there was another explanation too. Because it might simply be that Lee was believed because his testimony fitted perfectly with the investigating officers’ preferred narrative - which was, quite simply, that the husband did it.

That bothered Hall particularly, because he was nothing like long enough out of the job to have forgotten how it felt to be under pressure in an investigation, with the budget long since bust and a prime suspect squarely in the frame. And he hadn’t forgotten how it felt when all the pressure came on from on high to just get on and bring the charges, and to pass the file to the CPS for prosecution.

Of course there were any number of other explanations as to why Lee might have lied. He and Burke might have murdered Sharon together, Lee might have been acting under duress from an unknown third party, or he might have been paid to lie, by persons and for reasons unknown. Because there were always those unknown unknowns to worry about. But the one explanation that wasn’t remotely credible was that Lee had simply made it all up: because Sharon Burke’s body was found pretty much exactly where he’d said it would be, and Crummock Water was a location that, as far as Hall knew, had never come up in the investigation before Lee first mentioned it.

Hall snapped out of his train of thought when he heard his name being called by a young woman standing at the door to the senior officer’s private staircase. ACC Winter was ready for him now. Hall had asked around about him, but no-one he knew seemed to know much about the bloke. Winter had turned up fairly recently from a force down south, and would no doubt stay for a year or two, then move further up the ladder, leaving only a couple of espresso stains on the carpet and a hundredweight of command papers and strategic analysis documents behind him. Hall imagined that there must be dozens, maybe even hundreds, of ACC Winters about in British forces, all swapping chairs with each other but never, ever having any contact with frontline officers.

So Hall expected the worst. But Winter turned out to be rather charming, and almost likeable. It made Hall slightly nervous. Winter was even briefly flattering about Hall’s own career, and disparaging of his own previous achievements in Northamptonshire.

‘So what can we do for you Andy? It’s this Burke case from the 1990s, I understand?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘Oh, forget the sir business, please. It’s Jon. And you and your colleagues are looking at a possible miscarriage of justice, is that right?’

‘We’re looking at the case, that’s all. I certainly haven’t formed a view as yet.’

‘And this we? I understand that a former senior member of the CPS staff is the prime mover, but presumably others are involved?’

‘That’s right.’

‘From the judiciary? Current or former?’

Winter seemed well-informed, but in Hall’s experience officers like him invariably were, especially when a situation posed either a threat to, or an opportunity for, personal advancement.

‘You’d need to talk to Sarah about that. I’m reporting to her.’

‘I see. Of course. And what exactly were you looking for? Access to the case files?’

‘Yes.’

‘With a view to achieving what exactly? A retrial?’

‘Possibly.’

‘And do you foresee any other possible outcomes?’

‘There are always other possibilities.’

Winter smiled. ‘I’d heard that you were, and no doubt still are, a brilliant detective, but not that you were such an adept politician. Come on, Andy, you’re amongst friends. So out with it. We both know what we’re talking about here. Could you see your investigation leading to the prosecution of another person in connection with this offence?’

‘I wouldn’t rule it out completely, although at present I have no additional evidence.’

Winter nodded. ’Indeed. No additional evidence. Quite so. Tell me, Andy, are you aware of any similar unsolved murders in the county, between 1995 and now?’

Hall glanced up at the portrait of the Queen on the wall, then back at Winter. He could see which way this was going, and he wasn’t at all surprised. He understood that there was little or nothing in it for the ACC Crime in potentially undermining an old conviction.

‘No, I’m not aware of any that in any way resemble the Burke case, but that’s hardly….’

‘It’s exactly the point, I’m afraid. I don’t need to tell you, Andy, that our resources are stretched perilously thin already, and with the next round of cuts the danger is that we end up back in a situation like the 1980s, when I understand that all we could do as a force was react to reported crime. So unless there’s meaningful evidence to suggest that we have another offender at large, presenting what we might call a clear and present danger to our community, then I don’t see what I can do to help. I’m very sorry.’