The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (11 page)

He noticed that there was a single partial footprint, though there was no pattern on the sole of whatever made the mark. He quickly snapped a picture with his digital camera.

‘Hold on a minute, sir,' said an uniformed officer.

‘That's OK officer, he's with me,' McFarland snapped at the uniformed officer, giving Terry the thumbs up.

Terry returned the gesture and continued. He could not understand where the hammer had disappeared to, that is if it was a hammer. He was going to have to wait to see the coroner's report, whatever it was. Where was it now?

‘McFarland,' Terry called.

‘Yes, mate, what is it?'

‘I've hit a dead-end. I'm going to have to see the girl's statement. Have you received the coroner's report yet?' It was as though he had never been away.

‘I've been here with you so I'm not sure about the coroner's report. I can get you a copy of her statement though.' A plain expression covered his face.

‘What's that smell?' Terry enquired. They both looked at the uniformed officer.

‘What smell, sir?' he answered uncomfortably.

‘Can you smell that?' Terry asked.

‘No, sorry, sir,' he replied plainly.

Terry continued sniffing, tiptoeing around like a basset hound, hoping that he would be able to pinpoint the smell.

‘Let's go. I need to see the girl's statement and check if the coroner's report has come through,' Terry instructed. ‘Thank you,' Terry said to the uniformed officer.

The officer nodded politely.

Once the two men were outside, and out of earshot, Terry told McFarland what he required.

‘I'm not going back to the office McFarland. I don't want anyone at The Yard knowing I'm on-board. I need you to e-mail me a copy of the girl's statement to my private e-mail address, and a copy of the coroner's report in the same e-mail would be nice.' Terry gave a knowing smile.

‘Aye, that's fine.'

Terry then told McFarland that once he was done at The Yard, he wanted him to go home and pick up his toothbrush.

‘You'll be staying at mine tonight, mate,' Terry told McFarland.

Terry also needed to clear all of this with Natalie, though he knew she would not mind. She would accept it as a one-off.

‘I'm going to have to talk to the girl, you know,' Terry announced.

‘Not a problem. When?'

‘Tomorrow morning. You can clear it while you're at The Yard.'

It was normal for Terry to take the lead; assume command. He was like a dog with a bone – the only difference was that Terry never buried his bones, he would gnaw them, until there was nothing left.

‘I'll drop you off on the way,' McFarland said.

‘OK,' Terry replied, climbing in the passenger seat.

Terry checked the time – to his surprise, they had been at Tinckerton Street for just over two hours. The day was still young.

McFarland drove away as Terry put the key in his front door. He went straight into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee, stuffing a handful of biscuits in his mouth during the process. He could not believe his luck when the phone rang. He tried to swallow the contents of his mouth and darted to the phone. He missed it. His mobile phone rang and he removed it from the inside pocket of his jacket and answered it. By this time his mouth was empty.

‘Hello.'

‘Hi darling, it's Natalie.'

‘Hi darling. I've got a favour to ask.'

‘I can read you like a book, Terry,' Natalie giggled.

‘Wait till I've asked. How do you know what the favour is?'

‘I know you, Terry Bane. Is James going to stay at ours, or are you staying at his?'

‘McFarland is staying here… if you're OK with it?'

‘I know you've already told him, Terry,' her giggles continued. ‘Listen, darling, I've had an idea. You've already invited James to stay tonight. And I know you'll both be working on this case and downing copious amounts of booze. If I'm there, I'll get in your way and be bored. So I've decided that I'll give Mum a call and let you boys get on with whatever you get on with. I'll spend a few days at Mum's. That way I'll be less of a distraction. I hope that's OK.'

She knew that Terry would have to agree. She had done what she did best, she had taken a decision and then followed by asking the question as if to turn the tables – textbook Maggie Thatcher. Natalie knew that Terry admired Maggie, so would never disagree when she used Maggie's negotiation techniques.

‘Great idea, thanks for being so understanding, sweetheart.' Softness did not suit him.

‘I'll call you,' and with that she was gone.

Terry knew that his lady was not impressed and that she was only testing him.

He uncontrollably drifted back to his thoughts though he was never alone. His counsellor had taught him that.

Terry sat in silence, thinking that McFarland seemed to be taking a long time. Logging on to his laptop, Terry was able to watch the video footage broadcast by other news channels. Most of them were like-for-like. They gave him nothing new. Frustration was beginning to blur his train of thought. He started to prepare dinner, cooking made him feel relaxed and when he was relaxed, he could think more clearly.

Terry rarely watched the television. When he did, he mainly watched current affairs and the news
,
the rest of the world never interested him. It was Natalie who was a self-confessed soap addict. Terry found the soaps fascinating, though never enough to offer him the same escape as it seemed to offer the millions of other hooked viewers.

When he told Natalie stories of his detective days, he would insist that to be a successful detective you could not afford an imagination – it was removed once you had secured your promotion and discarded your blue-bottled uniform.

Terry had been productive with his culinary and his logical skills. As McFarland arrived, dinner was ready to be served.

‘Perfect timing,' Terry said as he opened the front door.

‘Great, I'm starving. What is it?' McFarland replied, trying to look in the kitchen.

‘Wait and see, you nosey bastard,' Terry chuckled.

McFarland sat down in the living room and, as Terry finished serving up the food, Terry switched on the radio for any snippets of news that may filter through. They ate quietly; the sound of the radio could be heard in the background from the kitchen.

The two men cleared their plates as if they had not eaten for a week. Both men read as they ate. They read the pathologist's report as well as going over Sharon's sketchy statement.

‘I'll wash, you dry,' Terry suggested.

‘Let's do it!' McFarland replied, mimicking the movements of a commando in action.

‘What's on your mind?'

‘Too much, they've managed to overlook too much,' Terry answered, wearing a troubled look.

‘Tell me more.'

‘In a minute, let's get this out of the way first, mate.' McFarland did not reply. He knew when not to push Terry.

Once they had completed the task, both men returned to the living room. Terry collected two cans of beer on the way.

‘Cheers, now tell me more,' McFarland said, making himself comfortable. It was going to be a long night.

‘Right, the victim was killed by being hacked to death by a machete. We know this because Sharon was still holding a machete when she was arrested,' he paused, ‘and the only prints found on the machete belonged to her. The victim had suffered three blows from a blunt instrument, believed to be a hammer, one to his shoulder and two to his head. The pathologist confirms this in his report.' He stopped to look at Sharon's statement and to take a large swig of his beer. ‘OK, where is the hammer?'

‘Shit, you're right. How did I miss that?'

‘Now, in her statement she mentions this guy in a black shiny suit.'

‘Yeah. Ha, ha, ha – out there I think,' McFarland could not contain his emotions.

‘I don't think she is, mate,' Terry replied bluntly. ‘Who would make something like that up? Hold on; listen to my theory so far. Only one of the weapons used has been recovered. Sharon had not left the premises to dispose of the hammer because why only get rid of the hammer? If she had, she would have got rid of the machete at the same time. She has not denied that she actually did kill the victim. We need to get her state of mind checked out. I need to talk to her,' he concluded.

‘Let's see what the shrink says. She saw her this afternoon – last thing. I've told her to e-mail me the results. All my e-mails will be automatically forwarded to you whilst we're working on this case Terry,' McFarland said flatly.

‘Once this case is over, I'm off back to TV land, mate.'

‘We make a great team, Terry.'

‘I know we make a good team, mate. We might be chalk and cheese, but don't think you can reel me back in because I'm a bit drunk, I won't soften McFarland!'

‘We locked some evil fuckers up in our time, Terry.'

‘I don't wanna talk about it.'

‘We only ever did our job!'

‘They didn't teach us half the shit we got up to at Hendon, McFarland. Maybe you can block your mind off to it, but I can't. There's innocent people locked away, and we made sure they went down for something they didn't do.'

‘Fucking hell, Terry, we only did what we had to – what we were ordered to do. We had no choice. We didn't make those decisions, they came from above. I can't believe you're still carrying this guilt around, mate.'

‘My demons…mine and yours; remember, they're mine and yours.'

‘I don't feel any fucking guilt Terry; your demons are your own. Fucking move on – I have!' McFarland growled. ‘Let go of your fucking excess baggage, Terry!'

‘What if I can't?'

‘Terry, let it go, leave it in the past.'

‘Not this time, McFarland.'

‘You don't think the girl did it, do you?'

‘No I don't… well at least not on her own. Whoever aided her or…' Terry paused, ‘or forced her actions, will be the only fucking arrest we make. Are we on the same page here McFarland?' Terry said, gritting his teeth.

‘Clear cut Terry, fucking clear cut.'

The time seemed to have run away from them. Both suffering from too much alcohol intake and tiredness they said their goodnights and went to bed.

Chapter Fourteen

Hector Hylie was an overweight man of South African descent. Aged forty-two, he looked older than his years. He suffered from bad health due to his mammoth size. He had met and married Mandy in a short time span after arriving in the UK. Mandy had fallen for Hector's accent rather than his looks and, back then, Hector had a great sense of humour, though once he had married Mandy, all the niceties diminished. Mandy was ten years his junior; therefore easier to manipulate and control. Martin, Mandy's brother, three years older than his sister, was completely different. It may have been the environment that he worked in. It could have been that he knew his brother-in-law better than his sister knew her own husband. Martin had threatened Hector on a number of occasions and was not bothered who had overheard. Hector used to brush off Martin's threats, knowing that Martin would never do anything that would upset his kid sister.

Hector was bisexual, though his wife never knew her husband's dirty secret. He would frequent gay bars in order to quench his hunger, picking up young gay men and fulfilling his needs before slapping them about and leaving them a little worse for wear.

The thing that angered Martin the most was the fact that Hector boasted on a Monday morning at work, completely unashamed, without thought of who may be in earshot. Being related to the man was bad enough, but what made it worse for Martin was that he had to work with him.

When Martin informed his sister of her husband's advertised conquests, his reports landed on deaf ears. Martin's frustration grew, along with his sister's tunnel-vision. She loved that man, or at least that was what she wanted the outside world to believe.

Martin, himself, was in a relationship and had a four-year-old son. His girlfriend, Lisa, who he loved, knew what buttons to press. Lisa was 29-year-old devoted mother. He wanted his sister to have the same life that he had built with Lisa, though he knew this would never happen while she was still married to Hector.

Greg, on numerous occasions, had wound Martin up about his brother-in-law, trying to ignite the fire inside him. Greg had increased the pressure once he had decided that Hector was going to be the next victim. Pulling at Martin's anger strings, he goaded the man, only for effect though. Greg wanted others to see the rage Martin had for Hector. Martin was going to be the catalyst in Greg's flawless plan.

Greg had been closely watching Hector's movements for a while, though only on and off. Greg knew enough. He had a rough idea of where and when he was going to pounce on Hector. Greg's only other obstacle was to get Martin where he wanted him. There would need to be a delay between the two. After all, Greg could not be in two places at the same time. Greg had a contingency plan should the first fail. The police were going to be far too busy to spot what was going to happen next, though once it had, they would then link the two. The roller coaster would then be off and running and Greg's fun would not be limited.

Chapter Fifteen

Terry stood in the hollowness of the interview room, waiting to meet Sharon. He felt as though he was being held back until he spoke to her. He needed to analyse her mood, her demeanour, her remorse – guilty or not. Whatever the case, he needed to see it for himself, with his own eyes. He stood by the two-way mirror drinking his cup of coffee. He scrutinized his own reflection and felt nervous. He had never interviewed a female killer before, they had all been men. This was different though, he felt that she was firstly a mother and, accidentally, a lover but a murderer nonetheless. The report on her mental health and state of mind had come back clean. She was fully compos mentis.

A door opened and McFarland emerged.

‘Right then, this is where we are,' McFarland said, firmly. ‘She and her brief have been told that you have been called in from outside. Her brief has been informed of the sensitivity of your involvement in this case and the whole investigation. Terry, he's a bit of a tosser so be careful how you word your questions. Her brief has also been told that your identity and involvement in this case is completely confidential – without prejudice,' McFarland smiled. ‘Please take your time, we're in no rush.'

‘I'll fuck off if you like and you can sort this shit out yourselves,' Terry's nerves were beginning to show.

‘Sorry, mate, I didn't. Take a deep breath – this is your show.'

‘Forget it, let's do it!' Terry said placing his hand on McFarland's shoulder.

Both men waited a couple of minutes for Sharon and her solicitor to enter the room. McFarland had instructed the Duty Sergeant to switch off the CCTV. They both sat down and McFarland introduced the pair for the benefit of the tape. The tape was not switched on.

‘Sharon,' Terry began ‘How are you? Are you being treated OK?'

She raised her head and answered ‘I'm fantastic Mr Bane. How are you?'

‘Sorry Sharon, I didn't mean it to sound like that.'

Sharon shook her head slowly. ‘Do you think I'm barking mad like the rest of them?'

‘No, I don't, and neither does anyone else. I think that you should tell me what happened and, with your help, we can work as a team and get this mess sorted out.' Terry's voice remained in a low soft, sympathetic tone.

‘I'm Mr Barnford, Sharon's solicitor. My client has been over and over her statement on more occasions than we care to remember.'

‘I'll end this interview then, you'll get your fee, Sharon can go to prison and I'll be home in time for the football,' Terry said, quickly.

‘Hold your horses here Mr Barnford. We're here to help your client. We want to unfold the true events of that night,' McFarland said, backing his partner.

‘Mr Barnford,' Terry interrupted, ‘this is a criminal investigation. Your client is in serious trouble. Questions need to be asked and, in turn, answered. If you're advising your client not to participate in helping us with our enquiries then, Mr Barnford, that makes things even more interesting.'

‘How so Mr Bane?'

‘Withholding evidence, perverting the course of justice… need I go on?' Terry now had the bit firmly between his teeth.

‘He is right Sharon, but it's your call,' the young solicitor nervously pointed out.

‘Let me paint things more clearly for you Sharon,' McFarland said interrupting things slightly. ‘Perverting the course of justice, in English, Canadian, and Irish law – Article one-three-nine of the Canadian Criminal Code, is a criminal offence in which someone prevents justice from being served on himself or on another party. It is a common-law offence. It carries a maximum sentence of life imprisonment, although no sentence of more than ten years has been handed down in the past one hundred years. So help us, to help you.'

‘I've got nothing else planned. Go on then,' she said, shrugging her shoulders.

‘My client wishes to continue,' the young solicitor said unnecessarily.

‘Great,' McFarland said, impatiently.

‘Sharon, please tell me about the man in the shiny suit,' Terry asked.

‘I don't know what it was made of. It was shiny, like school shoes. He spoke funny, he kept talking about choices and how choices affected everything. He messed with my head. Telling me that I had a shit life and so did my baby… He told me that I had to kill Brian to save my baby.'

‘Did he threaten you or your baby?'

‘No… I'm not sure. He mentioned promises and that they could be broken, I'm not sure.'

‘What promises?'

‘I don't know, as I said, he messed with my head.'

‘Take your time. Would you like something to drink?'

‘Water, could I have some water?'

McFarland stood up and used a phone that was mounted on the wall by the door. He spoke quietly in to the receiver and replaced it just as quietly, once he had finished talking. A few moments later, a plastic jug of water arrived accompanied by four plastic cups. McFarland filled the four cups with water before returning to his seat.

Sharon drank the entire contents of her cup in a single gulp. Her solicitor refilled her cup.

‘Sharon, I have read your statement over and over. There seems to be some blanks I need filling. I understand how painful this must be for you but I need your help.'

‘I think you're the first person I have spoken to since I've been in here that I trust Mr Bane. I'll answer your questions. But please… don't rush me.' The sorrow in her eyes told Terry she felt alone.

‘OK, Sharon, please tell me what happened.'

‘I was sitting watching the telly. I was a bit stoned, but not out of it. The door went and I answered it. The guy in the black shiny suit forced his way in and forced me back into the living room. He knew everything about us Mr Bane – about my baby, about me, about Brian,' she paused for no apparent reason.

‘Please continue.' Terry was listening hard.

‘He told me that I had to kill Brian to save me and my baby. Then Brian came home. We heard his key in the door.'

‘Why did he tell you that?' McFarland interrupted.

Terry glared at him.

‘Brian used to abuse me. Come home drunk – he always came home drunk… and raped me, did horrible things, made me do horrible things. The man said that one day Brian would get bored with me and turn on my baby and make my baby do horrible things.'

‘How do you think he knew those things?' McFarland returned Terry's glare.

‘I don't know. Brian was known for his big mouth and his bullshit. Maybe he told him.'

‘Were you having an affair Sharon?' McFarland continued.

‘You're having a laugh. My fanny and my arse are red-raw, my tits are covered in bite marks and the rest of my body is black and blue – I'll fucking show you if you don't believe me? I'll never go near another man for as long as I live.'

‘There won't be any need for that Sharon!' Terry said, hijacking proceedings.

‘Go easy please gentlemen,' Sharon's solicitor asked, his face a picture of horror.

‘My partner will select his questions more carefully in future,' Terry said in an apologetic nature.

‘I'm sorry Sharon, but questions need answering.' McFarland's sad attempt of an apology was accepted.

‘Sharon, please continue,' Terry sympathetically prompted.

‘He told me to choose what I was going to use to kill Brian,' she said as a long tear tricked down her cheek.

‘Where did this choice of weapon come from?' Terry enquired, wanting to carry on, to continue her flow.

‘He was holding them.'

‘What was he holding?'

‘A hammer and a machete, they were the only things he offered, but he was wearing a belt, and he had all sorts of stuff.'

Terry looked at McFarland and smiled.

‘What weapon did you choose?'

‘I panicked and took the hammer.'

McFarland smiled and asked, ‘Did you use the hammer?'

‘Yes, but...' Sharon paused and looked at her solicitor.

‘We can take a break if you need one,' Mr Barnford told his client.

‘No, I'm fine,' she shuddered. ‘I hit Brian with the hammer and the sound made me feel sick.'

‘How many times did you hit Brian with the hammer?' Terry needed to know.

‘I wasn't counting… not many.'

‘Then what happened?'

‘Brian kept moving, trying to get away from me, but he couldn't.' Sharon glanced at McFarland. ‘I couldn't hit him any harder. I tried, but he wouldn't die.' Her tone seemed slightly frantic. ‘So I told the guy in the black suit to give me the machete,' she paused and sipped some water to take the bitter dryness away from inside her mouth.

‘It's OK – take your time,' Terry said, trying to understand how lost Sharon was and how she had become the person in front of him.

‘He gave me it, but I had to give him the hammer first… I…' Tears filled her eyes, without sobbing, she continued. ‘So I went back to Brian, and hit him with the machete. I caught him across his back. He was yelling at me, but I couldn't hear a thing,' Sharon glanced back at McFarland, wiping her eyes.

‘Can you tell me what happened to the hammer please Sharon?' This time McFarland asked the question.

‘I don't know. He must have taken it with him – that guy.'

‘Are you pleased that Brian is dead?' Terry enquired.

‘I don't know to be honest. I've not thought about it. I've been fucking busy.' Her tone suggested harshness and was full of hatred.

‘What happened next?'

‘I must have hit Brian loads of times because when I stopped, there was blood everywhere. And I mean, fucking everywhere.' Sharon laughed, nervously. ‘I… all of a sudden stopped and sort of forgot where I was. Then it came back to me – I thought it was a dream.'

‘A nightmare?' McFarland said, interrupting.

‘I suppose, I don't know. The fucking mess, that's all I kept thinking about, the fucking mess. I knew I had to call the police. It was then that I noticed he had gone. There was no sign of him – it was as if the air had swallowed him. Well, I didn't hear him go, but then… I had zoned out,' she gave another nervous laugh.

‘Do you take drugs Sharon? And I don't mean the type of drugs you'd get from your local GP,' Terry asked.

‘I smoke weed, if that's what you mean? But I already told you I was a bit stoned Mr Bane,' Sharon replied sarcastically.

‘Do you take any other drugs?'

‘No… not anymore.'

‘Do you drink alcohol when you are smoking weed?'

‘Yeah, course I do. Listen, I'm not making this shit up.'

‘I don't believe you are Sharon. I just need to cover every angle,' Terry smiled.

‘Were you the only person to hit Brian?' McFarland interrupted.

‘What – with the hammer, or the machete?' Sharon snapped.

‘Either!'

‘Yeah, he only hit Brian with his fists.'

A brief silence followed.

‘When did he hit Brian?'

‘When Brian walked through the door. He sprayed something in his face; Brian screamed, saying it stung like fuck and that he couldn't breathe. The guy didn't listen. He punched the life out of him. Brian didn't stand a chance.'

‘What happened then?' Terry asked, leaning forward.

‘He dragged Brian in the living room, handcuffed him to the radiator and stuck some tape around his mouth – telling him to shut up.'

‘What stood out to you about this guy, Sharon?'

‘He was powerful; in control. He knew fucking everything, everything. He never lost it, he never shouted once.'

‘What do you think he would have done if you had said, “no”?'

‘Fuck knows, but… I think he would have been angry. I didn't want my baby hurt.'

‘Can you describe his accent?'

‘Let me think… Irish-English – well-spoken… posh… very calm not angry.'

‘Young?'

‘I don't know. How could I know that?'

‘Any gravel in his voice?'

‘I don't know… sorry.' Sharon looked at her solicitor – puzzled.

‘My client has answered all your questions. Unless you have any further questions...'

‘Yes, one more,' McFarland interrupted. ‘What's his name, Sharon?'

‘Who's name?' Sharon replied.

‘You know, the guy in the black suit.'

‘I don't fucking know his name. He didn't fucking exactly introduce himself,' she said, shaking with anger.

‘Thank you Sharon,' Terry said.

‘Interview terminated at eleven thirty-one,' McFarland said, pretending to switch off the tape recorder.

Terry remained seated as McFarland used the telephone on the wall to alert the uniformed officer, waiting outside the room, to escort Sharon back to her custody-cell.

As Sharon left the interview room, she turned and looked at Terry. Although she did not speak, Terry knew she was begging for his help. Terry gave a placid smile in return.

‘Do you believe my client?' Mr Barnford asked as he stopped and turned towards Terry.

‘Yes, I do. I also work on facts, which we are short of at the moment.' Terry paused. ‘Can I ask you a question, Mr Barnford?'

‘Be my guest.'

‘How old are you?'

‘I don't see that question relevant, Mr Bane.'

‘OK, do you believe your client?'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘The reason I asked your age was to see what experience you had of cases like these.'

‘I'm twenty-seven.'

‘Why did you agree to represent Sharon?'

‘I was the only one available.'

‘Mr Barnford, are you hoping that we are going to get your client off?' McFarland growled.

‘No Detective – that's my job,' the young solicitor snapped.

‘You seemed shocked by some of what Sharon said.'