Demolition, page 25
‘Tom held the door open for me. I ducked in under his arm and quickly walked over to James.’ She blinked at the memory and smiled. ‘Then I just beat him to death, and once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. Felt so good, so right, pounding the back of his head with the spanner, blood spraying everywhere, all over me … warm and lovely, in my face … until finally I stopped for breath. I was absolutely covered in blood, and he was dead as fuck, and I just looked to the door at Tom and waited where I was, didn’t move, like he said I should.’
Tom Derrick shook his head in sheer admiration.
‘She was beyond terrific. Maybe a little OTT. She could have stopped after the sixth blow, but she needed the release until it was all out of her system … actually, she was magnificent. Killer Queen, I call her now.
‘Anyhow, once she’d finished, I told her to stay put, don’t panic, wait for me to get to you … I came into the workshop and spread out a sheet of polythene then laid out a change of clothing and all the time, I’m like, “Stay there, let’s do this right.”
‘Then, when the sheet was laid out, I laid a row of stepping plates from there to the crime scene, told her to drop the spanner, then I led her carefully back along the plates to the sheet where she stripped off, cleaned her face with a kitchen towel, then put her forensic suit into a bag and then put on the change of clothing. I did the same, too, then collected the stepping plates, rolled up the polythene and Bob’s your uncle!’
Blackstone said, ‘Then what?’
‘Well, the adrenaline was flowing, tensions were high, but I said we needed to chill. Obviously, we wanted to fuck like rabbits, but that was a DNA no-no. That, I told her, would have to wait. Best thing, I told her, was for me to go home and for her to chill, then do the’ – here Derrick used the ubiquitous air quotes – ‘“shopping thing”, making sure she called on you, Henry, on her way to Lancaster while I sorted out disposing of the forensic suits and cleaning the stepping plates. Then, when she’d done that, she’d come home with some sandwiches for James and “find”’ – more air quotes – ‘the body and react in the way a loving wife would. The blood covering her clothing would be consistent with finding the body of a loved one … you know?
‘Obviously the problem was she called round to my house. I’d told her not to, but she needed reassurance. If she hadn’t come round, it would have worked – you’d be none the wiser, and we’d have ridden out the investigation. Plus,’ Derrick said excitedly, ‘when you went to the scene, Henry, and found some other bugger there, that was just another useful distraction … whoever the hell that was.’
Derrick paused wistfully at that point. ‘If only she hadn’t called to see me.’
‘If only,’ Blackstone said with no sympathy. ‘You might have got away with murder … but you didn’t.’
‘There’s a search team on its way to your house, Tom,’ Henry said. ‘Do you want to save us some trouble? I assume the stepping plates haven’t been destroyed yet?’
Derrick looked glum. ‘Still in the back of my car, which is parked around the back.’
‘And the plastic sheet and forensic suits?’
‘Fuck … there, too. I never got round to destroying them as I should’ve.’
‘Because you never expected to get caught,’ Blackstone said.
He nodded.
‘What was the idea of trashing the offices?’ Henry asked. ‘To put us further off the scent?’
‘We didn’t do that.’
‘Which seems to indicate that the other intruder did,’ Blackstone said in relation to the trashing of the offices.
They had finished their review of the interviews and were now in the CID office hypothesizing about Marcus Durham’s murder, the links between the two dead men and the significance of the extra intruder at the Twain murder scene.
The prisoners, Celia Twain and Tom Derrick, were stewing in their cells, while charges were being prepared after liaising with the CPS. Other enquiries were still ongoing, but the search of Derrick’s house had found the incriminating, bloodstained evidence in the back of his car.
‘So it would seem,’ Henry agreed. He narrowed his eyes, remembering that Blackstone had said something tantalizing about solving two murders over breakfast that morning, but so far she had not expanded on that.
He was about to ask when he was distracted by the arrival of DCs Eddows and Cattle into the office, fresh from interviewing Eric Grundy. They came in, loosening their ties, looking weary, but brightened up when they spotted Henry and Blackstone.
They sat down opposite and Eddows said, ‘Wow, guys.’
‘If you ever feel like dropping any other stuff our way in the future, can I just say one thing? Do it!’ Cattle told them.
‘This is absolutely incredible,’ Eddows said, shaking his head.
‘What a nasty piece of work this old guy is,’ Cattle added.
‘We’re listening,’ Henry said.
To begin, Eddows placed a folder on the desk and extracted a photograph of the display frame containing the name tags of the two German airmen from the Heinkel. He pushed the photo across to Henry and Blackstone and said, ‘These two young men were executed like dogs.’
SEVENTEEN
‘I’m beat,’ Henry confessed.
Blackstone regarded him for a few moments, weighing up whether or not to respond with an age-related jibe, but thought better of it, not least because the day had also sapped her energy, drained her of emotions she never dreamed she had – with the exception of rage, which she knew she possessed aplenty. Instead, she went up on her tiptoes and kissed him affectionately on the cheek. She said, ‘Moi, aussi – but you won’t hold it against me if I grab a pint and a chaser, will you?’
Henry shook his head.
‘Tempt you to a snifter?’
‘No, but cheers … ha! You youngsters! Go and enjoy yourselves.’
‘I beg your pardon. Have you seen the age demographic out there?’
‘You be careful. They may be past it, but they could still have thoughts.’
She gave him a lewd wink and spun away, and he watched her walk down the corridor and out into the bar of The Tawny Owl. He turned into his living room, poured a shot of JD, necked it in one, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, ‘You bastard, Eric Grundy.’
He poured another very generous measure, and this time took it into his bedroom, placed the glass on a chest of drawers and went for a long, hot shower.
Then, in his shorts and dressing gown, he inserted the DVD that Cattle and Eddows had given to him into the player attached to the TV on the wall opposite the bed and settled back to watch the edited contents of the interviews with Eric Grundy.
Henry could not have asked anything more of Eddows and Cattle. He’d given them their brief and let them loose. They knew what to do.
The DVD he was now watching was taken from the interview-room cameras recording the detectives interviewing Grundy. They were the edited highlights, which was OK, though Henry would have liked to see every minute. That would come, so he contented himself with what he had.
The detectives had risen splendidly to the challenge.
Prior to the interview commencing, they had hung the two flight suits, still in their clear plastic suit hangers, on the wall of the room.
Henry looked at the set-up while the room was empty of any of the participants. The screen was divided into two halves, one camera focusing directly on the space where Grundy would be positioned and the second a more general, all-encompassing view, which included the wall on which the suits were hanging, with ragged rectangular holes where their name tags had been removed. Henry gave a sudden involuntary whimper when he realized the name tags would have been sewn on to their flying suits over their hearts. It was as if they’d had their hearts cut out, too.
He took a sip of the JD and watched the highlights unfold.
The interview-room door opened. DC Eddows led the way in, followed by a duty solicitor, then Eric Grundy pushed in his wheelchair by his grandson, Tom; DC Cattle came in last.
Grundy had been seen by a police doctor and declared physically and mentally fit to be detained, and his grandson had been given special dispensation to be in the interview on the understanding he did not interrupt proceedings: if he did, he would be ejected.
The two detectives sat side by side on one side of the interview table, Grundy and his solicitor on the other, with the grandson on a chair behind.
Henry looked closely at Grundy. The old man’s expression was impassive, bland and also cocksure, as if he was untouchable, yet Henry saw his eyes flicker occasionally to the flying suits hanging there.
The two detectives began with the usual pre-interview formalities, the introductions, the cautions, after which the solicitor leaned forward and asked of the flying suits, ‘What is the significance of those?’
‘It’s something we’ll come to later,’ Eddows said calmly.
‘This already feels like intimidation of sorts – psychological games,’ the solicitor whined. Henry smiled to himself: it was exactly that.
Henry knew the two detectives would be pleased that the presence of the suits was already unsettling Grundy and his brief.
‘It’s what we call evidence, and we will come to those exhibits in due course,’ Cattle said, and Henry grinned again: no self-respecting detective was ever intimidated by a duty solicitor. Often, under much pressure, cops had to be steadfast and hold their ground, and these two were not for budging.
The solicitor sat back with a lemon-sucking face.
‘Now then, Mr Grundy,’ Eddows began. ‘You have been arrested for being in possession of indecent, pornographic images and videos of children, which were found on your computer and also in several photographic albums in your bedroom. Do you wish to say anything about that?’
‘No comment,’ he grunted.
To the solicitor, Eddows said, ‘Is that your advice to your client. A “no comment” interview?’
‘It is.’
Eddows nodded. ‘So be it.’
The interview began. Eddows pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, reached underneath the table and lifted a large, padded envelope, which he opened. It contained the aforementioned laptop, which the DC extracted and placed on the table.
‘This laptop computer,’ Eddows said, ‘was seized from your bedroom. Is this your computer?’
Grundy didn’t even look at it. ‘No comment.’
‘I need to tell you that a fingerprint expert has dusted the lid and screen of this computer; just so you know, she tells me there is only one set of prints on it. Although we have yet to take your fingerprints, Mr Grundy, I’m willing to bet that when we do, those prints will match yours.’
‘No comment.’
‘We’ve also had the contents very quickly checked by our specialist department dealing with online abuse, and they say there are thousands of vile images stored on this computer. They also say that there are at least a dozen email addresses, all of which relate to you, Mr Grundy. So, did you download and view these images?’
Grundy swallowed. Henry saw his chin wobble.
He glanced sideways at the flying suits, then back at the detectives and then at his solicitor and over his shoulder at his grandson, who averted his eyes and would not look at his grandad directly.
Henry wondered if Grundy felt as if this was one of those moments in a torture chamber where the walls started to come in and crush you to death. He hoped so.
Grundy whispered the name of his grandson weakly.
Behind him, Tom said, ‘I can’t help you.’ His voice was tinged with disgust, his facial expression filled with cold horror. He said to his grandfather, ‘Just tell them everything.’
Henry knew this was the first, early, crucial breakthrough.
‘For the moment, we are going to leave the issue of the abusive photographs because we would like to discuss something else with you, Mr Grundy,’ Eddows announced at the start of one of the interview sessions. They were five hours into the process, which had been spread out over the day. Although Grundy was a monster, he was old and frail and had to be looked after. The interview sessions were not long and drawn-out, and he was given plenty of rest, refreshment and toilet breaks – but those walls kept inexorably moving in.
‘My client is a very old man,’ the solicitor cut in, as he had done many times, ‘and I think we’ve had enough for today, don’t you?’
‘We understand that,’ Cattle said sympathetically, ‘and if you have any complaints about the way in which your client has been treated, then please make your representations to the custody officer.’ He didn’t add, Otherwise, shut it, but those unsaid words hung there.
Grundy scowled at the detectives. He’d been unpleasant, obtuse and nasty, but he had finally admitted the computer was his and he’d downloaded the images and videos. ‘What the fuck are you going to do about it?’ he demanded. ‘I’m a fucking hundred years old. I’ve got a letter from the queen. There is nothing you can do to me!’
He was certain his age was his protection.
Eddows’ response to that had been, ‘Don’t be too sure.’
Henry sat up at this point as, on screen, Eddows picked up a plastic bag from down by his feet, opened it and took out the 3D picture frame seized from the wall of Grundy’s living room which displayed the two nametags from the flying suits.
Eddows stood the frame up on the interview table, angled so Grundy and his solicitor could see it. The old man seemed to shrink into himself.
Eddows said, ‘I’d like you to explain this to me, please. This frame, in which two blood-soaked name tags are displayed, was on your wall.’ He described it for the benefit of the audiotape that was running alongside the video. ‘There is a metal plate underneath the tags with the date etched on it, that date being the seventeenth of December 1941.’
‘No comment.’
Eddows pointed across at the two flying suits. ‘Those name tags were cut from those two flying suits which belonged to two members of the German aircrew of a Heinkel bomber that crashed on the moors above Kendleton on that date. Three crew members died in the crash; two other members were unaccounted for.’
‘They were called Ernst Muller and Wolfgang Achen,’ DC Cattle added.
‘Look, what is this?’ the solicitor demanded.
One look from Eddows silenced him.
‘The suits, as you can see, Mr Grundy, have bullet holes in them,’ Cattle said.
‘No comment.’
The two detectives waited.
Then Cattle said, ‘I know from a conversation you had with the two detectives who arrested you that you have a very deep hatred for Germans.’
‘Nazi bastards,’ Grundy said quietly.
Cattle had touched a button. ‘Excuse me?’ the detective asked.
‘I said Nazi bastards. They’ – he jabbed an arthritic finger towards the flying suits – ‘got what they deserved … They were lined up and executed by me and Lucas …’
Watching the screen, Henry tensed up and said, ‘Caution him, arrest him.’
As if Eddows had heard him, he said, ‘I must remind you that you are under caution, Mr Grundy, and I am arresting you on suspicion of murdering these two airmen, Ernst Muller and Wolfgang Achen. Did you and your brother murder these two men?’
‘Yes, but only after they’d bombed our cities and dropped two bombs on Thornwell … We were on the moors hunting when the plane came down. Three were dead, two alive and we frogmarched them back to Thornwell, lined ’em up behind The Swan’s Neck and shot the bastards. And you know what?’ Grundy leaned forward, his face gurning. ‘I’d do it again.’
Henry’s blood bubbled.
Cattle said, ‘I must remind you that you are under caution and you are now under arrest for their murder.’
Grundy made a dismissive ‘Phh’ noise. ‘I’m a hundred, you can’t do a damned thing to me, so you might as well arrest me for murdering my pathetic, simpering brother Lucas as well, because guess what? I did that, too.’
EIGHTEEN
‘Henry, you’re like a cat on a hot tin roof,’ Blackstone said irritably. ‘Just chill, will you?’
‘Not sure I can.’
‘Just let those two guys do their jobs; when they have something for us, they’ll let us know. In the meantime …’ She allowed her words to drift into nothingness. ‘There is nothing else we can do. As regards Celia Twain and Tom Derrick, their court files are done, CPS have been briefed, and they’re not due to be put before the magistrates until four this afternoon.’
‘I’m on pins, end of story,’ Henry said as though he hadn’t heard her.
‘I fucking know you are.’
It was the morning after, and they were back in the MIR. Henry knew what was going to happen that day. He’d spoken to Eddows and Cattle who’d run their interview strategy past him for the next round with Eric Grundy.
Because of his age, the old man had been allowed to go home for the night rather than be locked in a cell, released on bail on condition he returned to Blackpool police station at ten a.m., brief in tow, for more fun and games.
Henry now knew that over the course of the day Grundy would be interviewed about the rapes, including that of Veronica Gough, although she would not be the first one they would talk about. And the prospect was filling Henry with dread, feeling he should be the one in control of it, be the one doing the interview, but also that it was only right that two experienced detectives of the calibre of Cattle and Eddows should be trusted with it.
They’d promised to keep him abreast of all developments, but not to expect any update for a few hours.
