Blazing Obsession (12 page)

He could go to the football, have a drink down the pub and continue his nefarious trades in drugs, petty crime and vicious assault.

Judge Carter, speaking directly to Johnson, said, “You are free to go.”

Every muscle in my body tensed up. I wanted to leap down from the gallery, rush at Johnson and squeeze his scrawny neck until his face turned puce. I'd hold my grasp until his life ebbed away.

Instead, I stood gripping the back of the seat in front of me so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

All the time I'd been in court, I'd absorbed every nuance, gesture and movement Johnson made. I never took my eyes off him. As he stood down from the dock, his smile grew into a wide grin. Finding my voice, I exploded, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a torrent.

“Does it matter
how
the bloody DNA evidence was collected? The fact is it exists and it's been matched to him.” I jabbed a finger in Johnson's direction.

Pat tried, unsuccessfully, to pull me down back into my seat.

“You're all a disgrace. He's taken away my family. I can't believe he's walking free. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Do you call this justice? Never mind
his
human rights. What about mine? And how can you possibly defend a man like this?”

I spat the last remark directly at the defence counsel sitting in the well of the courtroom below me. The judge glared up at me and the rest of the gallery. He made a feeble attempt to get me to be quiet by waving his right hand up and down. He stood, bowed, and made for the sanctuary of his chambers.

The barristers and their clerks busied themselves clearing up the reams of papers and files from their desks and the defence team never once glanced up at me. The disempowered jury filed out of the courtroom silently, staring straight-ahead looking sheepish.

I'd assumed Johnson would serve at least twenty-five years in a maximum-security jail. I'd fantasised what life inside for a child murderer would be like. Not nice, I imagined. Now, he was out. Free. At large.

And I still didn't know
why
he'd set fire to my cottage.

*

We sat in the visitors' gallery for fifteen minutes whilst everyone else slowly filed out, like a funeral procession. Pat stroked my hand in an effort to calm me down. My whole body felt clammy.

When we left the court and made our way to the concourse, the prosecuting solicitor and the chief prosecution barrister were waiting for us. They ushered us to a quieter corner of the public area.

“I can't believe the case has collapsed,” the solicitor said. “We were sure the judge would see it our way. I'm sorry.”

Mr Smithson, the barrister, who'd appeared so confident in his opening address, appeared equally contrite. “I think Judge Carter's wrong in his assessment. He should have used his discretion. Do you want me to apply for an appeal?”

I responded, “What a fucking joke! Why bother? It's a complete waste of time. You can stuff the legal system. The Court of Appeal will find another loophole. Let's get out of here.”

Turning my back on them, I ushered a shell-shocked Pat down the steps towards the exit, making our way back to the Hotel Du Vin. As we got closer to the door, DI Flood appeared, looking furious.

“What can I say? It's a shambles.”

I shot him a withering glance as I strode past him and waved away the journalists who'd gathered outside.

They were shouting questions at me at the same time as a couple of photographers were firing away. I knew if I said anything more, I'd regret it and do something stupid.

I didn't know how to break the news to Margaret. Her heart had already been shattered. News of Johnson's acquittal might push her over the edge.

We checked out of the hotel. I asked Pat to drive back to London. I didn't feel in a fit state to do so. I was a strong candidate for being done for road rage.

Before leaving, I called RP. “Roger, the trial's over. We're driving back to London now. You can guess the outcome of the judge's verdict.”

“You're not telling me the judge has acquitted Johnson?”

“That's exactly what he's done. Johnson's free. Apparently,
his
human rights outrank mine. Do you believe that?”

I explained the judge's interpretation of the law.

“Bloody hell! The man's not fit to judge a beauty contest. I'm sorry, James. Did they say you could appeal?”

“Yeah, but what's the point? Johnson can't be tried again. The law's crap.”

I called Alisha, told her the news.

She couldn't speak at first. Then she exploded.

“God, I'm so angry! Is that it? Nothing's going to happen to Johnson? That's so fucking unfair!”

The journey back to London continued in angry silence. I devoted most of it to planning to get justice for Lynne, Georgie and Emily in my own way and to discover why they were murdered.

Over the following weeks, I had many imaginary conversations with Lynne. I knew she wouldn't want me to take the law into my own hands. She'd think it too dangerous.

I told her I'd never be able to live with myself until I'd dealt with the killer or killers of my family.

I asked Alisha to come with me to Lynne's mother to explain that the judge had acquitted Johnson on a technicality. Margaret's body language and demeanour confirmed that the loss of her daughter and grandchildren had already destroyed her.

“Whatever happened to him, it wouldn't bring my daughter and the children back would it?”

Every flat surface of her living room displayed photos of Lynne, Georgie and Emily. I imagined Margaret holding conversations with them too, just like me.

Over the next few weeks, I saw Alisha a great deal. I asked her how she felt about Johnson. “I'd like to hang him up by his goolies and leave him to rot! I wouldn't mind doing that to the judge and the defence lawyers as well.”

I thought as time passed, my rage, at fever pitch at the time of Johnson's acquittal, would evaporate and I'd slowly come to terms with what had happened. But I couldn't get through the fury phase, which grew stronger by the day.

I worked it off by punishing myself, going on ridiculously long runs and working out in the gym. My arms could hardly push open the front door when I got home. Every day felt as dark as night.

The feeling of unfinished business constantly resided in the pit of my stomach. Nightmares interrupted my sleep. Flashes of Johnson appeared before me, laughing, drinking and blowing cigarette smoke into my face.

Another horrendous dream witnessed the cottage engulfed by flames, fire engines' flashing blue lights and firefighters resolutely aiming their hoses at the charred remains. The sound track of Lynne with Emily in her arms and Georgie screaming in terror as they tried to escape whilst I stood by, helpless, played continuously.

Now I dreaded going to bed. Often, I didn't bother. I'd sit up scheming how I could end Johnson's life. I felt like getting a gun and shooting him dead, not caring what became of me. But then, my life would be over, spent sewing mailbags in prison for the next twenty years. I needed to dream up a cleverer way to take revenge and get away with it.

I reasoned that only then, the nightmares would end.

*

I decided to see RP. Although he specialised in surveillance, he came across as dependable, with a knack for getting things sorted.

His first words were, “I don't think I've ever known a case like this. For God's sake! The judge must be living in cloud cuckoo land. Upholding the law is one thing, but not using bloody common sense is another.” He brought down a clenched fist onto his opulent desk with a thud.

I explained my increasing anger symptoms, the sleepless nights, the feeling of inadequacy and my hatred of that scumbag, Johnson.

“The only way I can carry on with my life is to get justice for my family. I don't mean going through the courts either.”

“James, I understand. Really, I do. However, you do realise the risk you'd be taking? Suppose it went wrong and you were caught?”

“OK, so what? My life's shit, anyway. I feel if I do something dumb and shoot him in broad daylight, in a funny sort of way, he's won. I want to be smarter than that. You're good at this stuff. You've been around. Help me sort this out.”

He flipped his pen up and down, holding it between his first two fingers, weighing up my request. “Are you sure you
really
want to do this?”

“Roger, I'll go bloody insane if I do nothing. I can't simply walk away from this. I need to sort out Johnson and deal with Burrows once he's released. Otherwise, my life's not worth living. It's not fair that Lynne, Georgie and Emily are dead and this… this little shit's still around, laughing at us. You tell me what the scum-bag adds to civilisation. I'll tell you what, fuck all!”

“OK. I'll think about it. Give me a few days to put something together. I've a got a rough idea how we can sort this out.”

*

RP's positive attitude encouraged me. I didn't care about the cost, which I knew would be considerable, or what methods he used to get results.

He called me a week later to set up a meeting back in his office.

“OK, I've come up with a plan. I don't know what you'll think about it, but, frankly, I believe it's the only option you've got.”

“I'm all ears. If you can't get this sorted, no one can.”

“Um, we'll see. I've got several ideas how we can deal with Johnson, but if we do, that's the end of the trail. We'll never know for sure if Burrows is involved.”

“He must be.”

“But there's no evidence, is there? Just a strong motive. I think we need to establish, finally, once and for all, whether there's a connection between Burrows and Johnson. The police have got nowhere and I've run out of ideas, apart from the one I'm about to propose to you. Johnson holds the key. We need to get up close and personal to him.”

I frowned and said, “But how? I can't. He knows who I am.”

“Well that's it. I propose we set a ‘honey trap'.”

“A what?”

“A ‘honey trap'. Listen, most men lose their senses when an attractive woman comes on to them. They let their guard down. Their brains turn to mush. Another part of their anatomy takes over. I don't know why. Blame it on Adam and Eve. All I know is it works.” RP's lips creased into a knowing smile.

“I suppose you're right. But who do you have in mind?”

“There's only one person that fits the bill perfectly. She's motivated, she's bright and she's not a bad looker.”

“You don't mean …”

“I mean Alisha. I met her at your wedding and Lynne mentioned how close they were. She also told me they've been bosom buddies forever, which is why she went to Florida with her to help track down Burrows and Georgie. She's got balls, too. Do you agree?”

“Well, yes… She has, that's for sure.”

RP continued. “I think she can get
very
close to Johnson, get his confidence, learn stuff about Burrows, the arson attack and anything else that'll help us know who's behind this… mess.” He raised a hand a few inches above his desk and waved it across his notes.

“I assume Johnson's never seen her?”

“Er… no. She never came to the court. Pat came instead. He'd know me for sure. I made a fuss there. But how far do you want her to go?”

“Well, I guess that's up to her. Only she can determine that.”

“Won't Johnson be suspicious? Having someone come on to him?”

“It's possible. But believe me, men can be incredibly gullible when it comes to women. And at least Johnson and Alisha share the same ethnic background, don't they?”

He sat back in his chair, his customary pose after making a crucial point.

Then he sat forward again and stared at me intensely. “Why don't you put it to her, get a reaction? To be honest, I can't think of any other way forward. If she's up for it there are many advantages. We'd get access to his mobile phone, I assume he's got one, and email if he uses it. If not, we can bug his home if we needed to.”

I knew Alisha felt as angry as me about Johnson's acquittal. As I made my way back to my office, RP's idea grew on me. The more I thought about it, the keener I got. If we'd simply sorted out Johnson – I speculated how RP would handle that aspect – there'd still be a feeling of unfinished business with Nick Burrows. He had a further four years to serve, assuming he didn't get time off for good behaviour.

I didn't know if I could wait that long.

*

Over dinner with Alisha at one of her favourite restaurants close to Canary Wharf, I broached the subject.

When we got to the coffee, I said, “If you do it, Alisha, think of the positives.” I reprised RP's list. She sat silently for a while, contemplating my proposal.

“I can see what your brilliant private eye is trying to achieve. He's right about this being the only chance we've got to see if Nick's involved. The question is how far do I have to go to get the evidence?”

“That's entirely down to you, Alisha. No one else can decide. Why don't we take it a step at a time?”

“God, I'm so bloody angry about what happened! I can't believe that idiot of a judge let Johnson go free. But you're asking me to flaunt myself in front of a complete arsehole who'll do anything for money, even murder someone. I don't know… I loved Lynne… and the kids…so much. I'll have to think about it.”

Feeling a pang of conscience about even considering RP's scheme, I said, “Look I'm sorry. Maybe it isn't a good idea.” I reached for her hand across the table.

“No. No. I understand, really I do.” She stared into the distance for a moment before turning to me again.

“I haven't flirted with anyone for years. Men haven't exactly been top of my agenda. Not sure if I've still got the knack.” She smiled weakly at her self-deprecation.

“OK,” I said. “Come on, let me walk you home. We can talk more next week.” As we got closer to her apartment, she laid her head on my shoulder. I found it strangely comforting. No words passed between us until we got to the door to her apartment. She opened it and turned as I gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned the kiss, but softly on my lips before saying, “Goodnight, James. I'll call you tomorrow.” She closed the door gently behind her.

I'd not experienced such an intimate moment since Lynne's death over a year before. I tried to understand her motive. Maybe she was practising her ability to flirt.

Maybe it meant something more …

*

The next morning, whilst sorting out my laundry, my phone rang.

“Hi, James. It's Alisha. Thanks for supper last night.”

“No problem. Did you think about what we discussed?”

“I've thought of nothing else. I've gone over and over it in my mind. Lynne and I were like sisters, you know. I'm like you… I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing. I'll do whatever it takes. I just hope I can live up to your faith in my skill as a
femme fatale.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I'm sure.”

“That's great. I'll arrange a meeting, the three of us. We can go through the plan in detail.”

I called RP with the news. He sounded delighted and we arranged to meet at his office in the next few days. He said this would give him time to carry out surveillance on Johnson, get an idea on where he lived, the people he mixed with, which pubs he frequented.

A week later, we met up at RP's office. Alisha had already arrived. I barely recognised her.

She'd had her hair dyed bottle-blonde and cropped in an elfin style, highlighting her high, dark cheekbones. She wore glossy pink lipstick and thick mascara, emphasising her brown eyes. Black high heel boots and a black leather coat completed the effect.

Unbuttoning the coat, she revealed a figure-hugging cherry-red short dress, just the respectable side of tarty.

She gave me a twirl saying, “Well, what d'ya think? Do I pass the test?”

“Wow! Definitely gets my vote.”

“Mine too,” RP said, as he appeared at his office door and invited us in.

Alisha, clearly enjoying the attention, said, “Of course, I'll only dress like this once I come into contact with Johnson. I don't want to be arrested for being a hooker before we get going.”

RP emphasised the fact that she could extricate herself at any time she thought she'd be in danger. I concurred.

He waved a folder in front of her and said, “You'll see from this dossier I've produced, Johnson's a piece of work, well-known by the gangs in south London. You'll need to be careful.”

“I'm quite capable of sorting out any problems myself,” she replied. “I've thought it through. If you think this is the only way we can get justice for Lynne and the kids, count me in.”

Her feistiness resulted from the circumstances surrounding her deep distrust and loathing of men. She'd once told me about the bitter separation from her second husband, five years earlier. She'd already been through an acrimonious divorce from her first husband two years before that.

“This bastard sold our house and convinced me that he'd bought another property I'd set my heart on. Instead, he disappeared with the proceeds after paying off the mortgage and left me homeless. He actually called me on the supposed day of completion and told me it was over between us. He said he'd found someone new, poor bitch. I've never seen or spoken to him since.”

“What sort of guy would do that? Did you try to find him?”

“Of course, but I couldn't afford to throw a lot of money at it, I was skint. It took me ages to get back on my feet. Lynne helped me out, not just emotionally but practically too, like giving me money for a deposit on my flat. I'll never forget her kindness.”

“You both appear to have been unlucky with your choice of men. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, James. Lynne always said you were the exception.” She stroked my arm.

“Stop it! You'll make me blush.”

*

RP suggested a number of scenarios. Getting Johnson to admit to the arson attack wouldn't help much, since he couldn't be tried again.

Her sole focus would be to discover hard evidence implicating Nick Burrows – something Flood had missed. Once she'd achieved that, she could leave the matter of dealing with Johnson and Burrows to RP and me.

He handed Alisha a copy of Johnson's dossier. He'd added a schedule of his main haunts, many well-known for drug dealing. He asked her to study the document more thoroughly when she had time.

As Alisha flipped through the papers he said, “This'll help you understand Johnson better. But a warning; think about what you say to him. You don't want to appear to have anything on him or it'll give the game away.”

Alisha stopped flipping on a particular page. She looked at RP and said, “One of these reports says he's uncontrollable and possesses a violent temper. Nice.”