The Shadows of Justice (28 page)

The storm swirled around them. Its wrath made real the impact of every individual raindrop upon the inconsequential shields of skin and clothing. Each blow felt propelled by a catapult of the heavens, with a heavy momentum and an exacting aim.

Dan took a hit to his eye. He recoiled and squinted as he ran through the attack of water. Adam was doing the same, a hopeless hand raised to try to deflect the assault. It was as if the storm had taken offence at these two foolish humans breaking cover and directed all its mighty firepower upon them. They were only yards across the plaza and already stained, streaked and disheveled.

Adam’s mobile began to trill. He fumbled it from his pocket and glanced down at the dim light of the display. The detective veered sideways, slamming into the side of the Pepperpot café and finding the relief of shelter under its awnings. The noise of the rain beating down was so loud he had to shout.

The name on the display registered
Claire Reynolds
. But what news she had to tell was unclear. Adam uttered only a series of prompts, “Right? Go on… really?”

The café owner looked hopeful but Dan put on an apologetic expression and the man went back to his book. It was the kind of day when he might expect to get through a fair portion of its pages. No one was venturing out in Devon’s version of the monsoon season.

Adam had almost finished his conversation. He was saying he had to go, but that Claire should come to the courts and they would talk more later.

“It wasn’t Katrina,” Adam said, slipping the phone back into his jacket. “Not that I ever really thought it was. The CCTV at the hotel is comprehensive. She has a meal in the restaurant. After that, she goes up to her room. And that’s where she was when someone was breaking in to the Edwards’ house and setting off the car alarm. She’s on the fifth floor. There’s no way out of the hotel which isn’t covered by CCTV.”

“And that’s it?”

“Just about.”

“Just about?”

“Claire said there was one oddity, but it’s hardly relevant.”

“Try me anyway.”

“It means nothing.”

“I’d like to hear it. You know how I like odd details.”

“You’d like to hear more about Katrina, you mean.”

“Just the detail, please.”

Adam flicked some water from his face. “She asked for a very early morning alarm call. Just before dawn. The receptionist remembers, because Katrina said the forecast was for another beautiful day. She would be going back to London soon and she wanted to see a Devon sunrise first. The CCTV shows her going up to the roof terrace of the hotel just after five in the morning and then back to her room again fifteen minutes later.”

Dan nodded and said thoughtfully, “Does it now?”

***

A young, but burly security guard led them up the stairs of the courthouse. Adam had rung ahead while they were in the police car, to outline his requirements.

“He definitely doesn’t know we’re coming?” Adam asked the man.

“No sir. He’ll just be asked to report to the office.”

“And he won’t be told who’s here, or why?”

“No sir,” the guard replied, patiently. “It’ll be exactly as you asked.”

“You’d better hang around at the end of the corridor. But discreetly please, not as though you’re guarding a nightclub.”

For the first time, the man looked more interested. “Is there going to be some action? I wouldn’t mind a bit of that. I get fed up with just checking bags and confiscating knives.”

“I doubt it,” Adam replied. “But I’d appreciate your help, just in case.”

They were shown into Templar’s chambers. The fine old clock on the mantelpiece said the time was twenty to four. They had an hour, perhaps a few minutes more, to solve the case.

Dan noticed he was leaving little black circles of drips on the thick pile of the carpet. With a thought of Rutherford he shook himself, discarding a shower of droplets. His jacket and shirt were heavy with the soaking. He stood by the radiator and tried to dry himself.

As for Adam, he appeared not to notice how wet he was. The detective paced back and forth across the room, hardly standing still for a second. He studied some leathery old books on the shelves, then crossed to the window and stared out.

The storm had lost none of its vigour. Rain continued to lash the deserted plaza. Another flash of lighting speared across the sky, the thunder no more than a half a second behind. It rattled the wooden panels of the room.

Adam stalked over to the door and rested an ear against it, before returning to the window.

“Are you ok?” Dan asked.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Really, really?”

“No.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking.”

“What about?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

“Ok then,” the detective snapped. “I’m thinking about the next few minutes. I’m thinking about how to handle this interview. How, if I get it wrong, if I don’t get a confession, I’m off the case, facing a disciplinary and maybe even the end of my career. If I’m lucky, I might be giving out parking tickets. So, I’m thinking about exactly what to say, and the best way to crack the case. At least that’s what I’m trying to think, when I’m not being interrupted.”

Dan fielded the cudgel of a hint and quietened. He paced over to the judge’s desk and set the Newton’s Cradle to work.

Click, clack, click, clack
…

To pass the waiting time, Dan studied the paintings on the wall. All were gloomy oils of Dartmoor scenes. They reeked of being created on an intemperate day by an artist in a dour mood.

A trickle of water wound its way down Dan’s neck, and he pulled tetchily at his shirt. Adam was gazing out at the multi-storey car park, one foot tapping on the carpet.

He turned as footsteps settled outside.

***

The wooden panels edged open and Jonathan Ivy stepped into the room. He saw Adam and Dan and stopped.

And in that moment, just that one single second, Dan knew. It was in Ivy’s face. Something changed. It was a realisation, an understanding, a sudden knowing. The pale disc of his features lost another tone of colour. The thin line of his mouth twitched.

He had been exposed. He was part of a conspiracy to murder that resulted in the deaths of a brother and sister. Finally, his role had been revealed.

For Dan, it was an effort to keep his legs strong and not allow his body to sag back against the paneling of the wall. The long hours of the investigation, the lack of sleep, the pressure, the emotion, all now settled upon him. The invisible weight climbed onto his back and fastened a grip around his throat.

But yet he stood. For riding dominant above, the highest banner, the one which conquers all challengers, was hope. More powerful even than the storm outside, a tropical wave of sheer relief.

The tension was gone. The future was clear. His, Adam’s, both were saved and safe.

They were going to be all right. They would survive. They had come through this ordeal and would fight on.

The case was solved. The police would have their charges.
Wessex Tonight
would have its exclusive. Roger Newman’s attack would be cast aside, forgotten in the frenzy of the revelation.

Dan would still be a television reporter, Adam a senior detective. They would remain friends and continue to investigate cases together. The unseen powers above would persist with their tacit tolerance.

It’s unorthodox
, they would huff, in their backroom cabals,
but they get results. So we’ll run with it – for now
.

Adam stood before Ivy and recited the words of the caution. And buckled by the density of understanding the man’s strength gave way. Adam caught Ivy before he could fall and eased him down onto one of the chairs. The folds of his robe wilted around him.

“How – how did you know?” he gasped.

“We got there eventually,” Adam said, without a hint of sympathy. “You led us quite a dance, it’s true, but we got there. We usually do.”

“But – how? He said it was brilliant. He said we could never be caught.”

Adam snorted. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? It was clever Ivy, that I’ll grant you. But it wasn’t brilliant. As you’re going to realise in the years you’ll spend in jail.”

The usher lowered his head into his hands. “But he said it was perfect.”

A loud thud echoed in the room. It sounded as though it came from the far corner. Adam glanced to Dan, nodded a prompt, and he walked over. Dan checked the drapes but found nothing. He opened a cupboard and a cabinet, but met only files, stationery, and a decanter and glasses.

“There’s no one here,” Dan said, walking back to Adam. “It must have come from next door.”

Ivy was still doubled over, breathing heavily. The odd sob emerged through his hands.

“That’s enough melodrama,” Adam said. “You were big enough to kill, you’re big enough to face the consequences. It’s time to get you to the police station.”

The usher half rose but collapsed back onto the chair again.

“Come on!” Adam ordered. “Start walking or I’ll get some cops here and we’ll carry you out in front of everyone.”

Ivy gripped at the sides of the chair and pulled himself to his feet. “But he said it was perfect,” he bleated. “He had it all worked out. He said we couldn’t possibly be caught.”

“You won’t be taking all the blame, if that’s any comfort,” Adam replied. “We know you were just a little follower, doing as your master told you. Newman’s under arrest, too. It’s all over.”

The day of the Edwards’ acquittal and Annette’s suicide kindled a fury, scorching and searing, incandescent and irresistible. It was the most powerful of fires and could only be quenched by one remedy.

Vengeance.

That was how Dan described it and rather well he thought, in that familiar self-satisfied manner. But Adam just scowled and told him to get on with it. The
it
in question was his theory. The realisation of how the Edwards were murdered.

The end of the trial had left four bitter men and some unfinished business.

“And unfinished business,” Dan narrated, “Is so dangerous. Sometimes, it has to be tackled. It can’t be buried, hidden from, or forgotten about. It just has to be faced. It can be that powerful.”

Adam rolled his eyes and repeated the words which he had used so many times in moments like this.

“Will you please – just – get – on – with – it. We don’t have time for your drama.”

They were in the police car, being driven through the rain, preparing to confront Jonathan Ivy. Adam had demanded one further run through of the theory, one last playing out of the scenario just to be absolutely sure. So much rested on them getting it right.

The way the Edwards had been killed and by which man.

Or, as they now knew, which men.

“The bitterest of the bitter, the most prominent of our four suspects has to be Roger Newman, as we’ve agreed from the start,” Dan continued. “With the Edwards acquittal and, on top of that, what he had to witness…”

Both Dan and Adam looked to the distance and the highest levels of the car park, rising in the grey mist of the downpour.

“This is what I think happened,” he went on. “Newman is set on revenge. For all that they’ve done the Edwards have to die. But how to go about it? I’m guessing he remembers that court case, the one where the gas company was put on trial. And that gives him an idea. He looks it up, in an internet café somewhere, so there are no traces on his own computer. There’s not much time after Annette dies, but enough probably, given his determination. Plus, what he’s discovered is ideal. He can kill the Edwards on his own, without the risk of them fighting back. But, as always, there’s a problem.”

“He’s going to be the prime suspect,” Adam observed. “And he knows it. So he needs an alibi.”

“And he realises the only way to get one is if he has an accomplice,” Dan picked up. “So – who does he turn to? There’s one very obvious candidate. Someone he’s known for years. Someone he’s sure he can trust. Someone who thinks they owe him. A man who’s ripe for something like this, because he’s already spent years in the courts seeing justice not being done.”

Adam nodded. “Step forward, Jonathan Ivy.”

“They get together and talk. There are no emails, no phone calls, as we know. I don’t think Ivy needs much persuading. He thinks the Edwards deserve what’s coming to them. He’s seen Annette die in front of him too, remember? And he thinks Newman’s plan is flawless.”

“Ok, that makes sense. But how did they do it and still manage to have alibis?”

“Ah, that. Now that was the clever part.”

***

Dan took out his notes and traced through the interlinking arrows and scrawled annotations. There were so many. The case had to be one of the most complex he had ever worked on.

How would he describe it in the little diary he kept hidden in the drawer beside his bed? Justice would have to feature somewhere, or a parody of justice. Something twilight, or in the shadows.

“We went through the times which the suspects would need for their alibis and came out with the spread of 3.15 to 4.10am,” Dan continued. “That’s the period one of the four would have to be away from home in order to get to the Edwards place, break in, start the gas running, crack the light bulb and get out again. Then he’d have to wait for enough gas to fill the house before setting off the car alarm.”

“Agreed.”

“But that’s where we made our mistake. We assumed it was probably just the one man committing the crime, so his alibi had to take in the whole of that 55-minute period. But this is where Newman was clever. He realised if two people were involved, neither would need to be away from home for anything like as long. So, they could give themselves much better alibis. Perhaps not watertight, but enough to make sure they weren’t prominent suspects. Combine that with the destruction of any real evidence, as Newman knew would happen in an explosion, and they should be safe.”

“How does it work with the two people being involved?” Adam prompted, rather sharply.

“One other point first, because it’s important. If you’ll indulge me?”

“I indulge you too much.”

“Then just a little more, please. We made the assumption that the murderer was one person acting alone – that prompted me to think about just how committed we really were to solving the case. I wonder if we might have been a little sloppy, because we had sympathy with whoever killed the Edwards.”

“Take me through the part about the two people and their separate alibis,” Adam insisted.

Dan closed his eyes as he imagined the events of the night.

“Assume Newman’s alibi is genuine. He is at home at about 3.45am, throwing things around and shouting himself hoarse.
I thought that was a little too convenient, and this is why – he is indeed doing it deliberately, to give himself an alibi. It was just bad luck his neighbour was in a daze and couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure it was him. But it was. So – he’s certainly at home then. But that’s not to say he was home at 3.15, or much before 3.45.”

“So he definitely couldn’t have set off the car alarm,” Adam said. “Because it starts wailing at 3.57. He couldn’t get to Homely Terrace in time.”

“Exactly. But now look at Ivy’s alibis – and I’m using the plural deliberately here. He’s emailing Templar in the run up to the time we’re interested in and then looking at websites during the moments someone is breaking into the Edwards’ place. So, he can’t have done that bit. But! The remainder of his alibi is entering the PIN to watch the porn. That happens just after 3.45. It’s not a bad attempt at an alibi for the last part of the period we’re interested in. But just because he’s entered the PIN, it doesn’t mean he actually has to be at home after he’s done it. With a happy coincidence, there’s just time for him to get to Homely Terrace, find a car with an alarm, set it off and disappear again.”

Adam thought his way through the scenario. “So, we’ve got two men involved in a conspiracy. One does the actual breaking in and starting the gas, then goes home to establish his alibi. The other comes along later and sets off the car alarm, having already established his particular alibi.

“And it all fits. The timings work. And look at the men’s characters. Newman’s the most motivated, so he does the dangerous part, the actual breaking in. Ivy just has to come along and set off the alarm. That’s easy. He could even tell himself he’s hardly done anything wrong. After all, he was pretty convincing when we interviewed him.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes as the car waited for the traffic to move. Dan traced a pen across his notepad one more time, following his theory.

“It all sounds plausible,” Adam said, at last.

“Any advance on plausible?”

“Potentially convincing, then.”

“You could do even better than that.”

“All right, all right. You don’t have to vaunt your cleverness. But there’s still no evidence. Or, at least, nowhere near enough for a conviction.”

“So you’ll have to do your hard cop bit and push him into a confession. Which might be the tricky part.”

“Don’t worry,” Adam replied, determinedly. “I’ll sort that out.”

And the detective had been very much as good as his word Dan thought, as he stood in the judge’s chambers staring at the man dabbing at his eyes with his robe. The breaking of Ivy and the concluding of the case had proved much easier than he’d expected.

The time was just before four. Only a few hours away from the sweet respite of going home. First, Dan would have to drive to the studios and face Lizzie. But given the exclusive he had to offer, there was little to fear.

Afterwards, it was the actual broadcast to negotiate, and then finally to the flat. A cuddle with his beloved dog and perhaps a jog around the park together. The ordering of a take-away to celebrate the successful end of another case and a couple of pints of whatever dusty tins of beer were left in the back of the cupboard.

The only other business of the evening was the phone call Dan would have to make. It wouldn’t be easy but really, that wasn’t so very important. He wasn’t even sure he blamed her. And nothing could ever be proven, of that Dan was certain. Nonetheless, he wanted to tell her, just because he could.

And tomorrow, not so far away now, delicious normality would resume. At least for as long as ever it did in his ridiculous life.

***

Adam put a hand under Ivy’s arm and began guiding him towards the door. But the usher was a dense weight as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. He was whispering something, but too faintly to hear.

“Come on man, enough of your stalling!” Adam barked. “It’s over. We’ve got you and in a few minutes we’ll go and get Newman.”

Still Ivy’s lips were trembling as he tried to find the words.

“What’re you bleating about?” Adam snapped. “This is your last chance before I have you carried out.”

Ivy looked up. His face was a study of misery, crumpled and sodden with tears.

“Roger,” he managed. “Why poor Roger?”

“What?” Adam said. “What’re you talking about?”

“Roger… why have you arrested poor Roger?”

Adam stared at him, looked harder, penetrating the man’s mind. There was no deceit: that was far beyond him now, no space for doubt. Ivy was genuinely baffled.

“Shit!” Adam yelped, and sprang for the door.