Authors: Barrie Turner
Timothy and Paula Harris were relaxing at home. These days, they didn’t spend too many nights together because Timothy Harris MP was a government minister as well as a powerful figure in the city. As a consequence, he was often away from his home in Cheshire either on government business or looking after his own interests as he was on the board of a number of companies. Tonight he had been quite content to pour himself a large brandy and catch up with reading ‘The Times.’ In the spacious lounge, with a log fire blazing away, he felt at peace with himself. In a far corner of the room the TV set flickered away and the Crime Watch programme was about halfway through. Sleep was beginning to fill his eyes and ‘The Times’ newspaper was about to slip slowly from his fingers. His wife watched with some amusement whilst thinking to herself, ‘he’ll be asleep any second now.’
At that moment the screen was filled with the picture of Angela Clarkson. Timothy was awake instantly as he recognized the face on the screen. There was absolutely no doubt about it at all. It was definitely Angela Clarkson. Then the watch was featured again. “Jesus Christ”, he muttered under his breath as he reached for and began to spill his brandy. “Angela Clarkson killed when? Oh my god,” he muttered again “that was the time I was in Bromborough and Birkenhead.” Although he was in an acute state of panic and sweating profusely, he knew he had one saving grace as he had spent the latter part of the evening watching the football highlights on the TV in the residents’ lounge in the company of the assistant manager so he wouldn’t be in desperate need of an alibi. ‘Good lord,’ his train of thought continued, ‘if any of this got out it would be the end. It would probably mean a messy divorce and he would be made to resign from the government. After which there would be all the usual snide gossip in the Tory press, together with the consequent disgrace that would ultimately follow.’
Meanwhile, Paula Harris was no longer looking at her husband with amusement. She had just witnessed him transported back into the real world with such rapidity that she could only conclude he had been given one of the biggest frights of his life and she began to wonder what on earth could it have been. She had just seen him jolted upright in his seat, watched the colour drain from his face and, as far as she could see, this was all because the face of a murdered prostitute had appeared on the television screen.
“Are you all right Timothy?” she enquired. He mumbled “Yes, yes,” in reply, “I’m alright I was almost asleep when I suddenly remembered that I have to see Norman Collins at the Golf Club about ten o clock. I’d better get down there now and see what it is he wants although I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be something to do with some share deal he wants me to pull off. I’ll get down there now and see just what it is he wants. Although I don’t think I’ll be delayed, I won’t be long so there’s no need to wait up for me,” And, as an afterthought as he disappeared from view, he added, “You probably won’t have time to make a brew before I’m back.”
She watched him scurry out of the room. Then, she heard his car start up and the sound of the engine slowly fading away as it turned out of the drive.
“Liar,” she shouted, when it really was too late to matter, but still wondering all the time what on earth he needed to lie through his back teeth for. Somehow, she vowed, she would have to find out and, if it was as bad as she suspected, then he would have to bloody well watch out. She went over the events of the past few moments in her mind and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this was something to do with the murdered girl featured on the television. She walked quickly to the bedroom, and took out her diary from the bedside cabinet. She searched rapidly through the pages until she found what she was looking for. It all checked out. Timothy was in Birkenhead at that time. “The filthy bastard,” she shouted at the empty room. “I’ll shagging prostitute him. I’ll stitch him up so good this time he won’t be able to lie his way out of this.” She made her first telephone call to Directory Enquiries; from there she obtained the telephone number of the television station. A further call gave her the number of the Crime Watch hotline but then, as an afterthought and before ringing the number given, she telephoned Quentin Russell, a reporter on the political scene. After she had identified herself to Quentin by the use of her code name “Rose”, Paula suggested to him that he should carry out some sensitive enquiries into the Angela Clarkson murder case, hinting that an errant government minister might be able to provide the police with some help in their investigation into the murder. Finally she called Sheila Collins. She was relieved when Sheila answered the phone and Paula soon ascertained from her that Norman was not in the golf club. At that very moment he was, in fact, working in his study. Upon hearing this Paula smiled to herself as she realised that it would be no use Timothy returning home, telling her about his and Norman’s, plans for making a bit more money on the side. She also knew that, even if he did, she wouldn’t confront him and expose his lies just now. There would be no point in that, not at the moment anyway for, with any luck, there would be much better opportunities later. Well satisfied with her few minutes’ work, she sat down to contemplate what she should do next. One thing was very clear in her mind, Timothy wasn’t just history, he was as good as dead, especially, if her worst suspicions were confirmed.
Paula Harris had more than enough reasons to be annoyed and upset by this latest turn of events. Throughout all of her married life, she had been subjected to beatings and assaults from her husband Timothy. She readily acknowledged that in some way she was not entirely blameless. After all, she reasoned, if she hadn’t told him she was pregnant all those years ago maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much. At the time, although Timothy had accepted the child as his own, over the years he had continued to voice and show, his displeasure to her and to their son Anthony. As a result, throughout their married life she had never been able to share the guilt-laden secret which troubled her tormented mind so deeply. Every time she came anywhere near to pouring out her heart to her husband, she became so traumatised with fear that she simply couldn’t go through with it. Then, there were the beatings, which both she and Anthony had been made to suffer whenever Timothy flew into one of his uncontrollable rages. Each time this occurred, she vowed to herself, “next time, I will get out. I will tell him,” but she never did, because, she always assumed that the consequences would be far greater than she could possibly imagine. As a result, for all of these years, Paula Harris had to hope and pray that her other son, the one she had secretly given up at birth for adoption, was alive and well and that one day she would be able to withstand that final confrontation with her husband and achieve her secret goal of tracing him. Every night she prayed that God and his adoptive parents would look after him. Although she always reproached herself for what she had done, she took some comfort from the fact that even if Timothy had been told at the beginning, things might not have been any better. Then, there was Anthony himself. Where on earth was he at present? All she knew after another blazing row with Timothy all those months ago, Anthony had stormed off vowing that if he had to stay in the house any longer with his father, he would probably end up killing him. On this occasion she had had to take Timothy’s side, as the incident had been sparked by Anthony’s arrest for possession of a small amount of cannabis which, ultimately, Timothy had been able to get covered up thanks to his ‘connections.’
At the time Anthony had denied the drug was his and he had always maintained that it had been planted on him and, although she was prepared to accept this could well be true, she also knew that she had voiced her suspicions in the past to her husband and after all it had to be said that there was no smoke without fire. She recalled the many times she had methodically searched Anthony’s room looking for some evidence of drug taking but she had never been successful. Apart from her own forebodings, her own mother’s instinct confirming that he was involved in the drug scene centred on the fact that she was well aware that some of Anthony’s best friends, including Simon Collins, were heavily involved themselves. In fact, Simon Collins was in a rehab centre at this very moment. However, none of this stopped her from worrying about the whereabouts of her wayward offspring and all she could do was thank God he was financially independent and thus able to support himself.
Despite all these problems, the number one item on Paula’s greatly troubled mind was the continued infidelity practised by her husband. All these years he might have thought he was extremely clever and, that he had always got away with it but she knew better. Most of Timothy’s affairs had been one- or two-night-stands and she knew nearly all of the women involved. As a result, she was able to warn them off or, in some subtle way, ensure that their own husbands suspected what their wives were up too. Usually this worked but this latest episode though was something far worse. If he was associating with prostitutes and paying for sex, this was something that she could not cope with and, one way or another, she would have to find out. Once she had the required proof there would be no going back. First of all she would announce to all who would listen that she was leaving him and then she would institute divorce proceedings against him. Then, and only then, she would try to find her first born son. ‘Who knows, she thought, ‘with Anthony united with a brother he never knew existed, maybe there was a possibility that after twenty-six years, she might be able to play happy families again always assuming, of course, that Marcus, her adopted son, still wanted to meet and greet her.
Timothy Harris, although still very worried, was mightily relieved to get out of the house. He congratulated himself on how quickly he had deceived his wife and, if all went well with his plan, he might escape unscathed but that would all depend on his big brother-in-law. He reached out in order to check again that his mobile phone was beside him as he drove in silence to the golf club. He parked away from the main body of cars already there and picked up the phone and began to dial. He was sweating as he waited for the connection to be made at the other end as he tried desperately hard to think of the words to say. When the receiver was raised at the other end, his train of thought was interrupted momentarily but, recovering quickly he said, “Hello Robert, look I’m terribly sorry to trouble you but I have to tell you that I could be in quite a spot of bother and I’m wondering whether or not you can help me. You see it’s about this girl, the one, you know the one er on the Crime Watch programme. Yes. Yes Clarkson that’s the one.” Now he was fumbling, and struggling to find the words and he could hardly bring himself to say it but he finally blurted it out. “The watch, the watch. It was me. I was with her in Bromborough and after we had dinner and a couple of drinks she left. She said she was going to catch the train back to Liverpool and she told me that she was going to work in London afterwards. After she left, I went back to my hotel you know the one – the Roundhead, and then I stayed in the bar for a while watching the football highlights. If you want to check this out, ask for Mr. Rogerson, the Deputy Manager, because he was with me until I went to my room just after midnight.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line then he heard Robert’s voice saying, “all right Timothy leave it with me, I’ll have it checked out and, as long as it’s as you’ve said, then I’ll try to keep your name out of it you silly bloody pillock. Give me a ring at the office tomorrow morning and I’ll let you know how I got on.” With that, Robert Tyson, Chief Constable of Merseyside replaced the receiver muttering to himself, “bloody pillock why he can’t keep his dick in his frigging pants I’ll never bloody know.” Before retiring, he left a message at HQ for Detective Inspector Taylor to see him first thing in the morning.
Timothy sat in his car for a moment. He knew that he’d been very fortunate and that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. There was no point in him going home yet he had to go in the club, if only to ascertain whether or not Norman Collins was there. If he was, all well and good; they could have a quick drink together and his alibi for tonight was established. However, if Norman wasn’t in the bar all he needed to do was to grab a quick drink and once again his presence at the club would be confirmed. Timothy knew he had to cover his tracks very carefully now. In fact, probably more than ever before. He was well aware that his wife always suspected he was being unfaithful but, up until now, he was sure he had always been able to show that her fears were groundless. Well, almost, he smiled whilst thinking to himself that that was one of the benefits of having good friends. Friends, which one could always rely upon. After locking the car he walked briskly into the club and straight to the bar. He saw at a glance that Norman wasn’t in and he also knew there would be very little chance of him coming in now. He ordered his drink and asked Alec the barman if Norman had been in that day. In reply Alec told him that Norman had left at eight o’clock after having a couple of drinks. There was no point in Timothy prolonging the conversation with another part of his alibi in place; it was time to get off home in order to ensure that his ever-loving wife didn’t get too suspicious because, if this all went wrong, he knew he would be destroyed and, he really did stand to lose everything at this time.
When he arrived home he was quite surprised to find that his wife had gone to bed. Once again, he complimented himself on the art of his deception then he came up with his master plan. Tomorrow, he would buy another watch identical to the one that he had given Angela. He’d pay cash for it, and use his original visa bill for the purchase of the first watch, as proof of purchase should his wife suspect anything. He’d keep the watch hidden until their wedding anniversary at the end of the year and, with any luck, he would be in the clear. It had been a close shave, a little bit too close for comfort but he assured himself, that’s what life was all about.