Authors: Barrie Turner
A smile flickered across his face before he spoke. This was typical Bridget. She didn’t mess about or mince words, whatever she had to say she said it, and, if you didn’t like it, then tough. “Now the crowd’s gone, I can tell you. It is about Angela and we need your help. We have a man in Walton and we’re almost certain we have the right man but, we do need a little extra help and I’m wondering if either of you had ever seen Angela wearing this.” With that, he drew the watch from his pocket and passed it beneath the table. He continued, “If you want to have a good look at it, take it into the toilets and have a good think about it. You see it’s very important that we find out. As the girls withdrew, he ordered another pint for himself and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long and, as they approached, he could tell immediately from the look on their faces that his luck was out on this one. The watch was returned unnoticed under the table. Both said sadly that they couldn’t recall seeing Angela wearing a watch like it, especially such an expensive watch as that. They both saw the obvious look of disappointment on Jim’s face and said they were very sorry they couldn’t be of more use to him. Although disappointed, Jim thanked them for their time and said he would see them around. Both girls quickly departed to ply their trade leaving Jim to finish his pint in the almost deserted bar before making his way back to HQ.
Once in his office, he made arrangements for both ladies to be arrested and charged with possession of a controlled substance that evening and that he was to be informed the moment that they were in custody. With that little matter taken care of, he made his way to the canteen in order to get himself something to eat whilst he waited for things to develop thinking to himself all the time, that there’s always more than one way to skin a cat. Suitably refreshed, after having eaten the braised steak and onions on offer in the canteen, Jim West began to make his way back to his office. On his way he stopped by the office of his boss, Detective Inspector Peter Taylor, in order to acquaint him of the developments during the day, but today, his mentor had already left for home so he returned to the comparative safety of his own sanctum knowing full well he wouldn’t have to wait too long before something happened. He just had time to phone his wife to say he would be late when the word came through that there were two ladies downstairs asking repeatedly to be allowed to see him and that they would only speak to Detective Sergeant West himself. Without any undue haste, he made his way downstairs. Once again he found himself saying ‘easy, easy innit?’ and, in a way it was, although it was also true to say that Jim West was well aware that both girls dabbled with drugs especially crack cocaine. In fact, it was also true that Bridget did a bit of dealing on the side. He made his way to the desk where the duty constable told him that both ladies were being held in interview rooms 1 and 2. He decided he would tackle Bridget first and he entered interview room no. 2 with an air of complete surprise and innocence. He asked Bridget to explain the trouble she was in and how he could be expected to help. She responded by saying the drug had been planted on her during the search by the constable and that she should be released immediately without charge. At first he listened with some degree of sympathy then he tore into her saying that next door, Theresa was already confessing to supplying the drug and that it would be far better for her if she calmed down and cooperated otherwise, she, as well as Theresa, would end up inside for at least six months.
He went on to say that if she could recall the first time she saw Angela Clarkson wearing that expensive watch he would endeavour to ensure she wouldn’t face the prospect of a prison term and that he would do his utmost to get the charges dropped. Gradually the penny dropped and Bridget agreed to cooperate. He took her through the procedure to be followed and arranged to meet her the next day at a place of her own choosing where all the bits and pieces would be ironed out including dates and times. Before leaving, he told her to say nothing when she was released to Theresa and he was now going to interview her after which, they would both be allowed to leave without charge. He made his way to interview room no. 1 where the wrath of Theresa soon descended upon him. Bravely, and compassionately, he told her that he was going to smooth things out for the two of them and that she had better calm down before he reconsidered his decision. As he prepared to leave, he told her in no uncertain manner that, as far as he was concerned, this was to be treated as an interest free loan and that, one day, he would probably call in his marker. In the meantime, both she and Bridget were free to go and the least said about the matter the better. Both girls departed very quietly and went straight back on the game. Jim West went home quite pleased with his day’s work and well satisfied that very shortly his man would be well and truly stitched up.
The following day around noon as arranged, Jim West was seated at a table in the far corner of the bar. From here, he could readily observe all the people who entered The Pierhead pub and restaurant. He’d arrived early in order to secure this table and, although it was situated out of the way, it offered a little bit more privacy. Later, as the place filled up with visitors, and lunch-time diners, it became very busy and sometimes it was impossible to obtain a seat. After a quarter of an hour it was apparent that the place was going to be as busy as usual but to Jim West, that meant in a crowded bar such as this, there was less chance of being seen and recognised. Then he saw her coming in alone. When he saw her, he muttered softly to himself, “thank god she hasn’t come in her working clothes”. Somehow, he always thought the girls working Rodney Street or any other street for that matter, always stood out like sore thumbs with their somewhat way out or over the top sense of fashion. Once Bridget had taken her seat, he made his way through the crowd to the bar where he ordered two very large gin and tonics with ice and lemon. Returning to his seat, he almost had to battle his way through the crowd but eventually he made it with the drinks intact.
After another quick greeting Jim mixed their drinks and got straight down to the business that had brought them here. “Now Bridget this is what I want you to do for me. As you know we are holding a man in connection with the death of your good friend Angela Clarkson. She was a good friend now wasn’t she?” Bridget nodded in reply leaving the detective free to continue,
“We’ve charged this man with killing your friend and we also know that he stole her watch after he had killed her. Obviously, we are unable to find out whether or not Angela had arranged to meet this man or whether she had been with somebody else first but we do know that we will have a better chance of proving him guilty if somebody would come forward to say that they saw Angela wearing this watch.” He carefully pulled it out of the handkerchief where it lay concealed in his pocket in order that she could look at it again. “Take a good look,” he urged quietly, whilst holding it just out of the view of the public beneath the table. “Now, you know as well as I do that the fellow who gave this to your mate Angela isn’t going to come along to us and say, hang on a minute, that watch you showed on the box the other week, I gave it to Angela Clarkson because, in all probability, the man is married with a couple of kids and he’s got to think of them, hasn’t he? Again, Bridget nodded in reply and took another long pull at her drink. As she put down her glass, he continued, “So we need someone like you to come along to the nick and make a simple statement that you saw her, Angela, wearing that same watch some time before this fellow Thompson strangled her with her own tights. Now, Bridget, listen to me I swear to you that’s all there is to it.”
He could see her mulling it over in her mind, and, in order not to appear too anxious, he got up, saying as he did, “so have a good think about it whilst I go and get them in again. Same again for you?” Another nod of the head signalled affirmative and he began to fight his way to the bar thinking, ‘Christ, she doesn’t say a great deal. I wonder if she is this quiet with all of her punters?’ He’d caught the eye of the barman and the drinks were now on the bar counter. Picking up the glasses, he made his way back to the table, whispering softly to himself, ‘easy, easy innit?’ Once seated he began again, “Bridget, you do understand don’t you that if this fellow gets off or we let him go, he’ll probably kill again so, in a way, we aren’t just doing your friend Angie a favour but the public as well?” Instead of nodding Bridget spoke this time, “are you really sure that it is Angie’s watch and, how do I know that this is all you want? I mean I won’t have to give evidence will I?”
This time Jim took a long drink before replying, “Bridget, we’re absolutely certain that the watch was given to Angela by her last client and that this person has been completely exonerated from our enquiries. As regards giving evidence, I can’t guarantee it but I’ll certainly do my very best he lied.” He saw the effect this was beginning to have on her and quickly added, “Hang on a minute we’ll only use it if we have to,” he lied again, “after all, we think it’s very likely that he’ll confess before the actual trial and then you’ll hardly be needed.” As an afterthought, he added, “don’t forget you’re not doing this for me but for Angela… plus, at the same time, you must also remember that you owe me one for last night.”
Seeing the predicament she was in, Bridget finally agreed to make the statement Jim West so desperately needed before adding, “Bollocks Westy, if I do this, by my reckoning we’re even now and if this Thompson fellow confesses, then you keep me out of it. Agreed?”
Once again Jim West tried hard not to smile as he lied glibly, “That’s a deal. All you need to do is call in the nick later tonight. Just ask for Detective Inspector Peter Taylor and let him handle things. At this stage you’d better not mention that you’ve spoken to me about this at all.”
After another affirmative nod from Bridget, the Sergeant began to make his way out of the rapidly emptying bar whispering “easy easy innit.” In his mind, he had already formulated his next move. Give her a couple of days, a week at the most and pull her in again then, like a knight in shining armour, he would come running to the rescue of a damsel in distress. No wonder this was easy. “Easy innit?” he whispered again under his breath.
Later that afternoon, Bridget Riley walked into Merseyside Police HQ in order to keep her appointment with Detective Inspector Peter Taylor to whom she then made her sworn statement, that before Angela Clarkson’s death she had seen Angela wearing the watch shown on the Crime watch TV Programme. She told the Inspector that she hadn’t volunteered this information earlier as she hadn’t seen the TV Programme when it was shown. As a result she failed to appreciate the relevance or the importance of her information. She also confirmed that she had seen the watch when Detective Inspector Taylor allowed her to identify it whilst she was giving her statement in the police station. During this interview she was able to positively state that it was the watch in question. Detective Inspector Peter Taylor couldn’t believe his luck as he took down this statement. He knew full well that somewhere along the line, Jim West must have had a hand in it but he wasn’t going to raise any awkward questions with his colleague at this or any other time. As far as he was concerned, this was just one of the breaks they so desperately needed in their efforts to bring criminals to justice.
Three days had passed since Quentin Russell had spoken to his associate in the Commons tea bar and, when his mobile rang. He knew it would be the call he was expecting. He wasn’t disappointed. He was assured that the question would be asked in the House the next day and, by the end of the week, rumour and speculation would be rife following a denial by the Prime Minister himself. All Quentin needed to do was to ensure that he kept the pot simmering with a couple of paragraphs in his newspaper column until the time came to pounce.
At her home in Cheshire, Paula Harris was making afternoon tea for some of her friends from the ladies golf section and she too was wondering when something would be mentioned in the “House” about a certain and, as yet unnamed, MP.
Jim West was parking his car at Walton Gaol. He didn’t expect any results at all from this visit because this visit was merely to ensure he kept up the pressure on Royston Chambers in order to ensure that he got what he wanted when the time came. He was well aware Chambers would try to string him along by saying Thompson would not admit to anything, but, when Chambers realised that the chips were down, Jim West knew he would say almost anything that he wanted to hear. To Jim West, prisons were like hospitals or, even worse mortuaries, for they had a peculiar smell about them which always seemed to linger as a result of which, he always liked to get straight down to business in order to get away as fast as possible. Today would be no exception.
Once again he was taken inside by Alec Fulton and conducted to the same office. Within minutes Chambers appeared, and, from the look on his face, he was totally surprised to see his old adversary sitting in the assistant governor’s chair. The Detective Sergeant wasted no time at all in coming to the purpose of his visit. “How are you getting along with Thompson, Roy?” Is he talking to you yet, and, if he is, what’s he talking about?”
Chambers began to fidget and straightaway, Jim could tell from his nervous demeanour, that Chambers was quite unsure of himself let alone what he was going to say? Jim knew that he was going to say that he had nothing to report, but this did not bother him in the least. After a few moments’ silence however, Chambers finally summoned up sufficient courage to speak, “Look, Mr. West, I don’t think he’s going to say anything at all. I’m the only person he speaks to, and, although we knock about a bit during the day, each time I try to mention the subject he clams up tight or, he just says, “leave it. I’m not bloody guilty, and that’s it.” After that he goes back to his room sulking. So you see Mr. West, I don’t think he’s going to say anything.”
Jim West tried to look crestfallen and, even a little sad by this turn of events but it was the precise result he anticipated. Replying with as much sympathy in his voice as he could muster Jim said quietly, “Look Roy I know you’ve tried and I’ve taken on board what you’re saying but, it’s early days yet. Just keep chatting to the pillock and, I’m sure that he’ll come across before the trial. People like him always do. It’s like having toothache; it doesn’t go away until you get rid of it.” At this point Jim paused, he smiled at his old adversary trying to let him think that he, Chambers, was in control of this interview then he continued, “Anyway Roy, we both know that you’ve tried don’t we and that you’re going to keep on trying aren’t you? So Roy, I’ll pass that on to my boss at the nick. Mind you, I have to tell you that he won’t be very happy but, as I said I’ll tell him that you’ll keep Thompson matey and, you’ll stick at it but you must remember Roy without this, I can’t get my boss to do a bloody thing for you. You do understand that don’t you, Roy?”
Chambers was now only too anxious to terminate this interview. At the outset he was hoping against hope that Thompson’s reputed denials would get him off the hook and Jim West would then pull a few strings on his behalf but it was all too apparent that this was not going to be. Very reluctantly he whispered, “Alright Mr West, I understand, and you can rest assured that I’ll keep at it.” With that, he withdrew hastily from the room.
Jim West smiled broadly now as he watched Chambers exiting from the room, “Easy,” he murmured, “Easy innit?”
In the House of Commons after a splendid lunch, followed by a very generous brandy, Timothy Harris settled himself into his seat. He was all set for the PM to launch another scathing and blistering attack, on the Opposition because of their stalling and delaying tactics over the proposed revisions to the National Health Service Bill. After this there would be another PM’s Question Time during which he looked forward to the almost ritualistic and savage butchering of the Opposition Shadow PM who looked so much out of his depth on these occasions. Due to his outside business interests he had missed the morning session and he had also ensured that his mobile phone had remained switched off and locked safely away in his ministerial case. Following this, he and his associates had enjoyed an exquisite lunch, and because he’d dallied so long over it, he was completely unaware that his leader and the party whips had been trying to locate and question him before his return to the House and, most importantly, before PM’s question time but it was far too late for that now.
The House was silent as the Prime Minister strode up to the front bench. As he saw Timothy Harris, his face bore a look designed to kill, but it passed unnoticed especially by the errant MP and the rest of the house. As the afternoon’s business began it was as expected, the usual Government rout of the Opposition and today’s pantomime produced a real bellyful of laughs. Timothy, along with most of his colleagues, found himself wondering why on earth the Opposition didn’t ditch their leader as he was always so ineffective during these exchanges but then he thought that was their problem not his. Now it was time for questions with the Prime Minister.
The House was repeatedly called to order by the Speaker, Helen Little, but eventually the Members settled down in order to allow business to continue. There followed the usual run and gamut of self congratulatory questions which always showed off the Government at its very best and most efficient. The fact that it wasn’t didn’t matter in the slightest. This Government still had more than a working majority and it was equally true to say that if the Opposition were in power, things would carry on in just the same manner. Proceedings were looking up now that Denis Panter, one of the Opposition’s most effective trouble-makers was on his feet and Timothy began to take a renewed interest. Panter never minced his words. If he had a question to ask it would certainly be of some relevance and, it would probably be acutely embarrassing for the person involved.
Dennis Panter remained on his feet, waiting for the Speaker’s acknowledgement to begin, whilst Helen Little, the Speaker, continued to shout ‘Order, Order, Mr Dennis Panter, Honourable Member for Knutsford.’
As soon as he received the acknowledgement of the Speaker, he began, “Madam Speaker, Members of the House, is the Prime Minister aware of any involvement by a member of his Government with the murdered prostitute Angela Clarkson and, can he emphatically deny that no member of his Government is involved and, if there has been any involvement by this Member, will he assure the House that there will be no cover up and that all the details will be given to this House once his enquiries have been concluded? Furthermore, will the Prime Minister ensure that the Minister involved tenders his resignation along with an apology to the House for his conduct in this affair. That was it. Short, and swift and, very precise but, most importantly, straight to the point. As Denis Panter sat down there was absolute pandemonium in the House. Papers were flung in the air, there were cries of ‘name him’ and ‘resign’, above which, the Speaker strove manfully to bring some semblance of calm to the proceedings.
During this period of absolute mayhem, the Prime Minister had been on his feet for quite some time waiting for permission from the Speaker to reply and for some sign of order to be restored. As the noise subsided and he received the Speaker’s acknowledgement, he answered, “Until I received the question earlier today I can assure the Honourable Member that I, along with all the other Members of the House, had no knowledge of this whatsoever and, I can assure the gentleman that I will carry out a full investigation into this most serious allegation. Obviously, I will advise the House of the full results of that enquiry and I trust that the Honourable Member is satisfied with the answer given.”
Dennis Panter jumped to his feet and quickly acknowledged the answer given. There the session ended and, utter chaos reigned once more.
Timothy Harris could not believe what he had just heard. He knew he had to get out of the House fast and, he also realised, he had to seek an urgent meeting with his leader in order to issue a complete denial to the allegation. ‘Jesus Christ’ he told himself, ‘this was terrible news. How on earth had Panter got hold of that scoop? Bob, his brother-in-law had put that safely under wraps for him therefore, what on earth had gone wrong?’ The more he thought about it the angrier he became. Inside he was absolutely seething as the implications and the ramifications of that meddling prat Panter and his bloody stupid question rushed around in his brain. With his mind in utter turmoil, he knew one thing. He had to get his act together fast and, whether he liked it or not he knew he would have to see the PM tonight and issue a complete denial in time to catch the news. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he thought, ‘that’s another thing, the press; they’ll have a bloody field day over this.’
With his mind in such a whirl he realised he might be getting agitated and, worst of all, it might be beginning to show and that would never do. Pulling himself together and, in a determined effort to regain control, he told himself, he had got himself into this mess and, somehow, he’d get himself out of it but first, he would have to go and face the PM.
Before he could go anywhere he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It was the Chief Whip, telling him, in no uncertain manner, to get to the Prime Minister’s office without delay.
When he reached the office, he was surprised at the amount of body traffic going in and out. Then it dawned on him that all the people involved were MPs from Liverpool, Warrington, The Wirral, and Chester. From this he assumed correctly that his leader was interviewing anyone who might have been in the area at the material time. Seeing and realising this, he began to calm down. He breathed a little easier thinking that this might mean no positive identification details had been made known. This also meant it was unlikely the source had come from Robert or one of his officers in the Merseyside force. In the end, though, this began to bother him because, by ruling out all the obvious choices, it only left somebody at the hotel or the restaurant. There and then Timothy decided, once this interview was over he’d telephone Rogerson, at the hotel in order to ask a few discreet questions of his own. Jesus, there he went again, before he did anything else after seeing the PM he’d better telephone his wife. This was bound to be a feature on the evening news and it had probably been shown on the Question Time show on television that afternoon. Once again he felt the jitters returning but there was no time to think about anything else as he was ushered into the “office.”
Initially the PM was brutal. He was taking it out on Timothy because he was the member of the constituency where the crime had taken place. Because the PM knew in advance that the question was coming, he had wanted to see Timothy before question time in order to confer about it, rather than be caught on the hop. Eventually, his anger subsided as Timothy assured him that although he was in his constituency and, in the area at the time, his movements were accounted for. “Furthermore,” he added, growing a little in confidence, “if you want to check further ask the Home Secretary’s office to check with the Chief Constable Merseyside CID. You see, I was interviewed at the time but this was because I was in the area and I had booked into a local hotel after holding a surgery. Now it is possible that this, er, this er, prostitute visited the hotel maybe she called in for a drink, who knows? I certainly don’t because I never met her. The lies were flowing glibly now and his confidence increased as he added, “In fact I’ve just remembered, I spent the rest of the evening having a couple of drinks with Paul Rogerson, the assistant manager. We watched the football on the television then, when it was over, he locked up whilst I went to bed. After listening intently, the Prime Minister announced that he would check Timothy’s story along with all the other possibilities and explanations he had received in order to show he had conducted an inquiry and, that the allegations were groundless. He went on to say that he would be seeking an apology and a complete retraction from the Member concerned who had made the allegation.
No longer sweating and in a much calmer state, Timothy left the office and telephoned home. He was feeling much more comfortable within himself and, as a consequence, he was able to talk to Paula much more freely about the events of the day, including the panic and pandemonium which had been caused in the House. He assured her, despite what she had seen on television, it was nothing more than a storm in a teacup, to be followed by a statement by the Prime Minister demanding a complete retraction by Denis Panter together with a full apology to the House.
As Paula Harris replaced the receiver on the hook she couldn’t take it in. She shook her head in utter disbelief as she wondered, how the hell does he do it? How the bloody hell does he get away with it? Every bloody time he wriggles off the hook but I’ll nail him yet, I really will, she promised herself.
Elsewhere the newspaper presses were beginning to roll. They would all carry the story but, the early editions were far too late, apart from those controlled by Quentin Russell’s employers.
Quentin Russell was seated with his editor looking over the first proof. Once again the editor had had to admit that wherever he got his stories from, there was no question about it, Quentin Russell was without doubt the best. Not just the best but, the best, by a very long way. Yet again, he had left the Opposition miles behind and that’s why he was paid such a fabulous sum but he was worth every penny.