The Twisted Knot (23 page)

There was a clatter of metal from underneath them. Footsteps then Andy's head poked through the manhole. Someone had found a ladder.

‘All right then?' It was half a question, as his eyes flicked from Sammi to Belinda and back again.

‘Yeah, I'm coming,' Belinda said, and her tone was almost jovial. ‘I'm not making any trouble. My knee's locked up and I was trying to straighten it out. Should be right now.' She drew her right leg back up under her. Crouching, steadying herself on the beams above her, Belinda climbed back across the beam to the manhole. Andy helped her find her footing on the ladder.

Terry could scarcely contain his excitement at having found Belinda, and only just waited till everyone was back on the floor.

‘O-kaay,' Terry said, extending the second syllable so it all sounded casual. ‘Belinda? We haven't met. My name's Terry Cousens, I'm from Angel's Crossing CIB.' He extended his hand to her. She wiped her hand down her shorts before taking his. ‘It's over now, hey. No point in running. We've got you. If we can agree on that, we can be friendly about the handcuffs.'

Belinda nodded her head. ‘I'm stuffed from hauling my fat arse up through there. That was my best shot. Yep. You've got me.'

Terry nodded. ‘Glad we understand each other. Now for the official part. Belinda Woodford, you're under arrest for the murder of Barry Woodford. So – before I ask you any questions I must tell you that you have the right to remain silent. This means you do not have to say anything, or answer any question, or make any statement unless you wish to do so. However, if you do say something or make any statement it may later be used as evidence. Do you understand?' Straight out of the book, like they had learnt at the academy.

‘Yes,' Belinda said, then turned to Jocelyn. ‘Ring the lawyer, Mum.'

‘Great,' Terry said. ‘I was about to offer you that.' He seemed genuinely pleased that that was being taken care of.

‘Now we've gotta put the handcuffs on, but we'll cuff you nice and comfy to the front. And you can give your girl a hug before we do it. Fair enough?' Terry asked.

‘Fair enough,' Belinda agreed.

It was all very friendly as they arrested the murdering mother.

67

Janine, Terry and Sammi sat in Janine's office, each with a coffee in hand. They had lodged Belinda at the watchhouse and now they were killing time waiting for her lawyer to arrive before they could interview her.

‘Bring back any memories?' Janine asked, raising her coffee cup in Sammi's direction.

‘God, we had some awful coffees at the courthouse,' Sammi said, with a half-laugh. ‘Courtesy of that lady from the court volunteers who always insisted on making us one. I think she must have been a tea drinker.'

The coffees had not been the worst part of waiting around at the courthouse with Janine. They had spent a lot of hours in a small room, usually on standby. Court was often a long and drawn-out process. In Sammi's case, it had drawn out to three separate appearances over seventeen months. The trial itself had lasted three days.

But the worst part was knowing ‘he' was there. The defendant. Mere metres away in the courtroom.

It had seemed like a cruel and unusual punishment to Sammi at the time. To have the defendant staring at her as she gave her evidence. It had taken extra medication to get her through the trial. But she'd promised to do it all again. Because there would be trials for the other victims, those who had not been as lucky as Sammi. And right from the start, Sammi had committed to speak for those who could no longer speak for themselves.

She tried to imagine Nicola sitting in the courtroom she had spent so many hours in. Things were different for children. Less confrontational. They could give their evidence by video, or in a separate room. But if Belinda had gone to the police about Barry and Peter, instead of taking justice into her own hands, the girl would still have had to give her version of what happened. There would have been no avoiding that. Details she remembered but didn't understand. Grown-up words and concepts. Magistrate, erection, pedophile. Nicola had been spared that. But at what cost?

Belinda was now sitting in the watchhouse, preparing to be interviewed for murder. There was a very good chance that Terry would charge her at the end of the interview. He'd have to do up an objection to bail. Regardless of whether they thought Belinda was a threat to the community or not, it was still a charge of homicide, the top of the charges list. She might not even be able to stay home with Nicola while she waited for court. A sympathetic jury may decide that there was provocation. She might be found not guilty. But it could take a year to get to that point. A year for Belinda sitting in jail, toughing it out with the crims and screws. A year of Nicola visiting every weekend in a room with armed guards at the ready, and tables and chairs bolted to the floor. There was a lot at stake in the interview.

Sammi shot a glance at Terry. She was sure his enthusiasm for this wasn't personal. He just wanted that murder pinch. He saw it as a helluva resumé builder, especially this early in his service. He'd asked her to be the corroborator for the interview. He should have an experienced detective giving him a hand if he needed it though, making sure he ticked all the boxes. It should be Janine accompanying him in there, not Sammi.

Sammi wondered if he was worried Janine would show him up in the interview. Or maybe he was intimidated by her? Either way, Sammi was happy he'd chosen her. She wanted to hear what Belinda had to say. She'd come this far, she wanted to see what happened next.

68

Sammi and Terry locked up their guns in the purpose-built lockers and walked into the watchhouse. For a few moments they observed Belinda on the cell monitors. She sat unmoving on the edge of the bed, those muscular forearms resting on her knees, staring at the floor. Whatever turmoil may have been going through her mind was not reflected in her body.

After a few minutes, she got up and walked one slow lap of the cell as if to stretch her legs. They had brought her in without shoes and she was wearing watchhouse-issue thongs which were several sizes too big. They slapped rhythmically against the concrete as she paced. She sat back down in the same spot. She did not appear nervous, or agitated or even impatient. It looked like she was simply waiting. For a bus, for an appointment, not for a murder charge.

The door buzzer sounded. The watchhouse sergeant checked the monitor.

‘The solicitor's here,' he said, buzzing the man in.

The solicitor introduced himself as Daniel James and shook both Sammi and Terry's hands.

‘I'll need to talk with Belinda before the interview. Somewhere private,' he said, gesturing to the monitors.

‘Of course,' Terry said. ‘You can talk to her in the interview room and then we can start whenever you're ready.'

The sergeant grabbed the cell keys and they moved off towards the cells. Sammi stayed and watched on the monitors. Belinda seemed completely unperturbed by what was going on. There was no relief to see the solicitor, no anxiety at being in the cells. She was one cool customer.

Terry found a newspaper to read while they waited, Sammi sat in front of the computer checking her internal emails.

After a while, Terry glanced up at the clock. ‘I think it might be a refusal,' he said. ‘The solicitors always recommend that.'

‘I reckon she's going to interview,' Sammi replied. ‘They wouldn't be taking this long to discuss a refusal.'

‘Hard to tell. Who knows what stories they are cooking up in there.'

Sammi rubbed her hands across her face, thinking.

‘Belinda seems so unconcerned about it all. If it was me in that cell, I'd be walking the walls. She might even come out and admit it all, claim provocation. She murdered him in a fit of rage after finding out he raped her daughter. Get a jury with some mothers on it, it would be touch and go to get a guilty verdict. Or say he had been beating her, claim it was an abusive domestic relationship. There's something in the Criminal Code about that, isn't there?'

Terry nodded. Sammi turned back to the computer and started looking up the Criminal Code. Terry watched over her shoulder.

‘Here it is – “Killing for preservation in an abusive domestic relationship”.' Terry showed no interest. She read the rest in silence.

But as the minutes dragged on, and there was no sign that Belinda was ready to be interviewed, Sammi felt anxiety build in her chest, settling heavily on her stomach. Waiting tended to affect her like this, and there was a lot on the line.

Then the door opened to the interview room, and they wasted no time in starting the interview.

Sammi and Terry sat on one side of the tables in the middle of the room, Belinda and her solicitor on the other side. A camera was pointing over Terry's left shoulder and small mics were mounted on the desk. Everyone except Belinda had documents of some sort in front of them. The solicitor had a closed folder in front of him along with a notepad
.

‘Okay,' said Terry, ‘shall we kick this off?'

Belinda nodded, her face impassive.

‘The time is 10.27 a.m. on Thursday the thirteenth of February. This is an electronic record of interview with Belinda Woodford in relation to the homicide of Barry Woodford. My name is Terry Cousens, Plain Clothes Constable 27137 from Angel's Crossing Station. I'll get everyone in the room to introduce themselves.' He gestured towards Sammi.

‘My name is Samantha Willis, Constable 22118, currently attached to Angel's Crossing Station.'

‘My name is Daniel James from Becker and James Solicitors.'

‘My name is Belinda Anne Woodford.'

‘Belinda do you agree that there is no one else in the room aside from the people who have introduced themselves?'

‘Yes.'

Terry ran through the other introductory questions, getting Belinda's details on record, giving her her rights and establishing her suitability for the interview.

‘Belinda, do you agree that you were arrested earlier today for the murder of Barry Woodford.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you were warned at the time that you had the right to remain silent?'

‘Yes.'

‘Who is Barry Woodford to you?'

‘He's my husband. We've been married for about six years.'

Sammi noticed she was using present tense.

‘So, can you tell me your whereabouts –' Terry started.

‘Do you mind if I interrupt?' Belinda asked, but then did not wait for an answer. ‘You want to talk to me about Barry's death? Let's cut to the chase. Before you can talk murder, you need to prove that Barry is dead.'

‘Yes, Barry was killed,' Terry answered.

‘If you're talking about the man found hanging in Peter's shed, well that was Peter,' Belinda said, her eyes boring into Terry's. This was it, here was her angle. It was all or nothing for her.

‘Initially, we thought it was Peter, but we have since proven it is Barry.' He spoke crisply like the identification had never been a problem.

‘Where's the death certificate? Prove to me he's dead. Legally dead,' Belinda challenged.

‘The death certificate is being processed at the coroner's office,' Terry answered. He was thinking on his feet. Sammi noticed a red blush making its way up past his shirt collar towards his face. He hadn't even considered this as a possibility.

‘Is that the death you want to talk to me about? The guy in Peter's shed?' Belinda said.

Terry had no choice but to answer in the affirmative. They didn't have any other body. It was still speculation as to what had happened to Peter.

Belinda looked across to the solicitor. He opened his folder and pushed a piece of paper across to Terry. Sammi could see it was a death certificate. Peter Charles Woodford's death certificate, with the cause of death listed as asphyxiation. Sammi was quite certain she knew where they had obtained that from. Faye Woodford was helping out her daughter-in-law.

It was time for the legal talk.

‘This is the death certificate issued for the deceased person found hanging in Peter Woodford's shed,' the solicitor began. ‘It clearly states the deceased is Peter Charles Woodford. You have stated that my client has been arrested for the murder of Barry Mervyn Woodford. I demand you release her until you can prove that Barry is in fact dead. Come back once you have a death certificate in Barry Woodford's name, death by hanging. And then have enough reasonable suspicion to be able to arrest my client for questioning for that matter. That is, unless you can show now that Peter's dead and my client was involved. Can you? I think you might be missing a body,' the solicitor challenged.

It was a reasonable presumption that Peter too was dead, killed by the same hand that murdered his brother. But, at this stage, there was no body and no proof.

‘No, we've got no proof that Peter is dead,' Terry said.

‘Yet the only body you've got at the moment is legally Peter Woodford,' the solicitor said. ‘So, I demand you release my client. You have no legal grounds to hold her for the murder of Barry Woodford when the death certificate is in his brother's name. And only speculation that he is actually dead.'

The look on Terry's face said it all. The solicitor had him on a technicality. And Sammi didn't know whether they had any power to hold Belinda until the death certificate for the hanger was issued in Barry's name. It was not a set of circumstances she'd come across. This was a job for the legal services department, not a couple of connies whose combined years of experience didn't run to double figures.

‘Would you bear with me for one minute please?' Terry asked, directing the question at Belinda. He rose to his feet, making a small gesture to Sammi that she should stay.

But the solicitor was on his feet too and earning his money. He placed both hands on the bench and leant across towards Terry.

‘I demand you release my client. You have already held her for two hours on a charge you cannot prove. She has been inconvenienced enough. You know full well she has a child who needs her now, particularly in this emotionally torrid time. Release her.'

‘We've got eight hours detention for questioning,' Terry said.

‘You're trying to question her on the murder of Barry Woodford. Legally, Barry is not dead, so how can you arrest Mrs Woodford for his murder? Get your death certificate. Get your facts straight. Then we can give this another go.'

Belinda's expression was blank. This was the ace up her sleeve. Here was her exit strategy.

Terry needed help. He looked across to Sammi but this was well beyond her too. ‘I'll just ask you to wait a few minutes while –'

‘No!' the solicitor said, using his fist like a judge's gavel on the bench. The suddenness of the action made Sammi jump. She looked at Belinda. She was sitting with her head bowed, hands folded in front of her. Was she praying?

‘You have held my client for long enough. On what grounds do you detain her?' the solicitor thundered.

‘Reasonable suspicion of murder,' said Terry, trying hard to sound confident.

‘Whose murder? We're back to the beginning again, Plain Clothes Constable.' The address was used as an insult. ‘Show me the proof that Barry Woodford is dead. Show me or release my client immediately. Otherwise, I shall have you investigated for unlawful detention.'

Terry's eyes darted back and forth, between Sammi, Belinda and the solicitor. Sammi shook her head slightly and shrugged her shoulders a little. She didn't have enough experience to bail him out here. She was as much at a loss as he was.

His face was a crimson red. He had been so confident. Now he had no Plan B.

‘I'm only asking you to bear with me for a few minutes . . .' He needed advice. There was too much at stake, too many questions. He did not know the answers. The solicitor did. He had successfully blindsided them.

‘Are you asking us to wait out of the goodness of our hearts while you stuff around, phoning a friend, trying to work out how to do your job?' The solicitor's voice cut through the watchhouse stillness. ‘Or is my client still . . . ', he drew air quotes, ‘. . .“under arrest” for a person who you can't prove is even dead?'

When Terry spoke, his voice was clipped, as if he was trying to swallow the words so they would not get out. ‘Belinda, you are no longer under arrest.'

That was what they were waiting for. The solicitor nodded to Belinda and she got to her feet. Sammi could feel the tension in the air crackling like electricity. Belinda was breathing heavily now, the only sign that the situation was causing her any stress. Her face was set like stone, her hazel eyes burning with expectancy.

Terry stepped in front of them, blocking their way without making any actual contact with them.

‘As I was asking, could you please bear with me for one minute?' His career-launching big pinch was dissolving in front of his eyes. But he had no power left to stop them, except politeness and goodwill. And that would not be enough.

‘I'm sorry.' At least the solicitor had lowered his voice again. ‘Mrs Woodford has spent enough time waiting here. She's been very co-operative but now that she has been released you cannot prevent her from leaving,' he said, ushering Belinda to the door, his folder tucked under his arm.

Terry couldn't stop them, didn't have the experience to stand up to the solicitor steamrolling him, didn't have the knowledge to quote the correct set of powers to oblige them to stay. Belinda and the solicitor walked around him and out the door of the interview room. Something inside Sammi gave a little cheer.

The watchhouse keeper looked surprised, but after getting the nod from Terry, he signed Belinda out and buzzed both her and the solicitor out of the locked doors. As the watchhouse door closed behind Belinda, Sammi guessed they would never see her again.

Terry swallowed hard. ‘Fuck. I am so screwed.' He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

‘All right. There's got to be some sort of power to hold her while we get the certificate changed,' he said as he waited for his call to be picked up. ‘Can you get onto the coroner's office and chase that certificate, pronto?' he asked Sammi. Then his call connected and he launched into his explanation to legal services.

Eventually, after an extended phone call with a prosecutor, Terry leant back in the grubby office chair and put his hands behind his head.

‘I'm going to be stuck as a PCC in Angel's Crossing for the rest of my life now,' he said.

‘Sometimes life refuses to co-operate with your plans,' Sammi replied.

‘How'd you go with the coroner?' he asked.

‘No good. He won't do anything else without DNA or dental records. The tattoo isn't enough for him. The clerk said he's pretty cranky we got it wrong the first time and he signed off on the wrong body. He's not going to make the same mistake twice.'

‘Belinda has bought some time on a technicality, but she knows that we know that she did it. I'll get her yet. Just not today,' Terry said.

‘Even if you charge her, it's not going to be straightforward,' Sammi speculated. ‘Get the right jury and she'll get off. Any parent would want to do nasty things to someone who raped their kid. But, god, it would take her lots of time and money to fight it. And a fair dose of luck. She'd be remanded in jail for a year at least before it got to trial. Poor Nicola would hear the whole story, on the news and in the schoolyard, probably think she was to blame. If I was Belinda, I would be going directly to the airport and jumping on the first plane to South America. Or whichever country doesn't have an extradition agreement with Australia.'