Mercy Killing (23 page)

The woman behind the counter had a pleasant face. If Leon were forced to describe her demeanour, he would call it open and welcoming. That look disappeared and was replaced by concern as soon as
he added, ‘It’s about Albert Woodville.’

‘Take a seat, please,’ she said. ‘I’ll get someone.’

He chose the seat furthest from the angry boy who was now tutting and scuffing the floor with his brand-new, £120 trainers.

Leon watched as the woman at the counter picked up the phone and put it to her ear. She spoke softly although he could still hear her ask for an officer to come and speak to him.

‘What’s your name, sir?’ she said, having to stand up to see him over the raised wooden ledge now he’d moved to the far side of the foyer.

‘Leon Edwards.’

He heard the name whispered into the phone and he sat and awaited his fate.

After a remarkably short time, the door opened and a young man in a suit walked towards Leon to where he sat on one of the cheapest chairs in East Rise.

‘Hello,’ said the man. ‘I’m Tom Delayhoyde. I’m a detective constable. Do you want to step into this side room and we can speak in private?’

He gestured towards a wooden door to the left of where Leon was sitting. It crossed Leon’s mind that he could still get up and walk out. As far as the very fresh-faced officer knew, he
hadn’t done anything wrong. He didn’t feel discouraged that DC Delayhoyde was so young, although he could see little difference in age between the officer and the angry teenager who was
now frantically pressing buttons on his phone and talking to himself under his breath. It crossed his mind to help out the police officer and the nice woman behind the counter by punching the
teenager as he left, but figured he was in enough trouble as it was. The phrase ‘You might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb’ popped into his head although even in his crowded
mind, he recognized that this wasn’t going to be the smartest thing he had ever done.

Tom Delayhoyde opened the door with his security pass and the two of them went inside and sat across from one another at the large table which was taking up most of the room.

‘You mentioned Albert Woodville,’ said Tom in an even tone.

Leon felt his mouth go dry and convinced himself that he could feel his pulse racing and heart speeding up. He didn’t need to let his imagination work overtime when it came to sweating
profusely: the perspiration was running down his face to the end of his nose.

He wiped his face on the sleeve of his fleece.

‘I know something about Albert Woodville,’ he said. His voice was much smaller than he would have liked. He was out of his depth.

‘Go on.’

He unzipped his fleece jacket, pulled his T-shirt away from his clammy body.

‘I did something stupid. Something criminal.’

The sound of the truculent young man who was still waiting at the front counter filled the room as he demanded to know how long he was going to be kept waiting.

‘Go on,’ said Tom again.

‘I knew Albie Woodville from years ago. I was at the children’s home he ran. He was a right horrible bastard – sorry about the language.’

Tom held up a hand and waved Leon on with his tale.

‘I hated him. We all hated him. He was nasty and spiteful. It doesn’t excuse what I did. I have to live with that now and it’s very important you know that I did this on my
own.’

He tried to imagine what the detective was now seeing but it was laborious enough for Leon to form in-depth views from his own perspective without trying to envisage what others might have on
their minds. He got as far as interpreting the officer’s raised eyebrows as interest and thought that he should continue.

‘No one else was to blame or involved. That’s important. When I saw Mr Woodville after all these years, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It had been so long and I thought that I was
over what he did. I suppose that you never put aside what’s happened to you as a kid, especially when it’s something so bad. He was a nasty piece of work, you see. I knew that I had to
do something, so I did.’

He paused, at first expecting and indeed then hoping that the officer would stop him talking.

When he saw the detective was about to speak, though, he knew that he had to get the words out so he said in a rush, ‘I did it. I told Albert Woodville I was going to kill him. I suppose
you’re going to nick me now?’

‘You told him that you were going to kill him?’ asked Tom. ‘When was this?’

‘Right before he died.’

Even as Leon gave his answer, he knew he had said the wrong thing to the officer but it was too late now. His fate was sealed.

Even as Tom said the words, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Albert Woodville,’ and began to caution his prisoner, he wondered if perhaps he was being a
little hasty. The man in front of him didn’t strike him as a murderer, just a bit of a sad individual who had come into the police station to claim that he had threatened to kill Woodville.
Nevertheless, Tom knew Edwards’s name as Toby Carvell’s alibi for Woodville’s murder, and the chances of him not being responsible or involved in some way were extremely unlikely.
Especially after he voluntarily came into the station and told him that he threatened to kill their murder victim.

What had really tipped the balance was the nervous, sweaty way the man, now his prisoner, conducted himself. Tom knew he had to get him into custody without the very large individual stumbling
upon the notion that he wasn’t going to allow himself to have his liberty taken away after all, especially by someone half his size.

What Tom realized was that, if he had the murderer standing in front of him, it was most certainly his lucky day. His suspicion of the man’s guilt was almost confirmed when following the
caution Leon said, ‘I never actually told you that I killed him.’

Regardless, he followed Tom towards custody where the officer began the tedious process of booking him in and explaining to the custody sergeant exactly why he had made an arrest for murder,
before Leon was searched and led to a cell to await interview. His only comment was once again, ‘I never actually told you that I killed him.’

Tom and the uniform sergeant exchanged a look at these words before Tom went off to explain to his detective inspector what had unfolded within the confines of the police station. It had, all in
all, been an unremarkable arrest although the officer was already planning in his head how he could talk this one up to his colleagues. Detectives, after all, went in for a lot of swinging the old
blue lamp. It passed the time between investigations.

It would have been difficult for Tom to deny that he was relishing having been the one who happened to answer the phone to the front-counter staff at that moment. The request for an officer to
speak to the member of the public who had decided to drop into the police station about a murder was the best bit of luck he’d had for a while. He knew it was no more than luck that
he’d been in the right place at the right time, but he felt the spread of excitement at the thought of going to tell the senior investigating officer that there was a man in the cells who
might be responsible for taking another’s life.

As ever, talking to someone suspected of killing brought out mixed feelings: on the one hand it was thrilling, on the other it was disturbing because of the sheer horror of the act of finality
involved.

He made his way back to the Major Crime offices and through the incident room to the conference room. He hesitated for only a moment before opening the door and stepping inside to tell the
entire team, SIO and all, what had happened only metres away from them. He didn’t want to show off, but it wasn’t every day he got to announce to everyone that he had made an arrest for
murder. He decided against calling Harry Powell outside so that he could tell him in private. After all, it was a briefing. Surely his next step would have been to tell everyone else anyway. It was
impossible to brief an investigation team without filling in the details.

All eyes turned to him as he pushed the door open, stood at the front of the room and said, ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. The man we’ve been looking for, Leon Edwards, has come to the
front counter and said that he threatened to kill Albert Woodville shortly before he died. I’ve arrested him for murder and he’s waiting in the cells now.’

If Tom had been expecting a fanfare, he was disappointed. He wasn’t even sure that he saw surprise flash across the DI’s face.

‘Come on in and take a seat,’ he said. ‘Oh, and well done. Want to tell us any more about it?’

Tom took a seat and ran through his mind everything that he so far knew about Leon Edwards. The realization that he knew very little hit him full on. He stumbled on his words and struggled to
have anything further to add to what he had already said. Then it dawned on him that, in fact, he did.

‘His reply after caution and again after he was booked into custody was . . .’

Tom read the words from his notebook, although he knew full well what they were. ‘Leon Edwards said, “I never actually told you that I killed him.”
 
’

The young, keen detective was now beginning to think he hadn’t minutes ago arrested the man who murdered Albert Woodville, but someone who perhaps made a habit of attending police stations
and confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed. It happened, although so far it hadn’t happened to him.

As he was about to squirm in his seat, Harry Powell’s voice carried across the conference room. ‘Nice one, Tom. You made the right decision. As you all know, if Tom had allowed him
to leave the nick, you’d all now be scouring the streets of East Rise trying to find him. Not asking too many questions was the right way to go.’

Harry rubbed his hands together and said, ‘So what else do we know about Leon Edwards?’

‘I recognize the name, of course, from the initial investigation.’ DCI Barbara Venice had once again taken a seat at the back of the room behind Gabrielle, unknown to Tom, as she had
remained silent up until that moment.

He glanced back at Harry, who had an air of surprise. Tom wasn’t exactly sure why the DI should be so mystified by his superior’s comments, and then it hit him. Barbara Venice
wasn’t really anything to do with this investigation, yet she appeared to be on the periphery of all that the team did. The only way she could have much knowledge of Leon Edwards was if she
had been reading up on the case.

That in itself wouldn’t have been significant, as a DCI in charge of an incident room should have an insight into all investigations, although perhaps not knowledge of all the details; it
was the look that Harry was giving her that piqued Tom’s interest.

‘Leon Edwards never claimed to have been a victim of Woodville’s sexual offending,’ said Barbara, ‘although he was at the children’s home with Toby Carvell and was
subject to physical abuse and bullying. It’s where he and Carvell met and as we already know they now have a window-cleaning business together.’

‘I’ve just been reminded of something I need to check on,’ said Harry. ‘Who was finding out if they were the firm who cleaned Woodville’s windows? It would explain
how they knew where he lived, not to mention being aware from looking in through his windows of his failure to manage his sexual interest in children.’

Everyone in the room had spent more time than they’d wanted to examining the scene photographs and the CSI’s virtual tour of every room in Woodville’s flat. They didn’t
need reminding of the depths of depravity the man had sunk to.

‘No, sir,’ said DS Sandra Beckinsale who was sitting to his side. She nodded in the direction of Sophia and added, ‘We checked that out after Sophia and Tom came back from
their enquiries with Carvell. The contract for cleaning all the flat windows in both blocks is with a London-based firm won under a tender. Carvell and Edwards are local with a smaller
round.’

‘OK, so no prizes for guessing who’ll be interviewing today then, Tom,’ said Harry. ‘Possibly tomorrow too, depending on what Edwards has got to say for himself. Soph,
you able to do that with him straight after the briefing? We shouldn’t be much longer here.’

He got a thumbs-up in answer to his question and continued speaking to his team.

Tom tried his best to pay attention but he was preoccupied with his imminent interview and the task of establishing exactly what Leon Edwards knew about Woodville’s murder.

His thoughts were interrupted by the DI saying his name again.

‘What you missed, Tom, when you were making the arrest, was that DC Hazel Hamilton, our newest member of staff, and Pierre, went to Sussex early this morning to investigate what appeared
to be a suicide from six months ago. Dean Stillbrook was found hanging from a tree after being acquitted of the rape of an eleven-year-old girl, Monica Lewis.

‘It seems that it wasn’t suicide, what with the illiterate Stillbrook writing a suicide note and stuffing it in his pocket before he hanged himself on the way to work. When Hazel and
Pierre got to her house this morning, Monica was there and told them that she’d made the whole thing up. They’re with her now. The problem we have, other than dead bodies popping up, is
that if someone killed Dean in an act of what they considered to be justice for raping a child, they were very much misguided.’

He stopped and scanned the room.

‘I don’t need to remind you that taking the law into your own hands is a very dangerous way to mete out justice. People en masse will panic and mob rule always ends badly. If Leon
Edwards is part of that mob rule, he’s going to prison. No pressure though, Tom. Let me know how you get on.’

Getting drunk was always Ian’s default setting. He left his sister’s house in something of a mood and started to walk home. He turned down a lift from Dave,
preferring to be by himself. He recognized the warning signs that he was about to get himself into a state and would find it difficult to lift himself out of it.

He couldn’t help it. He had spent many years of his life looking out for his sister, and when during the Clive years he didn’t have to, he’d allowed himself the luxury of
relaxing. The best way for him to do that was through alcohol.