The Shape of Truth: A completely gripping crime suspense, page 17
‘Is that a question, sergeant, or do you doubt my word?’
Sam didn’t miss a beat. ‘The latter, sir. Mrs Appleton also has a suspected broken collarbone, ruptured spleen – for which she may need surgery – and several broken ribs. She is also severely dehydrated. Perhaps your wife refused water as well as medical attention?’ Samantha’s eyes flashed at the arrogance of the man. ‘Lack of medical attention has put your wife’s life in danger, Mr Appleton.’
‘I didn’t know how serious it was. I’m not a doctor. Georgia knows more about medical matters than I do so I was guided by what she wanted.’
Arthur Jenson was sitting in silence, clearly stunned by this exchange. Sam watched the solicitor’s face and wondered if Appleton had told him how seriously his wife was injured. If Georgia didn’t pull through, Jenson could be defending his client on a murder charge.
Sam wasn’t going to make this easy for the MP. ‘When we found your wife she was unconscious. Did that not alert you to the seriousness of her condition and the need for medical attention?’
‘She’s been sleeping much of the time. Are you qualified, sergeant, to decide if Georgia was unconscious or just asleep?’ Mark countered.
‘Yes, sir I am and as she couldn’t be roused, I’m confident that she was unconscious.’ Her reply caused Mark to raise an eyebrow before folding his arms and turning slightly away from the detective.
Jenson found his voice and half-heartedly tried to support his client. ‘My client has told you he is not a doctor, detective sergeant, and if his wife insisted on refusing medical attention, is it not reasonable for him to concur with her wishes?’
‘Not in my book, no.’ Sam was adamant. She knew she was right and so did the solicitor. Looking to Jenny, whom she’d prepared before the interview, Sam nodded for the DC to take over and change the subject.
‘Mr Appleton, we recently spoke to you about an allegation regarding a historic rape. Is there anything you would like to tell us about that incident?’
‘Now wait a minute!’ Jenson’s reactions were immediate. ‘My client’s here to answer a charge of domestic assault. He has already refuted this spurious allegation.’
‘But we’re pursuing the allegation – re-opening the case using your DNA to prove your involvement conclusively.’ Jenny’s eyes danced as she looked from the MP to his solicitor.
Appleton’s face blanched. ‘I’ve already refused to supply a DNA sample and I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘In the light of today’s charge you are now obliged to give a sample, sir. It’s the law – I’m sure you understand.’ Jenny smiled briefly and continued. ‘Mr Appleton, previously you stated that you’d never heard of Caroline Greenwood, née Fraser – do you still maintain you do not know her?’
Mark sat with his arms across his chest staring into space as if he’d not heard the question.
‘My client does not know this woman, now or at any time in the past, and does not wish to answer any more of your questions on this matter. Perhaps we can stick to the charge in question?’ Jenson seemed harassed but the DC persisted.
‘Mr Appleton could you take a look at this photograph, please? This is a picture of the lady concerned taken around the time we’re talking about. Perhaps this will jog your memory.’ She slid the picture of Caroline, which he’d been shown before, across the table where both men could easily see it.
Appleton glanced at Jenson who gave a slight nod, then the MP picked up the photograph.
‘Never seen her before.’ The chin rose again and his focus returned to the ceiling.
‘Are you certain?’
Appleton’s nostrils flared. ‘Of course I’m bloody certain!’
Jenny appeared happy to help him along a little. ‘And we spoke before about the Majestic dance hall. Is this a venue you visited frequently in the 1980s?’
‘And as I told you before, I don’t know the place and have never been there.’
‘It’s true that the Majestic no longer exists; it was on Station Road but was demolished in the 1990s to make way for the ring road. Perhaps you remember it now?’
‘No, I told you I’ve never been there.’ Appleton looked directly into Jenny’s eyes and she could detect a slight smile on his face, an arrogance which challenged her to prove what he so vehemently denied.
Jenny held his stare. ‘That seems strange, sir, as we have a witness who can place you in the Majestic on the evening of the 1st May 1982.’
‘Ridiculous. How can anyone remember a specific day from so long ago?’
‘Because it was the witness’s birthday and she particularly remembers you being at the dance hall on that evening, at the same time she and Caroline Greenwood were there. It was the evening you followed Mrs Greenwood home and forced your way into her house before raping her.’
Appleton’s face was bathed in a sheen of sweat. ‘No! That’s a downright lie, I’ve never met the woman and this witness must be either mistaken or lying!’
Arthur Jenson placed a hand on his client’s arm and again entered the conversation. ‘My client has told you repeatedly that he doesn’t know this woman or this venue. If all you have is an unsubstantiated allegation of a woman and a sighting from over thirty years ago, I strongly suggest you cease this line of questioning. My client is distressed by the news of his wife’s condition and needs a break.’
‘Of course, sir, I’ll have some coffee sent in.’ Jenny and Sam stood to leave.
‘A short break would be appropriate,’ Jenson continued. ‘After which I was hoping to arrange bail and get Mr Appleton home to rest.’
‘I’ll send in the coffee and then we’ll talk about bail,’ Sam said, then the women left the room.
35
MARK
Mark Appleton knew he was in a fix. It would take some clever talking to get him off the charge of assault but it was doable. This old charge, however, was troubling. Surely after thirty years, there couldn’t possibly be anything to incriminate him and he was at a loss to know how a DNA sample would help the police.
Jenson assured him that if he was innocent he had nothing to fear. It was simply procedure. Mark agreed, he suspected the vindictive detective sergeant was trying to intimidate him, a tactic he assumed she was using due to lack of evidence. Well, it wouldn’t work. If DS Freeman thought he’d confess to rape just because they were charging him with assault she needed to seriously revise her thinking.
Appleton hated being in the ghastly police station but remained confident that there was no way the police could tie him to the rape. They were just trying to scare him with talk of DNA – after thirty years there couldn’t possibly be any physical evidence. And no one on the planet could remember what they were doing so long ago. It all boiled down to a simple matter of her word against his. He was a respected MP – she was a nobody. It bugged him somewhat as to what Caroline Greenwood hoped to achieve with this allegation, but her motive was irrelevant, the woman was heading for a fall and about to make a complete fool of herself into the bargain. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut and forgotten all about it as he had done?
Appleton’s thoughts drifted back to his wife. Once he secured bail he’d go and see Georgia in hospital and persuade her not to press charges; she’d never done so before and he was sure he could convince her to keep quiet this time. And if she died? It would certainly make DS Freeman’s job all the more difficult – how would she prove he was lying without his wife’s testimony?
The coffee brought in for them was undrinkable, a disgusting liquid resembling dishwater complete with floating scum. Mark pushed it away and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table.
‘How long can they keep me here?’ he asked his solicitor.
‘They’ll have to let you go soon. I can make a good case for bail but there’ll be conditions.’
‘Whatever, I just need to get out of here. I can’t think straight when I’m cooped up like this.’
Before further discussion was possible DS Freeman and DC Newcombe entered the room. The younger woman switched on the recorder and they resumed the interview.
Mark jumped in first. ‘Can we organise bail now? I really must get to the hospital to see Georgia.’ He arranged his expression to one of concern.
‘Our latest update on your wife is that she’s presently in theatre undergoing surgery to remove her spleen.’
‘What? Why wasn’t I informed?’
‘You’ve just been informed, sir.’
‘Then I must get to the hospital to be there when Georgia wakes up.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr Appleton. One of the conditions of bail is that you do not make contact, directly or through a third party, with your wife.’
‘Why the hell not? I’ve told you – she fell down the stairs and if I’m not there when she wakes it will only add to her distress.’ Mark was barely controlling his anger and could see no reason why he shouldn’t visit Georgia.
‘Mrs Appleton intimated quite recently that she wished to make a complaint about your violent behaviour towards her. Bearing this in mind and her present injuries, my priority must be your wife’s safety.’
‘This is ridiculous! Jenson, tell them this isn’t acceptable!’
Arthur Jenson again put a restraining hand on Mark’s arm. ‘It is quite usual given the circumstances, Mark. We can appeal the bail conditions later, let’s just get this sorted out and get you home.’ Jenson turned his attention to DS Freeman. ‘What other conditions are you looking at, detective?’
‘Ah, well, home is another thing. As this is also Mrs Appleton’s address, we require your client to provide a different bail address.’
‘You can’t do that!’ the MP protested. ‘Where the bloody hell can I go?’
‘If there’s no one who will offer you accommodation, a hotel will suffice, but it must be at least three miles from your current address. The same conditions also apply to Mrs Caroline Greenwood; you are not to attempt to contact her directly or indirectly and you are not to go within one mile of her current residence.’
‘Jenson, can they do this?’ Mark snapped at his solicitor who kept his attention on Samantha Freeman and merely nodded in reply.
‘Thank you,’ the detective said. ‘Before you leave someone will be along to take a DNA sample, Mr Appleton, and once the paperwork is in order and you can provide an address you may leave. We require you to report to this station every week and surrender your passport as soon as possible.’
‘Then, I’ll need to go home to get my passport and I assume I’ll be allowed to pack some things?’ Mark looked smug as if he’d finally scored a point in this game of cat and mouse.
‘Certainly, sir. An officer will accompany you to your home for that purpose as soon as we’re finished here.’
Appleton was left alone in the room to await someone to take a swab while Jenson went to the desk to finalise the paperwork and ring Tim Baker at his client’s request to ask if the MP could stay with him for an indefinite period.
Over seven hours after he’d arrived at New Middridge police station, Mark Appleton was released on bail. The final humiliation came in the form of two journalists waiting in the lobby.
‘Mr Appleton, can you tell us why you’re here today?’
Appleton averted his eyes, ignoring the question and quickened his step to exit the station as swiftly as possible. To his annoyance, he was not in time to avoid the flash of a camera before being bundled in a police car like a common criminal and taken to his home by two uniformed police constables to collect his passport and pack a suitcase.
The house was in darkness as they pulled into the drive and Mark wished he could simply go inside alone and pour himself a large whiskey before sleeping for hours. He needed the solitude but apparently it was to be denied and he was forced to rely on his agent to house him for goodness only knew how long.
Appleton opened his front door and switched on the light. Immediately he knew things were not right. He was aware that the police had obtained a search warrant but assumed they were searching for Georgia and nothing more. Looking from room to room it was apparent the police had searched everywhere and thoroughly too. All Mark’s possessions had been handled, the thought of which both infuriated and concerned him.
As he hurried to his study both officers followed him – it seemed he was to be watched in his own home – surely an affront and a violation of his privacy.
Mark paled when he saw his bureau, his eyes scanning the broken lock, taking in the missing contents. ‘This is criminal damage!’ he shouted at the young officers.
‘If we have a valid search warrant and keys are not available, we have powers to break a lock if necessary – but there’s not much damage. It should repair pretty easily.’ The constable appeared unconcerned but it wasn’t the damage Appleton worried about, it was what the police might have found inside the bureau. A search of the now unlocked drawer confirmed his bank statements were missing as well as several other more personal papers. Anger and frustration welled inside the MP and a deep fear was settling in his gut.
‘But why the hell did they need to search for paperwork when the charge is assault?’ he asked, staring at the empty spot where his computer usually sat, immediately grasping the implications.
‘It’s procedure, sir. You’ll get everything back in due course.’ The constable followed Mark as he marched angrily upstairs to pack a bag.
Much to Mark’s annoyance, the officers didn’t let him out of their sight for a moment. Still, as the things he really wanted to take, such as his laptop and the contents of his desk, were with the police, he packed other necessities quickly and the two officers drove him to Tim Baker’s house.
It was late and Mark was glad of the cover of darkness as he sat in the back of the car, angry and indignant. As the significance of what the police might find rattled around his brain, Appleton was feeling more than a little nauseous.
36
TIM
Tim Baker had devoted ten years of his life to Mark Appleton but now it appeared he’d backed the wrong horse. It was time to look for another politician whose coat tails he could ride. The MP had seemed to have everything going for him, yet was acting like a bloody fool and his greed and selfishness were coming back to bite him where it hurt – his career and possibly his freedom.
Tim wondered, not for the first time in Mark’s case, why successful people are never content with what they have. They craved more fame, more power, more wealth, more, more, more – it was always the same with Appleton’s type. The MP may have been blessed with good looks, a good education, money and popularity, but it still wasn’t enough.
Not that Tim himself was a saint, he wasn’t, but he knew his limitations and what he could and, more pertinently, what he couldn’t get away with. He’d assumed Appleton was the same and the MP possessed the intelligence to know when to be satisfied and when something was going to break him, as it appeared to be doing now.
Confident the MP was going all the way to the top, Tim had cleaned up more of Appleton’s messes than he cared to remember, not always pleasant tasks but necessary ones, or so he thought. Mark’s ambitions ran parallel to his own and Tim would be along with him for the ride. They could have made it too – Mark was popular, personable, with good looks and a pretty wife which he erroneously believed was all he needed for success.
Tim was the one who put in all the work and so far he’d been content to wait for his reward – to become the power behind the throne. If Appleton made it to Number Ten, Tim would be his chief adviser, a heady prospect. Some derided the title Spin Doctor but Baker coveted it. It correctly described what he aspired to and felt he deserved.
The dream was seductive. Tim was confident in his own ability and possessed good instincts which enabled him to read the mood of the people as well as that of the House. Together he and Mark could have been great with the potential to achieve the highest accolades and line their own pockets in the process. Mark would have been welcome to the fame. Tim only wanted the power. But now due to the man’s stupidity, his promising golden career was proving to be no more solid than a house of cards, tumbling down around the MP’s feet and Baker most surely did not intend going down with him.
All too aware of Appleton’s corruption and hypocrisy, Tim was generally able to turn a blind eye, yet he’d been shocked to see what the man had done to his wife. And then the ridiculous suggestion of killing her. It must have been the drink talking, even Mark couldn’t believe he was so invincible as to get away with such a stupid idea. The sight of the poor woman confirmed what Tim already knew, the MP had no humanity in him, no redeeming features, and now Tim wished he’d never met the man. It wouldn’t bother him if he didn’t lay eyes on Appleton again, although he feared that might not be possible for some time to come at least.
When the phone call came from Arthur Jenson, Tim’s mood took a second massive downturn that day. Mark Appleton was to be released on bail and insisted Baker provide him with accommodation as he was forbidden, unsurprisingly, to return home. The man’s audacity stung but Tim was in a rather precarious situation; he needed to keep on Mark’s side as unfortunately the MP knew almost as many of his secrets as Tim knew of Mark’s. As Jenson outlined the conditions of bail set by the police, it became clear he was not only expected to provide accommodation but also to babysit the man. Tim groaned deeply at the thought.
Jenson solemnly stated the obvious. ‘He really needs to be kept out of trouble, Tim. Mark doesn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of his situation and appears convinced that if he could see Georgia and persuade her to back up his story, he’ll somehow get off all charges.’
The solicitor’s words didn’t surprise Baker at all; he’d wondered earlier if Mark was becoming unhinged with all his talk about getting rid of his wife; was the man still functioning in the real world or was he losing it altogether?
