The Cop, page 14
Conner sat looking at her in trembling silence, desperately attempting to make sense of the unfathomable. Searching for words of clarification he couldn’t find.
The solicitor suddenly stood, holding both hands out wide, palms faced forwards, fingers splayed.
‘I’d like to take a break. I need to consult privately with my client.’
Conner reached out, clutching a sleeve of his lawyer’s grey business suit and dragging him back down into his seat with a resounding thud which seemed to reverberate around the room.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you. I haven’t broken any laws. I want to get this shit over with. Keep your fucking mouth shut, there’s a good lad.’ And then a line he’d used before. ‘Leave the talking to the grown-ups.’
Hodgson couldn’t believe her luck. ‘You want to continue?’
‘My God, she’s actually got it. Just get on with it, woman! Let’s bring this farce to a close.’
‘Your bloody footprints were found throughout the house, in the bathroom, your bedroom, on the landing, on the stairs, in the hall, and in the kitchen leading directly to the back door. You butchered that poor woman in the bathroom and then you dragged her body through the house as far as the back garden. That’s where the blood stops. I just don’t know what you did from there. Did someone help you dispose of her body? Is that what happened? Some lowlife who owed you a favour? That’s my best bet anyway. You persuaded a local criminal contact to act as a reluctant accomplice.’
‘That didn’t happen.’
‘I suggest it did. Your accomplice took Kathy’s body away for disposal while you went back upstairs to die. That’s pretty close to what happened that day. Am I right?’
Conner tugged at his hair.
‘You’ve got to listen to me, please. They weren’t my footprints! I’ve been set up. I didn’t kill her. If someone else was at the house they were the perpetrator, not some non-existent fantasy accomplice you’ve conjured up in your head. Whoever it was drugged me. And they killed Kathy too. They did it all.’
Hodgson rolled her eyes.
‘There’s no evidence to suggest that anyone else actually entered the house at any point. The footprints have all been matched to a pair of your shoes. Your shoes, Mike, not some unidentified accomplice waiting in the garden to take the body away when it suited you. There’s no room for reasonable doubt. The drugs were in your system, your fingerprints and yours alone were on the murder weapon, and your bloody footprints are throughout the property. Your continued denials aren’t helping you in the slightest. We’ve got more than enough evidence to prove that you’re a killer. Solid evidence that you’re finding it impossible to refute despite your best efforts. You know the score. You’ve been a working copper for longer than I have. You’re going to be charged. You must understand that. Why not confess to your crimes and make it easier on yourself when you get to court? That’s what I’d do in your place. Look to reduce your sentence. Knock a few years off while you still can.’
Conner’s shoulders slumped over his chest as he held his head in his hands. He’d never felt lower. He’d never felt so helpless or more confused. And he loathed Hodgson with every cell of his being for her part in his downfall. He wanted to hurt her. He so wanted to hurt her; to reach out and smash her face into the table time and again. For a second he feared he may lose control of his bowel; to actually shit himself in one adrenalin fuelled evacuation. He clenched his buttocks tightly together as he looked at Hodgson with pleading eyes filled with a combination of hate and despair. ‘None of this makes any sense. Someone else did it all, someone with a grudge. Someone looking to bring me down. Look for witnesses. Knock on doors. Ask the right questions and discover the truth before it’s too late. Why aren’t you listening to me, woman? For fuck’s sake, open your eyes and do your job. If Kathy’s dead, it wasn’t me!’
19
It wasn’t the first time Michael Conner had been in HM Prison Exeter, with its imposing high stone walls, located in the New North Road area of the pleasant Devonshire city. He’d been there on numerous occasions over the years, to interview one prisoner or another as part of his investigations. But this time was different, very different, and he was experiencing a creeping sense of foreboding for the first time in his adult life. He could sense danger in the air. It was eating away at him, beating him down.
Conner sat back on his prison bed and considered his situation as his gut churned like a washing machine on a spin cycle. It wasn’t so much the fact that he was an alleged wife killer that placed him at risk. It was more his former professional role that had created a noticeable stir amongst the other inmates. The police were understandably unpopular amongst the incarcerated criminal classes, and he knew that he was more disliked than most.
He recognised several of his fellow prisoners in the remand unit, three of whom he’d played his part in charging and hopefully convicting once their cases reached court. To say he was loathed was perhaps an understatement, and when he walked out of his cell and stood in the entrance to the communal recreation area for the first time, he knew an attack of some kind was inevitable. He had to find the courage to stand his ground. That was key. He repeated it again and again, yelling it in his head to drown out his anxieties and silence his fears. There was no option but to front up to any potential attacker, however dangerous, however intimidating – and to be the first to strike. It was a case of survival of the fittest with no place for the weak. There were different rules in the world within the walls. The law of the jungle would inevitably prevail. He had to face that fact and act accordingly; climb to the top of the evolutionary tree, an alpha male, the king of the jungle, whatever the odds against him.
Conner took a single step forwards, then another, and another, moving steadily until he was at the approximate centre point of the large, brightly lit room. He turned in a slow tight circle, proactively portraying a relaxed and confident demeanour that belied his true feelings, chest puffed out, muscles taut, and glaring angrily at any prisoner who dared to look him in the eye. When Conner first saw the overly muscular, steroid fed man, covered in self-inflicted tattoos from head to foot, he knew an assault wouldn’t be long in coming. The man was a serial offender and one he knew only too well, with his long history of severe violence and drug dealing in Devon, Cornwall and beyond. Andy Bridges was a career criminal. A seasoned offender who saw imprisonment as an unwelcome but inevitable occupational hazard – that was a price worth paying for the wealth and status his life of crime provided.
Conner looked at him and only him, as if they were the only two men in the room. The opportunity to beat up an ex-copper would be far too good to turn down. The fear of sanction was never going to be enough to hold his antagonist back. The boost to his criminal status and the satisfaction of revenge would be far too significant a payoff for that.
Conner sauntered towards the man, again portraying a degree of confidence he didn’t feel, rather than slink away as his instincts dictated. He took slow, deliberate steps, his mind racing as a red mist slowly descended, an instinctive reaction driven by tension. If he was going to survive imprisonment intact, there was only one way to do it. He had to be the daddy; feared, begrudgingly respected, the cock of the walk. This was his one and only opportunity to achieve precisely that.
Conner stopped and watched the big man’s every move as he rose to his feet, hands clenched and ready to strike at the first chance.
‘What the fuck do you want, pig?’
Conner didn’t reply. Instead, he sprang forwards, moving with surprising speed and agility, slamming a tightly clenched fist into his rival’s throat, once, then twice, before standing back and watching the big man slump slowly to the floor, gasping for air, his breathing restricted like a slowly deflating blow-up toy. Conner considered stamping down on his helpless opponent’s head as he writhed on the cold concrete floor, but he spotted a guard approaching in his peripheral vision and held his hands up high in the air, repeatedly claiming self-defence at the top of his voice, shouting to be heard above the resultant din as other prisoners gathered to witness the spectacle.
A young guard in his early twenties, only weeks into a job he already hated, looked down at the muscle-bound victim as he curled up in the recovery position, clutching his neck, eyes watering, a thin drool of bloody spittle running down his heavily stubbled chin. The guard shouted out in a wavering voice and pointed, ordering Conner back to his cell, before raising his two- way radio to his mouth and summoning urgent help, which to his obvious relief arrived quickly in the shape of two older and more experienced guards, who were well used to such things in their world within the walls.
The larger of the three guards strode towards Conner, stopping within six feet of him, out of striking distance, holding a hand in the air, waving him backwards as if directing traffic.
‘That’s it, back you go, back you go, get in your cell and close the door behind you. Now, Conner, move, man! Get on with it. You’ll do exactly as you’re told if you know what’s good for you.’ As Conner retreated towards his cell, hands still in the air and walking backwards one considered step at a time, he beamed a face-stretching smile. Prison world had its own rules. Its own modes of acceptable behaviour. The one thing lower than a pig was a grass. That was to his advantage. His victim wouldn’t be making a statement of incrimination. And neither would any of the witnesses. They’d say they’d seen nothing, heard nothing and had nothing to say. Helping the authorities wasn’t the done thing in prison world. Those were the rules, never to be broken. The only version of events on official record would be his. Conner thought it through as he entered his cell and sat on his bed, rehearsing his mitigation in his mind time and again until he considered it precisely right. I was scared for my life, officer. That’s all he’d have to say. I was aiming for his chin when I threw the two punches, not his throat. It was instinctive, an act of self-preservation and nothing more. I’m not a violent man by nature, far from it, in fact. The circumstances were exceptional. There was no other choice. If I hadn’t hit out, it would have been me lying on that cold, hard floor. I acted within the law, with reasonable force. It was self- defence. I did the right thing.
Conner stretched out with his head on the thin pillow and closed his eyes tight shut, satisfied with his thought process. He drifted into an exhausted sleep, but within the hour he was shaken awake and marched to a solitary cell by two burly guards on the orders of the prison governor, still protesting his innocence – even claiming he shouldn’t be in prison in the first place. That his incarceration was a travesty of justice. And a tragic waste of limited resources too. He was one of the good guys and not a criminal. Why couldn’t the authorities see that? It was so obvious, so plain to see by anyone with even an ounce of intelligence. Conner said it and believed it. He was the victim of a miscarriage of justice. An esteemed law enforcer worthy of the guards’ respect.
Conner made his impassioned case to anyone in earshot, whether they wanted to hear it or not. He hadn’t killed his wife. He said it and said it. He shouted it out. He yelled it at the top of his voice, making himself heard above all others. Kathy was still alive. The bitch was still alive! The more he’d thought about it he more certain he was. The police hadn’t found her body because the cow wasn’t dead. She’d escaped him. Done a runner when he’d least expected it. That’s why she’d dyed her hair that ridiculous shade of yellow. And the curry! She’d cooked the vindaloo to hide the taste of the medication. Of course she had. It seemed so very clear. He’d felt exhausted after eating it. Not just tired but poleaxed. All doubt was gone. Kathy had set him up. She was conning them all. It was far more than a suspicion; it was unfathomable truth. Conner didn’t understand how she’s managed it all, but she had. He didn’t know the detail, not the intricate complexities of her plan, but he’d never felt more certain of anything in his life. Kathy was taunting him, mocking him despite all he’d done for her over the years. She was laughing at him in spite of his putting a comfortable roof over her ungrateful head.
Conner clasped his hands over his ears, pressing his palms against the side of his skull and holding them there. But he could still hear Kathy as clear as day. As if she was there with him. As if she were sharing his cell. He could hear her giggling now. The sound reverberating around the small room, bouncing off the walls. Kathy was cackling like the witch she was. The bitch, the total fucking bitch! How dare she? How fucking dare she?
Conner was panting hard now, his chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm as he clutched his ears still tighter. He reached out and shook a clenched fist in the air as he pictured Kathy’s smirking face only inches from his. Value your freedom, bitch, take full advantage and laugh while you still can. He sank his teeth into her nose in his mind’s eye, tasting her blood, appreciating its metallic tang on his tongue. His frown became a smile. One day his fantasy would become a glorious reality and not just a construct of his creative mind. He spoke it out loud and proud. Announcing it to a world that was oblivious to his dark intentions.
‘You’re going to suffer, you scheming mare. You worthless whore! Can you hear me, bitch? I’m coming after you. I’ll never let you rest. Your time will come.’
Conner sucked the fetid air deep into his lungs to steady his pounding heart as Kathy’s image slowly faded away to nothing. It was time to calm down. Time to focus. He now understood that he was likely to spend the remainder of his remand locked alone in that cell, and that, he told himself, was just fine with him. It was safer to be separated from the crowd. An undoubted bonus he hadn’t adequately considered when planning his assault.
And it meant more time to think, more time to prepare with precision and necessary detail. That had to be a good thing. An added advantage. Fate was smiling on him. He was special. Better than all those who sat in judgement. Soon he’d be back in control.
Conner sat up and relaxed his shoulder muscles as the severity of his headache gradually paled. In that instant he decided to prepare for his pending court case night and day, and plan for his escape too, should the jury find him guilty despite his innocence. He’d work it all out to his best advantage. And once that was achieved, he’d rehearse the almost infinite suffering he intended to inflict on Kathy, just as soon as he had the slightest opportunity. That would be the climax. An event ultimately more satisfying than anything he’d achieved before. If the bitch thought she’d suffered, it was going to get worse. If she thought she knew the limits of pain, she was soon to learn otherwise.
He pictured Kathy prone and helpless at his feet and became instantaneously aroused. He began stroking his growing penis with one hand as he punched her to the floor in his mind’s eye. He moved his hand as he imagined her shrieks becoming an ear- splitting scream that vibrated in his head, making him blink. Conner pictured himself drawing his right leg back, kicking her with all the force he could muster as he moved his hand faster, and then crushed her skull with a powerful stamp of his heel, spraying the carpet with blood and brain, as he ejaculated with a guttural groan of pleasure, endorphins flooding his system as he shot his load over his chest. Conner kept moving his hand up and down, more slowly now but still with an intense grip, until the last drop of sticky white semen seeped from the swollen tip of his erect phallus, as he pictured Kathy closing her eyes for the very last time.
He lay there, eyes wide open and focussed on the ceiling, his fantasy at a reluctant end. He wiped the ejaculate from his body with the corner of a rough grey blanket and told himself that there were good times ahead. If Kathy thought she’d won, she was very sadly mistaken. If anyone could find her, it was him. And he would, he definitely would. One way or another she’d pay the ultimate price for the inconvenience and displeasure she’d caused. Yes, she’d suffer horribly. He’d make certain of that. He’d tear her slowly apart and watch as she breathed her last strangled breath. It was no more than she deserved. Kathy was going to die at his hand. Wherever she was, wherever she was hiding. She would never escape him. It was just a matter of time. She was tried, convicted and sentenced to death by him and only him. He was judge, jury and executioner. Her demise was as inevitable as night and day. And she’d brought it on herself. He held no blame. Death was no more than the disloyal bitch deserved. Her punishment was just.
20
Tom and Anna Oakes sat huddled in their modest lounge, staring at the television screen as an attractive dark-haired female BBC Devon newsreader presented an intense six-minute report relating to Michael Conner’s arrest and remand in Exeter Prison. Anna freed herself from Tom’s loving embrace as the story came to an eventual end, quickly heading for the kitchen and very much hoping that her husband of four years wouldn’t ask too many unwelcome questions that she couldn’t hope to answer with either the clarity or conviction that would satisfy his enquiring mind.
Anna stopped on reaching the kitchen door and spoke without looking back. ‘Do you fancy a bite to eat? I’m feeling a bit peckish. There’s a nice quiche in the fridge if you fancy it? Cheese and tomato with a wholemeal base. I bought it in the market at lunchtime yesterday. It would be a shame not to eat it while it’s at its best.’
‘Turn your head and look at me,’ he said.
She looked back at him with a far from convincing smile on her lips.
‘I can heat it up if you like? It wouldn’t take a minute. And perhaps a chilled glass of white wine to go with it. That would complement the meal perfectly.’
Tom jumped to his feet and strode towards her, a look of genuine concern on his handsome face.
‘Are you all right, Anna? Aren’t you going to say something? Forget the food for goodness sake! That was Mike they were talking about, our brother-in-law. He’s been charged with murdering your sister. I’m worried about you. I can’t believe you’re not reacting.
Just blanking it out as if it hasn’t happened isn’t going to help anyone at all, least of all you. What on earth’s going on in your head? I want to help. Really I do. There’s no need to hide your feelings. I want to know what you’re really thinking. Don’t hold back.’
