Chapter 14
The Truth Will Out
Helen phoned her supervisor. “Hello, guv. I believe I’ve come across something rather interesting.
Do you have a moment?” she asked. “Brilliant. See you in a few.” Helen was pleased her boss was in the office, otherwise this would have had to wait until after the holidays.
If the cosmos was aligned in a positive way, perhaps this family could be reunited for the New Year.
She tapped her sternum where her St. George medal hung on a gold chain.
Helen was ready. She pulled up all the files and the copies of the prints and began working on a world-class presentation to her supervisor.
Considering the evidence she revealed, it could go one way or another.
She was aware that a number of her contemporaries were not particularly fond of the disgraced judge.
But there was a possibility that what she dug up would ruffle too many feathers, and she would be pushed to hide her findings.
A short rap on her door announced the director of forensic services.
“Guv. Thanks for coming down on such short notice, Eleanor,” Helen said.
“No worries. I probably shouldn’t say this too loud, but it’s rather subdued upstairs today. Must be the eggnog,” she joked. The tall, brutish-looking woman was imposing if you didn’t know her well. She could have been a prison guard at one time in her life.
“So, whatcha got fer me?” Eleanor asked and leaned against the wall.
Helen pulled up the first slide marked Latent Print.
“This is from ten years ago. There was a shooting behind a bank. One of the councilors was shot and killed in what appeared to be a robbery gone wrong.”
The director peered closer. “And yer gonna tell me you found a match while doing yer extracurricular activities?”
Earlier in the year, Helen had proposed that a team should be formed to review latent prints, and check if they’ve been updated.
Most criminals don’t start out with their fingerprints in the system.
It made sense to review such cases. The technology was available, but the personnel was not, so the idea never came to fruition.
But Helen was a stickler for closure, so she offered to do it on her own time.
Her colleagues thought she had lost the plot when she first volunteered, but there was no pressure, and she could pursue closing cases for good.
It tickled her when a coworker would offer to lend a hand.
Many people enjoyed solving puzzles. These were real.
Helen pulled up the most recent print and superimposed it. All the markers were a match.
Eleanor looked closer. “Impressive. So whose is it?”
Helen inhaled slowly then exhaled his name. “Judge Stephen Gilmore.”
The director cackled. “Ye don’t say? Ha! Doesn’t surprise me one bit. Never liked the bugger. Now he’s proven he’s a bounder, fer sure.” She held up her hand for a high-five to Helen. “Brillian work, Helen. Congratulations! Good on you.”
Helen was overjoyed that her boss was as pleased as she was. “Now what happens?” Helen asked, knowing the judge was already in jail for one crime, and the innocent man on the run needed to have his name cleared.
“Lots of paperwork ye created for yerself. There are forms for the Greater Manchester Police, the Serious Fraud Office, and the Crown Prosecution Service. You’d think they could use the same forms, but not a chance.
” The director clicked her tongue. “I’d offer to help but I gotta get to the bowling alley. My team is in the holiday tournament.”
Helen chuckled to herself. Of course it is. “I’ll get on it.”
“You can start now. This particular case is on the clock. It’s no longer a cold case. Copy me on the reports,” she said as she headed out the door. Eleanor stopped for a second. “Excellent work. Cheers.”
Helen could barely contain her excitement.
Killing two birds with one stone was exhilarating.
A very nasty man would assuredly remain in prison for the rest of his life, and another would be reunited with his family.
Pleasing Oliver was a bonus. She waited until the director was far down the hall then phoned Oliver.
“Saturday night. Pick me up at seven thirty. I’ll text you deets.
And no, I will not ride on the back or the front of your bicycle.
Don’t forget to make reservations.” She ended the call without giving Oliver an opportunity to eke out a word.
She had work to do. If she filed the paperwork by eleven that night it would be in the system by the following morning.
It might take a personal visit to the Crown Prosecution Service, but London was festive this time of year.
Her phone immediately rang. It was Oliver. He wanted a less cryptic message.
Helen picked up the phone, and before she could say anything Oliver blurted, “Care to fill me in?”
“With what?” Helen was being coy.
“Your progress. You were supposed to meet with the director, correct?”
“Yes I was, and yes I did.”
“Aaannd?” Oliver stretched the word.
“And she was impressed; however, I have been tasked with filling out forms. Will probably be here past eleven.”
“Can I bring you some takeaway? Feed your cat?” Oliver wanted to be as helpful as possible.
“Yes, and yes. Quincy will be delighted his dinner will be served on time.”
“How will I get in and where do you keep his food?”
“Key is under a pot of ivy, on the right.”
“That’s original,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
“Someone better warn Stephen Fry that yer coming after his job.” Helen invoked the name of a famous British humorist.
“I’ll call my agent,” Oliver quipped in return, then continued. “Where do you keep the food?”
“Kitchen.”
“Excellent choice.”
“I shall text you all the details. I could go for some pizza. Pepperoni, please.”
“Will do. I’ll visit Quincy first, then swing by your office. What time?”
“Be here around six. Ta.” She ended the call again then began to send Oliver the address and feeding instructions, which were not at all complicated:
Cat food in cabinet next to fridge. Open a can, put food in a dish, put dish on the mat on floor.
Her second text was her address in the Ancoats section of the city, once known for its textile industry, but now a hip neighborhood filled with pubs, restaurants, and an artsy vibe.
Oliver wasn’t sure if he was excited or nervous to enter Helen’s flat without her.
She appeared to be rather fine with it, but still.
Oliver certainly wasn’t a peeper, but he thought it might feel that way stepping into her private space.
He resolved to arrive at the flat, feed the cat, and exit immediately.
He would even try to avoid glancing around the room.
By four thirty Oliver was pedaling toward Helen’s flat.
He checked the surrounding area to assure no one was watching him retrieve the key.
Then he did exactly what he planned. Arrive, open the door, and feed the cat, who was very pleased to see him.
Oliver leaned over to pet the kitty who was very appreciative of the attention and his meal.
When Oliver stood, he couldn’t avoid seeing the stylish décor with mid-century modern furniture and a large abstract painting over the sofa.
The room was pristine yet inviting. “Lovely,” he said in a loud whisper.
Then he was befuddled over whether or not he should mention her excellent decorating taste to her.
He’d wait to see which direction the conversation went.
Helen was no shrinking violet and would probably ask what he thought of her place.
He sat on one of the kitchen stools in front of the island counter and watched Quincy enjoy his meal.
He refreshed the water bowl and addressed the cat.
“It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Quincy, but I must get on and bring your mommy a pepperoni pizza.” Quincy looked up from his bowl and lifted a paw.
“Did he just give me a high five?” Oliver wondered out loud, although what he knew of Helen, he wouldn’t be surprised if the cat knew how to use and flush the toilet.
“Got to scurry off. You be a good boy.” He scratched the top of the cat’s head and exited without looking around any further, although the art in brilliant colors of red, orange, blue, and purple were hard to miss.
He secured the door and checked the area to be sure no one saw him place the key under the potted plant.
He hoped she had some other safeguard in place.
Burglary or robbery was something nobody wanted.
What he hadn’t realized was that Helen remotely disarmed the alarm system.
As he was locking the door he noticed a very small light, the size of a pin, go from blinking to a solid beam.
As he scanned the door frame he saw there was a small camera, which he presumed was connected to Helen’s mobile phone.
He was relieved. He should have known Helen would cover her arse.
He checked his watch and calculated how long it would take to get to the pizzeria near Helen’s office, but riding a bike and carrying a pizza required a special skill, one of which he had not mastered.
He decided to ride to Helen’s office and walk the block and a half to the pizza place. No balancing act required.
When he arrived at the office the security guard greeted him cordially.
DCI Townsend was a highly recognizable figure.
Oliver tossed a bag of garlic rolls at the guard.
“Enjoy!” The guard was pleasantly surprised.
Kindness doesn’t cost a thing … well, maybe a sack of aromatic knots of dough rolled in garlic and parmesan cheese.
It was worth seeing the smile on the lad’s face.