Chapter 40 #2
‘I thought they were gone. I’d been in there for about twenty minutes. I left the cupboard and at the same time one of them came out of the bathroom.’
‘He saw you?’
‘Yeah,’ Ben sniffed and wiped his nose.
‘You got a good look at him?’
‘Good enough. He was white, maybe six foot. Dressed all in black and he was about your size,’ Ben said, pointing at Ramouter. ‘He had brown hair, which was wet. In fact, his face was wet, and he looked … upset.’
‘Upset.’
‘Yeah, really upset. His face was wet, and he was heaving, you know, like a kid when they’re crying.’
‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘Didn’t get a chance. The other guy called him, and I ran into a bedroom and locked the door.’
‘Did he follow you? Try to get into the room?’
Ben nodded. ‘I saw the door handle turn. I thought he was going to break the door down but then he left.’
‘The man who called him. Was he the one with an accent?’
‘No, the Londoner.’
‘Did he call him by name or …’
‘Josh. He called him Josh.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘I gave it about half an hour and then I left too but I went out the back. The bedroom had a terrace and stairs that went into the garden. I went down that way.’
‘And that’s why you didn’t see Nathan Hall hanging from the bannister, because you left through the back?’
‘There was no way I was leaving through the front door. I would have jumped out the window if I had to.’
‘And you still didn’t call the police,’ said Copeland. ‘After all that. You knew Nathan Hall was dead. You saw the people responsible, but you saw it all as material for your ridiculous show.’
‘DC Copeland!’ said Ramouter. ‘Ben has—’
‘He came to my studio,’ Ben shouted. ‘The day after my report. I saw him … it … he’s coming after me. So, you’ve got to protect me. You’ve got to.’
‘Talk me through what happened?’ Ramouter asked as Copeland leaned back in her seat, clearly annoyed at Ramouter’s intervention.
‘I was in my studio in Whitechapel. It’s not hard to find me because my details are on my YouTube page. Seth, my boyfriend, dropped me off. He helps me sometimes with editing and—’
‘Flying the drone?’ asked Ramouter.
‘He’s better at it than me. I’d left the studio to go to the chicken shop, and I saw him in the car park. The guy who came out of the bathroom.’
‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘Positive. He clocked me and then he started to run after me, and I ran too.’
‘Did he catch you?’
‘No. I jumped the fence and ran into the estate. I heard someone shouting and I think they scared him off.’
‘But again, you didn’t call the police,’ said Copeland. ‘Which makes me think this is all a ploy. That you’ve watched too many true crime documentaries.’
‘I was scared. What would you do if you were being chased by a serial killer?’
‘As I said, I don’t—’
Ramouter turned to Copeland and gave her a sharp look, silencing her before she had a chance to finish. ‘This man. You’ve seen him twice. Could you give us a description?’ he asked Ben.
‘What about protection?’ Ben asked as though he hadn’t heard the question.
‘It’s unlikely,’ Copeland said bitterly. ‘You ran. You lied. You broke into property. Three strikes and you’re out. I’m sure your lawyers explained that to you the last time you were in court.’
‘Ben, I’ll talk to my boss about the protection. It never hurts to ask, ok?’ reassured Ramouter.
‘Thank you,’ Ben said.
‘Now a description, do you think you could do that for us?’
‘Yeah, I can.’
‘That’s good. We’ll leave it there,’ said Ramouter. ‘Interview concluded at 10.46 a.m..’
‘Do you believe him, that he saw one of the suspects?’ Henley asked. She stopped outside the entrance of Croydon police station custody suite and looked through the sliding doors. Laurence Durant was sitting on the bench, his face pinched in deep concentration.
‘He wasn’t putting it on,’ said Ramouter on the other end of the phone. ‘He broke down crying towards the end. He’s adamant he saw what he saw. We’re just waiting for the police sketch artist to arrive.’
Henley could hear it. The hesitancy in Ramouter’s voice. She could safely place a bet that if she was in the room with Ramouter, she would have seen him rubbing his ear. A sure sign of a temper on the rise.
‘What happened in the interview?’ Henley asked. ‘What did Copeland do?’
Ramouter huffed. ‘She went in too hard. Like a two-footed tackle. I had to intervene more than once. I know that she’s more senior than—’
‘Ramouter, it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference how senior she is, she should know how to read the room. When it’s time to treat a detainee as a witness and not a suspect. If you go in too hard, you undermine your position. I told you that on day one. This isn’t a game.’
‘Aye. I know.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not having a go at you. Tell me, what do you want to do with Ben?’
‘RUI him with strict conditions not to post anything about this investigation on social media.’
‘That sounds good to me. Keep me updated,’ said Henley.
She ended the call and stepped into the custody suite.
‘Just give me one sec,’ she said to Laurence as she spoke to the custody officer at the desk who pointed to Interview Room Three on his left and informed her that Laurence had declined legal representation.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asked as Laurence picked up the large duffle bag that had been resting on the seat next to him. She’d authorised his release under investigation thinking that showing a bit of empathy and allowing him to return home, would bring Laurence to his senses.
‘I thought I should get some things together,’ Laurence said quietly as though resigned to some unknown fate.
‘You’re not being charged,’ Henley replied, realising that Laurence believed he would be charged and remanded in custody. She motioned for him to follow her into the interview room.
‘But I thought—’
‘That doesn’t mean the investigation against you is closed.
I’ve got some questions for you, and I need to do that under caution,’ Henley explained as she entered her details on the monitor.
‘Just like last time I’m going to do my little speech and ask you to introduce yourself. Are you good with that?’
‘Yeah,’ Laurence replied, fiddling with his wedding band.
‘So, I need to talk about the vigilante group known as Shadow or Iron Shadow,’ Henley said after she’d made the standard introductions, cautioned and reminded Laurence about his right to a lawyer.
‘I don’t know anything about any groups.’
Henley sighed and placed a stack of printouts on the table.
‘A judge gave us permission to access your phone. In front of you are copies of your WhatsApp messages and chats from the Discord app. So, I’m going to ask you again, Laurence, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me. Tell me about the groups.’
Laurence sniffed and slid his ring off his finger. ‘There was a time when I couldn’t take the bloody thing off,’ he said, holding it aloft. ‘I was about a stone and a half heavier eighteen months ago and then Sherri was killed, and I couldn’t eat. People kept bringing me food.’
‘The groups Laurence.’
‘I’m getting there. The point is that I needed help. To manage, not just the grief, but also the court process. You think that it would be straightforward. Someone kills your wife, that person gets arrested, convicted and then they go prison.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not always that straightforward.’
‘No, it’s not. The victim support people at court referred me to a group for people affected by crime. I didn’t want to go but my sister thought it would be a good idea.’
‘Is this the group at the Starlight Community Centre?’
‘Yeah. I started going and a couple of us would go to the pub afterwards and one of the guys started talking about justice and how to get it.’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Don. He didn’t give his surname.’
‘How did he suggest getting justice?’
‘Doxxing people, exposing what they’ve done on social media. That sort of thing. He stopped coming to the victim support group after a while, but we kept in touch, and he invited me to a group.’
‘The Discord group?’
‘That’s the one. I didn’t do anything at first. Just observed, have a bit of a chat and then, about a month ago, Don sent me the court file for Tabitha’s case. Not just her case but her pre-sentence report. Everything. He then asked if I wanted justice, and I said yes.’
‘Did you know what Don meant by justice?’
‘I thought he meant scare her. Shake her up a bit. Get her to apologise for taking my wife from me.’
Henley could hear the whirl of the fans in the computer tower behind her as Laurence choked back tears. She passed him the box of tissues.
‘She never apologised you know,’ said Laurence. ‘Not once. Her pre-sentencing report said that she was remorseful, but she never said, “I’m sorry for killing Sherri”. And, at one point, she blamed Sherri. Said that she ran out into the road. That she was on her phone, not paying attention. Bitch.’
‘You received a text message on Sunday 17 October at 9.28 p.m.. The number wasn’t saved in your contacts,’ said Henley. She tapped her pen against a highlighted message on the transcript. ‘“All good. On train now. Arriving at Forest Hill station. 10.04 p.m.”. Who were you meeting?’
‘Don. The plan was that I was to pick him up at the station, go to the Ashcrofts’ house and confront her.’
‘Was Don alone?’
‘No. When I arrived at the station, I could see someone with him. I didn’t think anything of it and then he brought him to the car.’
‘Could you describe this person?’
‘No. He had a hoodie on. He kept his head down and had his back to me. I asked Don who he was, and he said it was someone who was on our side. He didn’t give me a name.
I then … I don’t know panicked. It was all well and good talking about confronting her, but I’d started to see more things in the chat. Disturbing things.’
‘Like what?’
Laurence stood up, walked to the corner of the room and pressed himself against the wall. Henley let him, knowing that the microphones would be able to capture his voice. ‘It was a video of a woman. She was on the floor and screaming, never heard anything like it and she was covered with feathers.’
‘Who posted the video.’
‘I’m not sure, but I just thought about that video, and I couldn’t do it. Whatever they wanted to do, I just couldn’t do it.’
‘So, what happened next?’
‘I told Don no. That I’d changed my mind,’ Laurence said, returning to his seat. ‘But he told me it was too late. I told him I was going home but he … took out a knife and put it to my stomach. Told me again that it was too late.’
‘At the last interview we showed you footage of your car on Lordship Lane shortly before the attack on the Ashcrofts.’
‘That was my car, but I wasn’t driving. Don told me to get out of the car.
He had a knife, so I did. He told the other guy to get in which he did and then they drove off.
I thought he was just trying to frighten me, not that I wasn’t already scared as fuck, but I thought he was going to come back. But he didn’t.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘Nothing at first. Just stood there like a mug and then I went to the pub. The Dartmouth Arms. I had a couple of pints, tried to get my head together and then I got an Uber and went home. I’m sure they’ve got cameras, and you can check the Uber app on my phone.’
‘We’ll do all of those things,’ Henley replied, suddenly feeling exhausted by the lengths to which Laurence had gone to get some kind of justice for his wife. ‘How did you get the car back?’
‘Not that night but in the morning, I got a text from a different number. Telling me to pick up the car.’
Henley turned over the pages of the phone report and ran her finger through the messages. ‘6.49 a.m.. “Thanks. Keys behind the wheel. Driver’s side.”. There’s no location,’ she said.
‘I got a location notification after the text. He’d left the car in New Cross. I can’t remember the road name, but the car was parked next to an allotment. I got the train there and found my car. Windscreen shattered. Bumper fucked up. I just got in and hoped that you lot didn’t stop me.’
Henley gathered the pages of the report together as she watched Laurence grow smaller as he made his admissions.
‘How much trouble am I in?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Henley admitted. ‘Are you telling me that you were definitely not involved in the attacks on the Ashcrofts.’
‘I promise you,’ Laurence said vehemently. ‘I didn’t do anything. Not a thing.’
‘You didn’t see the blood on the back seat of your car?’
Laurence lowered his head. ‘I didn’t check the back of the car.’
‘Did Don contact you again?’
‘No, I think he knew that I was done, that I was out but I saw what had happened. There were photos in the group. I wish I’d never met him.’
‘I’m going to terminate the interview at 11.46 a.m.,’ Henley said, tapping the stop button on the touchscreen.
‘I’ll do what I can to convince the CPS to take no further action against you, but I can’t guarantee it,’ she said as Larry leaned forward on the table with his head in his hands and began to cry.
‘I just wanted her to say sorry,’ Laurence said his cries becoming louder and uncontrollable. ‘That’s all I wanted. For her to say sorry for killing my wife.’