‘NOT MY DUTY TO KNOW WHAT THE TIME IS’
PETER GRIMSHAW WAS DETAINED OVERNIGHT.
The following morning the questioning continued, always the same—what time did you leave to go to the hospital, how did you find your way to the children’s ward, have you ever been to Bolehill Copse, how did you transport Emily Black to Bolehill Copse, have you ever been to the children’s ward?
After Peter Grimshaw had repeatedly denied that he had ever been inside the Children’s Ward at West Garside General Hospital or that he had ever been to Bolehill Copse, Yarrow finally said to him in a friendly manner, “OK, Peter, would you like to make a statement to that effect, that you have never been inside the children’s ward, and then we can wrap things up here?”
“Yeah, sure, why not,” he responded, thinking, yes, I’m clear. It’s obvious they had nothing on me, and they never mentioned a fingerprint, so that was all a bloody big bluff. Yes!
“Excellent. If you just repeat what you have told us. Do you want to write it yourself, or can Sgt Harding write it down, and then we’ll get it typed up and you can sign, how does that sound, OK?”
“Be better if he does, my writing’s not too hot, you know, bit scrawly,”
“That’s fine. Sgt Harding will take your statement. I just hope they can read his writing when they come to type it,” joked Yarrow, anything to divert suspicion. “We’ll maybe need a chemist to decipher it,” but the joke fell flat; Grimshaw was still too tensed up, even though he was now sure he was in the clear, especially as there had been no mention of fingerprints or footprints again.
“Yeah, it’s OK, sounds good to me, told you I ain’t got nothing to do wi’ that little girl, whatever her name was.” If he did not know her name, as he pretended, he would be the only man in West Garside, if not the entire country, not to know poor Emily’s name, the heinous crime had caught public attention nationwide.
“OK,” said Harding in a soft, neutral voice, “Just tell me in your own words.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, scratching at the side of his nose. “Like I been telling you, I never been into the children’s ward at Garside hospital, never had no…” he sought for an appropriate word, “occasion to go there. I weren’t there the night that the little girl, I think you said her name was Emily, I weren’t there the night she…was taken. I did not take her to Bolehill Copse, and I did not kill her.” He paused. “That all right?”
“You’re doing fine, just tell us what you were doing that night, 14th August, just for the record,”
“Like I told you, I went to the ‘Prince of Wales’ on Southburn Street, had a drink or two, and went home to bed, ‘bout 10.45.”
“And that was it?”
“Yeah, right boring.”
“And you have never been into the Alfred Doakes Children’s ward, either on the night Emily Black was abducted or at any other time?”
“No, I told you already.”
“Just confirm that once again, please Peter.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he grumbled and repeated Harding’s words almost verbatim.
“Thank you. We’ll just get this typed up. Would you like a cup of tea whilst we’re waiting?”
“Yeah, great.”
It was a long anxious wait for Peter Grimshaw, even though he was sure he was in the clear, his stomach churned and roiled with tension, and even though the two officers had been polite, almost friendly, he could not wait to get out of the police station and go for a drink. “What time is it?” he asked the copper at the door. “Don’t know, sir,” he answered, stone-faced. “Not my duty to know what the time is, sir. Sorry.”
The minutes dragged on; what was wrong? Hurry up for Christ’s sake. I want out of here, sharpish.
The interview room door opened again and Yarrow and Harding re-entered, and Peter could see no appreciable change in their demeanour, the burnt-up inspector even tried a smile which only made his face even more grotesque. The sergeant, Harding, was removing the sheets of carbon paper from the sheaf of papers in his hands, ink from the carbon staining his fingers blue. ‘Blue Fingers,’ sounds like a song title, Peter thought.
Yarrow took the papers from Harding, quickly scanned them and then passed them to Grimshaw, together with his fountain pen. “If you’d just like to read through it, Peter, and then sign both copies, we can conclude this.”
Peter Grimshaw read through the typed document; he was a slow reader, and Yarrow could feel the tension building up inside him. Come on, come on, come on, sign it. Sign the bloody thing.
At last, Grimshaw picked up the pen and signed the copies. “Date it please,” requested Yarrow. “Thank you. Harding, would you please witness? Thank you. I shall also witness,” and he signed in turn. Yarrow then picked up the signed statement and blew on it to dry the ink, before sitting down opposite Grimshaw. He read through the statement again even though he could probably recite it word for word already. “Peter, you state here that you have never been inside the Children’s ward at West Garside hospital?”
“Yeah, told you that ‘til I’m blue in the face. What’s this all about? What’s going on?”
Yarrow said nothing but reached inside a leather briefcase that he had brought into the interview room with him and pulled out a buff folder and opened it up, spilling black and white 5” x 8” photographs onto the table. “If, as you say, Grimshaw,” his voice hardening with cold anger, “you have never been inside the children’s ward, how do you explain your fingerprints found on a glass beneath Emily Black’s bed the night she was murdered? Answer me that?”
The colour drained from Peter Grimshaw’s face; he rocked back in his chair, close to fainting with the shock. “You…you…tricked me. You fucking tricked me.”
“You gave this statement voluntarily. Peter James Grimshaw, you will be charged with the abduction, rape, and murder of Emily Black.”
Grimshaw slumped into his chair, his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t,” and Marcus Harding duly recorded the comment in his interview notes.
Yarrow made his case to Sgt Pete Summers; it is the custodian who decides on the actual charges to be made, and Summers duly prepared the Charge notice. The notice was handed to Peter Grimshaw who looked at the document without really seeing it. The notice gave details of the officer preferring the charge, DI Christopher Yarrow— the details of the charge—abduction, rape, and murder—the reminder that he had the right to remain silent and repeated the terms of the caution.
He gave no reply, which was duly noted on the custody record before he was returned to his cell.
Meanwhile.