Chapter 49

New Scotland Yard, London.

Tuesday 23rd August 2011; 1pm.

 

The meeting with Ashley Garner and her somewhat subdued lawyer resumed at just after one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Gentlemen, let me point out that my client killed no-one, but she wants to tell the truth, here and in court, so that the real murderer does not escape justice. In so doing, she wants a deal. She does not want to face time in jail for wasting police time, when she was disoriented and under the influence of drugs, or for attempting to pervert the course of justice. Can we get that in writing?”

“No, I’m afraid we can’t,” DCI Coombes answered firmly. “We can’t make deals like that these days. The CPS will decide, not us.”

“OK. Would you recommend to the CPS that they drop these charges in return for testimony? I can’t imagine they would go against the Met’s recommendation when a murder conviction is on offer.”

“If Mrs Garner agrees to testify, and if the CPS believe that, with her evidence, we can secure a conviction, we will make a recommendation and frame it as you wish. Now, can we get on?”

Grainger accepted DCI Coombes’ compromise and asked Ashley Garner to explain what really happened in the Rectory on that fateful night, and what she saw. The digital recorder picked up every word of her story.

“I was obliged to be at the Rectory that night because Dennis Grierson was meeting with some important suppliers from Belgium. Lawrence and I believed that we were going to be having dinner at the Rectory. I realise now that all the signs indicated that there was going to be no such dinner, but what Grierson’s intentions were I shudder to think. Anyway, I was about to start to get ready for the dinner when Grierson told me that he had Ben Fogarty in the cellar and that I might like to take him his last meal. He laughed in such a way that I knew he was serious. So, I prepared something for Ben and took it down to him.

I slipped Ben the spare key for the locked door of his room, and told him to wait until the dinner was underway and to quietly unlock the door. I said I would try to get some sleeping pills into Lenny, but even if I didn’t he should have been no match for Ben if he was taken by surprise. I told Ben he could escape through the ground floor study. I would ensure that the door and the windows would be unlocked.

 

Ben wasn’t happy. He paced around like a caged animal and his face was terrifying. It was the look in his eyes, mainly. I knew that if they tried to hurt him he would take some of them down with him. He told me not to worry; I wouldn’t have to pander to Dennis anymore. I assumed he meant that he would shop Dennis to the police as soon as he was out. He then said that Lawrence was a worthless fop for selling me to a criminal and betraying Ben’s trust. I could see he was out of control, but there was nothing I could do without alerting Grierson.

I was in the bathroom with the door closed when I heard a popping noise. I opened the door and saw Ben with a gun in his hand, and Lawrence was lying dead on the bed. I screamed and shook Lawrence, hoping for signs of life, but I knew, really. I was beside myself with grief. All the while Ben just stood there, emotionless, his face like stone. I eventually blurted out “What have you done, Ben?” He said, quietly and calmly, “They were all scum, Ashley. You’re safe now”.

Realising what he meant, I ran from room to room. I found Dennis first. His throat had been cut. I checked for a pulse, but I knew it was pointless. Then I went downstairs and saw Lenny. Ben was waiting for me when I came up from the cellar.

Ben rifled through the drawers upstairs and found what we thought was GHB. The letters were imprinted in each pill. Ben told me what to do, assuring me that rescuers would arrive before the pills took full effect, and he held my head above the water as I dozed off. I guess he was surprised that the tablets were so fast acting, but I hadn’t told him that I had done a couple of lines of coke earlier to help me through the evening. He rang the emergency number whilst he held my head up, and the next thing I recall was waking up in hospital.”

The story sounded logical, told with tearful emotion, and it explained all of the forensic evidence, yet neither detective was convinced by what they had just heard. They both believed that they had witnessed an Oscar-winning performance, but they were not in the least convinced by her story. The problem, however, was that it might appeal to the CPS.

The two policemen had no option. They had to let Ashley go on her own recognisance, whilst applying for an arrest warrant in the name of Benjamin Ambrose Fogarty.