“You’re kidding me.”
“Honest.”
“In that case, this is going to be of more interest to you than I thought. Look. The guy we’ve charged with the murder, Norman Gentle. The guvnor thinks he’s in the frame for it. He’s getting a lot of pressure from upstairs and all they want are results. But I have my doubts. A few things don’t quite add up. You know the score with the top brass. Justice isn’t a priority anymore. I’ve been given new cases to work on and warned off but it just keeps nagging at me. I thought with your background and you running the agency with Phil you might cast a second pair of eyes over it. Unofficially of course.”
“Why not. I’m not exactly rushed off my feet and something to engage the brain cells would be good. All we get at the agency are lost cats and women who suspect their husbands are playing away. Just one question. Who’s paying the bill on this?”
Eden pulled a face. “Oh, er, I guess that’ll be me.”
“Ha ha. Caught you there. Just kidding. You couldn’t afford me, not on your paltry salary. If I find out it wasn’t this Norman character then you owe me an orange juice. Nowadays I have to stay off the alcohol or I could find myself back on the streets. The AA meetings help but the craving never leaves you.”
Eden’s shoulders relaxed. “Phew. You had me going there for a sec. Maybe you could contact Norman’s solicitor and tell her what you’re up to and then you could have an interview with Norman and see what you think?” If you’re acting in an official capacity for the defence then you’d have access to the files. And it just so happens I’ve got a copy of the files in my car. What a coincidence.
“Yes. Ha ha. Funny that. Okay that sounds like a good place to start. I’ll spend this evening going through the files and get in touch with his solicitor tomorrow.”
With little money of his own, Norman had to rely on the legal aid solicitor appointed for him. His case had been given to Martina Fanshaw. One of the more qualified criminal lawyers in the firm of Price and Major.
“You say you want to undertake investigation work for my client at no cost. This is most extraordinary. May I ask why you think you are qualified for such work?”
The solicitor looked up from her paperwork inquisitively.
“Yes, Mrs Fanshaw. Up until two years ago I was a detective inspector. In fact our paths crossed on a few occasions when you defended a few villains I managed to persuade the jury would serve the community better if they were behind bars.”
“Goodness. Yes. Now I remember you.”
She smiled for the first time since James had entered the room.
“But, may I ask, why you want to help my client, Norman Gentle. Is there a family connection?”
“No. But if he murdered someone in the Albion then it’s my business and I’d like to get to the truth.”
“Why would it be your business because of the Albion Hotel?”
James tried his hardest to seem nonchalant. “Because I own the hotel, Mrs Fanshaw.”
“Gosh. I see. Well that puts a different light on the matter. I’ll confer with my client and get back to you, hopefully later today.”
Four hours later, James’s mobile rang.
“Hello, Mr Sheldon. I’ve spoken to my client and he is happy for you to help. I can arrange for you to visit him at the prison this afternoon if that is agreeable.”
“Very much so, Mrs Fanshaw.”
“Right then. Leave it with me and I’ll be in touch shortly.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HM Prison Birmingham was a leftover from the Victorian age. Originally built in 1849 it had housed some famous people over the years including; Fred West, The Birmingham Six, Charlie Wilson, one of the Great Train Robbers, and rock star Ozzy Osbourne who served six weeks there in 1966 for breaking and entering.
It was a prison with all the usual problems of overcrowding, staff shortages, drug taking, violence and assaults to both staff and fellow prisoners.
Norman Gentle was being held there on remand until a date could be fixed for his trial.
James shook his hand. “Hello, Norman, it’s good of you to agree to see me.”
“Hello, Mr Sheldon. My solicitor told me about you but I’m a little confused. She says you want to investigate if I’m innocent but you don’t want any money, not that I could afford any at the moment.”
“I’ll keep it brief, Norman. Up until a couple of years ago I was a serving police detective. Something happened and I’m now independently wealthy so I don’t need the money but I still believe in justice. Someone, I can’t tell you who it is, believes you might be innocent and so I have agreed to get involved. However, let me warn you, if what I find leads me to believe you’re guilty then as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter. Is that fair enough?”
“I’m innocent. I wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt Peter or anyone else. So go ahead please and find the person who did this. I’d like to see whoever is responsible for his murder punished.”
“Okay, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
Forty minutes later, James Sheldon walked out of the prison, having signed out and collected his belongings from reception.
His talk with Norman had convinced him that unless he had just been in the presence of an outstanding liar, then Norman was indeed innocent of killing Peter Winston-Moore.
One of the things that had changed since he had gone into partnership with Phil Jones was that instead of working out of Phil’s spare room, the business had town centre offices with a receptionist.
He still ran the charity he had set up to purchase the 880 run-down houses that
