A competent defence lawyer would have dealt with the case better, he would have done better, but the lawyer that had been provided – she had refused to accept her family’s offer to give her a highly competent lawyer – proved to be young, ineffective, and quite silly.
He knew that if it had been him, he would have put forward a more robust defence; he would have provided background information on where she came from, regardless of what she wanted.
The day he was told of her death was a sad day, and yet, years later, he reflected on it on an almost daily basis. He walked down the street; his head held up high. He knew of a pizza shop not far away, not that he’d ever been in, but today he would. As he rounded the corner, he stopped mid-stride. He turned around and walked back to his house. Once inside, he closed the door, changed his clothes, hung his suit up on a hanger in the wardrobe, and sat down.
‘It’s no use,’ he murmured to himself.
Outside the yapping dog. He opened the door, picked up a rock and hurled it, catching the dog mid-body, the dog yelping and running away, the owner nearby.
Stanford closed his door. He knew there’d be trouble, but he didn’t care.
He stood up, went to the wardrobe and put on his suit again, this time taking money from a safe hidden under the floorboards. He then walked out of the house. If his life was forfeit, then so be it. Stale milk and two eggs in his refrigerator were not worth living for.
And as for the yapping dog, he’d had enough of it, enough of the nosy neighbours, the life he led. If he could, he would turn back the clock and declare Yanna White innocent of all crimes, subject to psychiatric evaluation. She had been the victim of sex trafficking he knew, so had the defence and so had the prosecution, but everyone had let her down.
***
Liz Spalding’s body was eventually released for burial. While Stephen Palmer’s funeral had been attended by very few, this time there was a full turnout. Of the three husbands, two were present.
Jim Greenwood had come, not to take an active part, but to observe who attended: if anybody was unknown; if anyone was there out of guilt or to see the result of their handiwork.
Bob Palmer was dressed in a dark suit and wore a hat, although he removed it in the church. It was not as concealing as the mysterious woman’s hat at Stephen’s funeral, he knew that.
Greenwood knew the man well enough, and Palmer had clearly recognised him, the reason he kept attempting to move away from him. But the police inspector was not a man to be easily deterred. He needed to know his mood, what he’d been doing, what he planned to do. As Palmer attempted to move one way around the outside of the church, Greenwood walked the other. They met midway.
‘How are you?’ Greenwood said. He didn’t like funerals, having buried his parents a couple of years previously, and although he would have preferred to stay in his car and observe it, this was his first murder investigation and he was determined on securing a conviction. And if he were successful, it would mean a promotion, possibly the chance to move to London to work with the Homicide department at Challis Street. That’s what he really wanted, and Palmer, who could not be the murderer, was definitely on the hunt for that person.
The police officer knew that Palmer would not be confined to one area. He would have the freedom to move around the country, to spy on people, to check what they were doing, where they were from, who they were.
‘I’m fine,’ Palmer said.
Greenwood looked at him, looked under the hat, saw a man with sullen eyes, his mouth turned down. ‘You were upset when we met in the village. Have you had time to reflect, to compartmentalise her death, to move on with your life?’
‘I believe so.’
Jim Greenwood did not believe a word the man said.
‘We’ve not found the woman who murdered her.’
‘I know.’
‘How about you?’ Greenwood said sternly.
‘How do you expect me to be? It’s a funeral; people are sad at funerals.’
‘Let’s be honest, Mr Palmer, you’ve not got over Liz Spalding. You’re the type of man who doesn’t forget easily. You’re obsessive, nothing wrong in that, but when it leads to criminal actions, then I can’t ignore it.’
‘I will mourn Liz in my own way. I don’t intend to do anything criminal.’
‘I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying. You’re not going to let this lie, and why are you here? Why are you staying at the back, instead of meeting and mingling with the other people, talking about the woman, the normal sort of stuff?’
‘I have no interest in talking to any of them.’
‘You don’t want to hear from her ex-husbands, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Then, Mr Palmer, stop beating around the bush. You’re here to see if there’s someone unknown. Isn’t that the truth?’
‘I’m waiting for you to do your job, but that doesn’t look like happening soon, does it?’
‘Someone, somewhere, will slip up. It may even be you; you may show us where to look.’
‘I don’t see how. I spend my time at home. I do have a business still, even if it’s the quiet time of the year.’
‘Is this the end of it?’
