‘I can’t say. Maybe she saw it as an unburdening of her soul, I don’t know. I only know how I felt after that visit, how I felt after her death. I couldn’t continue as a judge.’
Both Larry and Wally Vincent felt lumps in their throats at the thought of the torment the woman had suffered, the sadness of what they had just heard.
‘And all these years you’ve dwelt on that,’ Larry said.
‘I have.’
‘There’s a flaw in what you just said.’
‘I know.’
‘It’s the house in Bedford Gardens. What’s the truth of it?’
‘It’s a time for confession, I suppose,’ Stanford said. ‘There’s more to this sorry saga, not that it matters anymore.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I confronted McIntyre after Yanna’s death. I had nothing to lose, and believe me, he could have had me killed if he had wanted.’
Stanford stood up and moved over to the window. He said nothing, just stood looking out.
It was Wally Vincent who broke the silence. Even though the man had caused him trouble over the years, he felt sad for him, even a begrudging friendship. ‘What happened?’
‘It was in London, a place he owned in Mayfair.’
‘Security?’
‘I knew he’d be alone. I told him what I knew and that I would go to the police.’
‘His reaction?’
‘He laughed in my face, told me to stop being silly.’
‘Were you?’ Larry said.
‘I had no proof, that was the problem. If the police had been interested enough, they could have found proof of the place he had set her up in, but what else? He’d not be the first man who had installed a mistress to be there at his beck and call.’
‘His connection to the trafficking?’
‘It was another angle for the police to investigate, but they had tried before to find him guilty of one crime or another, but never a conviction.’
‘So, let’s get this straight. You visit him, threaten to go to the police.’
‘That’s it.’
‘What could you hope to achieve? You know the law better than I; better than Vincent. What hold did you have over him?’
‘I had none, but I did soon after.’
‘How?’
‘Devon Toxteth.’
‘What’s the relevance?’
‘Toxteth may have been a low-life, scum, but the man had good eyesight. He operated out of a factory unit close to where Stephen Palmer had died. Lived there as well, I’m told.’
‘Are you saying he was killed to keep quiet?’
‘Toxteth was a stupid man. He thought he could extort money from McIntyre in exchange for keeping his mouth shut.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I’m coming to that.’
‘Why are you telling us?’ Vincent asked.
‘It’s gone on for too long. The death count continues to increase.’
‘Stephen Palmer’s brother and another person who kept quiet, not for money, are the latest,’ Larry said.
‘You’ve not charged McIntyre?’
‘Guilt by association is not proof, not even with his own farm as the murder location. You must know that.’
‘Only too well. Toxteth had the proof but not the intellect of what to do with it.’
‘Where did he confront the man?’
‘In one of his clubs. At least that must have been where. After that, I had no idea what happened to Toxteth, not until they fished out what remained of him down past Greenwich.’
‘Yet, you know all this.’
‘Toxteth had been up on a charge of distributing drugs five years earlier. I took on his case, legal aid paying for it. I got to know the man, and as disreputable as he was, he was charismatic. I didn’t like what he did, although he justified it by saying that he had a wife in London, three kids, and another family back in Jamaica. He was proud of his extended family and genuine in helping them. His heart was in the right place if nothing else was.’
‘You’ve not explained why you know so much about his death.’
‘The man approached me eight days before he died. I’d moved on from when we had first met. I was no longer a lawyer dealing with petty criminals. I was a QC about to become a judge. I didn’t want to become involved.’
‘What did he tell you? What did you tell him?’
‘He told me he had dirt on McIntyre, his words not mine. He was frightened, even naive about what he was intending. McIntyre’s reputation was known far and wide.’
‘You advised him to be careful?’
‘To my chagrin, I said very little. I was more concerned about my position than that of Toxteth’s. On reflection, I acted badly.’
‘Did you tell him to go to the police?’
‘He told me he had witnessed something. I didn’t ask for details, only telling him to document it and to present himself to the police with the evidence.’
‘Did he?’
‘He wouldn’t have followed my advice. The man was always scurrying around for the next deal, the chance to make some extra money. Apart from the two wives and their children, he was also partial to the ladies of the night, a few too many drinks.’
‘How do you know so much?’
‘He left me, letting me know that he’d not be deterred, and what he had would protect him. It was nineteen days later when they found him.’
‘You said he visited the club eight days after he met with you.’
‘Devon Toxteth, barely literate, sent me a letter in the post the day he intended to confront McIntyre. Even he, although he had ignored my advice, limited as it had been, had thought it through. He asked me if it didn’t work out to let his families know that he had always cared for them.’
‘Did you tell them?’
‘After his body had been found. I phoned both of the wives, although the one in London had been told by the police. The other
