Confession (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 3) Read online

  ‘You witnessed the accident, I believe? The priest suggested I talk to you.’ Clearly, he did not recognise the detective superintendent. An added factor was that Pemberton, considered the smartest man in the force and known for his immaculate appearance and polished image, was now covered in blood, his trouser legs were soaked in dirty muddy water, his shoes were caked with wet mud while his neat, beautifully cut fair hair was awry above his mud-stained features.

  ‘Yes,’ Pemberton said. ‘Myself and my passengers, we saw what happened.’

  ‘I’ll need statements.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘It helps if I can get them straight away,’ said the constable. ‘In my car?’

  ‘Has the fire brigade been called?’ Pemberton asked.

  ‘No point,’ responded the constable, a sturdy no-nonsense man in his forties. ‘The car’s burnt itself out; it’s just smouldering now. There’s not much left and no danger to the undergrowth, trees, or hedges.’

  ‘There was no body in the boot, was there?’ Pemberton asked. ‘It’s hardly big enough to take an adult. A child perhaps?’

  ‘Body? No, there was just the usual stuff — tool kit, tow rope, spare wheel, all burnt to cinders. Why do you ask if there might be a body?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a moment, but it’s important that I have that car preserved,’ Pemberton told him. ‘I want it exactly as it is now. And everything that’s with it, including the charred contents of the boot and the items that were thrown out. I need to keep the man’s clothing and all his personal belongings too, and anything he might have at his home, wherever that is. You can check the owner’s name through its registration plates, the rear one’s not been destroyed. That driver might not be the owner, of course.’

  ‘And who might you be, sir, to want that sort of thing? Not a relation?’

  ‘No, I’m Detective Superintendent Mark Pemberton, stationed at Rainesbury Divisional Headquarters,’ and he produced his warrant card once again.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I didn’t recognise you. I’m Traffic Constable Broadbent. I’ve just been transferred to Rainesbury, only two days ago. I’m very much the new boy!’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a nasty fatal to start your duties with us! Now, my lady passenger is Detective Constable Lorraine Cashmore from my station, and my other passenger is Father Patrick Flynn, of Our Lady and St Hilda’s Catholic Church, also in Rainesbury. We’ve been to a lecture by Father Flynn. At Ernedale Village Hall. We were following that car when it crashed, in fact, it overtook us at speed. There were brake lights as it went into that corner but it didn’t seem to slow down…’

  ‘A case of possible brake failure, sir? Or physical problems for the driver? Steering fault or even a tyre blow-out? There’s lots of possibilities. We’ll check the entire vehicle, as you know — or what remains of it — so perhaps a verbal account now, and then I can call tomorrow for your written statements?’

  ‘No, we’ll do it now. But I must insist that everything’s preserved, car, clothing, the lot. It’s very important. I’ll supervise the removal of the car. And I will need a sample of blood and saliva from the deceased. For DNA testing. You’ll be attending the post-mortem?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but that’s unusual, sir, isn’t it? For a traffic accident? Even if he was thought to be over the limit. It’s a bit early for him to have been to the pub, although he might have had a private tipple somewhere.’

  ‘It’s more than a traffic accident, and I have no idea whether he’s been drinking alcohol, or if he’s over the limit. But the point is, PC Broadbent, that seconds before he died, he confessed to committing murder. For that reason, I need to know who he is and who he killed.’

  ‘Murder, sir? Good God!’

  ‘An unusual fatal for you, eh?’ smiled Pemberton. ‘But if I can match him to a victim, it’ll clear up one major crime in somebody’s files.’

  ‘You know him, sir?’

  ‘No, sorry, I don’t. That’s our next task — to get him identified as soon as possible. Can you radio Control and get them to put the registration number through the PNC? We’ll have a name in seconds, and then I can get him identified and start to have his movements traced. Those are my problems — yours is to get the fatal RTA sorted out. You’d better keep in touch with me about your progress; we’ll have to liaise on this one, PC Broadbent. I’ll have to tell the coroner about the unusual background, but not a word about that murder to the press. You’d better inform your senior officers, though. Ask them to contact me if there’s any problems with your side of things.’

  ‘I’ll radio for the computer check now, sir, if you’d like to follow me to my car.’

  It took but a few seconds for the Police National Computer to process the registration number of the wrecked MG: the vehicle’s keeper was recorded as James Bowman Browning of Flat I, Highfield House, Hepworth Road, Bleagill, Harlow Spa, North Yorkshire.

  The car, J registered, dated from 1971. Pemberton made a note in his private pocket diary and said, ‘You’ll be tracing relatives and arranging the formal identification? Before we start releasing names and jumping to conclusions, we must be sure that Browning is the man who’s in our mortuary.’

  ‘I understand, sir. I’ll make the necessary checks. Now, I’ll radio for a breakdown truck and my partner will measure the scene and ensure that the necessary photographs are taken.’

  ‘Good, and you’ll make sure the car is securely kept until my teams have examined it?’ Pemberton instructed him. ‘Now, while I’m waiting to supervise the breakdown vehicle’s work, I’ll take a closer look at the scene of the accident and the driver’s briefcase and other belongings, then I’ll make my statement. Meanwhile, you can talk to DC Cashmore and Father Flynn, they were witnesses too.’

  A smartly dressed man carrying a small black bag approached them. ‘Hello, I’m Dr Vernon. They said there was an accident.’

  ‘Yes, the casualty’s gone in the ambulance,’ Broadbent told him. ‘Perhaps if you rushed to the casualty department of Rainesbury District Hospital?’

  As they drove from the deserted scene much later, Pemberton said to Father Flynn, ‘I’ll need to talk to you, Father, about James Browning’s confession.’

  ‘Mr Pemberton, with all due respect, there is nothing I can tell you. I am bound by the seal of confession. I cannot reveal anything that was told to me.’

  ‘But I heard it too — well, to be honest, I heard part of it. It was the part where he said he had committed murder. He referred to someone, presumably the victim, as “she” — I heard that bit.’

  ‘I do not know how your rules of evidence operate, Mr Pemberton, or anything about your responsibilities as a policeman, but I do know that I cannot reveal anything that I hear during confession, even if the person making the confession dies later. The seriousness of the crime is not relevant. I can say nothing, absolutely nothing. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I may be able to give, in evidence, the few words that I heard, Father. Hearsay evidence is generally not allowed in criminal proceedings but in this case it might be accepted as a dying declaration. In this case we have a confession freely made by a guilty person at the moment of death and in the full knowledge that he was going to die. A statement of that kind does carry enormous weight. Few people would lie in such circumstances. And a coroner could accept my evidence to that effect, even if a criminal court refused.’

  ‘There will not be a court case, Mark; he’s dead,’ Lorraine chipped in. ‘The alleged murderer, I mean.’

  ‘I know, but I intend to investigate this as if the guilty person was alive. I have to if I’m to establish his guilt. It could be an old crime he was talking about, on the other hand Browning might have killed his victim only minutes before he crashed. Maybe she’s lying dead not far away at this very moment. Maybe she’s in his flat, or at her own home. Or perhaps he only thought he’d killed someone. That can happen. His victim might still be alive, for all we know, and in need of urgent medical aid. I’ve instructed PC Broadbe
nt to have a uniformed constable search Browning’s flat immediately, by breaking in if necessary. I hope he doesn’t find a murder victim! I had a look in Browning’s briefcase; he’s in PR and it seems he’d been to see a client, a man. I’ll have that checked, it’ll help us trace his last movements. There’s every chance we could have a murder to investigate before the night’s out. You can understand why I need all the help I can get, Father!’

  ‘Sure I understand, Mr Pemberton, but I’m afraid I cannot help you.’

  ‘Suppose I issued a subpoena? Suppose I — or the coroner — ordered you to attend court and give evidence about the words, all the words, you heard Browning say? You’d have to obey. You are not above the law, Father.’

  ‘I obey the laws of my country and the law of God, Mr Pemberton, and if there is a conflict, then the law of God must come first. I would come to court, but I could not and would not repeat what was said to me during confession. If I was sent to prison for contempt of court, then I should have to go to prison. I would have no alternative. To give you an idea of the inviolability of the seal of confession, if a man confessed to me that he had poisoned the communion wine which I was about to administer to myself and others at Mass, I could not withdraw the wine. I would have to trust in God as I drank it, and as I gave it to the communicants.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’

  ‘I give you those circumstances as an extreme example. It might help you understand why I cannot reveal to you or to anyone else what that motorist told me.’

  ‘So if a man came to you in confession and said he’d poisoned the entire water supply to a major city, you could not alert the authorities?’

  ‘No, I could not. But, in those circumstances, any priest would attempt to persuade the poisoner to reveal his actions and warn the public. That same goes for the man who poisons the communion wine. He could — and should — warn the people, but I, as his confessor, could not.’

  ‘I don’t wish to discredit your faith, Father, but surely, you’d be condoning multiple murders! Thousands might die! But I have no time for deep discussions and, besides, all that is hypothetical — we’re talking about a real case. You must understand that I am obliged to pursue the information that I overheard.’

  ‘I can understand that you are bound to do your duty, Superintendent, but Mr Browning is now beyond human justice.’

  ‘Maybe so, but there is a victim to consider, and a victim’s friends and family…’

  ‘If you had not overheard that confession, Mr Pemberton, you would not have been faced with this problem. I ask you not to disclose what you overheard.’

  ‘I am not bound by your restrictions. The public will never be told, and I hope none of Mr Browning’s family need to know about it, but I can’t ignore it! I cannot pretend that I didn’t hear a man admit murder!’

  A heavy silence followed as they continued their drive home, and after a few minutes, Lorraine asked, ‘Mark, what are we going to do about this? We’ve no recent undetected murders on our books, we have no victim, no dead body, no scene of crime, no name for a deceased, nothing. You could ignore what you heard.’

  ‘No I couldn’t! If we don’t find a victim on our patch, there’s always the Muriel Brown case.’ This was the force’s only unsolved murder — an old crime, a rape and murder which had occurred about sixteen years ago. ‘We can see if that’s the one he was talking about. It would be wonderful to bring that to a satisfactory conclusion.’

  ‘That was years ago, Mark; there’s no hope of tracing the killer now. Besides, Browning is too young to have committed the Muriel Brown murder!’

  ‘That remains to be seen. Kids in their teens are quite capable of rape and murder, but so far as your first point is concerned, there’s always hope of solving murders, Lorraine. We’ve just witnessed an example of that!’

  She smiled in acknowledgement of his argument, as he went on, ‘So tomorrow — if there’s no reported murder in the meantime — we unearth all the files on Muriel Brown, but in any case, I want to find out all I can about tonight’s accident victim. He’s got to be investigated, Lorraine.’

  They continued in a further silence, each with their own thoughts, and half an hour later, Mark eased his car to a halt outside the Presbytery. He waited for Father Flynn to leave the car.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Mr Pemberton. I do appreciate your kindness. It was, well, different from getting the bus home.’

  ‘We did enjoy your lecture, Father,’ Pemberton smiled. ‘I learned more about the dissolution of the abbeys than I had previously known throughout my life. It was a welcome break from police work and lectures on criminal law, I can assure you.’

  ‘Mark and I are keen to learn more about our district,’ Lorraine told him. ‘We’re anxious to have something to occupy us with interesting places to visit in our off-duty moments.’

  ‘Goodnight, both of you, and God bless,’ smiled the priest, closing the car door and waving his gratitude as he strode towards his home.

  ‘I can’t really believe a priest would let a maniac poison a whole town just because the seal of confession prevented him speaking about it…’ commented Mark as he accelerated away.

  ‘Forget it, Mark. We’re supposed to be off duty and relaxing, not worrying about unsolved murders or problems of the confessional.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look at it another way, Mark. Browning might have already been prosecuted for murder, even as a juvenile. He might have served a period of detention or imprisonment for his crime, or even for manslaughter. He might have been in a secure hospital for killing someone; he might have done all that, and yet never confessed his crimes to a priest. Now, because he was dying, he wanted to unburden himself, to clean the slate, as it were. People do that. Perhaps we have no need to search for a victim? Perhaps that confession marked the end of Browning’s worries?’

  ‘But we’ll never know unless I make enquiries,’ Pemberton countered. ‘If he has been convicted, his name will be on record. If that is the case, the matter can be concluded very swiftly.’

  ‘You’re too much of a policeman, Mark Pemberton. But get me home as soon as you can, and I’ll make you a nice nightcap before I tuck you in.’

  ‘After I’ve checked with Control Room to see if any murder victims have been found…’

  Overnight, there had been no reported murders, no hit-and-run traffic accidents, and no one reported missing, but Mark Pemberton had no intention of forgetting or ignoring that confession. As he settled into his office the following morning, Wednesday, his telephone rang. It was PC Broadbent from Traffic Division.

  ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘The accident last night. As you know, the registered keeper of the car is a James Bowman Browning. The deceased had a driver’s licence and other documents upon him, in that name. We’re fairly sure it’s one and the same person. Next, the duty inspector at Harlow Spa sent a constable to search the flat, but it was deserted. No corpses, no flatmates, no relations. We got a spare key from the landlord, a man called Brooke; he lives above. We’ve sealed the flat, pending your inspection, sir. Enquiries from the landlord also suggest Browning is the deceased — he was described as about thirty years old, average build, with distinctive red hair. He lived alone. And he had a red open-top sports car. We found some addresses in his flat, friends, we think, and relations. I’ve had a quick look, but maybe closer examination is needed by your officers. His father’s address was there — he lives in Staffordshire. We’re trying to contact him this morning, sir, to ask him to come and make a positive identification. We’ll ask him to notify his other relatives and be responsible for the funeral arrangements. We learned that young Browning’s place of work is a public relations company called Greenwood’s. It’s in Harlow Spa, he was an account executive. I’ve told his boss about the accident, by the way, but obviously didn’t refer to the murder aspects.’

  ‘Thanks, PC Broadbent. At least we have a starting point even if we have no corpse. Now, where is the car? Ca
n my teams have access to it?’

  ‘It’s in the Road Traffic garage, sir, here at Rainesbury DHQ. Sealed. I made sure all those bits and pieces that were thrown out on impact were retained with the remains of the car. Most of the stuff left inside was charred almost beyond recognition — no bodies though! I did a second check on that. His briefcase is there; it’s intact. It was thrown out in the crash. You’ll want to see it?’

  ‘Yes, I will. I’ll have a closer look for myself, then get Scenes of Crime to give everything a thorough going-over. Thanks for your help so far. Have the car’s brakes been examined? And steering?’

  ‘We thought we’d do that when your teams have finished, sir; we don’t want to contaminate any evidence.’

  ‘Good thinking. Right, thanks for that. I’ll start digging into the life and times of James Bowman Browning.’

  After explaining the events of last night to the sergeant in charge of the Scenes of Crime unit, he asked him to inspect the remains of the car as if it had been involved in a case of murder, then he buzzed for Lorraine. She entered his office moments later. Tall, slim, beautiful, and not yet thirty-five, she was the finest detective on his section. She smiled as she settled on the chair beside his desk, showing a length of slender leg below the hem of her skirt.

  ‘Sir?’ She was formal now. At work, theirs was a boss and subordinate relationship. Pemberton gave Lorraine the name and address of James Bowman Browning, letting her know the result of the preliminary search of the flat, and said, ‘Just so that no one’s in any doubt of my intentions, Lorraine, I’m not going to ignore the information that came my way last night. I can’t. In fact, I mustn’t. So, first, let’s begin with the Muriel Brown file. We’ve no one working on the case at the moment, but most of the data has been transferred to the computer, I believe.’

  ‘It has.’ She did not smile at him. Her case load was heavy and she had enough to do without worrying about an ancient murder case.