Silent Juror

Alan Jannister

Description

DI Jack Whitmell feels a little like a 'dinosaur' because he firmly believes in good old police methods and struggles a little with the new political correctness invading the workplace. He returns to work after being injured while off duty because he 'got it wrong' with a suspect during an investigation into people trafficking called Operation Footfall. Having resolved to do his penance of checking cold cases because of his earlier mistake, he is unexpectedly given the job of investigating the murder of someone who might have been connected to his earlier case. Initially everything seems straightforward but he soon finds himself looking at possible connections with other events and questions arise as to why his chief inspector is getting pressure to close Operation Footfall down. Teamed with a new detective sergeant he interviews a woman who was well known in the 'escort' business and who has a surprising connection to his senior officer. His investigation takes him in two directions and he can't be too sure that he is not going to implicate some people very high up in society. The problem is, who can he trust?

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: 2QT Limited (Publishing
• Date de parution: 02 mai 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781910077849
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Silent Juror






Alan Jannister








2QT Limited (Publishing)


First eBook Edition published 2016

2QT Limited (Publishing)
Settle
North Yorkshire
BD24 9RH

Copyright © Alan Jannister 2015

The right of Alan Jannister to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder


Cover design: Hilary Pitt
Front cover image: © Fotosearch.com
Back cover image: iStock.com/Alphotographic

Also available as a paperback ISBN 978-1-910077-65-8


Epub ISBN 978-1-910077-84-9












This book, the first of three in the Juror series, is dedicated to all of the professionals who strive to identify those who have committed crime. All of the characters are fictitious with the exception of one to whom I have awarded a well deserved promotion.

It is followed by The Juror’s Apprentice and The Juror’s Revenge which will complete the trilogy.




Introduction



Whatever our status in society or which side of the fence we stand, it is probably fair to assume that some of us have occasionally criticised the legal system and its apparent impotence. Considering that some elderly pensioners can barely afford to heat their houses, whilst in contrast a prison inmate is not faced with such problems, the sentiment that “crime doesn’t pay” may not necessarily seem true. You may want to make your own mind up on that one.
This story, set in the 1990s, is inspired by someone’s exclamation that, ‘When we’re old we should all go out and commit a crime then they will lock us up and have to look after us!’




1



The two young boys stood toe to toe, each with their arms locked firmly around a football and neither willing to relinquish ownership. The taller of them, slim in build and quiet in nature, trembled inwardly at the prospect of turning the other boy into his enemy. The other boy, shorter than average and with a sturdier frame, stood firm and confident of victory. They struggled like this for a couple of minutes with the other children goading them and, as they moved around in a circle like partners in a well-rehearsed dance, the crowd followed as if to encourage the situation to escalate.
Suddenly the shorter boy tripped but did not release his grip. His extra weight contrived to lower their joint centre of gravity, pulling the taller boy over and down with him. The taller boy hit his head on the corner of a concrete step that led into the classroom at the exact moment a teacher came out to see what all the commotion was about.
The teacher had difficulty composing himself as he was confronted with the sight of a copious amount of blood oozing from the now unconscious tall boy’s head. ‘Everybody get inside,’ he ordered and, as the other children rushed to comply, the teacher grabbed one of the tail-enders and dispatched him to the headmaster’s office. Twenty minutes later, as the headmaster looked on in despair, an ambulance crew attended to the cut on the boy’s head and prepared him for the journey to hospital. Considering the severity of what the headmaster saw as a serious assault, he would have to speak to the injured boy’s parents and see if they wished to take matters further. The other boy’s parents would be advised that the school could no longer include their son as one of its pupils. He knew this would not be much of a surprise to them, since the boy’s reputation for trouble was legendary.
Frank and June Whitmell sat in silence by their son’s bed. On the way to the hospital June had already pleaded that her husband give her demands to move house more consideration, now that Jack had come to grief at the hands of a well-known thug. ‘But my family have lived here for generations,’ Frank protested. ‘A little bit of rough and tumble never did me any harm.’
June was boiling with anger. ‘This “little bit of rough and tumble”, as you so quaintly put it, might have been the end of your family’s association with this ghetto. The doctor made it quite clear on the phone that Jack was very lucky. If things had gone the other way he could have died – and all because of your precious roots.’
Their son looked a sorry state, with his head bandaged and an impressive bruise forming around his right eye. He had tried to tell his parents that it wasn’t all Billy Playce’s fault. He almost shouted at them to ask the head not to expel Billy, but they were deaf to his words. The decision had been made, and Billy Playce would be joining the other troublesome youths in a school better equipped to deal with his type. Meanwhile the Whitmells would start looking for a different area to live in and June was to get her wish for them to move out of the city to a more rural environment, where her son could grow up surrounded by fresh air and fields.
Frank resigned himself to a working day made longer by a commute into town. It would encourage him to accept more overtime which, in turn, would allow them to pay for some private tuition for Jack. June was determined to give her son all the opportunities that she could for a better life. She found it disappointing that their finances would never be sufficient to send him to a private school, but extra tuition was a good halfway measure.
It took longer than expected to find a buyer for their house, and one estate agent after another made promises they couldn’t keep, but eventually someone made a sensible enough offer for the Whitmells to accept without compromising too much on their choice of new location. Meanwhile Jack continued at his old school, but suffered a certain amount of unpleasantness from some of the boys who maintained their friendships with Billy.
One day Billy was outside the school gates waiting for Jack to leave for home. ‘Hello, you lanky streak of cat’s piss,’ he called. ‘I want a word with you.’
Jack froze, waiting for some sort of assault. ‘I hear you and your lot are fucking off to pastures new,’ Billy said.
Jack stood, silent and motionless. He knew from previous experience that this was the best ploy, since anything he said would be a good enough reason for Billy to set about him.
Billy pressed on. ‘Say something, or I’ll give you a whack just for the sake of it.’
Jack tried to assure Billy that he had tried his best to stop his father from making a complaint about him. Billy said, ‘I don’t really give a shit. You and yours never fitted in round here, anyway. My father has always run this manor and I’ll take over when he’s had enough – so the sooner you are out of the way the better, as far as I am concerned.’
This was pure bravado on Billy’s part, since his father was nobody special. It was true that he had once had a promising boxing career, but that came to an end when he finally met his match in the ring and suffered a beating which he didn’t want to experience again. ‘You’ll probably meet some nice little “OK, yah” type who will stick her nose in the air and only ever do it in the missionary position. Meanwhile I will have a real life, full of women and things your money can’t buy.’
With that – and to Jack’s surprise – Billy turned and left him standing at the school gate. His parting comment was, ‘Don’t forget the lubricant if you go to one of those posh schools. I know they’ll love a little virgin like you.’
Jack’s new school wasn’t at all posh: it was just an above-average learning establishment with higher-than-average results. This was entirely due to the dedication of some wonderful teachers who had the uncanny knack of identifying a pupil’s talents. The headmaster’s philosophy was that every person had a skill which, if exploited, would make the learning process full of joy. ‘Find the key to their minds and use it to unlock their potential,’ he was often heard to say.
Together with the extra tutoring June arranged for him, Jack’s potential was well and truly unlocked. He showed an enquiring mind, which would never rest until he solved whatever puzzle was troubling him. The puzzles in question tended to be connected with life’s decisions and people’s behaviour towards one another. He took great comfort in studying the interaction between the lawless and the law enforcers, and devoured every book he could find about the world’s most notorious criminals. It came as no surprise to his parents that he elected for a career with the police, but June made it clear she would never be able to relax if she knew that her son would be facing danger regularly as part of his normal working day. His father, on the other hand, was proud that his son and heir would be working in a man’s environment.
Jack applied to and was accepted into the police training programme without any problems, but he had some reservations about the physical fitness examination because he was unaccustomed to prolonged exercise. School sports days had always been anathema to him, especially when the weather conspired to turn the fields into a swampland. Cross-country running was his worst nightmare and he would find any excuse to avoid it, but this only made the gym teacher more determined to harden him up.
He never forgave his parents for moving away from his beloved concre