Free Mercy Killing by Lisa Cutts Page A

exactly brings
you to my door?’
    ‘We know that you knew Albie Woodville,’ answered Tom as he held the older man’s stare.
    ‘Knew?’ said Toby, as he ran a hand over his shaven head. ‘I more than knew him, the dirty, fucking bastard. You’ll know all this anyway.’
    His last remark was made with a glance across to Sophia.
    ‘Are you comfortable talking in front of both of us?’ asked Tom, not wanting to be left alone without a colleague for back-up but wondering if it would be a better idea if Sophia
wasn’t in the room.
    ‘Ah, the police at their best,’ said Toby with a wry laugh. ‘I had all this, you see, the first time round, when I gave evidence against the scum that is Albert Woodville. The
police came round to see me, a nice couple of blokes they were. They gave it all the spiel: Was I all right talking about it? Did I prefer to speak to fellas or women? Did I care? How was I
feeling? Don’t upset yourself, Toby. We believe you, we really do. They took me to a house somewhere, made me tea, bought me a sandwich, put me in touch with support groups.’
    He stopped talking and wriggled in his seat, fingernails on the sofa either side of him. He was almost digging them into the material, trying his best not to tear the cover.
    ‘Worst thing of all, worse in some ways than the abuse I suffered at the sick fuck’s hands, was the way I was treated in court. That horrible sod probably couldn’t help it, but
here was a courtroom chock full of legally trained professionals, intent on ripping me up for arse paper. And the fucking judge let them.’
    The two officers watched in silence as the person they had come to talk to about his whereabouts on the night of the murder of a convicted sex offender seemed to melt into the furniture.
    ‘I got into that witness box,’ he said, voice full of horrors never quite forgotten, ‘and I was made to feel like a lying piece of crap. I was accused of making it up for
compensation. I didn’t want money, I wanted justice. Except, justice is a bloody joke.’
    He seemed to remember where he was and that there were two detectives sitting in his front room on a Saturday morning whilst he poured out his heart over his second degrading assault, this one
in a court in front of a judge, jury, legal teams and spectators in the public gallery.
    ‘So, in answer to your question,’ he said, voice louder now, ‘I’m fine talking in front of you both. I’ve been laid bare in a court, so why should I object to you
two?’
    The kitchen door opened and Shirley walked in with three mugs of tea.
    ‘Do me a favour, love?’ said Toby as she plonked the last of the three mugs down.
    ‘I know,’ she sighed, ‘make you some toast.’
    ‘No,’ he said, as he reached for his tea, ‘go and get dressed. You’re offending my eyes.’
    On her way out, she called a few choice words in her husband’s direction, which made him grin as he watched her leave the room.
    The problem for him was that his brash way of dealing with people wasn’t fooling Sophia and Tom for one moment.
    They had seen the real, vulnerable Toby Carvell and they had a growing feeling that he was involved in Albie Woodville’s murder. Their problem was going to be how they proved it.

Chapter 21
    Try as hard as he could, DI Harry Powell could only summon feelings of hatred towards Albert Woodville. Yes, he saw him as a victim of murder, the worst crime imaginable, but
he had also handed out his own death sentences. One of his victims of sexual abuse had attempted suicide following the end of Woodville’s lengthy trial, and another had an impressive criminal
record, beginning around the time he was placed into Woodville’s care, when, presumably, the abuse started.
    Harry knew that however the enquiry went, there would be no winners, certainly not amongst his staff.
    He hadn’t failed to recognize what Sophia was trying to tell him about Gabrielle Royston but as ever, it was what he did with the