The Samsara Project by David Burgess (ebook reader screen .txt) 📖

help. Shock was starting to set in. John looked around the room, there was no one else in there, and he was trapped, as surely as a rat in a cage was trapped. For the first time in his life John was not in control of his destiny, he could not decide for himself if he should stay or leave. That choice had been taken away from him. John no longer had his freedom. At that moment he would have paid any price, even signed a pact with the devil if it would have gotten his freedom back. John swore to himself that once this terrible miscarriage of justice was sorted out he would never again take his freedom for granted.
John was not shivering as much now; he had been surviving on adrenalin for far longer than he should have been. John was staring at the walls, he felt them collapsing in towards him, he could see the walls moving in to crush him. He was starting to panic. John jumped off the bed and ran to the furthest corner of the room, the one away from the door, he crouched down as low as he could in the corner, still he could see the room getting smaller and smaller. At that exact moment John would happy and thankful to take his own life. This was an alien world to him and his mind and body had both rejected it out of hand. He wished the police had not taken away his belt, he wished they had at least left him his shoelaces. He had nothing left; everything had been taken off him. John grabbed the blanket and, still crouched down, pulled it over his head, at least that way he would not see the walls closing in on him.
John felt someone shaking him, there was a voice in the distance telling him to get up. He had no idea when he had fallen asleep. “What time is it please?” he asked.
“Six thirty,” replied the constable, “I’ve brought you some hot tea and a couple of rounds of toast, thought you might be hungry.”
“Six thirty in the evening or the morning?” asked John.
“Are you kidding me?” replied the constable, “it’s six thirty in the morning. The wagon will be here for you in an hour to take you to court. I’d finish that drink and toast if I were you, it may be some time before you get anything else to eat today. Try and tidy yourself up as well, you look a mess. Magistrates don’t like it if you appear before them scruffy.” The officer left the detention cell and as if to reinforce John’s hopeless position, slammed the door behind him.
John did not feel like eating or drinking anything at all but he knew he would have to. The tea was warm, strong and very sweet, the toast cold and hard. He forced down the toast by swallowing large amounts of tea. It felt as though he was taking oversized tablets. He wished he was. Next he opened the tap and filled the sink with warm water, he had left the hot tap running but warm was the best it got. Better than cold, he thought. It struck John that from now on he might not even be able to take hot water for granted. He splashed the water on his face, then over his hair. A shave was out of the question, there were no mirrors anyway so probably just as well.
After drinking the tea, eating the toast and having as good a wash as was possible John was, at last, starting to feel better. He knew he was in a difficult situation but not an impossible one. Up until that point John had not remembered that he had friends outside, good friends who believed in him, who knew he could never have shot Tracy. He knew that convincing a jury would be hard, but think positive, he said to himself. Seventeen minutes later the door to his cell swung open. DI Baxter and DC Roby walked in. “The wagons here to take you to court, is there something you’d like to add before we go, anything you’d like to get off your chest?”
“Nothing either of you would be interested in,” replied John.
“Thought not,” snapped DI Baxter, “Now face the wall and put your hands behind your back.”
John did as he was asked; DC Roby put a pair of handcuffs on him and then led him out of the cell towards the waiting truck.

* * * *

DCS Hughes picked up the phone in his office and dialled the number for Liverpool University’s main switchboard. It was answered almost straight away by a very pleasant sounding lady. “Hello, Liverpool University, how can I help you?” DCS Hughes was not sure if he had telephoned the university or a call centre. He just assumed that they had all taken the same training course and hoped that the managers of the emergency triple nine services would not go down the same route.
“Morning,” he replied, “Could you put me through to Dr. Peter Livingstone’s office please?”
“One moment sir, I’ll see if his line is free.” DCS Hughes had half expected Pink Floyds ‘another brick in the wall’ to be used as the universities hold music, instead he was treated to an orchestral version of the Beatles ‘Penny Lane’. He approved.
“I’m sorry sir but Dr. Livingstone’s line is busy just now, can I ask whose calling and I’ll get him to call you back?”
“My name is DCS Hughes and I’m calling from New Scotland Yard. I need to speak urgently with Dr. Livingstone and I would rather wait until his line is free.”
“I’ll check again sir, please hold.”
Thirteen seconds later Dr Peter Livingstone was on the phone. “DCS Hughes, this is Dr. Livingstone. What can I do for you?”
DCS Hughes was not in the mood for idle chit chat and got straight to the point. “I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency regarding a DNA test that your laboratory carried out for John Reynolds.”
“Can I ask why?”
“I believe that this test, or more probably the result, is somehow linked to a series of murders and attempted murders carried out over the past nine days. I would prefer it if you could come down to New Scotland Yard but if I have to come up to Liverpool then I will.”
“You are aware that DNA test results are confidential and I” that was as far as Dr Livingstone got.
“As I said Dr. Livingstone this is a matter of urgency. Trust me when I say that I can be in your office in a couple of hours time, with a search warrant and subpoena. One way or another Dr. Livingstone I will get the information I want and I will also get your full co-operation. Under the circumstances I am surprised by your attitude.”
“What circumstances?”
“Your brother in law, John Reynolds asked you to run the test for him. You are aware that he is in court this morning charged with attempted murder.”
Peter was well aware of that but decided to play it down. “Point taken, can we meet up in the morning? I’ll telephone you with an address in London this afternoon.”
DCS Hughes was a little surprised by the request but decided to go along with it. “I’ll wait for your call.” Then he hung up.
The Chief Superintendent looked at his watch; he knew that John would be on his way to the Magistrates Court for his hearing. John had been scheduled for a ten fifteen appearance but in reality that meant nothing as the actual appearance time depended on how long the prior cases went on for. John’s appearance this morning was a formality. All he would be asked to do would be to confirm his name, age and address. The charge would be read out to him and he would be asked how he pleads. Regardless of his answer the case would be referred to the Crown Court and if bail was refused then John could be sent down as a remand prisoner for anything up to a year before his trial.
DCS Hughes was racking his brain in the hope he could come up with something, anything that would help John. He slammed his fist on the desk in frustration. DCS Hughes had been up for most of the night going over the details of Andrew’s theory. What, at first had been a laughable and ludicrous theory had started to take on some merit. A lot of it made sense. Like Andrew, Pat, Geoffrey and John he had no idea how it could happen, he knew that it probably had. He was also certain that Peter was the key and after speaking with Peter earlier on he was certain that Peter was aware of that as well.
DCS Hughes picked up the phone and asked the switchboard to put him through to the department C41. C41 was a civilian run department, mainly students who were working their way through college or university. The department was a new initiative; its main aim was to bring young people and the police closer together by allowing, in this case, students to use their research skills in tracking down details of companies or individuals the Police were interested in. DCS Hughes was interested in Dr Peter Livingstone and his department at the University of Liverpool. The Chief Superintendent explained what he wanted to one of the researchers and was told that he would be e-Mailed a preliminary report within two hours.
DCS Hughes checked of his watch again, he had forty four minutes to get to the Magistrates Court. He grabbed his coat and headed out.

* * * *

Once inside the court building John was officially handed over to the court officers. Pleasantries were exchanged and the paperwork duly signed. John was relieved to have his handcuffs removed. He rubbed his aching wrists to try and get some feeling back into them. The cuffs had not been tight, just uncomfortable and he was starting to get a blister where one of the cuffs had been rubbing against his skin.
John was escorted to a single sized holding cell. “Want a paper or a cup of tea?” asked the escorting officer as he led John into the cell. “Please”, replied John, “that would be nice.”
“Yes, that would be nice would wouldn’t it,” replied the officer, “well I’m not feeling too nice today, so I don’t think I’ll bother.” He slammed the door shut and rattled the keys for good measure. “Green as grass,” he was saying as he walked back to the reception area, “green as grass.”
John made himself a comfortable as possible in the cell; it was even smaller than the one he had spent last night in and no more comfortable. The only consolation was the bed in this cell was metal framed with a spring base. That at least gave it some give. He sat on the bed and looked around. He wondered if this was going to be his world for the foreseeable future. John, though, had a bit more fight in him today than he did yesterday and the negative thought was soon banished.
John heard the keys turn in the lock of his cell door. “Visitor,” said an anonymous voice from behind the door. At first John was puzzled, and then a smartly dressed man carrying a black leather briefcase entered the cell. He held out a hand, “Hello John, how are you? I’m Martin Hayes. A mutual friend, Geoffrey Adamson has asked me to represent you.”
“You must be my solicitor,” replied John, “I’m so sorry