Contents ( 38)
- OVER MY DEAD BODY
- Jeffrey Archer
- Copyright
- Dedication
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12
- CHAPTER 13
- CHAPTER 14
- CHAPTER 15
- CHAPTER 16
- CHAPTER 17
- CHAPTER 18
- CHAPTER 19
- CHAPTER 20
- CHAPTER 21
- CHAPTER 22
- CHAPTER 23
- CHAPTER 24
- CHAPTER 25
- CHAPTER 26
- CHAPTER 27
- CHAPTER 28
- CHAPTER 29
- CHAPTER 30
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- About the Author
- Also by Jeffrey Archer
- About the Publisher
‘The only good thing that came out of it,’ said Jackie, ‘was that the insurance company refused to pay up.’
‘So he ended up penniless,’ said Paul.
‘Not quite. Pugh sued the insurance company, and they finally settled out of court for a quarter of a million.’
‘I’ve known people who’ve been murdered for far less than that,’ said Ross.
‘When I checked through the evidence,’ continued William, ‘I noticed a couple of anomalies that might be worth following up. Pugh’s brother-in-law gave a statement a few days after the murder took place that makes interesting reading.’
‘But he backed down at the last minute,’ Jackie reminded him, ‘and refused to give evidence at the trial.’
‘I’d still follow it up,’ said William. ‘Who knows how he might feel a year later?’
‘And the other thing?’ pressed Jackie.
‘The suicide note was found on the floor below the wife’s body, not on her writing desk. And it was unsigned, although we found a pen on her desk.’
‘But the law of double jeopardy means that if Pugh was found not guilty,’ said Jackie, ‘he can’t be tried again.’
‘He wasn’t found not guilty,’ William reminded her. ‘The first trial ended with a hung jury, and the second was thrown out of court on a technicality.’
‘A fine legal point that Booth Watson would have a field day arguing in front of a judge,’ suggested Ross.
‘I’m sure Sir Julian Warwick would be up to the challenge,’ said The Hawk.
‘Let’s move on to your case, Paul,’ said William, ‘which involves one of the most egregious individuals I’ve ever come across.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Paul, as he opened a thick file in front of him. ‘Max Sleeman is an unprincipled loan shark who lends cash at exorbitant rates, sometimes as high as ten per cent.’
‘Per annum?’ enquired the commander. ‘That doesn’t sound unreasonable.’
‘Per month,’ came back Paul. ‘He also imposes unwritten penalties should his borrowers fail to pay up: a broken leg for the first offence, an arm for the second and, after a third, you simply disappear. A warning to his other customers of the consequences of not paying up on time. We’re pretty sure that the three victims who went missing were murdered,’ he added. ‘But until we come up with even one body, we can’t arrest Sleeman, let alone charge him.’
‘How does he get away with it?’ asked Rebecca.
‘At the time the person goes missing, Sleeman always has an unimpeachable alibi. On the first occasion, he was attending the last night of the Proms, and was even seen on television for a brief moment waving a Union Jack. The second time, he was at centre court at Wimbledon watching the women’s semi-final. During a break between matches, he dropped some cream on a woman seated at the next table. He paid to have her dress cleaned, and produced the bill as evidence.’
‘And on the third occasion?’
‘Sleeman was caught on a speed camera in Manchester doing forty-three miles an hour in a built-up area. He produced a photo of himself behind the wheel, along with a receipt from Manchester City Council.’