Best Served Cold: Sasha Stace, #1

By Mark McGinn

REVENGE - MURDERS - HORRIFIC REVELATION
They were once on a jury together, forty years ago, when a man was executed for killing his wife. Now three of the four are dead, amid personal vendettas and accusations of pornography trading, and the last man standing is arrested for the murders. 
It's up to courtroom lawyer Sasha Stace QC to secure his conviction. But this is a different murder and legal mystery that leads to a high stakes courtroom thriller where the case is circumstantial, the trial sensational, and nothing is as it seems. In her fight for justice, Sasha embarks on a course that imperils her life and endangers those she loves.     
Best Served Cold is a fast-moving and gripping legal thriller with more twists than the rope that strangles its victims. Be warned.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark McGinn
• Release date: Jul 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393175681

Mark McGinn

When Mark McGinn is not reading, thinking about book ideas and writing, he works as a business consultant, specialising in human resource services. He lives in Christchurch, NZ. with his family. When he's not writing crime novels, he's enjoying sport, and, with rock music in his ear, trying to minimise the excesses of red wine and chocolate on an exercycle that looks like a dark age instrument of torture. Now writing his fifth novel, he has previously written two Sasha Stace legal thrillers, and a mystery. A short story, Perfect Cover, has been published by Fairfax Media.  During a lengthy career in the NZ court system, Mark had the privledge of seeing some of the finest lawyers and judges in action in many notable criminal jury trials. That experience and his subsequent background in psychological assessment has enriched and driven his crime writing. You can reach Mark at www.mcginncrime.com or through his author page on Facebook: www.facebook.com/MarkMcginnAuthor 

Book preview

For Ena

For her love, support and for her patience.

Author’s note.

NONE OF THE CHARACTERS in this book are based on real people and any similarity between any character and any person known to any reader is unintentional and purely coincidental.

This book uses English - NZ spelling. The author understands that well-read readers from non UK and related countries will understand that differences in spelling between NZ and their own country are not necessarily due to poor editing.

Chapter 1

MARCH 1995

The taller of the two, dark suit, briefcase in a sweaty hand, waited at the door for the okay. His colleague, in a blue forensic suit over jeans and a black jacket, had just severed the outside phone line. He peered through a gap in the kitchen’s dusty blinds, a last check that their victim was still on his own.

When the thumbs-up signal came, the suit knocked on the tempered glass door. Neil Apsley appeared, through the kitchen, and shuffled forward in brown slippers. He was in a white shirt and brown cardigan. As he approached, he flattened his comb-over and stumbled reaching for the light switch.

His muted voice, ‘Les Barton, I presume.’ He wiped spittle from his lip and adjusted his baggy jeans.

‘Terribly sorry about the hour, Mr Apsley.’

‘Jus’ leave your papers on the step. I’ll get ‘em later.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir. I mentioned on the phone, didn’t I? About signing?’

Apsley put his face closer to the door and peered, a flushed face full of suspicion. It was obvious to Barton he’d drunk more since their phone call ended an hour ago.

Apsley said, ‘My old mum used to say don’t open the door to strangers. She was a sensible woman, my old mum.’

Barton glanced at his colleague to his right. He stood, out of Apsley’s sight, by the corner of the red brick house, his expression one of agitation. This wasn’t working out as planned. They’d parked their deliberately chosen, non-descript, cream Corolla halfway up Apsley’s tar-sealed drive, away from the eyes of prying neighbours. They didn’t want to be here a second longer than necessary.

‘Of course, she was. Any sensible man would remember his clever mother’s advice.’

Apsley stood nodding, making no move to unlock the door.

Barton balanced the case on his knee and flicked the latches. He showed him the fake papers hiding the noose. ‘Look, let me show you. It’s only a signature on your son’s Power of Attorney, that I need. I’ll be gone in less than a minute.’

Apsley continued to nod, the movement slow as if working hard to comprehend and think about what to do next.

He said, ‘Rang your joint in Australia, you know, after I finished talking to you.’

Barton nodded, offering his fake smile, doing his best not to show impatience. He’d been patient for forty years. No point in rushing now.

‘Strange I didn’t get Simon’s sexy sec, someone who could’ve given an update, you know.’

He gulped air and burped.

‘I’m sure I’ve told you everything we know about Simon.’ Barton tried to make his tone supportive.

‘Jus’ leave the papers. I’ll sign ‘em. Let you have ‘em in the morning. I’ve had a few drinks, you see.’

Barton knew that Apsley’s domestic help would arrive in the morning. She tended to start early, worked around him.

‘It would be very helpful to me, Neil. May I call you Neil?’

Apsley shrugged.

‘I’d regard it as a personal favour to me, if I didn’t have to come back, Neil.’

Apsley lurched backwards. ‘Bitch’s attacked him and done a runner, eh? My boy’s in a coma.’ The bloodshot eyes pleaded, perhaps hoping for a change in the story, hoping his son had recovered and that the power of attorney papers Barton said he needed to sign were redundant.

‘I’m so sorry, Neil.’

‘Miserable bitch, you know. Got her claws into him and wouldn’t let go. Not a daughter-in-law’s bum. Know that, do ya, Mr Barton?’

‘Can’t be easy to hear this news. What I can offer, a small comfort I know, is that the sooner I have your signature on these papers, the quicker I can make sure she does not fleece your son, Neil.’

Apsley chuckled. ‘Bit late on that score, I’m afraid.’

Barton thought this was working out all wrong. It seemed no matter what he did, Apsley was not going to open the door. ‘May I suggest an idea, Neil?’

‘What?’

‘I’ve already marked the papers in the two places where you need to ...’

‘Need to tidy up some of my own papers in the kitchen. Don’t want anyone seeing those. Not personal to you Barton. No ‘ffence.’

Barton persisted. ‘If Simon wasn’t a partner in the firm, this wouldn’t be necessary, Neil. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll lay the two pages where you need to sign on the lid of the case. I can see you’re very conscious of security. I don’t need to come inside at all.’

Barton glanced at his colleague. He’d edged closer to the locked door.

‘I’ll back right off to the paling fence behind me. How’s that? I won’t move forward again until you’re back inside and have locked the door. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’

Apsley seemed to consider the proposition. He pulled a key from his jeans pocket and held it up. Barton laid out the two pages on the lid, placed a pen on top of them and backed away from the door. He retreated the full ten metres to the fence, Apsley watching him all the way.

Apsley unlocked the door, opened it, and appeared to lock it again. Barton understood the distrust and the method to minimise risk.

Apsley bent over but looked unsteady. He lowered himself to one knee and picked up the pen.

Barton’s colleague flew at him, knocking the sixty-five year old back inside and on his back. In the moment of Apsley’s scream the man thrust a balled-up handkerchief inside his victim’s mouth and turned Apsley’s head to the side. Only a muffled shout emerged.

Les Barton reached the open door, syringe in his hand. Apsley’s neck was exposed and Barton plunged the juice into the vein. It would temporarily paralyze Apsley in seconds. 

The two men moved their victim inside. Barton switched off the outside light and quietly closed the door. He placed booties over his shoes and bagged his suitcoat and trousers, leaving them at the door for when they left.

They moved Apsley into the dim light of his kitchen but bright enough to see a dozen or more images of naked, pre-pubescent, boys strewn across the dining table. Apsley lay on the floor, conscious but unable to speak or move. Barton extracted the noose and a note from his brief case and placed Apsley’s fingerprints on front and back. He said, ‘See his phone anywhere?’

His colleague pointed to the kitchen sideboard.

Barton placed Apsley’s phone in the briefcase before the men dragged their victim into his bedroom. They lifted him on to his unmade bed, removed his trousers and underwear and slipped a noose over his head, carefully tightening and placing the rope over the puncture mark made by the needle. The two men positioned the semi-naked Apsley on his knees, manoeuvring him toward the end of the bed. Barton held him steady while his colleague fastened the rope to the bed head, then pushed Apsley forward until the rope was taut.

When they left, they placed the pictures of the boys, face up at the foot of Apsley’s bed.

Chapter 2

THE DEAD MAN’S HOUSE was at the rear of a back section. There’d been no weeding done here for a while and plants of an indeterminate variety in a strip of dirt up the south side of the drive begged for a drink in the hot lunchtime sun. Summer had only just ended but the calendar didn’t seem to know.

Sasha Stace ducked under black and yellow crime scene tape that fluttered in the day’s warm breeze. She immediately felt suspicious eyes on her and thought about turning back and driving away. She was here as a favour to long time Crown Prosecutor, Marshall Hall. The prosecutor needed a new member on the independent prosecution panel, a body of senior independent counsel the Crown could sometimes use to help manage its workload. 

The first person she recognised was the trim figure of Sergeant Rod Black. He was the detective responsible for the case she was defending in two day’s time. Black drained the dregs of an espresso and handed the paper cup to a uniformed constable who’d just descended a ladder leaning against the brickwork.

‘Deal with that for me, lad.’

Unimpressed, the uniform took the cup. ‘Phone line’s been cut, sir.’

Black pointed to a rugby ball lying in a large bush. ‘Done your forensics, eh? Nothing to do with this ball here, landing squarely on the line, pulling it out?’

The constable frowned. ‘Don’t think so, sir.’

‘Get the phone techies on to it. Let’s go with what they say. If it was cut, the cutter might have looked inside the house to see whether anyone was home. Make sure you get this area dusted.’ Black smiled as he moved off but lost the happy look as soon as he saw Sasha.

‘Too soon for you to be here, Ms Stace. No defendant yet. We don’t even know if there’ll be an arrest. I suggest chasing an ambulance in some other part of town.’

Sasha pretended to ignore the insult, stuck out her hand to the cop. ‘We might be colleagues on this one.’

He didn’t take her hand and squinted behind black-framed lenses. His white forensic suit accentuated a potato pallor look, a man light on sleep.

Sasha dropped her arm, and registered extra heat in her cheeks. ‘Marshall Hall has asked me to attend.’

‘You’re bloody joking, I hope.’

A voice behind her, tone of concern. ‘What’s going on here?’

Sasha turned to see the podgy Barry Hart, a sidekick to Black for as long as she could remember. He was dressed similarly to Black although was sweating more. He pushed some squares of chocolate into his mouth and his pocked cheeks ballooned. ‘Detective Hart,’ Sasha said.

‘Hall’s gone and given us a fucking babysitter,’ Black said. ‘Can you believe it?’

Hart mumbled, ‘Thinks we came down in the last shower.’ He looked up. ‘Whenever the hell that was.’

Sasha didn’t need this. About to turn and walk, she remembered Mac’s encouragement to broaden her practice. It helped to suppress her immediate instinct to leave, walk from the ingrates and leave them to their own devices.

‘I realise we will be crossing swords in a couple of days Rod, and speaking for myself, I don’t particularly want a poorly timed alliance with you and I suspect the feeling’s mutual.’

‘You got that right.’

‘That said, I’m sure we can be professional. My job here is not to tell you how to do your job but to support the building of evidence in the event that I, or someone in the prosecutor’s office, needs to decide whether an arrest should be made.’ She turned to Hart. ‘And in that regard, detective, I suggest that if this is a crime scene, we all cease and desist eating or doing anything that might contaminate it.’

‘Thought you said you weren’t telling us how to do our jobs,’ Hart said, as he walked away.

Black said, ‘We weren’t expecting you. No spare overalls, so you’ll have to wait until the techs are done. There’s a witness still inside. Want to speak to her?’

‘Wearing a forensic suit is he?’

‘He’s a she and we’ve isolated her.’

Having already decided to stay, she now did not want Black to have the satisfaction of sending her away. She said, ‘Send her to my car.’ Sasha pointed to her red Audi sports.

Black looked and shook his head, said nothing.

SASHA STARTED HER ENGINE to get the aircon. A witness isolated in the house. From what? She could’ve been anywhere at any time before police were called. They’d have to take that into account when assessing evidence. She realised this was Black’s way of controlling her involvement. For now, she’d play along with his ego, the big detective taking charge.

In the next ten minutes, Sasha dictated letters to clients into a device - one to the court about a forthcoming trial date that needed to be changed, three more to solicitors from whom she’d accepted instructions to act on behalf of their clients.

She was startled when a uniformed constable knocked on the passenger side window. He explained he’d brought a witness. Sasha leaned to see a Thai woman, early fifties, shoe-black hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a lime green smock to her knees and white sneakers. The constable introduced her as Su Lee, the person who found the body. Sasha thanked the cop.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Su Lee appeared angry rather than upset. ‘Who pay me?’ she said. ‘I find Mr Apps after whole hour here. Who pay me for that?’

Sasha introduced herself and explained her role. ‘Have you mentioned this to the detectives?’

‘To man with half ear missing.’

Black. He sent Su Lee, probably couldn’t be bothered with her problems. Black’s claim to fame was he’d been shot in the head. His superiors joked his head was too hard to penetrate so the bullet took out his ear. Su Lee held a neat bony-fingered hand out and repeated her question.

‘Perhaps you can tell me why you were here?’

She jerked her thumb in the direction of the house. ‘I told them. I cleaned whole house before I found him – Mr Apps. They think I touched the body. Threaten to arrest me.’

‘Did you – touch the body?’

A vigorous head shake, ‘No correct. I untie him, he fall to floor.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m very late for next job. Unfair.’

While unpaid wages were not Sasha’s responsibility, she knew she would get little useful information from an agitated witness who’d been threatened. ‘How much are you owed, Su Lee?’

‘Twenty-five dollar.’

Sasha took a twenty and a ten dollar note and handed them over. Su Lee took the money and clasped both of Sasha’s hands in her own. She gave a little nod. ‘Thank you. You very kind.’

‘Do you remember touching anything?’

‘Rope. His bed. He was on his bed, rope tied around his neck, other end tied to bedhead. I thought detective was going to arrest me when I ask for my wages.’

‘What time did you arrive this morning?’

‘Normal time. Eight.’

‘How long have you worked here?’

‘About two year.’

‘You have your own key to get in?’

She dug her hand into a deep pocket and showed a silver key. ‘House locked today,’ she said. ‘I think Mr Apps still in bed. I do his room last, let him sleep. He drink a lot. House often smell of whisky.’

‘You sure the house wasn’t unlocked?’

She nodded. ‘Had to unlock to get in.’

‘And you found him in his bedroom, after cleaning the rest of the house?’

‘A single nod.’

‘Do you use Mr Apps’s vacuum cleaner?’

‘Yes, and products. He say it help keep cost down.’

Sasha made a mental note to check the scene techs removed it from the house.

‘When you found him, was the bedroom door open or closed?’

Su Lee looked down, seeming to try and remember, a sign no one had asked her this already. ‘I think, a little.’ She demonstrated a small gap between thumb and finger.

‘You’re not sure?’

‘Not sure.’

‘Did you notice anything else in the room that might have been unusual?’

Su Lee tilted her head, looked confused.

‘Anything a little strange?’

The cleaner gave a sour look. ‘Picture of boys on floor.’

Sasha guessed from Su Lee’s look what these might’ve been. She didn’t want to cause further discomfort but knew she should ask. ‘What kind of pictures, Su Lee?’

‘Small boys, no clothes on.’

‘The police have seen these?’

She nodded.

Sasha’s attention diverted to men walking towards her in light coloured shorts and dark trousers. She recognised Henry Spiers. He was a scientist she’d had to cross examine a few times. He had round rimless glasses and a Hitlerian style haircut. Fortunately, no little moustache.

‘Just a minute, please, Su Lee. I need to check whether one of these men has the contents of the vacuum cleaner. She got out of the car and called across the roof. ‘Henry!"

Spiers looked up. ‘Sasha.’ Not a warm-toned reply.

‘I’m talking with the deceased man’s cleaner. She finished vacuuming just before you were called here. Can I check you have the contents?’

Spiers looked annoyed. ‘Yes.’

‘Also, it might be important to test for semen at the foot of the bed or on the floor.’

‘We’ve done this sort of thing before, Sasha. Any other important questions you have?’

Chapter 3

SCIENTISTS GONE, SASHA was free to go into the house. She said goodbye to Su Lee.

‘Mr Apps always, one cup, one plate. You know what I mean?’

Sasha nodded. ‘Can I ask, why did you untie the rope instead of leaving it for the police?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She looked down. ‘His eyes frighten me. He look scared, very scared.’

Up the tar sealed drive, Sasha noticed the grey double garage door was down. To her right, the open back door. She used a pen to push the light switch. The naked bulb in the porch worked. If the deceased let anyone in last night, he’d have been able to identify the visitor, however unlikely that might’ve been to Su Lee.

Black walked from a room into the hall where she stood. He carried a plastic envelope with a sheet inside. ‘Doing your own forensic work, I see.’

Hart joined them. ‘Want to update our babysitter, detective?’

Hart looked at his sergeant through bloodshot eyes. Sasha knew they both worked, as yet, unsolved cases. Neither of them would want this inquiry added to their plate. Hart had discarded his plastic suit to reveal significant sweat stains on his blue shirt.

‘Deceased is one, Neil Apsley. No criminal history but our intel says he’s a kiddie fiddler-in-waiting.’ He undid the shirt top button and loosened the tie around his thick neck.

Black looked at Sasha. ‘Child porn.’

Hart said, ‘He’s recently left his job as general manager of The People.’

Ben’s media company.

Sasha said, ‘And you know this, because?’

‘Apsley got caught up in an IT audit,’ Hart said. ‘Visited internet sites his employer disapproved of. Intel says it’s the second time he’s lost a job for this – why he’s on a watch. Ended his first career in education although his resignation covered that up.’

The paramedics approached with Apsley’s body, already inside a bag on a gurney. Black offered them a stop sign. They complied. ‘Seen a dead body before, Sasha. Outside of courtroom photos? Person of your sensibilities up for this? He didn’t wait for answers and pulled down the zip. The dead man’s skin was the colour of an old grey sheet. The sparse threads of his black comb-over were askew and the ligature mark around his throat was prominent. White hairs protruded from the shoulder bands of his singlet. Black pulled up the zip and nodded for the paramedics to continue.

The doctor attending followed them. He said, ‘Ten to twelve hours, I’d say.’

Sasha looked at her watch. That time would put his death at 9.30 to 11.30pm the previous night.

Black showed her the plastic envelope. Inside a typed note, covered in charcoal grey powder. ‘You can see this has been fingerprinted. We’ll get that analysis done but it was found on Apsley’s computer table, through here.’

Black led them into a kitchen, windows covered by pink venetians. The bench space was L shaped, a cork-tiled floor. The dining and living areas had the same green carpet as in the hall. Apart from two framed prints that looked like the paint had been applied with a mop, the townhouse had a minimalist feel to it.

Black pointed to the computer and printer in one corner of the living room. In front of it, a high-backed black leather-tilter, more for long viewing sessions than ergonomic support. ‘Looks like he printed this over there.’

Dear Simon

I know ours has not been an easy relationship. While I blame myself in part for placing you in foster care after your mother died, I worked hard to find the right kind of home for you. At the time, I believed there was no other option. I simply wasn’t equipped to be the father you needed. Understanding all this, you have no idea how much it meant to me that you sought my contact ten years ago.

But since then, it has been deeply distressing to have seen you only once in all that time, despite my repeated requests. Even with Dench & Co.’s financial blunders I can still afford a trip to Australia. My investment losses are little more than a minor set-back to the style of retirement I’d enjoy. And I wouldn’t be a drain on you. We could have our own space.

Below the type were handwritten lines that Apsley had crossed out.

If I just arrived on your doorstep, how hard could one week be? But no, your beloved did everything she could to prevent us reconnecting.

You’ve been too soft, Simon. I know that’s not all your own fault. But you’ve made a rod for your own back. You left your first wife for this mad bitch and now she’s got her claws well and truly into your back and she ain’t letting go.

Sasha asked, ‘Do we know if it was sent?’

Hart said, ‘Nothing in sent mail.’ He showed Sasha his own plastic envelope. ‘These appear to be notes of a phone call. Found by the phone.’ He pointed to the kitchen sideboard.’

Internet Nazis

Les Barton – admin manager

Si attacked – coma – bitch nowhere

Business partner Alaska

Power of attorney.

Black said, ‘We already know there’s no Les Barton in his son’s business. There’s no PoA here or anywhere in the house that I can see. And I broke the sad news to his son who’s in Queensland. Neither he, nor his business, has ever been to Alaska. I’d say on that basis, probably a hoax call, a wind-up maybe, followed by cutting his phone. Someone wanted to cause our Mr Apsley some discomfort.’

‘Can’t imagine why,’ Hart said, tone sardonic.

Black asked, ‘What do you think, Sasha. Apsley needed a more intense orgasm, you reckon? Stuffed up his little act of autoeroticism?’

‘That would be too unfamiliar for a person of my sensibilities, would it not, Mr Black?

Hart smiled.

Ignoring her question, Black said, ‘If that bloody cleaner had intended to tidy up after a murder, she couldn’t have done a better job. She’d even turned on the dishwasher. Christ knows what saliva and other evidence might have been left in there. We’ll have to check the bed cover and contents of the vacuum cleaner.’

Sasha said, ‘If he had a visitor, they were good enough to secure the house for him after they left.’

Blacks eyes darted to Hart. ‘Who says.’

‘The witness you referred to as, that bloody cleaner. You might’ve got more from her if you’d shown some understanding for her situation and hadn’t threatened her.’

Hart said, ‘Pay her wages, did you?’

Black said, ‘Enough, detective. Ms Stace might be our unwanted babysitter but she’s not wet behind the ears. Given you think all this is so amusing, you’ll be in charge of the forensic examination of the computer.’

‘May I ask,’ Sasha said, ‘whether you’ve found and logged any other evidence, perhaps formed any preliminary views?’

Black nodded to Hart. ‘We found a couple of hairs on the bed cover in Apsley’s room. They don’t appear to be Apsley’s due to the colour difference. Even if it looks like he fucked up his little sex act, the brass’ll still require some consideration of a staged killing. Maybe the parents of some paedophile victim conned Apsley into letting them in his house, killed him, then arranged the scene to look like autoeroticism. Probably only a few thousand suspects.’ He started to chortle.

Sasha asked, ‘Has anyone actually laid a complaint?’

Hart said, ‘His employment dismissals had never become an issue for us – not a single complaint against the sick bastard from anyone.’

‘All right, that’s enough,’ Black said, looking at his watch. ‘We’ve been in paedo palace long enough. I’m starting to itch. Bit of luck, we’re ninety per cent to a quick result. Just need, the autopsy and final forensics to get us over the line.’

Chapter 4

AT 12.30PM, SASHA STACE walked the six hundred and seventy-six paces from her office back up Montreal Street to the Coffee House. She counted thirty-four cars: twelve parked, twenty-two moving. Counting. Trainspotting. What was the big deal? She’d done it for as long as she could count past ten. It didn’t hurt anyone.

She knew Mac would be late. Somewhere in the range of two to five minutes and forty-five seconds. She’d note it but would never mention it.

She walked across the wooden floor, heard a Tina Turner track played in the background, something about living more, moving into the fast line. She sighed. Have I really moved beyond life into its shadow? Do I need excitement? Am I settling for whatever happens next, good enough or not? Are the criminals of the world my legal destiny?

Exactly one minute after the appointed time, Mac walked into the café. Her mentor, her substitute father, held out his arms for their customary hug. She held him a little longer, a little tighter than normal.

‘Everything, okay?’ he asked, no sign of concern on his face.

‘I’m fine, really. Let’s eat. I’ve had an early start and I’m famished.’

‘When are you not?’ Mac winked a brown doe eye and one of his wild eyebrows took a ride. Hair no longer jet black, parted on the left-hand side as always, plenty of grey showed around