So I worked with a murderer – part 2

You may want to read part 1 before reading this

I looked up the phone number for the local police station in the area where the murder had taken place and cautiously called it, convinced in my own mind that I was just going to give them a couple of names and then ring off. Eventually I got through to the team who were doing the investigating and and blurted out the information before trying to make my excuses and hang up.
“We’d like to come and see you” said the voice on the other end,
“Really?” I said, surprised that they were that interested,
“There are some things you’ve mentioned that nobody else has been able to tell us”,
“Oh crap” I thought, but didn’t say.

After a quick battle of conscience I agreed to their request and so it was on a Saturday morning that two friendly policemen turned up on my doorstep having driven over 100 miles to get to my house. They stayed for about an hour, probably only fifteen minutes of which was talking about the case and the rest writing up my statement and talking “Police stories”, and also discovering that one of them had gone for an interview in a building that I was working in at the time. They left seemingly quite happy and it was a few weeks after that I heard that Simon had denied murder and that it was going to go to trial. That meant a long drive, a day off work and potentially ending up with my name in the papers, which was not really what I’d had in mind when I’d volunteered the information, but when I though of how much the murdered girl’s family had already lost it seemed trivial in comparison.

As the weeks went by the court date loomed closer and closer and I got more nervous and more nervous, then I received a phone call.
“It’s all over” said a friendly policeman,
“What?” I replied,
“He’s confessed”

I was so relieved I wanted to dance and skip and shout but instead felt the stress of the months of waiting roll off me as I settled down to a glass of very nice white wine, which seemed to get lost on the way down so I had to send at least two or three more after it to find out what had happened.

It turned out he’d held out until his very last court appearance before the full trial and then confessed, which was only a half-decent thing to do as he should have owned up earlier and saved the stress and expense all round. It was across the national papers for a couple of days as the details came out, but thankfully not my name, though some of the evidence quoted in the paper seemed awfully familiar. It was odd seeing his face on the London papers having been so used to seeing it across a desk.

At sentencing he got 16 years for the murder and I got a letter offering me counselling, which I thought was more appropriate for the family than me but I appreciated the offer. Would I do it again? I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.