STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (15 page)

Johnson was probably in his mid-fifties, overweight with lank, dark hair combed back from his clammy grey forehead with Brylcreem, or perhaps cooking fat. His thick black square-rimmed glasses were frequently used as a prop during interviews to highlight an issue or augment an opinion, when he would remove them and literally poke them at the interviewing officer. His breath smelt stale. He had poor dental hygiene and generally looked like a bag of shit. He rarely managed to keep his shirt from flapping out over his belt and his tie knots always appeared to have been made by a toddler.

Deans’ thoughts sometimes strayed during Johnson’s interviews and he would imagine him being that person you’d notice in a traffic jam with a finger fully extended up one nostril, rooting around regardless of who else might be watching. He suspected that Johnson was a lonely man, even though he did not know anything about his personal life.

Deans was already occupying the stuffy interview room. His papers spread out in front of him, Maxpax coffee on the go. The room was small and hot, old and dirty. The soundproofing tiles must have been thirty years old and they looked every day of it. Five people in the room was about the limit. The single desk was bolted to the floor, the floor tiles were well used to say the least, and the build-up of spilt coffee and tea made for an interesting visual effect. A window at the end of the room had opaque glass so that nothing outside was discernible, and the thick metal bars on the inside had been painted white so many times that the holding bolts were barely recognisable. The recording equipment was so out-of-date that cassette tapes were still used. Deans had used the same kind of cassettes as a kid to record music from the Radio 1 chart show each Sunday. He did not know if they were even still available in the shops. Probably not, but his station appeared to have them in abundance. Management had always argued that until a station revamp took place, officers would have to make do with the existing technology and just get on with it.

The soundproofed door to the interview room opened and Groves walked in, anxiously scanning between the four walls, his shoulders drooped, eyes wide open. He looked exhausted.

Johnson followed close behind. His voice arrived before Deans saw him.
The performance has already started
, Deans thought.

Johnson ushered Groves to the end chair opposite Deans, as he waffled on about what was about to happen and took his seat alongside his client. He should have already explained that guff during the consultation period, and Deans would repeat it anyway, but it was Johnson’s way of trying to get the first break of serve.

Groves simply looked beleaguered, and Deans watched him with interest as Mitchell took the seat between himself and Johnson.

The DI had already decided not to arrest Groves for murder at this stage. A formal ID of the body still needed to take place and until the family confirmed that the corpse was Amy, Groves’ status was not to change.

8:21 p.m.

Jesus
, Deans thought. It was already getting on for a double shift and he was only just starting the interview.

Deans had not broken eye contact with Groves during the entire seventeen minutes it took for him to explain the interview process. This was not only a thorough and professional introduction, it was also a display of control and confidence and it showed Deans was not going to accept any messing from Groves, or Johnson. He could sense Groves wouldn’t be any trouble for him but was less sure about his solicitor.

As he went through the introduction, he could see Groves glancing over at Johnson, who was smugly jotting something down on his scratch pad and occasionally bobbing his head or pursing his lips in a display of attention, purely for Groves’ benefit. He had no reason to react to anything Deans was saying at this point. It was a standard introduction and one that Deans could do backwards and probably whilst sleep talking. Those glances only confirmed that he was waiting on Johnson to prompt him into ‘no comment’ responses.

As Deans watched Groves’ timid and hesitant body language, he became less clear about his suspect. There was the false statement and the CCTV, both compelling, and not forgetting the discovery of the body. However, something about the man in front of him did not seem right. It was true he had not been completely honest in his statement, and Deans would suggest he was at Amy’s hometown at the time of the murder, but was he a killer? Groves was a candidate for sure, but not a dead cert.

Standard interview practice was to invite the interviewee to provide their own detailed account prior to the interviewer explaining and describing the evidence against them. It would allow a suspect to be open and furnish an unprompted account. Deans could then dissect each part of the version in fine detail until he was satisfied every topic had been exhausted. That would have been how Johnson sold it to Groves during their consultation, and that was just how Deans intended to play it, until he saw Groves sitting opposite him, scared and shaking.

Deans delayed his opening question, said nothing and waited for Groves to engage eye contact.

Johnson stopped scribbling and looked up at Deans from over the top of his glasses. Deans could sense Johnson’s anticipation, readying himself to interject.

Still saying nothing, Deans removed a buff-coloured A4 envelope from the papers in front of him and slid the package across the table towards Groves, who recoiled away from it.

Deans waited.

Groves flashed a glance in his direction. Game on.

‘The body of a young woman was discovered at Sandymere Bay earlier today.’ Deans gestured to the envelope. ‘Take it. Have a look inside.’

Groves’ hand hovered over the envelope, and he nervously looked at Johnson for guidance. This was Johnson’s cue to interject.

‘Officer, might I ask what this is? What are you giving my client to comment on?’

‘An exhibit.’

Johnson removed his glasses and held them out in front of his face, prodding the air between himself and Deans.

‘I don’t believe my client and I have seen this material. Have you provided me with full disclosure, Officer? You know if I haven’t been made privy—’

‘Open it, Carl. Take a look inside.’ Deans said, cutting Johnson short.

Johnson’s voice was now the loudest in the room. ‘Officer, before my client looks at the content of that envelope I wish to know if this material has been subject to primary disclosure. If this is evidence that I’ve not been made privy to then I must request that this interview be suspended in order that my client may fairly view all available material that he is being asked to comment on.’

Johnson had not taken a breath. His cheeks were red and his jowls were still vibrating.

Deans leant over the table and took the envelope back with a dry smile. Ignoring Johnson’s rants, he peeled open the flap and slowly removed the six A4 colour photographs contained within. He laid them out, facedown, at arms-length from Groves, so that all Groves could see was the white backing of each sheet. Still snubbing a now flapping Johnson, Deans increased the tension by slowly lining up the pages so they were neat and equally spaced.

Groves was now shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his face a mixture of bewilderment and alarm; every subtle movement interpreted by Deans.

Johnson now at thirty-eight thousand feet shouted, ‘Officer, I really must object to this. I demand the interview be suspended and I demand to see the Superintendent at once.’

‘I tell you what, Carl,’ Deans said, shunning Johnson, ‘we can come back to these a little later.’

Groves was rigidly mute. He had turned pale and had slumped forwards onto his forearms, staring bug-eyed at the sheets before him.

‘Do you remember that statement you gave me, Carl?’ Deans asked. ‘You know the one you signed as being truthful?’ He paused just long enough to gain an impact. ‘Not misleading or false in any way?’

Groves turned desperately to Johnson for guidance, who in turn nodded in such a ridiculous manner it must have been a pre-arranged signal to make a ‘no comment’ response.

Sure enough, Groves conformed to his reply: ‘No comment.’

‘Shall I refresh your memory?’ Deans said, pulling out a copy of the statement from the pile of papers. ‘This is the same statement, isn’t it, Carl?’ he said, dropping the pages beneath Groves’ nose.

A quick look left and a nod from Johnson and Groves replied, ‘No comment.’

Deans leant back in his chair and coupled his hands behind his head.

‘The thing is, Carl, you said on the weekend Amy went missing you were at home; that you did not see Amy after the lift from university on Friday. And most importantly, that you had never been to Amy’s hometown.’

‘No comment,’ Groves replied without hesitation. No need to involve Johnson this time.

‘I didn’t ask for your comments, Carl. I was refreshing your memory.’

The silent stare across the table shut out everyone else in the room.

Deans did not let up. ‘So tell me. How can you account for the fact that your car was in Amy’s hometown on the night she disappeared?’

‘Well, I—’ Groves started to respond before Johnson hastily interjected.

‘Mr Groves, I’ve given you my advice regarding the lack of evidence against you at this present moment in time. Would you like to speak privately with me before we continue this interview any further?’

Johnson had an annoying trait of not looking at the person he was speaking to, closing his eyes and tilting his head backwards, as if he was addressing an auditorium.

‘Um, no. I wouldn’t,’ Groves responded.

‘I am merely reiterating to you my professional advice regarding your input during these proceedings,’ Johnson persisted.

‘Mr Johnson. He said no,’ Deans said. ‘We all heard it and I am sure the tape recorded it. Now please, allow me to continue with this interview.’

Deans was secretly delighted that Groves was already showing signs of discontent with Johnson. He turned back to Groves.

‘Sorry, Carl. Please, you were saying?’

‘Um. No comment.’

Johnson nodded smugly. Moral victory, for now.

That’s enough foreplay
, Deans thought.

‘Tell me what time you met up with Amy in Devon.’

‘I didn’t,’ Groves replied instinctively.

‘Mr Groves, may I please reiterate—’.

‘Tell me why not. You were clearly there,’ Deans said, speaking over Johnson.

Groves began bouncing his left leg, knocking his knee against the table leg, causing Deans’ coffee to ripple. It was clear he had something he wanted to say. He took a glance at Johnson, who with eyes closed, was shaking his head.

‘No comment.’

Deans referred to Groves’ original statement and read out the description of his car.

‘So tell me, Carl, what happened to your bonnet?’

Groves frowned but did not reply.

‘You see,’ Deans said, reaching forwards, ‘I took the liberty of checking the CCTV from the car park next door on the day that you attended the station to speak with me.’ He picked up the A4 sheet closest to Johnson and flipped it over.

‘There you are,’ Deans said enthusiastically, ‘getting into your car. And it appears to me that the bonnet is a different colour to the remainder of the vehicle. Would you agree?’

Groves turned anxiously to Johnson who was already tilting his head and closing his eyes.

‘Officer, forgive me but I was under the impression we were talking about an offence that happened a number of days before this image was taken. Can you please explain the relevance so that my client can fully understand your line of questioning and therefore respond appropriately?’

‘Well, there’s not a lot of “we” in the talking so far as I see it and if you could refrain from interrupting the interview after every question I ask, perhaps your client would have an opportunity to understand the questions more clearly.’

Mitchell, for the first time, glanced over to Deans, who was already spinning over the next sheet.

‘Look, Carl, there is that same vehicle in Hemingsford, on Saturday October the fourth, at eight fifty-seven p.m. How do you account for that if you’ve never been there before?’

‘Officer,’ Johnson interrupted with hostile tones, ‘are you suggesting that there is no possibility a car of similar appearance exists? This image doesn’t even show a clear registration number. My client will be making no comment to your question.’

Deans leant back in his chair and faced Johnson with an icy glower. ‘Mr Johnson, have I missed something here? Are you no longer the legal advisor? At some point in the last half-hour, has Mr Groves become a juvenile? Or maybe he’s suddenly developed learning difficulties, because you seem to be answering the question on his behalf.’

‘I did nothing of the sort,’ Johnson responded defensively.

Deans had the bit between his teeth. ‘It sounded to me like you were not only prompting your client’s answer, but giving it on his behalf. I’m now formally warning you that any further infringement of the codes of practice will force me to stop this interview and inform the duty inspector of your conduct.’

‘And what about your underhand tactics, Officer? I want this interview stopped, right now.’

‘It’s continuing.’

‘This is outrageous.’

‘It’s continuing and if you have something to say afterwards, fill your boots. I’m sure the inspector will be delighted to hear from you.’

Poor Groves did not have a clue what was going on and simply looked terrified.

A silence enveloped the room and seemed to last minutes, but in reality was probably only a matter of seconds.

Deans revealed the next image of the car. ‘Take a look at the windscreen, Carl. Look at the two yellow stickers on either side. Now look at this photo.’ He turned over another sheet. ‘This is you in your car, having left the car park next door. This was taken by one of our ANPR cameras and look, it even shows your number plate.’

Deans glanced at Johnson, whose red cheeks were wobbling.

Deans continued. ‘And if we look at the windscreen we can see two yellow stickers at either side.’ Deans created ten seconds of imposed silence. ‘Now, tell me exactly what you were doing in Devon on the night Amy disappeared.’