Blazing Obsession (20 page)

Simon butted in. “You don't need to answer that, James.”

“No comment,” I said.

Flood pressed on.

“Do you know anything about Hartley's claim to being Emily's father?”

“No, of course I don't. That's rubbish.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because, if I can prove you knew about the affair and his claim, together with the embezzlement, you'd be highly motivated to want to harm your family and especially Hartley, wouldn't you?”

He kept up this interrogation, often rephrasing the questions, trying to catch me out. I repeatedly told him I had no idea about any of this nonsense. Simon challenged him on more than one occasion to provide hard evidence.

Flood responded, “We're close. Once it's confirmed, we'll present it to you, be sure of that.”

Simon butted in again. “You've made your point. My client has told you on several occasions that he had no knowledge of the affair or Hartley's claim.”

Flood ignored him. He leaned forward, putting his sneering face close to mine, said, “Do you know where Hartley is?”

“Of course I don't! How many more times must I tell you! I haven't seen him in years, not since he left my business.”

Flood changed the subject abruptly yet again, deliberately upsetting the rhythm of the interview. “Let's go through your alibis for the Johnson murder once more, shall we?”

Simon interjected again. “I should have thought by now, you'd have this aspect sorted. Either you accept my client's alibis or you don't. From what I've heard so far, all you've got is a cloud of suspicion. There's precious little other evidence being offered to substantiate the arrest of my client other than motivation. And as you know well enough, motivation to commit a crime is not evidence.”

I wanted to say, ‘Good point, Simon' but thought better of it.

Flood responded. “I want to be absolutely sure in my mind that your client's alibi for his whereabouts when Leroy Johnson was murdered still stacks up now he's being interviewed under caution.”

Flood turned to me. “Well?”

I trotted out the alibi once again.

“I see. And where were you at the time of Greenland's demise?”

I sensed a trap. I said, “I've already told you. I don't know a Greenland.”

Flicking over a page of his notes, he said, “Where were you between 10pm and midnight on the 12th October?” I had a job to remember.

Finally, I recalled I'd also spent that evening at Alisha's flat. Given what Flood might have deduced about my relationship with Alisha, I couldn't blame him for thinking there may be collusion between us. But it happened to be the truth.

“Are you in a relationship with her? Is she your girlfriend?”

“Well, no… not exactly. I told you before; she was a very close friend of my wife. She's helped me come to terms with my loss.”

“Close enough to be staying at your house?”

“It was just for the night. Spending time with my late wife's best friend isn't a crime, is it?”

“No, but under the circumstances, your alibi can hardly be classed as impartial, can it?”

DS Lyle and Flood nodded to each other and Flood declared the interview over. Turning off the cassette recorder, he said, “That's it for now. We're going to check on the progress of the forensic tests we're expecting. Back shortly.”

When they'd left the room, Simon leant forward and said, “They're struggling here to find any hard evidence against you. They're relying heavily on the fact you have strong motives for wanting Johnson and Greenland out of the way. Suggesting you had anything to do with Hartley being missing is ludicrous. As far as I can see, they have nothing else.”

“I hope you're right.” Simon must have noticed the apprehension in my eyes.

He shook his head wearily. “I've seen all this before. If the police don't have enough evidence, they pile on as much pressure as they can, hoping to get an admission of guilt. It's the easier option for them.”

Half an hour later, the detectives returned to the interview room. Flood said, “We believe we're getting closer to obtaining the evidence we require to charge you with the murder of Leroy Johnson −”

I spluttered, “You… you must be joking −”

“I'll get a warrant to search your house as part of that process.”

“You've already searched it once, straight after the arson attack,” I yelled.

“I know, but that was over a year ago. We'd like to take another look. Oh, and I'm assured the forensic results should be available soon.”

“Good,” Simon responded. “Then on that basis I assume my client will be allowed police bail?”

“Not at this time,” Flood said. “It would be very remiss of me to release your client so that he can agree his alibis with his
girlfriend
, don't you think?” A smirk creased his pocked face. I held back the temptation to smash my fist into it.

He continued, “You'll be detained here until we complete our enquiries. Unless there's something you'd like to get off your chest?”

I shook my head in disbelief as Simon hit back. “Well, I hope your enquiries are concluded swiftly. You don't need me to remind you of your time constraints. And you'll need to produce a lot more evidence if you wish to retain my client any longer than twenty-four hours.”

My confidence in him grew. But RP would never employ an amateur.

When they left the interview room, I turned to Simon.

“God, he pisses me off!”

“I'm sure that's his intention. I'll come back tomorrow morning. We'll see what further evidence they've dug up.”

The uniformed constable led me back to the custody sergeant, who referred to a clipboard on his desk, ticked a box and said to the constable, “Cell Three.”

Before going to the cells, the PC told me to take off and hand over my shoes and my belt. There didn't seem any point in arguing.

The windowless, brightly lit cell measured no more than eight feet by six feet with a stark stainless-steel toilet and sink. A single blanket lay on top of a low secured bench and a plastic-covered mattress.

As the door clunked behind me, the sound reverberating inside the confines of the cell, my claustrophobia kicked in big time. I breathed in slowly and deliberately several times, despite the air being far from fresh. I felt like a criminal.

I convinced myself this was still part of the game Flood was playing, upping the tension, giving me time to reflect and possibly confess.

I fought my irrational terror of confinement by concentrating on every aspect of Johnson's murder. But all it did was raise more questions.

What did Flood mean when he mentioned getting closer to having evidence against me for Johnson's murder? Did someone witness us dumping his body in the Thames? Did someone see us go in and out of the railway arches? Or was it a bluff?

Clever bugger, Flood. Expert at applying pressure.

As my concentration lapsed, the thought of being banged up in this confined space for twenty years or more drove me nuts. I kicked out at the white-tiled wall with the soles of my feet until they throbbed. Then I beat it with the heel of my clenched fists until they ached. Exhausted, I slumped down on the mattress, my stomach churning, fearing my life may be over.

During the night, the duty PC slid the spy hole back in the door every hour. Occasionally I heard a commotion outside my cell. New residents yelled obscenities. It didn't make much difference. My anxiety and general feeling of foreboding made sleeping impossible anyway.

What the hell was I doing in here?

Apart from being offered breakfast, which I refused − I'd have thrown it up immediately − I had no contact with any police officers or the detectives until mid-morning the following day. I'd been held for just under twenty-four hours.

A PC escorted me back to the interview room. Simon had arrived earlier.

“Any more developments, Simon?”

“No. Roger's been briefed. He's up to speed. We've got to wait to see what further evidence the police have dug up.”

Flood entered the room. He didn't look happy.

“We've checked out your alibis. They
appear
to be genuine.” His facial expression implied it pained him to say so.

“We've still got work to do. The forensic team are taking more time than we'd like. We're still obtaining evidence. You are free to leave on conditional police bail. We'll need to speak to you again.”

I resisted saying ‘I told you so'. I just wanted to get out of there.

“What are the conditions?” Simon enquired.

You'll need to check in with us at Southwark Police Station every morning at 10am until further notice. In addition, we'll need your passport. Bring it to the station tomorrow morning.”

“Is that it? No other restrictions?”

“No, not at the moment.”

After collecting my mobile, belt and shoes, we left. Outside the police station, charcoal-coloured clouds scudded across the sky. It had stopped raining and there were large puddles everywhere. The cars speeding up and down Borough High Street swished more rainwater onto the pavement. I breathed in fresh, moist air lustily, expelling the fetid version I'd sampled earlier.

I hugged Simon enthusiastically. “Thanks a lot. I'm grateful for your help.”

“That's OK. Listen, we're not out of the woods yet. I'd like to know if a search of your home reveals anything. Call me if or when Flood gets in touch.”

I felt dirty. When I arrived home, I immediately stripped off and took a shower. I spent half-an-hour under it, scrubbing away the clinging odour of the prison cell. I was amazed at how good I felt after a squirt of deodorant and a change into fresh clothes.

I called Alisha at her office. She was delighted to hear that I'd been released. I arranged to meet her when she finished work.

Over a bottle of
Merlot
and linguini and meatballs at my house, she told me Flood had relentlessly interrogated her about my alibis, particularly for the night of Johnson's murder.

“He pointed out the seriousness of perverting the course of justice if I didn't tell him the truth. Pompous bastard.” She spat out the last two words. “He wanted to know which TV programmes we'd watched and what time they were on.”

“He asked me the same question. What did you say?”

“I told him, we watched
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
Do you remember? RP insisted we spent time on getting that accurate.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Did he ask you anything else?”

“Yes, about how much one of the contestants had won.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that despite sharing a bottle of wine with you, I remembered that a school teacher won two hundred and fifty grand. He'd used up all his lifelines but guessed correctly the name of the county cricket team who played at Chester-le-Street. The answer was Durham.”

“Good. I said the same. I supposed he also asked you which wine we'd drunk?”

“Oh, I told him. A bottle of
Montipulciano.
”

“Right again. Excellent.”

Although we got our stories spot on about our whereabouts at the time of the Johnson murder, a couple of things she told me she'd also said at the interview disturbed me.

“Oh, James, I don't know whether I've done the right thing. He asked me whether I ever had a relationship with Johnson. I didn't want to lie. And that phone call between Hartley and Greenland referred to it anyway.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I saw him from time to time. Not so much a relationship, just a few dates, that's all. It didn't help when those detectives saw me at your house. ”

I told her not to worry and that she'd done the right thing. “There isn't a law against who you see or don't see, is there?”

“No, I suppose not.” She didn't sound convinced.

“He also asked me if I knew about Lynne's affair with Hartley. He boxed me into a corner. I admitted that I did know. But I stressed it happened years ago and he disappeared shortly after you appeared on the scene.”

“Good. You said the right thing.”

“He asked whether you knew about it. I told him I'd never mentioned it but I couldn't vouch for Lynne. I'm not sure he believed me.”

Our plan appeared to be creaking under the pressure DCI Flood exerted.

I'd become an unwilling minor celebrity. There'd been a small piece in the London papers about a forty-three-year-old man being arrested on suspicion of murdering Leroy Johnson, who'd been discovered drowned in suspicious circumstances in the River Thames.

I thought it best if I stayed away from work. Although my name hadn't been released, most of my senior executives were aware of Johnson's trial debacle and my connection to him. I couldn't face the allusions or inferences that were sure to be made.

I kept in touch regularly, though. Pat couldn't believe I'd been arrested and released on bail. She told me not to worry. “Everything's under control, James. Peter's doing a great job and the business is going well.”

I desperately wanted to talk to RP, but he'd flown up to Scotland for a couple of days, investigating another case. He'd told me he'd be happy to talk on the phone, but I needed to spend time with him face-to-face.

The following evening, a thirty-second breaking news item on my local London TV station had me leaping out of my chair. They reported a car fire on wasteland close to the port of Dover. It had only made the news because this was the fifth such car torching in the area within the past fortnight.

When they mentioned a Toyota Avensis, I shouted at Alisha, who was making coffee in the kitchen. By the time she responded, the newsreader had moved on, reporting on the state of the rubbish collections in Lewisham.

It had to be Hartley's car. If so, the forensic evidence from both Johnson and Alisha would probably have been destroyed.

I relayed this thought to Alisha.

“That's a bugger!”

“You're dead right it is. We'll have to hope traces of Johnson's DNA survived.”

“But why would Hartley burn his car and go on the run? In a way, that's good for us isn't it?”

“Only if he did it, yes. It's possible he's panicked. Maybe he read about Johnson and Greenland's deaths in the papers and realised he's been set up.”

Alisha slumped down into the sofa and sighed.

“How the fuck is this going to end?”

*

Next morning, I left a message with Lucy, RP's secretary, who confirmed he'd be back in the office at lunchtime. He'd call me then.

At 3pm, my landline rang. An excited RP spoke rapidly.

“James. I got back a bit early, thought I'd make a few calls to my contacts before I called you. Have you heard? The police have just found Hartley alive and well. They caught him boarding a cross-channel ferry from Dover. The police had put out an All Ports warning and an eagle-eyed passport controller recognised him.”

“That's a bloody relief.”

“Even better, they've arrested him on suspicion of the murder of your family.”

I fell onto my chair and steadied myself by gripping the arm. I could hardly speak.

“Hello? James, are you still there?”

“Yes… yes… of course. That's fantastic news. When can we come and see you? There's much to talk about.”

“Let me make a few more calls first. I'd like Simon Brotherton here too. Why don't we meet up lunchtime tomorrow? I'll spend the rest of the day assessing where we are, OK?”

*

The next day, I drove from Blackfriars to Southwark Police Station with Alisha and parked in a side road. She stayed in the car whilst I reported in precisely on time at 10am. I was paranoid about missing the appointment. I didn't want to be re-arrested for breaking the conditions of my bail.

We decided to leave the car parked and walk through Borough Market and on to the Thames Embankment, heading for RP's office. The sun shone brightly through the freezing air and our breaths turned to vapour as we spoke.

The smell of fruit and vegetables fought for prominence over the hot fast-food stalls purveying everything from steaming paella to German sausages and hot roasted chestnuts. We grabbed a coffee and sat with our coats tightly wrapped around us.

I said, “It's great news about Hartley's arrest for the arson attack, but one thing worries me. There's been no mention of him being accused of Johnson's murder. And Flood's hell-bent on charging me.”

“Let's take it a step at a time. James. Hartley's arrest is progress isn't it?”

“I suppose it is. It worries me, that's all.”

We got to RP's office around lunchtime as agreed. It felt like a second home to me. I could find my way there blindfolded.

Simon Brotherton had already arrived. Papers cluttered RP's usually immaculate desk.

“James, Alisha, come in. Sorry to hear about your arrest, James.” RP stood and shook hands warmly with us both in turn and introduced Alisha to Simon.

“And Alisha, I hear the detectives have been giving you a hard time.”

“Nothing I can't handle,” she said, tossing her head.

RP's ever-elegant PA brought in the, by now, familiar tea set.

“Thanks, Lucy. Please make sure we're not disturbed, OK? We're going to be some time.”

As he poured the tea, he said, “Simon and I have been studying our position. We're trying to assess the strength of the police's case against you, James and seeing what we have to do to convince them that Hartley's their man for all five murders: your wife and children, Greenland and Johnson.”

The mention of
five
murders brought home the extent of our predicament. I had no idea RP's plan would end up like this. I reserved telling him until after I'd heard what he had to say.

RP continued, “All we know for certain is that Hartley's been arrested for the fatal arson attack, but not yet charged. We don't know specifically what the police have discovered about Johnson's murder. I'm still working on that.”

“I told Alisha, Flood's looking at me for that,” I said.

“I know. Let's start with your family, James. What worries me and Simon is that the police are implying that you discovered Lynne's affair with Hartley and his claim to being Emily's father. Therefore, you'd have been motivated enough to eliminate them.”

“That's absolute balls! I had no idea! And there's no proof that I
wasn't
her father.”

“I know. I'm playing devil's advocate. Stop me, Simon, if you don't agree.”

Simon nodded and said, “If you look at it from a police point of view, it's a definite runner. There are precedents.”

“But James wasn't there,” Alisha said. “We know Johnson did it. That means James must have hired him, which is crazy, isn't it?”

RP responded, “Well, James's alibi is that he spent the night at home alone. Why couldn't James have hired Johnson? The police have already questioned why he didn't go down to Lymington with the family for the first time ever. It's entirely plausible.”

We sat in silence for a moment, which Simon broke.

“The weakness in the police's position is the lack of hard evidence. However, I agree with Roger. There could be a case to answer.” I shook my head in disbelief.

RP took up the argument again. “Now let's look at Hartley. He has a strong motive too. Plus, he demonstrates the classic symptoms of a sociopath, swinging from being utterly charming to callously controlling. And we know from what Greenland said, he was absolutely furious with Lynne for marrying you and you both bringing up
his
baby daughter whilst he rotted in Belmarsh prison.”

I shot RP a disparaging glance. He countered by holding up both his palms facing me and said, “I know it's something you don't want to hear, James, but let's say, for the moment, it's a reasonable argument.”

Alisha said, “But surely Hartley wouldn't murder his own child?”

Simon replied. “It's happened before. I've dealt with cases where men like Hartley can't stand the thought of losing their child to another man. The fact is, when he went to jail he lost control of Lynne. He couldn't accept ‘control' had passed to someone else. And he blamed her. That's why he set up the arson attack. Sociopaths never think it's their fault.”

“Obviously not,” I spat out.

He continued, “As far as evidence is concerned we know the police have got the mobile messages connecting Johnson with Hartley. Not sure it'll be admitted in court, though. The defence would argue the police obtained the information without the defendant's permission. That would infringe his human rights.”

“That sounds too bloody familiar!” I shouted, recalling the judge's comments when he acquitted Johnson.

Simon ignored my outburst and said, “And remember, Alisha, when questioned by Flood, told him she knew about Hartley's affair with Lynne. But didn't know if James knew or not.”

I fumed, “But I didn't know anything about it until this week, for God's sake!”

Simon nodded and said, “I believe you. And it'll be the police's job to prove that you did know before the arson attack. Most of the other stuff they've got is circumstantial. That's not to say the court won't accept it. Circumstantial evidence is like an electric cable; full of different leads but in the end they all connect to the same point.

“It's my view the case against Hartley for the arson attack is good, James, but it's by no means perfect. It rests on whether the police can prove you knew about the affair.”

“Well, hang on a minute,” I said. “Hartley's been arrested for the arson attack, hasn't he? And Flood and his team aggressively questioned me at the time. If they thought I had anything to do with it they'd have arrested me, wouldn't they?”

RP came straight back. “Yes, James. But we know Hartley's a particularly plausible liar and con man. He'll say anything to avoid being charged.”

I shook my head again.

RP continued. “Let's look at the Greenland murder. You and Hartley both had motives for wanting him despatched. If the police can prove that Alisha mentioned to you Greenland's role in setting up the meeting between Hartley and Johnson, you'd know he'd played a part in the arson attack.”

“But I've only ever seen him twice. And I told the police I was at Alisha's flat at the time of his murder and she confirmed it.”

RP responded. “But you could have hired someone else to stab him and dump him in Victoria Park, couldn't you?”

“This is getting bloody ridiculous!” I snapped.

RP ignored me and continued, “On the other hand, we know Hartley shared with Greenland his deepest thoughts about his relationship with Lynne. Maybe he regretted it, got worried about Greenland. Didn't want him going to the police. Especially after your visit.”

Simon turned to me and said, “And as far as we know, there's no other evidence to implicate you. Flood would have you back to the station in a heartbeat if he did.”

Alisha, who'd been hanging on every word Simon uttered said, “Couldn't Hartley have used someone else to carry out his dirty work, just like he did with Lynne?”

RP replied. “That's right. I think that's the most likely explanation. The SOCOs will have crawled all over Greenland's flat. We'll have to wait and see what they come up with. Let's hope you didn't leave any evidence of your visit, James.”

Simon added, shaking his head, “It's a real shame about what happened to Greenland. He'd have been the prosecution's perfect witness.”

RP said, “I agree. He'd have made all the difference. Anyway, I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry. I'll get sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea sent in and then we'll look at the Johnson murder.”

*

We left RP's office at various times to use the washroom, check our mobiles and stretch our legs. We tackled the sandwiches unenthusiastically; none of us had much of an appetite, except RP.

Between bites, he spent most of the break with his phone crooked between his neck and shoulder scribbling notes.

Returning to his desk, still chewing his last bite, he said, “I've just heard from one of my contacts. The early signs are that any forensic trace evidence left in the boot of Hartley's car has been destroyed.”

“Bugger! That's not helping, is it?” I said.

“No, it isn't. But if the police can prove
he
torched the car, they could argue he did it to destroy the evidence.”

A frown creased his forehead. “You know, it's still bugging me who drove Hartley's car when you were abducted, Alisha.”

“Me too,” she said.

“We've got nowhere on that,” RP continued. He hated not having an answer for everything.

“And as far as the Johnson murder is concerned, I've heard the police have found the stuff you planted at Hartley's flat. They're waiting for the results from the forensic team.”

“Is that going to be enough?” Alisha said.

Simon, who'd been making notes, said, “Taken with the phone messages proving that Johnson was blackmailing him, I'd say the police would have to look at Hartley very seriously. But Flood may consider that you, James had a far stronger motive. After all, Johnson's the actual guy who destroyed your family.”

I moaned, “Oh! Wonderful.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, Simon continued, “And there's another point; we only have Alisha's witness statement to corroborate your alibi. If it got to the point where the police charged you with Johnson's murder and it went to trial, counsel would robustly cross-examine you, Alisha, given what they will know about your relationship with James. I'm sure you're both aware that perjury is a serious crime.”

Alisha nodded and said, “Flood made the same point when he interviewed me. Don't worry; I'm sure I'll cope.”

We'd come to rely a great deal on Alisha.

“I'm sure you will,” RP said. “I'm confident it won't come to that.”

I couldn't share his assurance. I began to doubt his infallibility.

He continued. “Of course, the big unknown here is the conversation Flood's having with Hartley as we speak.”