Post Mortem (23 page)

Mr Jacobs nodded and said, ‘Not at all, Sergeant.'

‘You're OK to begin?'

‘Please.'

‘OK.' Collins slotted the tapes into the recorder and pressed record. ‘This is an interview about the circumstances surrounding the deaths of PC Hadley Matthews and Farah Mehenni. Inspector, you are not a suspect in these people's deaths. You are not under caution—'

Shaw interrupted. ‘How would I be a suspect? What would the offence be?'

The solicitor cut in deftly. ‘Kieran, the detective sergeant is just explaining for clarity.'

Steve said, ‘Specifically, sir, I think Sarah is encouraging you to feel free to speak to us.'

‘And why wouldn't I?'

Collins felt a snap of exasperation.

Shaw was continuing. ‘I must admit, I'm a little confused as to what exactly you are investigating and what you need to ask me about. It all looks pretty clear to me.'

Collins said, ‘OK. So tell me what's happened.'

‘I don't need to, surely. You're the investigating officer.'

‘I'd like to hear how you see it.'

‘Farah Mehenni was clearly mentally unstable – as the investigating officer, you'll be in a better position to establish that than me – and she just couldn't stand to see her father called to account for his actions. She obstructed police, throwing herself on the bonnet of a police car. She made an unsubstantiated complaint of racism. Then, when none of that worked, she took the boy from
the neighbours' garden. God only knows what she thought she would achieve. PC Matthews and PC Griffiths went to the roof to try to save Ben and, of course, Farah herself. PC Matthews died in the attempt but Griffiths recovered the boy safely – for which she should be commended. Instead, she's the object of a witch hunt. No surprises there, then.'

Shaw finished speaking. He sipped his tea and then sat with the air of someone entirely comfortable with silence.

Collins skimmed through her notes. ‘So. Let's start with the complaint. Tell me about that.'

‘Don't know much about it. The family made a complaint via their solicitor, said that Matthews had used racist language to Farah. As I was part of Matthews' chain of command, the matter was passed to another inspector. That's about all I can tell you.'

‘Is it?'

‘Yes, as I've just said.'

Jacobs interjected. ‘I believe my client has answered the question. Have you any reason to think he hasn't?'

The solicitor was just doing his job, of course. Which was what, exactly? Collins checked herself. She would have to be careful not to be thrown off course by his presence.

‘PC Matthews – tell me about him.'

‘Good officer. Nothing fancy. Born to be a constable. The amount of shit he'd sorted out in twenty-seven years of coppering. Now he's dead with only three more years to go, and his wife's going to have to finish raising the children on her own.'

‘A racist?'

‘No. He didn't discriminate. He hated all people equally.'

Collins made a note.

Shaw waited for her to finish. Then he said, ‘That was a
joke
, incidentally, and an old one too, but you can make what you like of it. Put a letter on my file if you like.'

Collins looked up, refusing to be riled. ‘Was he sloppy, then? A bit careless with language?'

‘No. I would have pulled him if he had been.'

Collins paused. ‘OK. At post-mortem, Farah Mehenni was found to have PC Griffiths' former telephone number in her back pocket.'

There was a silence. Then, ‘No, sorry. Can't help you with that.'

‘No idea of a possible explanation? No supposition to offer? It certainly makes the story a bit more complicated than your outline.'

‘Does it? Farah had Lizzie's telephone number. So what?'

Collins didn't answer. She waited.

Shaw said, ‘She was mad enough to take a child. Why shouldn't she be mad enough to get hold of an officer's private number?'

‘Farah made one call that was received by PC Griffiths, on 26 March. Then, on 13 April, Griffiths changed her number. Any ideas about that?'

‘No. You'll have to ask her.'

‘OK. Tell me about PC Griffiths.'

‘What do you want to know? She's a good cop but of a different type to Hadley. She'll go far if you leave her alone.'

‘Any special feelings for her?'

Shaw's chin went down and he raised his eyebrows. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Collins with some contempt. After a pause he said quietly, ‘Ever thought of doing some real policing?'

‘Are you willing to answer the question?'

Another pause. Shaw sighed.

‘OK. So, well done.' He pushed his chair back from the desk with the heels of his hands. ‘Congratulations. You've dug around somehow and got someone to talk. Who was it?' He leaned forward and flicked his hand dismissively. ‘On second thoughts, don't tell me.' He made a sharp, impatient inhale and cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I was in a relationship with Lizzie. Yes, I've got – what did you call it –
special feelings
for her.'

‘Not your first affair with an officer under your command.'

‘No, not my first
relationship
. Yes, there was another one several years ago.'

Jacobs raised a hand in lawyerly protest. ‘Sergeant, being in a relationship with a colleague is not a crime. It's not even a disciplinary matter. Inspector Shaw's private life is his own concern.'

‘Inspector, you are married and you have slept with female PCs who are under your command?'

‘Yes, I have. What are you suggesting?'

‘Tell me about your feelings for PC Lizzie Griffiths.'

‘What do you want me to say? I
liked
her—'

Jacobs cut in. ‘I advise you to answer no further questions about this. It's not relevant—'

‘You've been trying to call her.'

‘Yes. It goes to voicemail.'

‘You don't leave a message?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘I don't know what to say and I don't want to say the wrong thing. I know she'll get the missed call. Call me back if she wants to talk. I've told you I'm concerned for her safety but you don't seem at all bothered about that. You seem more interested in stitching her up than in preventing her from coming to harm. You're no closer to finding her, I take it?'

Collins ignored the question. ‘You didn't want to offer her advice as to how to deal with the investigation, perhaps? Advice that you didn't want recorded?'

Shaw cleared his throat. ‘I won't be demeaning myself or you with an answer to that question.'

‘Is that a no comment?'

Shaw spoke with heavy emphasis. ‘I didn't want to advise her how to deal with the investigation, no.'

‘Is that why you organized for her to be driven home after the incident? You wanted to talk to her before we did?'

‘Certainly not. Anything else, Sergeant?'

Collins pushed her undrunk cup of coffee away from her. ‘Inspector, I'll be frank. The simple account you have offered doesn't quite stack up. I am trying to find out what happened and I don't think you are being particularly helpful on the detail.'

‘I've made myself available to your investigation. Ask me what you want to know.'

‘I want to know why Farah took such a drastic step.'

‘How can I possibly answer that question?'

‘If you know about the circumstances—'

‘I have no idea why she did what she did. As I've said, she must have been unstable. And, like so many people, she could not accept that consequences follow . . .'

‘Yes, OK. Mr Shaw, I haven't finished asking the question.'

The solicitor made a brief movement to intervene – ‘DS Collins . . .' – but Shaw batted him away with a hand. ‘No, don't worry, Mark.' He turned back to Collins. ‘Ask what you want to know.'

‘PC Griffiths and PC Matthews got to the roof extremely quickly, too quickly in my opinion. Any idea how they would have known—'

‘I don't know what the timings are. I don't know whether they got there
too quickly
, as you say, but even if they did, I wasn't with them. As you are aware, Detective Sergeant, I can only answer questions about things I know about.'

‘So you don't know about that?'

‘No.'

‘Matthews switched his radio off instead of communicating with Control.'

‘Again, how can I possibly know why he did that? Maybe he thought a police radio would disturb Farah. Didn't want to scare the horses. Maybe he didn't want Control to start interfering. Thought
he could do better talking her down than a superintendent would. Probably right about that too. But that's just surmise, of course. I don't know why he switched his radio off because I wasn't there.'

‘Inspector, it's my job to find out what happened. You're a police officer. If you've got any information that can help me, I hope you'll choose to give it now.'

‘I've told you everything I know.'

‘You didn't tell me about your relationship with Lizzie Griffiths.'

‘Because it's not relevant.'

‘Anything else you haven't told me?'

Shaw smiled, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.

‘You tell me,' he said. ‘Looks to me like you think you've got hold of something.'

Collins considered for a moment before speaking without any obvious emotion.

‘Inspector, I'm warning you that I have reasonable grounds to believe that you have committed an act to obstruct a police investigation. You went to PC Matthews' locker immediately after his death—'

Jacobs cut in deftly. ‘I can't see how this will stack up. If you suspect an offence, you should have cautioned earlier. You specifically told Mr Shaw he wasn't a suspect.'

Collins refused to be drawn. She continued, ‘I need to ask you questions about this possible offence. You have a solicitor here but you don't have to answer any of my questions and you are not under arrest. You are free to leave. This interview is being recorded. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.'

Jacobs made a note. Shaw said something inaudible.

Collins said, ‘I'm sorry?'

Shaw met her eyes and spoke very distinctly and certainly loudly enough for the tape. ‘I don't know how you live with yourself.'

Jacobs cut in. ‘I'm advising—'

Shaw interrupted abruptly. ‘Mark, there's no point in advising me not to answer questions. It just creates an appearance of guilt. I've been in the job twenty years. I know how it goes.'

Jacobs looked down at his pad.

Shaw coughed. ‘OK, Detective Sergeant, I went to Matthews' locker, yes. Well done for your
detective work
. They would be proud of you at
detective school
. Taken a statement from the asthmatic Mrs Bell in Resources, have you? Poor thing, I bet she can't sleep for worrying now.'

‘Thank you for that answer.'

Shaw didn't wait for Collins to ask the next question.

‘I wanted to clear his locker.'

‘OK.'

‘Excited about that?'

Collins shrugged. ‘Interested.'

‘I shouldn't have done it. OK.' He paused and looked at Collins, and in an instant, his brief appearance of regret had been replaced by contempt. ‘You're not
interested
, you're
thrilled
. I can see how thrilled you are. Well, I know how it looks to you, but the truth is I just wanted to protect Hadley's family. I was worried there might be stuff there that would damage his memory, stuff that might perhaps upset his wife. Betting slips from on duty, a bit of porn perhaps. You've seen the headlines, how many thousands of times? Tabloid hype. The usual misdemeanours of ordinary men made to look perverse. “Dead officer kept naked ladies in locker.” That sort of thing.'

‘OK. And what did you find?'

He smiled at her mirthlessly. ‘Absolutely nothing. There was nothing in there, just a load of old pens and a photo of his family.'

28

O
n a side street Lizzie had found a charity shop. The door opened on to the musty smell of unwanted items. Crockery with cracked glazing, knives with stained bone handles, a porcelain cat with a chipped ear. Vaguely repelled by the unfamiliar scent of cheap washing powder, Lizzie wrestled behind a curtain in and out of second-hand clothes. The shoes were the hardest thing. There was a pair of heeled brogues that fitted well, but she worried about walking in them and so she plumped finally for a pair of black patent pumps. She matched them with a black knitted dress, a belted coat and a brown leather shoulder bag.

A stranger now returned her gaze in the changing-room mirror: a more conservative young woman with a shiny metallic bob, a woman who spent more time and care on her appearance. It was disorientating, shape-shifting. This woman would have a different temperament and make different decisions.

‘Good as new,' the woman with the blue rinse behind the counter said as she piled the purchases into a reused plastic bag. ‘And all for a good cause.'

By the time Lizzie stepped outside, the street lights had come on. She had to hurry to catch the shops before they closed. Down the street she found a small chemist's, where she bought a couple of pairs of tights. Further along, and heading west away from the town centre, she looked around her before quickly climbing a low wall into a garden. Crouching down in the shelter of a shed, she pulled on the tights and dress.

The streets were crepuscular, patterned by pools of orange light and the white glare from shop windows. She dumped her old clothes in a wheelie bin on her way back down to the sea. In a separate bin she threw her little backpack. She cut along the side streets, walking evenly and in no particular hurry. She barely glanced at a silver car parked down towards the sea on the opposite side of the street. A man with a shaved head was sitting in the driver's seat; in the passenger seat beside him, another white man with short hair. As she slipped into the shadow of the building, she noticed their outlines – round-headed, broad across the chest, with sloping shoulders.