Post Mortem (34 page)

Carrie pushed a stray hair away from her face distractedly and smudged her forehead with her dirty glove. ‘All done, then?'

‘Yes. Thank you for letting us speak to Ben.'

There was a pause.

Collins said, ‘Jez has got a lollipop. Would it be all right for him to give it to Ben?'

Carrie smiled but she looked exhausted, pale and worn. ‘Yes. Why not? This thing has put lollies into perspective.' She was pulling off her gloves. ‘I'll show you to the door.'

With Jez and the camera equipment it was a squeeze in the hallway. The dog had followed them out and was threading between their legs. Ben was hanging back, sucking at his lolly.

Jez gave a little wave. ‘Bye, fella.'

He went ahead, down the pathway towards the car.

Carrie offered Collins her hand. ‘I'm sorry if I was rude earlier. I'm pleased you came.'

‘You weren't rude.'

‘Did you get everything you need?'

‘Well, Ben did his best—'

Carrie interrupted. Her face had tightened up and her voice had the sudden urgent whisper of a confidence being given. ‘I just can't believe she
pinched
him. It's a detail, I know, nothing in the scheme of things, but somehow . . . I don't believe in capital punishment and I know it's terrible, but I can't help myself. I'm pleased that girl is dead. I am. I am.'

Jez and Collins sat in the car in silence. Collins turned the engine over.

Jez said, ‘You did a good interview, Sarah. He was just too young.'

‘Thanks. And thanks for helping me.'

‘Not a problem. You're doing a good job. It isn't easy.'

Collins indicated left but still she did not pull away from the house. She found it hard to let go of her hope that the facts of that conversation on the roof could be retrieved from the imperfect palimpsest of the boy's memory.

45

T
he interview room was conspicuous by its neatness. There were three cups of water, pre-written tape seals, a pile of fresh tapes, a box of tissues; no scraps of paper, no discarded tape wrappers. A closed lever-arch file waited on the table.

Steve was showing Lizzie in, and as they took their seats, Collins unsealed the tapes and slotted them into the machine. She pressed record and the machine buzzed.

‘We are in Interview Room One, Victoria House. My name is DS Sarah Collins. Also present is . . . If you would introduce yourselves, please.'

‘DC Steve Bradshaw.'

Lizzie looked across at the detective constable. His notebook was open in front of him and he waited for her to speak, pen in hand.

‘PC Lizzie Griffiths.'

Collins resumed. ‘PC Griffiths, you've been arrested on suspicion of perverting the course of justice and misconduct in public office. Do you understand the offences?'

‘Yes.'

‘You don't 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. Do you understand the caution?'

‘Yes.'

‘So you'll understand me then when I tell you that saying nothing can be just as harmful as giving an account.'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you want to tell me why you've declined legal representation?'

‘Because I don't need it.'

‘You can change your mind at any time.'

‘Yes, I understand that.'

Collins leaned back in her seat and took a moment to consider PC Lizzie Griffiths. Her appearance had changed significantly since Collins had seen her first on the roof of Portland Tower. She wore faded jeans and a dark T-shirt. Her hair was peroxide bleached, a little yellow, cut short and scruffy. She looked thinner, pale and tired, and yet somehow, in spite of everything, she had remained pretty in the way that was only available to the young. It was an unconscious splendour, a healthy excellence that had survived all assaults and was, perhaps, even sweetened by her fragility.

Steve said, ‘Lizzie, we just want to know what happened.'

Collins said, ‘Sometimes people do things that are wrong for the best possible reasons.'

Lizzie made no reply.

Collins took out a bunch of photographs and laid them on the table. Lizzie picked up one of them and stared at it for a while. Farah was lying on the pavement with her arm outstretched. Lizzie put it back on the table. Collins handed her another: Farah naked before the post-mortem. Her body was astonishingly unmarked by the fall. Her unblemished skin was sallow, her breasts just budding.

Collins said, ‘I've attended many autopsies but I've never got used to them.' She sought out Lizzie's eyes and paused, but Lizzie avoided her gaze, looking down at the table. Collins went on, her tone matter-of-fact: they were both professionals. ‘The point is to establish the cause of death, as you'll know. In Farah's case
there were no surprises. Sudden deceleration. That's always, in some shape or form, the cause of death in a fall. The human body hitting the hard ground too fast. On the outside she appears almost untouched. Inside she's mush. It's like hitting the internal organs with a hammer.'

Suddenly Lizzie shuddered, and in an instant Collins saw her as she had been up on the roof. Shocked, horrified. She had to suppress an unexpected impulse to forgive.

She said, ‘We just want to know how this came to happen.'

Lizzie looked up. Her face was set like stone, hard and tense. She said, ‘Could you put the pictures away, please?'

Steve gathered them up carefully and slowly, slipping them into their plastic folder. Collins waited.

‘OK,' she said, taking a breath. ‘Let's go back to the beginning. You attended Farah's home address to make arrest inquiries. A complaint resulted from that against PC Matthews. Farah said he was a racist.'

Lizzie's right hand fluttered briefly like a butterfly against a closed window.

‘No.'

‘No?'

She trapped her wayward hand beneath the firmer left one and rested them both on the table. ‘I don't think Farah said PC Matthews was a racist.'

‘No?'

‘I believe the allegation was not that Hadley was racist but that he had said racist things, or things of a racist nature, something like that, but I'm not sure.'

It was an interesting objection, and perhaps fruitful. Collins glanced at Steve's notes.

‘Racist things, or things of a racist nature. What do you mean by that?'

Lizzie hesitated, perhaps aware that she was being drawn into a conversation that could do her no benefit. ‘I was never shown the complaint.'

‘But if you could explain your phrase, please. What did you mean?'

The gap between Lizzie's eyebrows puckered into a little frown.

‘Nothing really. It's just that Hadley – that is, PC Matthews – he had a way of saying things that could be misinterpreted.'

‘Misinterpreted?'

‘Yes.'

The impulse to forgive had vanished. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He put pressure on people. Some people might put two and two together and make five, but Hadley was no racist.'

‘But he may have said racist things?'

‘No. He may have been misunderstood.'

‘But how could he have been misunderstood? In your statement you say . . .' Steve opened the lever-arch file. Inside it was neatly ordered and colour-coded. He handed Collins a typewritten sheet and Collins put on her glasses and scanned it. ‘Yes . . . Here we are.
I heard the whole conversation between Farah Mehenni and PC Matthews . . . He never said anything out of place and certainly nothing of a racist nature
.' She paused. ‘If he never said anything out of place, let alone of a racist nature, then how could he possibly have been misunderstood?'

‘I don't know.'

Collins could see that Lizzie was getting anxious. ‘Perhaps we could clear this up by you telling me exactly what he did say.'

‘I can't remember much detail, but if he had said something racist I would have remembered it. What I'm saying is, it would have stuck in my memory, definitely. I would have been shocked. He said he needed to speak with her dad. We'd have to keep coming round until we'd spoken with him. That's all I remember now. It's in my statement.'

‘OK.'

There was something here that was bothering Lizzie, some grit that irritated, and Collins waited for her to speak.

Lizzie said, ‘But . . .'

Collins couldn't help smiling for just a brief second. ‘Yes?' she prompted gently.

‘Well, his manner . . .'

‘His manner? Collins scanned the statement again. ‘
PC Matthews was polite throughout
.'

Lizzie shrugged. ‘Polite, yes, but . . .'

‘Yes?'

‘But firm.'

It was time to move on. This might be helpful stuff, but at the end of the day it was just quibbles, circumstantial material that would only assist if it was supported by something more definite, some damning fact or omission. She needed to keep the interview flowing.

Collins said, ‘Well, we'll come back to PC Matthews' manner later in the interview. But there's nothing in your statement that suggests Farah Mehenni could have in any way misunderstood him. The other explanation, of course, is that Farah was lying in
her
statement.'

Lizzie frowned. ‘I don't want to say she was lying.'

‘Oh, why not?'

Lizzie coughed and wiped her hand across her mouth. ‘Because she's dead, Sergeant Collins. Because she was just a child.'

There was a pause. Lizzie put her head in her hands and gripped her hair tightly.

Steve said, ‘Are you OK to continue?'

Lizzie didn't look up. Her voice was strained. ‘Yes. For Christ's sake. Let's get this over with.'

Collins said, ‘You're sure?'

Lizzie let go of her hair and looked up. She took a breath. ‘Yes.'

Collins looked at Steve, worried for a moment that she could lose the whole interview if she were judged to have overstepped the mark or to have continued when the subject was in no state to answer.

Steve said gently, ‘Lizzie, you're sure you want to go on?'

Lizzie spoke impatiently. ‘I'm OK. I've been assessed. I'm fit for interview.'

Collins said, ‘OK. We'll continue. Your statement . . . Hadley said you would corroborate his account. But you didn't provide a statement until nearly three weeks afterwards.'

‘I provided an account of the arrest inquiries . . .'

‘Yes, in which you didn't mention anything about this overheard conversation.'

‘I was asked to give a clarifying statement, because of the complaint.'

‘Who asked for that?'

‘Inspector Shaw.'

Lizzie glanced across the table. Steve was making a note in his book.

‘I hadn't realized that the conversation in the hallway was of any significance,' Lizzie said. ‘I had been more anxious to cover the pursuit of Younes Mehenni and Farah's attempt to obstruct us – her climbing on to the car. That was the stuff that seemed worrying at the time of writing the statement.'

‘Eighteen days. Eighteen days between the arrest inquiries and the date on your second statement.'

‘Once I'd been asked for it, it took me a while to get round to it.'

‘To get round to it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why was that?'

Lizzie opened her hands slightly. ‘I was busy. We were always busy on team.'

‘I don't believe that.'

Lizzie threaded her fingers and brought her palms together. She did not answer.

‘Top of your class at training school. By the time you were only six months in, you already had one commendation under your belt. Doesn't sound like you're the type of person who takes time to get round to stuff.'

Lizzie glanced at Steve as if looking for help, but his face was dispassionate.

Collins said, ‘A mentor, someone who took you under his wing – that's how everyone describes PC Matthews' relationship to you, but it takes you eighteen days to write a statement supporting him.'

Lizzie nodded. DS Collins leaned forward.

‘You'll have to speak. The tape doesn't record anything it can't hear.'

‘Yes. It took me eighteen days to write the statement.'

‘What's the explanation for that? What are you? Lazy? Selfish?'

‘Neither.'

‘No, I don't think you are. Quite the opposite.'

Lizzie's eyes flicked to Steve again. He was looking down, writing.

Collins said, ‘I think it took you so long to write the statement because you couldn't bring yourself to lie but you also couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth. Either you heard Hadley say the things that Farah accused him of or you simply didn't hear the conversation at all. So for eighteen days you did nothing.'

‘No.'

‘Remember to speak up for the tape.'

‘I've answered your question.'

‘I don't think you have. A usually diligent officer—'

‘I just didn't get round to it. And OK, no excuses for not writing the statement sooner.'

‘Lizzie, it's not a question of excuses. I'm looking for an explanation. A normally conscientious officer fails to write a statement. And not just any old statement – your colleague PC Matthews
needed
you to make that statement. But for eighteen days you were silent.'

Collins stopped and waited. Lizzie spoke so quietly that she could not be heard.

Steve looked up from his pad. ‘I'm sorry?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.'

Collins tapped the desk impatiently. ‘Come on, Lizzie, tell the truth. We all know it's never going to be all right to call people Bin Laden. Those days are over. Hadley already had a warning on his file for a similar incident. If the complaint had been upheld, he would have been dismissed from the service. Gross misconduct. All the disgrace of that and, with only three years to go, the loss of his pension. Not a good prospect after thirty years. That's the crux of it, isn't it? He asked you for your support?'