Separated at Death (The Lakeland Murders) (24 page)

‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure of that, Mr Hamilton?’

Hamilton looked at Hall with something that quite closely approximated the policeman’s stare.

‘Yes, I’m quite sure.’

Hall thanked Hamilton and Jenkins, and asked if there was anything that Hamilton wanted to say. There wasn’t.

Hall wasn’t surprised at how it had gone, nor was he especially disappointed. He was more convinced than ever that Simon Hamilton was guilty, and he’d said exactly what he’d expected him to do. He was gambling that Hall’s team wouldn’t be able to catch him in a lie. If he turned out to be right then Hall knew that there was little or no chance of a conviction. Even if his shoes still had any traces of soil and leaf litter on them there was no real likelihood that forensics would be able to say, categorically, that they had come from Serpentine Woods.

But what about Sarah Hamilton? Why was she persisting in providing her husband with an alibi? If it came to it, and Hamilton ended up being charged, she’d probably avoid prosecution anyway, because Hall was betting that he’d actually reached home at around 9.45pm. That was a long move from her original estimate of 8.30pm, but close enough to what she was saying now. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t respond to pressure.

Hall just couldn’t work out who Sarah Hamilton was most frightened of, her husband or the police. Hall decided to ask Jane for her view. ‘I’ve been thinking about Mrs Hamilton. Let’s assume that she’s lying for Simon, and has been all along. Why would she do that do you think?’

‘You want me to put myself in her position?’

‘Yes, in a way.’

‘Well that’s not going to be easy. Simon is such a slime-ball.’

‘Do your best. What do you think? Loyalty, love; worry about losing that lovely lifestyle?’

Jane Francis took her time.

‘They’re all possible, and a mixture of motives is an option as well. I don’t think there’s a strong probability of coercion, or at least of physical intimidation if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s got no record for violence, and usually something has happened by now if it’s going to. Of course that doesn’t mean to say that he hasn’t got her mentally cowed. I’d say that’s much more likely, but of course I’m just guessing.’

Hall nodded, and Jane went on.

‘There is another possibility though. What if she’s giving him an alibi because she knew that he was up to no good, but not about the murder? And now she’s stuck with it, even though she must know by now that we’ve got him firmly in the frame for Amy’s murder?’

Hall hadn’t thought of that, and he was intrigued.

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Something white-collar, fraud maybe. Connected to the building game perhaps. Money-laundering even.’

‘Hold that thought. We should consider that possibility, and see where it takes us. But for now let’s get on with the meeting.’

Mann had assembled what was left of the team. The specialists had all returned to HQ, so he was down to himself, Mann and Francis, plus a uniformed Sergeant and three PCs. He briefed them first.

‘Ian is coming out with you, and you’re going to re-canvass all the houses near to the entrance of the woods, plus all the dog walkers and others who were on that stretch of Queen’s Road between half eight and half nine on Wednesday.’

Hall didn’t have to wait long for the groans. It wasn’t unexpected.

‘Don’t worry, we do have something new to go on. We want to know if anyone saw this car or this man, with or without Amy, last Wednesday evening. Please work each of them hard, really get them to think back over that evening carefully.’ Hall handed out the plastic folders containing a picture of Simon Hamilton, plus front, rear and side shots of his Mercedes.

‘How many are there in total Ian?’

‘20 doors and four walkers. I’ll do the walkers myself.’

‘Great. And remember, if you get a positive of any kind then close the interview down immediately, and get them straight in here. Any sighting at all could be vital. Is everyone clear? Good, away you go then. Jane, you and me are going to look again at Simon and Sarah’s finances, let’s see if we can take your idea anywhere. But first let’s take a ride round to see John Hamilton.’

Jane joined Hall in the car park, and as they drove he noticed her perfume. He liked it. Hall put on some REM, and Jane sang along t
o
New Test Lepe
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. Usually hated it when people did that, but not this time.

John Hamilton was at home, and his mother was fussing around, tidying up and making him some food. ‘I don’t think he’s eaten since it happened’ she said, as she showed Hall and Francis in to the living room. Then she went back towards the kitchen.

‘Why are you here this time?’ John’s tone was anything but friendly, and Hall was very slightly taken aback for a second or two. But it didn’t show.

‘I wanted to go over something with you, and also chat a bit about your brother. It’s in your interests, I assure you.’

‘My brother didn’t kill Amy. He didn’t kill anyone. You have to try harder to find out who did.’ Hamilton’s tone was definitely tetchy. His initial deference towards the Police had evaporated, and on balance Hall preferred that. He wasn’t really used to it.

‘Let’s talk about when your brother came round to see you last week.’

‘I told you, he was never on his own. He couldn’t have planted that phone.’

‘He says that he went to the loo.’

Hamilton looked surprised. ‘Did he? I didn’t notice.’

‘Can you think back and try to remember. How long was he gone for?’

‘I’m sorry. It’s all a blur. Mind you, that’s partly because I’ve been sitting in a cell at the police station and been charged with my own daughter’s murder, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s just some kind of protection mechanism. My mind, my memory, everything sort of shut down.’

‘That’s OK, don’t worry. I know you’re trying to help.’

‘So finally you do believe that I didn’t murder Amy?’ Hamilton’s tone had softened slightly.

‘We have a new, active line of enquiry to follow, that’s all I can say for now.’

John Hamilton nodded.

‘My mum was here when Simon was round, perhaps she will remember something.’

‘Good idea. Jane, would you ask Mrs Hamilton if she could join us for a second.’

Hall waited until Jane had left the room. ‘Off the record’ said Hall quietly, ‘can you see any motive for your brother being involved? Anything at all?’

‘Are you thinking about child abuse? Is that what this is all about?’

Hall said nothing, and waited.

‘Absolutely not. Definitely not. I’m certain of it.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The money? Like I told you Simon wasn’t happy with his settlement, and as luck would have it trade has been better since he decided to cash in his chips. But that was his call. My brother just never really was a businessman. He likes to act the part, likes the trappings, but when it comes down to it he’s just not a grafter, and he has no patience. Our dad spotted it early on. Simon never liked that much.’

‘What’s your brother like in other respects?’

‘A good lad really. They couldn’t have kids, but it’s not something we ever talk about. He’s a bit flash, a bit impulsive, reckless even sometimes. And though we’ve fallen out a bit over the payment he got for his shares, and I probably knocked him back a bit harder than I needed to when he did come back for more, I’m sure everything will be back to normal soon. Blood’s thicker than water as they say.’

In Hall’s professional opinion that old saying couldn’t be more wrong, but he said nothing. It wouldn’t have helped. Jane opened the door to the living room, and Mrs Hamilton came in with a tray of tea and coffee.

‘John’s dinner won’t be long, Inspector’ she said firmly.

Hall took the hint. ‘We’re just off, but I just wanted to ask you one thing before we go. Last Thursday, you were here all day?’

‘Yes, from five minutes after John called me with the news until very late that night. I only live a few houses further up the road.’

‘And Simon came round?’

‘Of course. As soon as he heard. He stayed for an hour or so.’

‘When he was here, was he in the same room as you all the time?’

‘No, I was in the kitchen quite a lot of the time. Simon was mainly in here, with John.’

‘Did you by any chance see Simon anywhere else in the house that day?’

‘No, not that I remember. Is it important?’ She looked anxiously across at her son.

‘Mum, if I didn’t kill Amy, and you know I didn’t, then someone must have planted the phone to incriminate me.’

‘But you can’t think it was your own brother?’ She turned to Hall. ‘Are you intent on destroying this family?’

‘Mrs Hamilton’ said Hall, as calmly as ever, ‘either your son brought the phone into the house, or someone else did.’

‘Someone must have broken in then.’

‘There’s no sign of forced entry. We have checked. We’ll leave you to your meal, but in our experience people don’t seek to frame others for murder without having a very good reason, at least in their own mind.’

Mrs Hamilton did not look at all convinced.

Ian Mann found potential eye-witnesses frustrating. And he didn’t know which were worse, the ones who had seen something useful, or the ones who hadn’t. The ones who hadn’t always seemed to take forever to get to the point, and the ones who had seen something usually had such faulty memories that their recollection had little or no evidential value. Did everyone live their lives on auto-pilot?

Throw in the fact that everyone to be seen had already been interviewed at least once, almost certainly twice, and that one of those interviews would have been carried out by a CID officer, made Mann feel even less enthused about the task in hand. He knew that Andy Hall was a good copper, certainly the cleverest he’d worked with, but he’d got this one wrong. For some reason he just didn’t want to believe that John Hamilton was a killer. But that mobile phone said otherwise, no matter that his brother’s alibi was now undermined.

But Mann was determined not to miss anything, and so he patted his first interviewee’s dog, admired the condition of its coat and lack of a range of arthritic conditions to which the breed was prone, and drank almost half of the disgusting coffee that he was served. He left none the wiser, but with a burnt tongue and a slightly odd taste in his mouth.

All of the walkers lived within a couple of streets of each other, and the next one was a 35-year old woman called Julie Bowness. Mann stopped outside her front door, and read the interview notes. She had walked past the entrance to Serpentine Woods at about nine, and again, on the way back, at about twenty five past. The timings were perfect, and the notes said that Julie had seemed intelligent and helpful: but she’d still seen nothing.

Mann knocked and waited. He could hear a dog barking, or rather yapping. He started to picture a proper leg-humper. But he liked the look of Julie Bowness when she came to the door. There was a nice mountain bike in the narrow hall of the cottage, and pictures of the fells in the snow on the walls, some with her in them. As he expected when she spoke her accent wasn’t local, more like posh Yorkshire, Otley maybe. From the notes he knew that she was a science teacher at one of the secondary schools in town.

They went into the small living room, where the woodburner was on and thankfully the TV off, and sat on small sofas facing each other.

‘I’ve got a couple of pictures that I’d like to show you’ said Mann, putting the pictures of Simon Hamilton’s Mercedes down on the coffee table.

‘Oh yes, I saw that car parked just opposite the entrance to the woods’ said Julie firmly. ‘It was last week, either Tuesday or Wednesday.’

Mann tried to look as if this was the answer he’d expected.

‘That car, or a similar one?’

‘It was that one. I noticed the bike holder on the roof rails. Look, you can see them clearly in this picture. It’s a very expensive type, and your bike is sort of winched onto the top of the car by an electric motor. I’ve been thinking about buying one you see, that’s why I noticed.’

It wasn’t definitive, but it might do.

‘Can you remember which evening it was?’ He resisted the urge to tell her how important it was. In the silence he heard a log cracking in the fire.

‘No, I think it was Wednesday but I can’t be absolutely certain. I go that way most nights, Jasper gets very angry if we go a different way. Sometimes he just lies down and I have to carry him home. But I’m sure it wasn’t last Monday, and it can’t have been Thursday, because I walked round to see a friend, and Japer came with me. And that’s right across on the other side of town, on Appleby Road. We had an end of term work do on Friday, so I took Jasper out early.’