A Private Investigation Read online

  This was a side of Smith she had not seen. His face give little away but the sharp, blue eyes were fixed on the now hapless DS Christopher, and the interruptions were as precise and as deadly as a stiletto. The fact that what Smith was saying was ludicrous had no bearing on the matter at all.

  Christopher said, ‘If someone had-’

  ‘My old dad used to say that “if” is the biggest little word in the language. Is your boss in the building?’

  It was painful to watch. The two of them were of equal rank but Smith’s contempt for Christopher was not being concealed. She was about to say again that waiting downstairs wouldn’t be a problem, but when Christopher failed to answer the question, Smith said, ‘DCI Freeman, is she in the building, sergeant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, you’d better find her, and I don’t mean to report this breach of security, you can do that later, call GCHQ for all I care. But I’ve just spoken to DCI Reeve and she’s on her way in. DCI Freeman might want to hear what it’s about.’

  Detective Sergeant Terry Christopher walked on and out through the door, without a backward glance. Then Smith looked at her with his professional smile and said, ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s a – well, you’ve worked it out for yourself.’

  Mike Dunn had crossed the room and stood waiting.

  Jo said, ‘Are you OK? I didn’t mean to be the cause of any trouble.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely fine. I’ve been dealing with that sort all my life.’

  But something had changed – the smile was still there but there was a hardness, a different light in the eyes. A part of his mind was elsewhere, and she was reluctant to ask the next question, though there wasn’t really an alternative.

  Mike Dunn said, ‘You called in the DCI?’

  ‘Yes. She’s at the Johnsons’, or she was. Be here in about ten minutes, I’d say, Mike.’

  Jo counted slowly to five before she said, ‘What about the recording?’

  Smith said, ‘Yes, found it just like Waters said. I only watched a couple of minutes of it.’

  ‘And?’

  That strange light grew a little more intense, belying the casual, almost offhand way in which he answered her.

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s him. Paul Harrison and Paolo Harris. They’re one and the same.’

  Smith had given Jo his house key and a sincere apology but she really didn’t seem to mind – she was happy to see Kings Lake properly for the first time and maybe even do a little impromptu Christmas shopping. She could get a taxi back to his place and amuse herself all day if necessary.

  All day? He had the feeling that it might take the rest of his career to sort out the implications of this, and even then a fortnight might not cover it. He passed a few minutes logging in the anonymous letter, though that seemed insignificant for now. He folded the papers still inside the plastic wallets and put them into an evidence bag, and then he had to pause and breathe because, much to his surprise, he’d noticed that his hands were trembling a little.

  Five minutes after that he got the call from Alison Reeve – her office straight away. She was alone when he arrived, and she said that DCI Freeman was on her way, would be there in a minute or two. Then she looked at Smith and said, ‘There isn’t the remotest possibility that you’re mistaken?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s been years, a lot of years. He must have been very young then. People change.’

  He understood perfectly and accepted it without rancour – this was her job as SIO, to work through every scrap of intelligence with the sieve of doubt until all that remained was gold dust, the evidence that would survive the crucible of the courtroom and lead to a conviction.

  ‘Thirteen years and a couple of months. We’ve all changed but there are some faces you never forget.’

  She waved him into a chair and took her own behind the new desk.

  ‘Jesus Christ, DC. You’ve pulled some stunts but you’ve saved the best until last. Andretti’s cousin?’

  ‘Where is Superintendent Allen? I’m sure he’d like to know.’

  ‘Oh, he will be thrilled. He’s at a golfing weekend in Surrey.’

  ‘In this weather? They must be mad. Still, I’ll call him in person if that will help.’

  ‘Kind of you to offer, but I don’t think so.’

  Reeve shook her head, still processing it all, and he took the opportunity to organise his own thoughts again. As the senior investigating officer – which he was in a funny sort of way – he knew exactly how he would handle this, but there were many complications now, not the least being the fact he had led the team which convicted Paul Harrison’s relative of the murder of four young women. On top of that, he had himself put to Harrison, as Paolo Harris, thirteen years ago, that he had been somehow involved in at least the fourth killing, that of Megan Griffiths. As SIO, he would in this situation take steps to keep the detective previously involved as far away from the current investigation as possible – not doing so was effectively handing the defence lawyers a two-goal lead before the kick-off. But no-one else knew that earlier case better than Smith – no-one else had already interviewed Paolo Harris, also known as Paul Harrison, as a murder suspect.

  Detective Chief Inspector Cara Freeman came in through the open doorway, followed by Terry Christopher. Smith stood up and she held out her hand to him; they hadn’t met in person since the kidnapping of Tina Fellowes and the cocaine seizures eighteen months ago.

  ‘Hello David, good to see you. Still in the thick of it, right to the end?’

  ‘So it would seem, ma’am.’

  Terry Christopher was resolutely looking away from him, with a fixed expression that had to be barely concealed dislike – another enemy for life, so the morning hadn’t been entirely wasted, whatever else was about to take place.

  DCI Freeman said to Reeve, ‘A development in the Zoe Johnson case, then? What’s happened?’

  Thirty seconds into the story, Smith had even Christopher’s attention. As he told it this time, Alison Reeve was making notes in a large hardback notebook, something that he hadn’t seen her doing before. Cara Freeman listened without interrupting, and there was a silence after Smith had finished speaking. Eventually she said, ‘When he was interviewed thirteen years ago, was any DNA material taken?’

  ‘No. That had started in April of the same year but only if the suspect had been arrested. Harris was never arrested. To my knowledge, he wasn’t photographed either.’

  There had to be proof that Harris and Harrison were the same person – one officer’s assertion was not enough. Questions about our identity, about who we really are, can be much more difficult to resolve than most of us imagine.

  Reeve said, ‘We need to look at the change of name. But as I understand it, you can call yourself whatever you like, and legally change your name as long as you’ve taken certain steps.’

  Christopher said, ‘Ma’am? Anyone can complete their own deed poll as long as they have it signed by two witnesses. That’s good enough to change a name on a driving licence or passport. You can also have the deed poll recognised by the courts for a fee. It’s a simple process.’

  Reeve said, ‘Thank you, Terry. So, if he went the second route there would be a record of that, presumably. We should look into it straight away – though if it involves speaking to anyone in a public office, Monday will be the earliest.’

  ‘Or,’ said Smith, ‘we could just get him back in and ask him. Better still, pay him a visit and have a look around while we’re there.’

  Reeve said, ‘By “we”, I’m hoping you mean it in a general sense. Because there’s no way you can be involved with Harrison, DC.’

  ‘Alright. But can I be involved with Harris?’

  ‘No, because if you’re right about him, it’s the same person. Between us we could think up a dozen ways in which that could prejudice the investigation, and you know it.’

  And he did, of course. As senior investigating officer, this was the sort of complication
that gives you nightmares – imagine a QC finding out that one of the officers involved had once questioned the accused about a similar offence in the past but had failed to make anything stick. You never forget them, the ones who get away. Certain detectives make sure they do not forget – they have a special Alwych notebook dedicated to those whom they haven’t managed to nail, yet.

  Cara Freeman said, ‘DCI Reeve is correct, David. Your name can’t appear on anything to do with Harrison – or Harris. There is no reason why you shouldn’t look over stuff if it starts going somewhere but you cannot be directly involved. At some point, we might need to show we have taken active steps to keep you out of any investigation. Of course, Harrison might not know you’re here at all – there’s no reason why he should, is there? It was a long time ago.’

  Terry Christopher looked as if he was enjoying this a little more now. Smith turned to Alison Reeve and said, ‘When Charlie Hills was bringing him up to the interview room, he told us that “Harrison” asked who would be interviewing him. Charlie thought he was being asked for a name.’

  Reeve said, ‘And you think he might have meant you?’

  Smith shrugged and left it hanging for a moment – to say yes might give the DCIs one more reason to lock him out of incident rooms investigating the disappearance of Zoe Johnson.

  Eventually Christopher said, ‘That’s too far-fetched for me. It’s one thing to say this man is related to Andretti – and he might be, we can prove or disprove that one way or another. It’s another thing entirely to imply that he came here looking for someone who questioned him thirteen years ago. That almost suggests Harrison got himself involved in this girl’s disappearance for that very reason. It’s laughable.’

  As he spoke, Terry Christopher had glanced at the two women, probably checking that he was heading in the right direction; fair enough – he was still smarting from the encounter in front of Jo and Mike Dunn. Smith showed no reaction at all to what his opposite number had just said, waiting to see which DCI would bring this to a conclusion now.

  Reeve said, ‘Let’s not rule anything in or out for now. Obviously, we do need a full work-up on Paul Harrison – that’s a priority right away. Terry, as you’ve heard the story first, maybe you could get onto that this morning. There should be a couple of John Wilson’s people in if you need help with it, but nobody else outside these four walls needs to know why we are looking at him more closely now. DC, is that the letter?’

  The evidence bag was in Smith’s right hand, forgotten until Reeve mentioned it. He opened the bag, took out the plastic wallets and laid them on her desk for all to see. Christopher gave the letter a cursory glance, and then, clearly believing that he was on a roll as far as Smith was concerned, said, ‘I don’t see anything that links this to the missing girl. We all get odd things from time to time – I’ve certainly had some.’

  Smith thought, I’ll bet you have in your many years of service – mostly from the poor sods who’ve had to work with you. But pull yourself together, Smith. We’re treading on eggshells here. I’ve already been sent off the pitch; if I fall out publicly with the assistant linesman, I’ll get sent to the back of the stand.

  DCI Freeman examined the letter closely through the plastic wallet.

  ‘It’s a neat job. It reminds me of something from Dire Straits.’

  Cara Freeman had fine brown eyes and they came up from the page to meet Smith’s gaze. He allowed her to see that he was impressed. She was nowhere near old enough to know that band from the first time around; to understand how she had recognised it would involve a succession of backward steps into another’s life. Or maybe she just had good taste.

  He said, ‘Yes – “Private Investigations”.’

  ‘Hm. Odd.’

  Reeve said, ‘It looks like newsprint. If it is, we can scan it and find a match, that’s not difficult. We’d know the publication then. DC, one of your team on Monday? Chris Waters would enjoy that.’

  Which was a nice way of telling him again not to get involved, naturally. She went back to them all, saying ‘Final thoughts? Whatever the explanation, the arrival of Harris is a potentially significant development but we need to be careful how it’s put to everyone else. Any mention of “Andretti” could send things off course, so I say again, we keep that under wraps for now.’

  Cara Freeman looked at Smith again before she said, ‘Someone has to say this: even if Paul Harrison is who you think he was, David, his involvement with the missing girl could be coincidental. Simply being related to a convicted killer doesn’t make you anything but unfortunate. I know you mentioned the incident in Hunston, but he wasn’t even cautioned and no-one came to any harm, as far as we know. That too is circumstantial. As for the change of name, in his situation, I would probably have changed mine.’

  When necessary, Smith had a highly compartmentalised mind. He had followed her arguments closely, hearing every word and not even blinking when she said “coincidental”. He had watched Alison Reeve’s reactions to what Freeman was saying, grateful that these were considerably more subtle than the approving nods that came from DS Christopher. But another, more logical and dispassionate Smith had already removed himself to the back of that stand so he could view the game in its entirety. Cara Freeman might be right, of course, but if he, Smith, was to play any part in establishing whether she was or not – whether Paolo Harris was the unluckiest burger salesman in the universe, or something else entirely – if he was to play his part, he would have to operate with great care. Now was not the time to disagree with the first head of the county’s new murder squad.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She didn’t need to say anything – it was plain that Alison Reeve wanted him to stay behind when that meeting was over. She waved him back into his seat, and she was wearing her disappointed look, so it wasn’t difficult to guess where this was going.

  She said, ‘You brought someone through the security door into the office?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who was it? Sorry, but I have to ask.’

  ‘I’ll say one thing for Terry Christopher – he can work quickly when it suits him.’

  ‘This comes from DCI Freeman, just to be clear.’

  ‘Same thing. Before this goes to a tribunal, I want to make it clear I have tried to get on with that man. I’ve changed my deodorant, my aftershave and my socks regularly. I’ve made a point of appearing to listen respectfully whenever he speaks but nothing seems to work. I think it’s something in his subconscious. It might even be genetic, a sort of clash of chromosomes.’

  To a degree, he couldn’t help himself but you have to keep on to the end; be true to yourself and all that. Perhaps that was him, here in his closing scene, old Polonius, nattering away, amusing the audience and missing the point until the point found him, stabbed through the arras by a mad prince. Still, there was no need to make this any more difficult than it had to be for one of his former pupils. She was patiently waiting.

  ‘Her name is Jo. We were in town together this morning, and there was nowhere else for her to wait. I suppose she could have stayed in the car. I only came in to put the letter into the system.’

  ‘Really? So watching the video was unintentional, or just a spur of the moment thing?’

  He could explain that it was Jo who had first put the idea into his head, but that would make things worse. It would then seem that she was involved in the whole business, that the two of them had been discussing the investigation, which they had, of course, and which everyone does, but you do not admit to it.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever unintentionally watched a video. No, it had been on my mind since the Friday. I thought I ought to take a look. Good thing I did.’

  ‘This person was not left alone in the office at any point, and she didn’t see the video?’

  ‘As I said, her name is Jo. I’m pretty sure that Mike Dunn was with her until DS Christopher arrived to escort her from the building.’

  ‘Which you then prevented
with a story about your intending to interview this woman.’

  ‘Jo.’

  She was going to get annoyed soon – he had to bring this to an amicable conclusion because they’d worked together for a long time, and because it was, well, Saturday morning and they all had better things they could be doing.

  Reeve said, ‘She’s the writer you mentioned months ago, isn’t she? God, that’s worse! Isn’t she doing something on Andretti? Am I meant to believe that her being here on the day Andretti’s cousin turns up is a coincidence? You’d better be straight with me, DC.’

  ‘Yes, it’s her. Something she found in her research made me wonder about Paul Harrison, it’s nothing more sinister than that. She hasn’t seen or been given any privileged information, and she’s too professional to use it if she had been – she also happens to be a former DI with the Met. But bringing her into the station was entirely my responsibility and my mistake.’

  Reeve placed her elbows on the desk, linked her fingers and rested her chin on them as she studied him. Looking on the bright side, this was all good practice for her.

  ‘Alright, don’t tell me anymore, I don’t want to know. Anything else and I’d probably have to suspend you, which would be a farce with two weeks to go. You’ve committed a level two disciplinary offence and you will receive a written warning, which will be placed in your file. I’m going to make the assumption that the normally obligatory retraining would be pointless in this case.’

  ‘I expect so, ma’am.’

  She shook her head a little and said, ‘Now I have to ask – do you have any questions about this procedure?’

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Will it affect my chances of getting another job?’

  One might have thought it was over then but not so. As he closed the door to DCI Reeve’s office, he saw DCI Freeman further down the corridor, apparently studying a noticeboard; the place seemed positively awash with DCIs this morning, and he had no choice but to head in that direction. Then he couldn’t just walk by without saying a word because that would look petulant, and he wasn’t feeling even remotely that way.