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  “And do those actions, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, sound like they could have been carried out by the accused? By Oliver Salmon?”

  The person in the silly wig pauses to give the question more effect, like an actor with a particularly fine line of Shakespeare. Maybe they gesture towards the small, pathetic figure of the young man in the dock behind the security screen.

  “You have heard from those who know him. From family and friends, from his doctors and teachers, from those who work with him in the charity shop. Have you heard anything at all which might lead you to think he could carry out such an attack? Forget for a moment the single shred of forensic evidence – we will return to that – and ask yourselves whether you can imagine such a thing…”

  Alison Reeve opened her eyes. Imagine? Imagine it was Gloria Butterfield, QC, leading for the defence, preparing to cross-examine the senior investigating officer. This headache wasn’t going away any time soon, and she had to bring Cara Freeman up to speed before she spoke to Waters. Then there was a briefing to organise and Allen wanted another update by the end of the day.

  Gloria Butterfield, QC. Jesus.

  ‘Well, you’d better re-read the witness statements, then. Start with the family or we could be here all day.’

  Richard Ford did as he was told with no sign of impatience or feeling insulted; in his own way, thought Waters, he handles Serena pretty well. She waited until Ford was busy and then shook her head in Waters’ direction, as if to say, this is going to be hard work.

  In his two days off, as Serena had told him this morning, everything had been focused on filling in Oliver Salmon’s background, but Ford had also done the chores he was given – one of which was to list the possible uses of sodium n-lauroylsarcosinate. He had this morning duly presented the list he had made to Waters, who had read down it once, looked up at Serena who had nodded, and then Waters passed the list back to Ford and asked what he thought. Ford had said that he thought it was a quite a long list. Serena had then pointed out that the list of reasons why someone might be a useless detective was also quite a long one, and somewhere near the top was the inability to work out the sum of two plus two. Then she had directed his attention to the witness statements.

  While Ford got busy, Waters asked Serena about the fragments of leather found under Michelle’s fingernails – what did she make of that? Could they have come from her own vehicle? Her answer was a definite no, and when he asked why she said, ‘It’s a light blue Toyota Auris.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Light blue with a cream leather interior? That would be disgusting.’

  Serena could do an excellent impersonation of a dumb blonde when it suited her, but she was neither of those things. Waters knew that either she could remember the interior of the victim’s car or she’d already checked in some other way.

  He looked at the time on his phone and thought it would make sense to buy himself a watch. There were situations in which you needed to check the time without it being so obvious. They might have a few minutes before Terek turned up with the day’s orders.

  ‘The final phone call to her mobile, the one from a different number. Anything there?’

  ‘It’s a pay-as-you-go.’

  Not tied to a contract and therefore not to an address or an individual, but not, as some imagine, entirely untraceable. Waters watched as Ford dutifully worked through the witness statements and thought, he’s in just about the right place now. Will he see it? Then he said to Serena, ‘Have we done anything with that?’

  Now she was thinking and frowning a little.

  ‘No. The focus has switched this week. I know you’ve been off for a couple of days, sir, but we’ve made an arrest and we’re going to charge. I don’t think the phone records are going to play a big part in the case against Oliver Salmon.’

  There had been times when Smith hadn’t told him things for his own good, and he, Waters, understood why that was sometimes the wisest choice. If you’re going to lead, you make those decisions and you prepare yourself for the possible consequences.

  He said, watching her, ‘We know the time that mobile was used to call Michelle. It would be time-consuming but we could perhaps find out where it was when the call was made. Just a general location.’

  ‘Yes… I’m hoping you know that I already know that. But-’

  ‘And if we had some idea where the phone had been bought, we might trace the IMEI through a store’s sales records. You know, when they scan it during the sale. Then we’d have a date. And if the customer paid by card…’

  ‘We’d have a bank account and then a name. Neither of which would tie in with where the investigation is currently going.’

  Ford had stopped reading the witness statements. Now his eyes were on his own hand-written list, and then they went back and forth a few times between the two. He’s a bit of a plodder, thought Waters, but he seems to get there in the end.

  Waters said to Serena, ‘We know she’d had conversations with and texts from Graham Fletcher. He was open about that but he’s lost his phone. Then, out of the blue, she receives a call from somebody else late on the Thursday night, from a different number, one that appears nowhere else in her phone records. Or, she didn’t.’

  Serena was going carefully now.

  She said, ‘She definitely did get a call from a number that’s not anywhere else in her phone history – I checked that. But – if this is what you’re saying – it wasn’t necessarily from someone else. That’s a natural assumption, but it doesn’t have to have been. It could have been from someone she knew but on a different phone.’

  Waters said, ‘And if it was, you’d have to ask yourself?’

  ‘Why?’

  Ford was double or treble-checking but it wouldn’t be long now.

  Waters said, ‘Well, we could come up with more than one reason, but the most obvious is that someone didn’t want their involvement to be recorded on a mobile phone. Or at least on a phone they knew could be traced to them. So they got a different phone.’

  She wasn’t convinced but she was interested, which was all he needed her to be for now. Serena folded her arms and thought about it some more. Meanwhile Ford was waiting, and Waters gave him a nod.

  ‘Sodium n-lauroylsarcosinate is a common solvent with-’

  Serena said without looking at him, ‘I’m not sure you’re saying it right.’

  ‘- a number of uses. It’s a foaming agent in skin-cleansing products and shampoos, so, obviously, anyone who used those products could have traces on their skin. And Michelle Simms worked in a hair salon, so-’

  Serena said, ‘She managed a hair salon, not the same thing. Go on.’

  Ford said, ‘But it also has a lot of other uses. In particular, it’s a component of power-flush solutions for cleaning central heating systems.’

  Terek entered the office with Wilson, and both made for the tables where the three of them were seated. Brisk good mornings from the detective inspector and a couple of grudging nods from the detective sergeant before Terek said, ‘Michaela Fletcher has told us she never met Oliver Salmon or saw him around the caravan site, but we cannot be certain that someone didn’t see Michelle Simms with him. DCI Reeve has decided, therefore, that we will re-contact everyone staying on the site to ask them about this. So, that’s everyone, all adults who were on the list for the week, not just whoever answers the phone. John has the lists ready for you. Please mark off each person interviewed and keep him updated. And with anything else of interest, as John still has the desk on the case. All clear?’

  Ford was about to say something, and Serena saw it. She moved quickly and said to Terek, ‘Is it just us on this today, making these calls?’

  ‘Yes, John’s team are out working on further face-to-face interviews. If you make a start straight away, you should be almost done this afternoon. Most people will have been staying as couples, so it’s two potential witnesses for each call. Be prepared to follow up on missing people tomorrow. It’s a
long-shot but these things have to be done.’

  Wilson looked at Waters for the first time. He, Wilson, had become the senior detective sergeant. There is no such role officially, of course, but it was one he had taken upon himself. Now he had Waters sitting at a desk, making routine phone calls for the rest of the day, just like one of his own team. Wilson laid a sheet of printed names, addresses and phone numbers in front of his fellow sergeant, as if he was playing the king of trumps.

  As the two of them walked away, Waters’ phone pinged with a message. He looked at it and then pointed to the side office, before leaving Serena and Ford at their desks. When he too was out of earshot, Ford said, ‘Shouldn’t we have mentioned the solvent thing? I know it’s only tenuous, but-’

  ‘But what? It’s all there in the files if anyone wants to follow it up.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But Chris, Sergeant Waters, said he’d review the forensics. If it looks like he’s missed it…’

  ‘That reflects badly on us? I admire your team spirit, Fordy.’

  He looked a little crestfallen then, and she took pity on him.

  ‘If our sergeant decides it needs mentioning, he will. It’s his decision. But he probably won’t just yet. Want to know why?’

  Ford nodded, and Serena went on, ‘If we do mention it now, with the current focus all in a different direction, the detective inspector will say very interesting, make a note on a file somewhere and get on with those phone calls. In other words, he’ll park it. Whereas if nobody mentions the solvent thing yet, then nobody will be told not to follow it up a bit further. See?’

  He did, and then he asked how they could follow it up a bit. Serena told him that finding out how you could find out a bit more about things was actually quite an important part of the job. Maybe, at some point, they could ask a local central heating engineer whether they used that solvent, and if they did, exactly how and was it a persistent sort of stuff. Would it hang about on your hands for days if you weren’t careful? But not now, she said, because we’ve got all these phone calls to make, haven’t we, picking up the handset on her desk.

  Richard Ford did the same, and she thought, that’s it, follow my lead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The text message was from Smith and it said I’m in town. Fancy meeting for a quick lunch? The detectives at Kings Lake Central rarely took time out for lunch unless there was a reason to do so, and so Smith would have a reason for sending the invitation. Waters had told Serena he wouldn’t be more than an hour, and she had asked no questions.

  He hadn’t visited Micky Lemon’s café since the night he’d got himself seriously drunk and had been confronted by Duncan Bridges and the two Albanian thugs, but the proprietor remembered him, nodded and pointed towards the back of the establishment. Most tables were occupied but Smith was there, seated at the very same table Waters had been sitting at when Smith arrived to take him home, put him to bed and force-feed him a fried breakfast the next morning.

  The choice of table now was no accident. As Waters sat down, Smith said, ‘Bacon sandwich or a full English fry-up?’

  Waters smiled, declined and said he’d have the same as Smith, which, as far as he could see, was a cup of coffee.

  ‘You know me,’ Smith said, ‘can’t resist a trip down memory lane,’ and then he raised a hand in Micky Lemon’s direction. Here in the café, away from the cottage in Quay Drift and out of the sunshine, Smith looked more tanned and fit, like someone who lives the outdoor life. The dark blue, short-sleeved cotton shirt revealed tightly-muscled arms and Waters could see that for once the physiotherapist had one of those patients that physiotherapists dream about. When Smith took a glance around at the nearby tables to see who might overhear the coming conversation, Waters saw streaks of sun-bleached hair mingled with the grey at the temples. It was hard to imagine now that the surgeon had suggested reading the last rites if David Smith was a religious man.

  Satisfied, Smith turned back to Waters and said, ‘I thought it would be better to meet up than for you to have too many long conversations with me in your phone records.’

  ‘Too many? You think there’ll be more after this?’

  Micky Lemon arrived with two coffees which he placed in front of them. He was gone again within seconds, and nothing had been said to indicate he knew the two men he had just served.

  Smith said, ‘Micky tells me he doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s Christmas card list these days – anyone from Central, I mean.’

  Waters tasted the coffee instead of giving an answer. After a few seconds, Smith went on, ‘I suppose it’s viewed as old-fashioned now, more than ever, just going out and putting your ear to the ground. D’you ever call in on old Ma Budge?’

  Waters said he didn’t and tried to explain why. There was more expected now in terms of day-to-day accountability – you can’t wander off and disappear for an hour or two, sitting in Ma Budge’s flat, just drinking tea and not looking at the suspiciously new, incredibly expensive German fridge-freezer in her kitchen. Micro-management seems to be the thing now.

  ‘And yet here you are, sitting in Micky Lemon’s with some old ex-copper, just drinking coffee…’

  ‘Well, for some people you make an exception.’

  Smith looked away from him then, the mouth working a little as he thought over the situation and what had been said so far. At the counter, Micky was explaining something to two pretty eastern European girls, something along the lines that he only served food and drink here and he was not planning to widen the range of services available – they’d have to find alternative accommodation for their franchise. Waters found himself thinking about Marta Dobrowski, but he wasn’t sure why.

  Smith had had enough time. He said, ‘If talking to me, or if me talking to you about Oliver Salmon is going to cause you problems, don’t do it.’

  The two girls left with free takeaway coffees, and they waved back at Micky through the window. It was a perfect illustration of what Smith had been saying about the old-fashioned way of doing things. If a young, foreign working girl was assaulted next week, a visit to Micky Lemon’s place might give you the lead you needed.

  Waters said, ‘I can’t say it won’t cause problems but I can say Shirley Salmon needs all the help she can get. That’s why I called on you, to let you know she needed a friend. I’m not expecting you to get involved, DC. I’m not expecting you to…’

  ‘Investigate?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A slight raising of the eyebrows that becomes a little frown – a tightening of the mouth to one side that might be the hint of an apology but which probably is not.

  ‘DC? What?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon, after Diarmuid, Mairead and the baby had left, we drove over to Pinehills.’

  ‘We? Jo went with you?’

  ‘Yes. I told her all about it on the way. Once we were on the move, it was easier. I calculated that she wasn’t going to grab the wheel. But she’s met Shirley a few times, and Oliver once, so she didn’t object at all, as it happened.’

  Waters stared into the dregs of his coffee before he said, ‘So you told Jo who had told you about it?’

  Smith nodded in a positive way.

  ‘Absolutely. And you’re wondering whether she’s annoyed with you, I expect.’

  It was Waters’ turn to nod – he did so somewhat less enthusiastically.

  ‘Well, she is a bit. Or she was. As I say, she’s got a lot of time for Shirley, so she was keen to help out by the time we got there. I think Jo will be having a word with you the next time she sees you, though…’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Smith was enjoying himself, it was plain to see. He put up a thumb in Micky’s direction which meant that two more coffees would arrive shortly. That would be Smith’s third, and Waters wondered about caffeine and heart rates; the conversation with Jo would be awkward enough as it was.

  Smith said, ‘Anyway, I’ll let you know what occurred yesterday afternoon. It’s up to you whether you w
ant to tell me anything else about the case. I won’t be offended if you don’t. How does that sound?’

  Waters remembered that from many interviews – the laying it out plainly, no hidden cards, followed by the salesman’s assumptive close, getting the agreement of the witness or the person of interest or the suspect so they had the sense they were willing participants in the process. Some imagined they were in control of it, and they, of course, were the ones most in danger. Waters, at least, was unlikely to make that mistake.

  He said, ‘So where is Jo this morning?’

  If she was about to join them, he wanted to be ready.

  ‘Cambridge. I dropped her off at the station earlier on. She has a dinner tonight, so she’ll be staying over.’

  ‘A working dinner?’

  Waters was giving himself time to think. If Smith got involved in the investigation into Michelle Simms’ murder, just how wrong could it go? You-just-lost-your-job wrong?

  Smith said, ‘Difficult to say with these university types. What they call work and what we call work are two very different things most of the time. Still, Jo’s done both sorts, so she’s got her feet on the ground.’