The Whole Truth

by Hunter, Cara

  ‘He’ll get bored soon enough,’ he says. ‘Give me a call when you want him brought up.’

  Quinn smiles. ‘Oh, I’m in no rush. And his brief is at the sodding opera so he’s not going to be popping over any time soon, either.’

  More carpet f-bombing from inside the cell.

  Quinn’s smile broadens. ‘And in any case, I reckon our friend could do with cooling down a bit, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know about “cooling down”,’ says Woods heavily. ‘Not in those cells.’

  * * *

  Adam Fawley

  10 July 2018

  17.09

  I’m just about to have an update with Quinn when the call comes through. Harrison. On my back about the Morgan case again, no doubt. I collect the papers and make my way down to his office. There’s been no let-up in the heat all day. The air in this bloody building is solidifying and the carpet smells like it’s been scorched.

  ‘Ah, Adam,’ he says as I open the door. ‘I’m glad I caught you. Take a seat.’

  He doesn’t look happy. But he never looks happy.

  I open the file in front of me and pull out my notes. ‘I met the CPS Rape and Serious Sexual Offences specialist this afternoon. We’ve been through the case and in her view –’

  He frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘The Caleb Morgan assault, sir. You made it very clear that you wanted it treated as a priority –’

  He stares at me. ‘We have a dead woman on our hands. I think that’s rather more pressing, don’t you?’

  ‘Enquiries are well underway, sir. DC Quinn has identified a possible suspect, and I’ll be getting a briefing from him as soon as this meeting is over –’

  He frowns. ‘What I want to know, DI Fawley, is why you have thus far failed to inform anyone, least of all me, that you had a pre-existing relationship with the victim.’

  I stare at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Don’t piss me about, Adam. I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Honestly, sir. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘According to DC Quinn, the victim was identified at approximately 1.00 p.m. this afternoon, and he passed on that information to you, in person, at 1.15.’

  I don’t know where this is going, but I don’t like it.

  ‘Yes, sir, but I still –’

  Harrison leans back in his chair.

  ‘What’s the victim’s name?’

  My turn to frown. ‘Emma Smith.’

  ‘And you’re still claiming you don’t know her?’ He looks palpably, mouth-openly incredulous.

  ‘Because I don’t. I don’t know her –’

  ‘In that case, perhaps you could explain to me what you were doing in her flat.’

  I stare at him. What the –?

  ‘There are prints,’ says Harrison. ‘At Smith’s flat. Your prints.’

  And then it hits me. Hard, and too late.

  I swallow. ‘Unless –’

  He raises an eyebrow, sardonic. ‘Unless?’

  ‘Unless it’s my wife’s friend –’ I falter, stop.

  Christ.

  ‘Seriously, sir. I just didn’t make the connection. And I haven’t been into the incident room – I haven’t seen her picture so I –’

  ‘She’s your wife’s friend, and you didn’t recognize her name?’

  His scepticism is brutal.

  I can feel myself flushing. ‘Well, obviously I knew my wife’s friend was called Emma, but I’m not sure I ever did know her surname.’ I sit forward. ‘Sir, I know how it looks, but she was Alex’s friend, not mine. They were at university together – they see each other a few times a year. I see her even less than that.’

  But he’s still not buying it. ‘Wasn’t it Emma Smith who sorted out that short-term foster placement for you last year – the one I signed off on?’

  I swallow. ‘Yes, sir, but it was Alex who handled all that – I wasn’t really involved. Like I said, sir, Emma Smith and I weren’t friends – we were barely even acquaintances.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ he says, ‘but you were in her flat all the same.’

  I can feel my face reddening. ‘Ah, OK. I can explain that.’

  ‘I bloody well hope you can, because right now –’

  ‘I was there – at the flat. But it was at her request. She came to see me at the station. There was something she wanted to talk to me about.’

  He frowns again. ‘So why not do it here? Surely that would have been more appropriate –’

  ‘Which is exactly what I said,’ I reply quickly. ‘And I tried to persuade her to do just that, but she didn’t want to make it official.’

  ‘And when was this?’

  Shit.

  Shit shit shit.

  ‘Yesterday, sir.’

  ‘Yesterday? You went to her flat yesterday?’

  I try to meet his eye but don’t quite manage it. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He takes a breath. Another. ‘So you went round to her flat. What time was this?’

  ‘Around nine. She asked me to pop in after work.’

  Harrison opens his mouth to say something but I get there first.

  ‘She thought she was being stalked. There’d been someone opposite the house on a couple of occasions, hanging about in the dark for no apparent reason. At least one sighting in a vehicle –’

  Harrison sits back, looks at me.

  ‘I went through the usual line of questioning, sir. I asked her about old boyfriends, colleagues, anyone who might have wanted to threaten or scare her. She couldn’t think of anyone. I knew – from my wife – that there’d been a recent relationship but she said it was over and she wasn’t the one who ended it. So in the end I told her that as things stood there wasn’t enough to open an official investigation but she should carry on keeping a diary – if she saw the stalker again she should try to take pictures, and call 999 if she ever felt remotely threatened physically. And then I left.’

  I sit forward a little. ‘Obviously, with hindsight, I should have done something – and I deeply regret that I didn’t, and I know that’s going to look bad for the force, but there really wasn’t any suggestion that she was in imminent danger –’ I’m frantically recalibrating now, trying to think. ‘But from what DC Quinn said about this man Cleland, surely he’s the most obvious candidate –’

  But for whatever reason, Harrison isn’t with me. I can feel the swell of his irritation and the effort he’s making to control it.

  ‘So, the victim found on the railway line is the same age as your wife’s friend, she has the same colouring, she has the same first name, and yet for the whole of the last – what is it, four hours? – it’s never once occurred to you that it might be the same person?’

  I swallow. ‘Like I said, sir –’

  But he’s not listening. ‘Your own team have spent the best part of the day looking for a man Emma Smith let into her flat last night – a man who fits your description – and you still never thought this might be more than just a coincidence?’

  And I’m the one who doesn’t believe in coincidences, as I’m expecting him to remind me right about –

  ‘And how many times have I heard you say –’

  I cut across him. ‘I’m sorry, sir. DC Quinn has been handling the initial enquiries and, as I said, I spent most of the afternoon with the CPS – I haven’t had time to look at the detail. But I can see now that –’

  But I don’t get to suck up any more shit. Behind me, the door opens. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, but Harrison clearly has. He looks up and gives a quick affirmation. I turn round.

  Detective Inspector Ruth Gallagher. Of Major Crimes.

  She gives me a brief nod, her face impassive. ‘DI Fawley.’

  DI Fawley. Not ‘Adam’, even though we worked the Faith Appleford abduction case together barely three months ago. Even though I thought we’d become the nearest thing this job ever gets to friends.

  ‘Ruth.’ I can hear th
e falter in my voice.

  Gallagher takes the empty chair. Harrison gestures to her – the floor is evidently hers. My heart is skittering like a nervous horse.

  ‘I just spoke to Ms Smith’s parents, sir. They know nothing about any supposed stalker.’

  ‘Supposed’. Fuck.

  I try to get her to look at me. ‘They must be in their seventies at least – she probably just didn’t want to worry them –’

  She’s staring steadfastly ahead. ‘Ms Smith doesn’t seem to have had many friends outside work, but I’m in the process of drawing up a list.’

  What does she mean, drawing up a list? This isn’t her case –

  ‘The first name on that list is Mrs Alexandra Fawley. I’m aiming to talk to her first thing.’

  Wait a minute – she’s going to talk to my wife –?

  ‘Perhaps DI Fawley could help you with that, Ruth,’ says Harrison, his eyes never leaving my face. ‘After all, I’m sure Mrs Fawley must already be fully aware of the situation, given that Ms Smith approached her husband for advice.’

  So that’s where we are, is it.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I haven’t discussed any of this with my wife.’

  He frowns, is about to speak, but I plough on.

  ‘She’s only a few weeks away from her due date, and has already been hospitalized once for stress. I wasn’t about to risk that happening again by telling her there could be some sort of stalker in the area.’

  She’s terrified enough already without that. But this I don’t say.

  ‘Emma – Ms Smith – didn’t want Alex worrying either. That’s why she came to the station rather than calling me at home. She said as much – in fact, she used that exact phrase.’

  Harrison gives me a look; a look that says, We only have your word for that. I should know – I give it to suspects myself often enough.

  Gallagher shifts a little in her seat. Embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Who knows. I’d like to think she, at least, would understand about Alex – she has kids herself. But I’m basing that on my experience of her before, when we were on the same side. Right now, it feels like that bet is off.

  Harrison is still watching me.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  His tone is calm now, almost sympathetic. But I am not deceived.

  ‘Where did I go when?’

  ‘In Smith’s flat. Where did you go? The kitchen, the living room, the bedroom?’

  I stare him out. ‘The living room, sir. That’s all.’

  ‘And you were there, what, an hour? More?’ Gallagher now.

  ‘Less. At most, thirty minutes.’

  ‘But you had a drink, didn’t you, in that time.’

  It’s not a question. Of course – the glasses.

  ‘I had half a glass of wine. I was driving. I didn’t even want that, frankly, but I didn’t want to upset her. She was in a bit of a state.’

  Gallagher and Harrison exchange a glance.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all for now,’ says Harrison. ‘Major Crimes will handle the case from now on. Better late than never.’

  That was aimed at me: if he’d known I knew Emma he’d never have given it to me in the first place.

  He shifts again and his pompous leather chair squeals under his weight.

  ‘For internal purposes, the line will be that the reallocation of the case is a purely procedural matter, not a reflection on DI Fawley’s conduct in the last twelve hours.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He frowns. ‘You don’t get off that easily. Not by a long way. But right now, we have a murder case to solve, and public trust to maintain.’

  He sits back and turns, as pointedly as he can, to Gallagher. ‘Over to you, Ruth.’

  * * *

  Interview with Hugh Cleland, conducted at St

  Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford

  10 July 2018, 6.15 p.m.

  In attendance, DC G. Quinn, DC A. Asante, P. Brunswick (solicitor)

  GQ: I would remind you, Mr Cleland, that you are under arrest. Do you need me to remind you of the wording of the caution?

  HC: I do watch TV. And I’m not a complete fucking imbecile.

  GQ: I’ll take that as a ‘No’. So, last night. Talk us through that again.

  HC: [gesturing at Asante]

  I already told him. I have nothing to add.

  GQ: For the benefit of the recording. If it’s not too much trouble.

  HC: I went for a run, at Shotover.

  GQ: You drove six miles, when you could have just nipped down the road to the Parks?

  HC: There’s no law against driving to take exercise. Not that I’m aware of.

  GQ: What did you drive? The Range Rover?

  HC: [pause]

  No.

  GQ: Oh? Why was that?

  HC: Last time I took it up there some little tyke keyed it.

  GQ: Oh dear, how very annoying.

  PB: There’s no call for sarcasm, Constable.

  GQ: So if not the Range Rover, then what?

  HC: My wife’s car.

  AA: And that is?

  HC: A Honda Civic.

  AA: Colour?

  HC: Black.

  AA: Registration?

  HC: [pause]

  I don’t know. Not offhand. I rarely drive it.

  PB: I’m sure we can supply details of the car, if required.

  GQ: But you drove it last night?

  HC: Like I said –

  GQ: Yes, I know what you said.

  AA: One of Emma Smith’s neighbours saw a dark-coloured saloon parked outside her door at about nine o’clock last night. She doesn’t recall seeing the car before.

  HC: Well, it certainly wasn’t mine.

  GQ: You didn’t go and see Ms Smith? Perhaps you thought you could get her to change her mind? Let you have a kid after all?

  HC: a) I wouldn’t have demeaned myself by going cap-in-hand to some council nobody who was only going to say no anyway, and b) even if I had wanted to, I didn’t know her bloody address. Capeesh?

  AA: You could easily have followed her home from work. You were seen on the Iffley Road –

  HC: Buying wine –

  GQ: I thought you said you didn’t buy any?

  HC: You know what I mean –

  GQ: So what time did you leave the house for this run of yours?

  HC: About 8.30. There or thereabouts.

  AA: And what were you wearing?

  HC: What do you think I was wearing? T-shirt, shorts, trainers.

  AA: The ones we retrieved from the house? The white T-shirt and black shorts, and the Nike trainers?

  HC: I already told you that.

  GQ: How long did you run for?

  HC: I don’t know, 20 minutes?

  GQ: That’s a long round trip for such a short run – half an hour there, half an hour back –

  HC: Are you checking my petrol consumption now?

  GQ: So by my calculations you’d have got home about ten.

  HC: Something like that.

  GQ: Your wife will confirm that, will she?

  HC: She’d bloody well better.

  AA: Did you see anyone while you were running, speak to anyone?

  HC: I was running. It’s not a bloody social club.

  Interview interrupted by DS David King and DC Simon Farrow.

  DK: Stop the recording, this interview is now suspended.

  GQ: What’s going on?

  DK: Mr Cleland will be returned to the custody suite, pending further investigations, and forensic test results.

  HC: What, overnight? In the fucking cells? You can’t do that –

  DK: Oh, I think you’ll find we can.

  GQ: Is someone going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?

  DK: [smiling]

  Afraid that’s above your pay grade, DC Quinn.

  * * *

  Sent: Tues 10/07/2018, 19.05Importance: High

  From: DIAdamFawley@ThamesValley.police.uk

  To: CI
D@ThamesValley.police.uk, AlanChallowCSI@ThamesValley.police.uk, Colin.Boddie@ouh.nhs.uk

  cc: DIRuthGallagher@ThamesValley.police.uk

  Subject: Case no 75983/02 Smith, E

  This is to inform you that DI Gallagher’s team will be taking on this case with immediate effect.

  It has been brought to my attention that Ms Smith was a friend of my wife, so it is not appropriate for me to continue to direct the investigation.

  For the record, I knew Ms Smith only as ‘Emma’. I met her very infrequently, usually at my own house but also once at her flat. DI Gallagher is fully aware of the circumstances.

  I know you will give DI Gallagher’s team your full cooperation.

  AJF

  Adam Fawley

  Detective Inspector, CID, Thames Valley Police

  St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford OX1 1SZ

  * * *

  Adam Fawley

  10 July 2018

  20.49

  It’s nearly nine by the time I get home. I feel like shit, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Alex is at the door to meet me before I’ve had time to turn off the engine. Even in the warm light from above the door her face looks wan.

  ‘Thank God you’re home,’ she breathes as I slide my arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Are you OK? Has something happened? Have you seen that van again?’

  ‘No. Not today.’

  She knows it’s what I want to hear; that doesn’t mean it’s true.

  She tries to laugh it off. ‘And like you said, he’s wearing a tag. I’m just imagining things. Overreacting. Blame the hormones.’

  ‘You’d tell me though, wouldn’t you? If you’d seen anything? Anyone odd hanging around?’

  She frowns, wondering where this is coming from.

  ‘Of course.’

  I follow her into the kitchen and sit down heavily at the table. She’s fussing about now; it’s not like her.

  ‘Actually,’ she says, reaching into the fridge, ‘there was something I wanted to talk to you about –’

  She straightens up, turns, sees my face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She knows – of course she knows. We’ve been married a long time.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Have you seen the local news today?’