by T F Muir
Novo frowned. ‘No.’ But for just that split-second, Gilchrist caught her surprise.
‘The villa belonged to Sandy Rutherford,’ he said. ‘Indirectly, of course. But not a lot of people know that. Especially the Inland Revenue.’
Novo narrowed her eyes. Copestake stilled.
‘Does the name RD Enterprises mean anything to you?’
‘Should it?’
‘You tell me.’ Gilchrist returned her blank stare.
She tightened her lips, gave an almost unnoticeable shake of the head. ‘No.’
‘I would remind you that anything you say could be used against—’
‘I said No.’
He could sense Jessie’s tension by his side; almost feel her desire to demand the truth. But he played it down with, ‘Why did you have a key for Sandy’s house in Blackford?’
His non sequitur almost threw Novo, but she recovered smoothly. ‘Sandy and I had an arrangement. He let me stay in some of his properties when they were not being let out.’
‘And the villa in Spain was one of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the house in Blackford another?’
‘Obviously.’
‘Even though your mother never knew?’
‘Never knew what?’
‘That Sandy let you stay.’
‘No. Yes. Jesus, what’s the question? She never knew he let me stay. Does that give you an answer?’
Gilchrist flashed a smile. ‘Were you and Sandy having an affair?’
She tilted her head back and laughed.
Copestake coughed a laugh, too, just to keep the side together.
Then Novo recovered, and eyed Gilchrist in disbelief. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
Well, it was a long shot. So he moved on. ‘Are you computer literate?’
‘Why?’
‘I ask the questions. You give the answers.’
‘I get by.’
He nodded. ‘Spreadsheets, word processing, that sort of thing?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I don’t say so, I’m asking.’
‘As I said, I get by.’
As a Lloyd’s high-flier, Novo would be far from computer illiterate, Gilchrist knew, but she was acting it, as if in anticipation of his next question. ‘You would know then that if you delete files from a computer, they’re not permanently deleted. They leave shadow copies that can be retrieved.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘Our IT boys located shadow files on Rutherford’s laptops. One of them has a list of properties owned by RD Enterprises.’ Despite Novo’s uninterested look, Gilchrist sensed a tightening in the room, as if the air had stilled and was building up an electrical charge. ‘One of these properties is that luxury villa in Spain,’ he added.
‘Is there a question any time soon?’ Novo asked.
‘Sandy often took your mother to that villa,’ he said. ‘But, during one of these trips, he slipped a disc and was taken to hospital, where he was prescribed OxyNorm. For pain relief.’ He paused for her response, but Novo was an expert in the art of deception. He had come up against some of the most formidable liars on the planet – cold-hearted killers who could convince you the knife had slipped, or the gun had gone off by itself, or the blunt instrument in their hands really belonged to someone else and they were just keeping it warm until the police arrived. Novo could hold her own against the best of them.
Copestake, on the other hand, had beads of sweat forming on his upper lip.
‘During one of your trips to Spain that year, either one, it doesn’t matter, you found the OxyNorm still in the bathroom. Left by Sandy when he flew back to Scotland.’
‘You don’t have to answer,’ Copestake advised Novo.
‘I haven’t asked a question yet.’
Novo smirked. Copestake grimaced.
‘So,’ Jessie interrupted, ‘while in Tangier, Dimitri was given a drink laced with, oh, I’d say maybe ten or more capsules of OxyNorm – enough to kill him. It’s morphine-based, so the poor man wouldn’t have felt a thing, just drifted off to sleep and never woken up. If you had to choose a way to go, that would be it, I’d guess.’
‘I’m still waiting for the question.’
Gilchrist eyed Novo. ‘Did you give your husband that fatal dose of OxyNorm?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Well, someone did,’ Jessie snapped, giving Copestake her toughest stare.
‘This is preposterous,’ he said. ‘Nothing but conjecture.’
‘Is it?’
The open question seemed to confuse Copestake, as if he knew he was being duped, but couldn’t figure out how. But Gilchrist was fascinated at the ease with which they could both lie – and convincingly, at that. Maybe it was time to do some lying of his own.
He returned Copestake’s gaze and decided just to go for it. ‘You slipped up,’ he said to him, ‘taking me upstairs in Blackford.’ He sensed, rather than saw, Novo shift in her seat to watch Copestake. ‘You never should have told me to review the files on the laptops—’
Novo gasped, ‘You did what?’
‘I did no such thing—’
‘If you hadn’t, I doubt we would’ve been as focused on them as we were.’
‘This is nonsense.’ Copestake glanced at Novo, shook his head. ‘I would never—’
‘When your client attacked DS Janes,’ Gilchrist pressed on, ‘you were quick to jump ship—’
‘Rachel, don’t believe a word—’
‘She would be charged with assault, and you needed to distance yourself from—’
‘I really have to complain—’
‘Pointing me to Rutherford’s laptops and telling me they contained files that would explain why your client coerced Rutherford to abduct Katie was your red herring—’
‘This is utterly preposterous—’
‘As it turned out, you needn’t have bothered. RD Enterprises purports to be a limited company owned by Sandy Rutherford and Vera Davis, but it’s not registered with Companies House, so it’s flying beneath the Inland Revenue’s radar.’
‘I am instructing my client not to—’
‘Shut up, Simon.’
‘Rachel. I have to—’
‘Shut it.’
Gilchrist held his eyes on Novo and waited until she appeared to have recovered her composure. ‘You threatened to report Rutherford’s dealings to the taxman if he didn’t do as you wanted,’ he said. ‘Because you never trusted Sandy, did you?’ He let a couple of silent beats pass, then added, ‘And you’re wondering whether or not to trust your lover-boy solicitor.’
Copestake stirred in his chair, then stilled when Novo raised her hand.
Gilchrist kept his focus on Novo, watched his seed of an idea germinate – from the tightening corners of her lips to a darkening shadow behind her eyes – before locking itself in her mind with final resolve. Self-preservation is arguably the most powerful emotion of any living species, and he almost heard the neural tumblers click into place as Novo’s thought process worked to its conclusion. Then she looked hard at Gilchrist, and he knew from the fire in her eyes that the moment of revelation was upon him.
‘I’ll make a deal,’ she said. ‘But I want a new solicitor.’
Copestake reached for her arm. ‘Rachel?’
She shrugged him off with an angry glare.
‘Rachel—’
‘Fuck off, Simon. I mean it.’ She pushed at his chair to distance herself from him.
‘For God’s sake, Rachel, what’re you saying? We—’
‘It was your idea—’
‘Rachel—’
‘I told you I wanted no part in it—’
‘For God’s sake, you’re—’
‘Terminate this interview,’ she snapped. ‘Simon Copestake no longer represents me.’
Copestake’s face had paled. His mouth moved in silence, and his tongue darted in and out of pressed lips, as if preparing to dry-swallow a pill.
/>
Gilchrist stared at the two of them, stunned by the speed of their collapse. But with such a pair of slippery suspects he needed to discuss strategy before deciding whether or not Novo’s semi-slipped-up, half-confession in front of Copestake had been deliberate; nothing more than an attempt to make herself look innocent by shifting the blame his way.
He thought of challenging her there and then.
But instead reached for the recorder and said, ‘Interview terminated at 15.53.’
CHAPTER 40
The following morning
CS Greaves took Gilchrist’s hand in his and gave it a firm shake. ‘Well done, Andy. I understand Katie Davis is unharmed and in excellent health. The Chief’s already been on the phone twice, wanting to call a press conference this afternoon to blow the Constabulary’s trumpet. He had a personal interest in the case, if you remember.’
‘I do, sir, yes.’
‘Childhood friends with Vera Davis, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘He was asking if Mrs Davis is still in custody.’
‘She is, sir, yes.’
Greaves frowned. ‘I’m not sure the Chief likes that.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘So you’re saying there’s . . . nothing you can . . . eh . . . you’re prepared to do?’
Gilchrist thought silence his best option.
Greaves frowned, then harrumphed, ‘I see.’
‘Would I be expected to attend this afternoon’s press conference, sir?’
‘That depends on the Chief. In light of what’s going on. With Mrs Davis, of course.’
‘Of course.’
Gilchrist turned for the door. He was about to step into the corridor, when Greaves said: ‘One other thing . . . ’
Gilchrist paused in the doorway.
‘Big Archie would like you to give him a call.’
No longer Chief Constable McVicar, but ‘big Archie’, to remind him that this was personal to the man. ‘About the press conference?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘You’ll have to phone him and find out,’ Greaves said, and gave a narrow grin.
Gilchrist closed the door behind him, firmly, and hoped Greaves got the message. He had always known McVicar to be a man of integrity, an honest man who played by the rules, someone who never cheated. But Greaves’s parting words had him thinking that Vera Davis – or maybe the whole Davis family – had something over McVicar.
By 11 a.m., Gilchrist and Jessie had Novo’s written confession – well, her side of the story might be a better way of describing it – and Copestake in custody under suspicion of the murder of Dimitri Novokoff.
Copestake now swore by his statement that he saw Novo slip capsules of OxyNorm into Dimitri’s beer. The fact that he’d never mentioned the specifics before did not sit well in his defence.
‘How long had you and Rachel been seeing each other?’ Gilchrist had asked him.
‘My marriage was over years ago.’
‘So how long, exactly?’
‘Five years now, I think. I can’t really remember.’
‘And your firm provides legal services to other members of the Davis family, even Sandy Rutherford?’
‘I can’t say for certain. I’d need to check our files.’
‘I can assure you that your firm does.’
Copestake gave a bored shrug. ‘If you say so.’
‘Did it never trouble you that you breached client confidentiality?’
‘I did no such thing—’
‘You prepared Andrea Davis’s Will, so you knew all the details—’
‘My firm holds executorial authority for many clients—’
‘And that her fund would revert to her sister, Rachel, provided her daughter, Katie, was not alive at the time to inherit it.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘You seem to have selective memory loss.’
‘I can’t possibly remember every single detail of thousands of legal documents.’
‘You put Rachel up to it,’ Gilchrist said.
Copestake choked a laugh. ‘No one can put Rachel up to anything. Least of all me.’
‘Money’s a powerful persuasion, though. Millions of pounds in Andrea’s fund. And it would be yours, too, once you married Rachel.’ He focused on Copestake’s eyes, but his best courtroom face gave nothing away. ‘You never were going to call it off this weekend, were you? Your relationship with Rachel.’
Copestake tutted.
Gilchrist decided to press deeper. ‘Your firm also handled Rutherford’s affairs. So you knew all about RD Enterprises not being registered with—’
‘That’s nonsense.’
‘Do you deny any knowledge of RD Enterprises?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘We have copies of title deeds for a number of properties with covering letters on your company’s letterhead.’
‘That would be from our Spanish office,’ Copestake said. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Except that you seem to know that RD Enterprises handles property in Spain.’
‘I . . . that’s . . . ’ He shook his head. ‘Wasn’t that what you said?’
‘We haven’t found anything with your signature on it,’ Gilchrist said, and shrugged. ‘But we’ve already applied for a warrant to secure your Spanish office’s records, so I’d say it’ll only be a matter of time.’
That silenced Copestake. He clammed up, giving a repetitive ‘No comment’ to every question after that. But Gilchrist felt confident that they would find sufficient evidence in Rutherford’s laptops and Hughes Copestake’s files to build a watertight case against him.
On the other hand, Novo had continued to maintain her innocence, last night blaming Copestake for first suggesting ‘getting rid of her husband’ when they’d had an earlier weekend in Spain. But she remained adamant that she’d not taken him seriously, and knew nothing of his alleged involvement in Dimitri’s death.
‘So, what did you think Dimitri died from?’ Gilchrist had asked her.
‘Heart attack.’
‘Were you not suspicious, particularly after your lover-boy Simon had shown such murderous intent in Spain?’
‘Why should I? Dimitri was always complaining of chest pains.’
‘We’ve checked his medical records and his heart was fine.’
‘I don’t care what his records say. I lived with him. I know he wasn’t a well man.’
‘And what about Katarina?’
Novo had continued to deny culpability in her daughter’s kidnapping – her cryptic phone call to Kevin Kirkwood being only a suggestion to take a break sooner rather than later – and had refused to answer any more questions on her husband’s death until her offer to strike a deal was accepted in exchange for having all charges dropped.
But Gilchrist had other ideas that morning.
He entered the interview room behind Jessie, and took a seat opposite a hatchet-faced woman in her forties, with silver hair gelled so thickly it shone like a helmet – Novo’s new solicitor, he presumed. She slid a couple of business cards across the table.
‘Ellie Stevenson. I’m representing Ms Novo.’
‘You’re from England?’ Jessie said, eyeing the card.
‘My firm provides legal services to Ms Novo’s employer.’
‘I see.’
Stevenson smiled. ‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
Jessie switched on the recorder.
Once the introductions were over, Stevenson began with, ‘My client denies any involvement in the unfortunate abduction of her sister’s daughter—’
‘Your client’s sister doesn’t have a daughter,’ Jessie said. ‘Katarina is—’
‘Legally, Katarina Davis is the daughter of Andrea Phyllis McPherson Davis. I have a copy of the birth certificate if you’d like me to show that to you.’
‘We have our own copy,’ Gilchrist told her, and steepled his hands. ‘Go on.’
‘And my client also d
enies all additional charges associated with the alleged murder of her late husband, Dimitri Novokoff. After careful consideration, she is prepared to give evidence for the Crown in exchange for waiving all charges against her.’
‘She attacked me,’ Jessie said.
‘Allegedly.’
‘No allegedly anything. I was there.’
‘So was my client.’ Stevenson smiled at Jessie.
‘What the hell . . .?’
Then Gilchrist thought he understood. ‘You’re going to argue that she’s unfit to plead,’ he said. ‘Is that your ploy?’
‘I prefer the word defence,’ she said. ‘In the words of Hume’s Commentaries – to serve the purpose of such a defence in Scots law, my client’s disorder must amount to an absolute alienation of reason.’ She turned to Jessie. ‘Can you give me any reason why my client allegedly attacked you?’
‘I was about to arrest her for being complicit in the kidnapping of her daughter—’
‘To which I would argue that she had a child, Katarina, to a loving husband, Dimitri, who frequently complained of pains in his chest, and who sadly died while on holiday of a suspected heart attack. And that her twin sister provided a caring and loving home in which to raise my client’s daughter. So there was no complicity, and hence no reason. Which is why you should consider striking a deal.’
‘Caring? Loving?’ Jessie said. ‘Have you seen her sister?’
‘I understand she’s in hospital recovering from some sort of stomach bug.’
‘Stomach bug? She overdosed,’ Jessie said. ‘And stop twisting the facts. In one breath you’re saying Andrea Davis is legally Katie’s mother, and the next that she’s providing a caring home for her sister’s—’
‘Mother: legally yes; biologically no.’
‘Oh for crying out loud.’
Gilchrist raised his hand to bring the tiff to an end. But just from that first exchange, he saw how formidable Ellie Stevenson could be in court. From bitter experience, the words of an old solicitor friend of his sprang to mind – There’s justice, then there’s the law, and often the twain never meet – reminding him that no case was ever a dead cert, no matter how sound the evidence. All he could do was glean as much evidence as he could to strengthen the Fiscal’s case. And to do so, he needed to press harder.