An Accidental Death

by Peter Grainger

  It was too much to ask, that they would give up a name like that in front of the other. Smith let it hang for a moment and then stood up. Waters followed suit.

  ‘Well, I’ve told you how things lie. If you can point me in another direction that doesn’t turn out to be a waste of my time, I’ll do my best for you. Of course, if it did turn out to be a waste of my time…’

  Back on the walkway, Smith was laughing, as much to himself as out loud.

  ‘Modem bloody operandi! How did you keep a straight face?’

  Waters said, ‘Do you think he’ll come up with a name for the stolen car?’

  ‘It’s fifty fifty. Because it’s fifty fifty whether it was Budgie or not. His mum does her best but he gets up to stuff she doesn’t know about now. Applied for a job? With the best will in the world, who would employ him?’

  ‘You said Mrs Budge was the criminal mastermind.’

  They had reached the car, which was still in one piece with four wheels - Smith had expressed doubts when they left it there forty minutes ago.

  ‘Did you notice the flat? Not bad, was it? Probably the best in the block, nice kitchen. Brenda’s never had a job to my knowledge, nor done one either, but she seems to get by. They’ve only ever once got her into court - it was over bypassing the electricity meter with a wire. Nothing to do with me. Anyway, it was thrown out. She managed to convince them that the wire left in place by a previous tenant of known dubious character had accidentally got knocked back into place when she put some new boxes into the meter cupboard. Can you believe it? No, but the magistrates did. The burden of proof – onus probandi, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m only a historian. She seemed to have time for you, though.’

  Smith adjusted the rear-view mirror and then wound down the window to move the side one as well.

  ‘Don’t misinterpret this in any way, but Mrs Budge and I go way back, as they say. If there’s anything nasty happening in the town, I might give her a call, or if she thinks anything nasty might happen, she gets a message to me. She’s a lady with certain standards when it comes to crime. An old-fashioned sort, really.’

  Waters face lit up as the light dawned.

  ‘You mean she’s one of your-’

  ‘We never say the word.’

  ‘OK.’

  Smith woke up suddenly in the middle of the night. He reached for his watch but he knew before he pressed the button that it would tell him it was about two o’clock – five minutes to it, in fact. This hadn’t happened for years. He’d had plenty of sleepless nights, of course, especially in the last few months with Sheila, but this was different – this was something that went back further. It had happened several times during the Andretti murders, especially towards the end of that terrible twelve months, and before that, a few times on other cases. But its origins, he knew, lay in the backstreets of Belfast and in the bleak, anonymous, one-street villages close to the southern border.

  It might mean that he had missed something important. He got up, fully awake now, went downstairs and made a pot of weak tea. There was no sense in trying to sleep through it, so instead of going back into the bedroom, he went past it and into his study. At the desk, he pulled out a clean sheet of paper and placed a pencil on it in readiness.

  Something to do with the cars that had tailed him, he was sure of that. He didn’t need to know their names – his mental image of Dominic Fox would have been the same whether he knew that name or not – and he didn’t need to know which particular branch of which particular service they came from. Hamilton would be well-connected in all sorts of ways, and he had contacted someone to report whatever incident had occurred at Manley Hall that weekend. Then a local detective turning up and showing too much interest had not been welcome, so another report, presumably. First they wanted him put off, and then they wanted him put onto it – this made no sense unless there was someone to find. He’d been through all this a dozen times, so why the wake-up call?

  The tails, Smith, it’s the tails… Why twice in quick succession and then nothing? Why the sitting in the side road out of sight? Yesterday he’d even taken to driving around more slowly as if they needed the chance to catch up with the old Peugeot, but still no show. The only answer that he could come up with was depressing – they had found what they were looking for, and were already back in London. There would be no need to call him off again, just let him wander around for another day or two making a nuisance of himself, making a fool of himself in front of Waters and Reeve before finally being told to set up community liaison with a mothers and toddlers group.

  Was it really worth getting up early and taking the car into Tommy Martin for a service, and then driving around in something like a Fiat Panda all day? My God, he hadn’t considered that – if Mr Subic left the house in a hurry, he’d have to have something that could at least keep him in sight. But, as Alison Reeve had said, it’s so full of holes, it hardly matters.

  The paper was still blank. He put it back onto the stack and returned the pencil to its drawer, finished the tea, which was almost cold, and went back to bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What’s happened to your car?’

  Waters was staring at the white Passat estate that Smith had just unlocked in the station car park.

  ‘Gone in for its annual service – it only gets one about every three years, so I don’t like to risk any delays once it’s due. I hope you don’t object to a German car rather than a French one.’

  Waters walked around to the back and studied it briefly. When Smith looked puzzled, Waters said, ‘Just making sure that I know what all the letters and numbers mean – TDi 2.0.’

  ‘Well done, that’s the way. But I bet you were called a swot in the third year. Still, look where all that study has got you now.’

  Waters climbed into the passenger seat and they went through the plan for that morning one more time, even checking that both phones were charged as DI Reeve’s memo had required. Then Smith pulled out into the traffic and they travelled in silence for some minutes. Eventually Waters spoke again.

  ‘So, do you think this will work? What are the chances?’

  ‘Honestly? Not that good. I’ve a hunch that the Subic family knows something about what’s gone on, but we can’t know exactly what. Several days have passed, and that makes it likely that if our man was back here at some point, he’s moved on by now. Why would he wait around? If this morning’s little game doesn’t produce anything, we’ve probably had it. I mean, we could follow through on visiting the other families but we’d just be making a nuisance of ourselves, I reckon. We could try forensics on the cigarette packet and the ashes but even if they came up, we wouldn’t have a court case. There was the odd bruising on the body but it’s all tenuous, isn’t it, and I wouldn’t fancy being cross-examined on it. I suppose I could always put you in the box instead…’

  Waters flicked away at the screen on his phone.

  ‘Seeing if you’ve got any tweets?’

  ‘Nice try, DC. No, just dropping a couple of pins on the map so that I know where we are this morning.’

  ‘Ah, good idea. I’ll do it too.’

  Waters glanced across at him but the expression gave nothing away.

  ‘Not on your phone, you won’t.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re implying about my phone. How dare you?’

  Waters smiled to himself and settled back into the seat. Another ten minutes and they would be there. He wanted to look calm, to seem to be taking all this in his stride, even though his insides were alternately being shaken and stirred at the thought of what they were about to do.

  Smith dropped Waters at the bus stop and told him to have his warrant card ready for when a bus actually stopped. It was ten o’clock when he drove away, noting that the going-to-work traffic was over and that the roads were relatively empty. He drove past the side road where the Golf had been – no sign of it – and then found that his previous spot near to the Subic ho
use was empty and pulled into it. Switching the cars would not have fooled most experienced people for long, especially as he had let them know that he was aware of them; on reflection, doing so might have been a mistake but it was too late to worry about that now. He reached into the side pocket of the door for his half-packet of Polo mints and found that they were not there. He closed his eyes for a moment and followed the breath in and out, watching himself as he did so – then he called Waters and said that he was about to phone Mr Subic. When he signed off with ‘Thunderbirds are go!’, Waters had responded with ‘DC?’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘I haven’t got time to research the history of children’s TV as well as cars.’

  ‘You’ll have to learn to prioritise.’

  Mr Subic was calm and said that he was more than willing to help. He made no mention of what the information concerned and Smith thought to himself, and that makes me even more suspicious, Mr Subic, that you are willing to hand over names and addresses without once asking for what purpose they are needed. It’s because you already have some idea… And I wonder whether the fact that you are not bothering to pretend is your way of letting me know that you know I know.

  ‘Of course, Sergeant Smith, I do not carry this information in my head, and I do not have a ready-made list. Such a request is unusual. It will take me a little time.’

  ‘I understand, sir. But it is now a matter of some urgency. How quickly could you have it ready? Obviously, I would call round and collect it.’

  ‘If it is urgent, sergeant, I will do my very best. How about this afternoon, after lunch?’

  ‘Very good. I’ll see you then, Mr Subic.’

  Alison Reeve had said, if he picks up the phone, it’s game over. Smith wondered, and tried to picture the scene inside the house. Would Subic consult his wife? Unlikely. Would he use a mobile rather than the landline that Smith had just rung? Quite likely – Smith was certain that Mirsad Subic was no fool. He might well be wary of using a line that a policeman had just called in on, but it made no real difference – if he was alerting someone by phone, there was nothing to be done.

  He had convinced himself that they would give it no more than an hour when his mobile vibrated and then bleated into life – about ten minutes had passed since his call to Subic. It was Waters.

  ‘DC? A woman came out of the back gate just a moment ago – a young woman. She stood talking on a mobile for a minute or so, now she’s walking down the footpath towards the main road.’

  ‘Good lad! Right. What’s she wearing, just in case?’

  ‘Jeans, a dark red zipper sort of leather jacket, darkish boots… What else? She’s got a blue baseball cap pulled pretty low, can’t see her face clearly yet. Carrying a large green canvas holdall.’

  ‘OK. Now we just keep calm and stick to the plan. Do you recognize her? Remember anything from the photo they showed us in the house? I know it wasn’t much.’

  ‘Bloody hell, there’s a bus coming! I don’t know, DC, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Sometimes we don’t have the luxury of being sure. Gut instinct – anything?’

  ‘I don’t know why… But I think it’s Hanna Subic.’

  ‘Right, two minutes I’ll be there. Stay back, just keep her in sight. Is she going left or right?’

  ‘Going to her left now.’

  ‘Keep on it. I’ll pull behind when I see you – two minutes.’

  Smith dropped the phone into the space below the handbrake and reached for the keys hanging in the ignition. But before he could turn them, he heard a car coming quickly from behind him. He saw it first in the mirror and then through the side window – the blue Golf racing past him, heading towards where Waters was by now following the girl. He started the car, not wasting any breath in cursing aloud, and had it half pulled out of the space when another car drew level with him and stopped, preventing him from getting out into the road. He waved violently at the driver to get out of the way, shouted something and then fell silent. It was a red VRS, and the driver was a young coloured woman wearing sunglasses. At first she sat looking down the road ahead; then she slowly turned her head to look at him, and she was smiling.

  Smith took no time to think. He picked up the phone, opened it and pressed recall. Waters answered immediately – he must have been carrying the phone in his hand as he walked.

  ‘Chris? Abort the whole thing now.’

  ‘What? DC? She has no idea that-’

  ‘No time to explain. Walk away. Do it now.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘No frigging buts, just do it!’

  ‘OK.’

  Smith pressed the ‘end’ button. All through the conversation with Waters he had not taken his eyes off the coloured woman. He had seen her open her own phone seconds after he had rung Waters, had seen her expression change as he gave the order to end it, and now he could see she was dialling another number. She looked across at him, not smiling now, and then she raised a hand – long, elegant fingers with silvery painted nails – and shook her forefinger towards him as if he had behaved rather badly. She began speaking into her phone as she pulled away and Smith stared down at his own, realizing that it was his phone that should have gone in for a service instead.

  Reeve would see him in five minutes but Waters wasn’t buying what he had been told as they sat back in the usual chairs in the office. Smith waited for the next question.

  ‘So, in between the time that you told me ‘two minutes’ and starting your car, you got a phone call?’

  ‘I got a message, yes.’

  ‘Which said what exactly?’

  ‘That our ‘investigation’ was stepping on someone else’s toes. It happens sometimes.’

  ‘I can see that… But the timing? Why right at that moment, when we were just a few minutes away from probably… And whose toes? I realise you can’t say, even if you know, but-’

  ‘Chris, it’s bad luck, that’s all. As I say, it happens. This won’t be the last time. Think of the learning curve – you’re getting more in a week than most get in a year.’

  He wasn’t to be distracted that easily.

  ‘And Petar Subic?’

  Smith shrugged and looked at his watch – time was up, he needed to be going.

  ‘Mixed up in something bigger, no doubt. I’m off to report in, won’t be long. Think about how you’re going to close this case in your notes.’

  He stood up and reached for the folder, wondering whether Waters had anything else to say. He did.

  ‘DC? Is this how it feels?’

  ‘How what feels?’

  ‘Being kicked into the long grass.’

  Smith thought of another joke, thought of several far too easily, but Waters was looking directly at him. Smith weighed it up, the costs and benefits of being honest, and Waters continued to watch him as he did so.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  He had placed his phone on DI Reeve’s desk, and she was staring at it.

  ‘Are you serious, DC?’

  He nodded and adjusted the phone’s position slightly for no particular reason.

  ‘Has to be. They could’ve got onto the different car easily, but I saw her listen in to the call I made, saw her face, the way she looked at me. She was hearing everything I said.’

  Alison Reeve stared at the phone some more.

  ‘Don’t worry, though, I don’t think it transmits when I’m not making a call. At least I’m fairly sure that it doesn’t…’

  Now they both stared at it some more.

  ‘But how?’

  And then she went on to answer her own question – ‘It’s cloning, isn’t it, when they make a copy of the sim. Stick it into another phone and that’s it. Have you any idea when or how long?’

  ‘No, it’s normally in my pocket, sometimes on my desk…’

  Then he remembered going to call Harrington that afternoon and finding that he had left it in the office. He said nothing to Reeve about that.

  She sat back.


  ‘And why on earth didn’t you tell me about being followed?’

  ‘I wasn’t one hundred per cent certain and – there didn’t seem any point unless I was.’

  ‘And you thought I’d report it, and you didn’t want that interfering with what you had planned.’

  She was annoyed but it might not be entirely at him – Smith was sure that she had not gone over to the other side yet. He sat on quietly, wondering how she would play it from here, now that she knew almost everything. She turned the folder around and flicked over a few pages, not reading them, simply giving herself some time to think.

  ‘I hate this. What a bloody waste of time! Why not work with us, why not share resources?’

  Smith waited and so did Reeve. Eventually he said, ‘Sorry – did you actually want an answer?’

  ‘If you have one.’

  ‘Different agendas. Most of the time these people aren’t trying to construct a court case. In fact, that’s the last thing they want, everything going public. And that agenda means that they can take shortcuts, with nothing being subject to what we call due process. They’ll tell you that they work in the twilight zone where almost everything looks grey. If you find an intelligent one, they can make a good case.’

  ‘You sound as if you have some sympathy with them. You don’t sound annoyed.’

  Smith opened his hands, palms upwards in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘Who wouldn’t like a bit more room to be creative in the job? We get held back by all sorts of nonsense, don’t we? Memos about phone batteries? They treat us like morons. I’ve never known a time when the dice was more loaded against us, what with ninety per cent of the best lawyers being paid lottery wins to defend the indefensible, and the sentences handed down if you do get a result are frankly a joke. I’m way past being annoyed. It is what it is.’

  Reeve looked surprised, puzzled and a little uncertain after Smith’s matter of fact summary of the criminal justice system.

  ‘So. What do you want to do? Just leave it as it is? Walk away?’