By the time Caitlin’s fifteen minutes were up, Wild’s day had improved significantly. He had some background intelligence on Jeb — insubstantial in itself although it helped build up a picture — and a probable date.
Chapter 23
Wild had barely sunk his arse into a chair before the call came through. The only thing that made it stand out from a job for uniform was the complainant, a Mrs Walsh, and the allegation that an American or a Canadian has assaulted her husband. With DI Marsh and Ben Galloway indisposed, and Wild disinclined to buddy up with any of his other detective colleagues, he rang down for Sergeant Galloway.
They took a marked car and the sergeant did the driving. And he did most of it in fourth gear.
Mrs Walsh was standing at the front of the house staring up the drive. “Quickly,” she insisted. “He’s in here. Didn’t you bring an ambulance?”
Sergeant Galloway touched her arm to reassure her. “Is he badly injured?”
“I suppose not.” Her voice faltered. “He says he doesn’t want any fuss in any case, but an assault is still a crime.”
Wild had spotted the hire car in the drive. It wasn’t hard to miss. Somehow, to his jaded eye, it seemed inevitable that an American would choose a BMW. Then again, maybe they were all out of Mercedes.
“And what about the other man?” Sergeant Galloway eased past her.
“I don’t understand it. He was politeness personified when he came here before. Chatted with James for an hour, he did. I left them to it. So interested in local history and wanting to know all about the families hereabouts and their histories.”
Wild thought back to his search of the hotel room. “And where is this . . . visitor?”
“Mr Kravers? Well, after my husband regained his wits we pretended to make our peace with him and then locked him in the study.”
“What about the windows?” Wild answered his own question when he recalled that the hire car was still there.
“Those old windows haven’t opened in years. I won’t let James smoke there any more on account of it — filthy habit.”
Sergeant Galloway called him. ”Craig, in here.”
Wild rushed in to find James Walsh leaning back on the sofa, hands on his knees, motionless but for his breathing. As he tilted forward Wild saw the mark on his head.
“Are you alright, sir? Can you tell me what happened?”
James Walsh blinked slowly. “Mr Kravers returned my father’s diaries and I’m afraid we had some cross words. He accused me of keeping something from him. After that it’s all a bit of a blur, I’m afraid. I’m quite alright really, just a little dazed.”
Wild signalled to Sergeant Galloway to stay put. “And Mr Kravers?”
“My wife . . .” James fell silent.
Wild frowned at Galloway. “Tell you what, sir. I think we’ll get an ambulance here anyway — to be on the safe side.”
“Oh, I didn’t hurt our visitor. At least, I don’t think I did?” He looked up at Wild for the answer.
Mrs Walsh came into the room and handed Wild a key.
Wild would have found his way to the study by the shouting alone. Aaron Kravers was rattling the doorknob with some gusto and making threats.
Wild announced himself and then unlocked the door. Kravers had decamped to one of the study chairs, as if some other red-faced assailant had been making the racket. Wild flashed his warrant card and slowly took out his notebook. It had the desired effect.
“Hey, Officer, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I borrowed some books on local history and I enquired about another book. Dr Walsh became quite agitated, and in my efforts to settle him we might have tussled a little.”
Wild knew a first-class bullshitter when he heard one, on any side of the Atlantic. “So how did you come to be locked in the study, sir?”
Kravers levered himself out of the chair. “Well, that’s just the thing, Officer. I think they are both a little, how shall I put it, off the wall? I guess it’s that famous English eccentricity.” He grinned for effect.
Wild turned his attention to the room. Drawers were not closed flush, presumably in haste, piles of books teetered precariously. It looked, to Wild’s trained eye, as if someone had been trying to cover up their treasure hunt, maybe in the moments between his arrival and the unlocking of a door.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?” He saved Kravers the bother of lying. “Another diary, wasn’t it?”
Kravers strained every muscle not to respond, like a politician’s wife in a photocall after a scandal. “So, is the good doctor going to press charges?” There was something about the face and its suggestion of a smile that made Wild dislike him even more, if that were possible.
Wild wrote a line in his notebook and then looked up. “Dr Walsh says it’s all a misunderstanding. However, I’m not convinced, and I have sufficient grounds to question you back at the station.”
Kravers stood his ground. “You know what, Detective? I think you’re making a big mistake. But, hey, it’s your funeral.”
Wild stopped in his tracks and, in what he would later consider a lightbulb moment, realised that Aaron Kravers visiting the Walshes when Jeb was away at Alexander Porter’s funeral was either a happy coincidence or the result of some careful planning.
Chapter 24
Aaron Kravers didn’t go the traditional route of protesting his innocence in the car, and Wild had taken the decision not to use handcuffs. The assault evidence was slender at best. Despite that, he was eager to get Kravers in an interview room for a fishing trip.
Sergeant Galloway said nothing on the drive back to the police station, so Wild took the opportunity to dangle some hooks. He directed his comments to his colleague. “These diaries must be pretty important if they can provoke a fight between strangers.” He didn’t check for a reaction in the rear-view mirror. “No, what am I saying? They met once before, didn’t they, when Mr Kravers here first asked to borrow the diaries.”
Kravers let out a heavy sigh. “Look, guys, I know what you’re trying to do here. And I know my rights. So you’ll pardon me if I wait until I get my brief before I comment on your little show here.”
Sergeant Galloway piped up. “As you say, Mr Kravers, you are well within your rights. You’ll also have the right to remain silent, although . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, I know how court systems work.”
* * *
If DI Marsh was pleased at the latest development, she had a funny way of showing it. First, she gave Wild a rundown of the difficulties they had getting hold of a solicitor at short notice — because it was obvious from Wild’s update at the arrest site that Aaron Kravers would only be as cooperative as he needed to be.
And second, as she put it herself, “I’m drowning in paperwork about people whose only crimes so far seem to be keeping secrets and being habitual liars. What I need is a serious suspect we can work on.” The way she said work on implied she would have preferred a more summary method of justice.
You can take the woman out of Glasgow . . . thought Wild, and kept his thoughts to himself. It was inevitable that one of the local solicitors would answer the call, and Wild felt uncomfortable at the sight of Mr Hollings when he appeared at the front desk to represent his new client. It was all getting incestuous. Naturally, Hollings was entirely professional, but it didn’t stop Wild wondering whether he was hiding something too.
After a twenty-minute confab with Kravers, Hollings emerged to announce that his client would be happy to assist the police in any way he could, and to that effect, Aaron Kravers had prepared a statement for the interview. It sounded to Wild like a speech printed on a card. Well, Mr Hollings had to have something in that briefcase.
The party of four took their seats and Wild went through the preliminaries. Everyone seemed to perk up a little at the sound of the beep. Wild refreshed everybody’s memory with the contents of the emergency call, which recorded Mrs Walsh’s distress at the assault she said she’d witnessed o
n her husband. After that little appetiser, Wild read out Mrs Walsh’s assault complaint and reminded them of how she had both identified and captured the alleged assailant.
Hollings raised a hand, like a schoolboy in need of the toilet. “Before you go any further, my client wishes to make the following statement in an effort to clarify what happened.” He gazed at a sheet of A4 paper and read from the florid writing. I have been on vacation for a few days, visiting the sites that my ancestor, Melvin Kravers, would have seen when he was stationed here during the Second World War. Melvin Kravers died during the D-Day landings and I have been researching his life as part of a family genealogy project.
Wild was amazed at how much could be squeezed into a twenty-minute consultation and yet still say nothing of relevance. He made some notes to show he was paying attention and gave the required response. “That’s all very well, but it doesn’t explain—”
Hollings cleared his throat to cut him off. Kravers stayed motionless, staring at them from behind a stony façade.
“If I may continue, Detective Sergeant?” Hollings smoothed the piece of paper for effect. “He goes on to say: In the course of my research, I identified the family name of the local doctor during that time and thought I would call there in case there was any record of my great-uncle Melvin’s unit. Naturally, with the passing of years, I did not expect to find Dr Walsh still alive, but fortunately his son, James, had carried on the family tradition and shared anecdotes that had been passed on to him. In addition, to my surprise, the late Dr Walsh had kept journals, detailing that crucial period of history. Dr James Walsh kindly loaned me some diaries, and it was only on reading through them that I realised one of the volumes was missing. When I returned the diaries, I mentioned this to Dr Walsh and he became extremely agitated, and may have been accidentally injured in my attempts to calm him down and discuss the missing diary.”
Wild sucked a tooth. “That’s not how Dr Walsh’s wife reported it.”
Aaron Kravers found his voice. “Look, Officer, with the greatest of respect, Mrs Walsh was not in the room with us at the time, and we both called out for her due to Dr Walsh’s distress. I can easily understand why Mrs Walsh may have drawn the wrong conclusion.”
Marsh turned a folder to Wild, angled so that neither Kravers nor his solicitor could read it. She had underlined a single sentence: Email to Jeb.
Wild made himself comfortable: he loved this part too. “Now, Mr Kravers, having understood your part in the altercation with Dr Walsh, which is still under consideration, I’d like to talk you about another matter. I understand that you and a private investigator were in communication by email before you made the journey to the UK. Is that correct?”
Kravers stalled, looked to his brief and rebounded from the blank stare like a tennis ball off a wall. “I, er, yeah, I guess so. What’s your point?”
Wild took that as a yes. “How did you first find them?”
“I’m not sure I follow. I did a search for the oldest solicitors in the area and emailed the first one. I guess I got lucky because next thing I know a private investigator contacted me on behalf of the solicitor.”
Wild saw Hollings flare into recognition as he worked out that his practice would have been the one contacted, and that he knew nothing about it. Wild watched his face slide and decided to help it on its way. “And would you have any objection to letting us see those emails?”
Kravers thought for a moment. “Hey, is this about the DNA match?”
Marsh took over. “I think this would be a convenient moment for us to take a break. I remind you that you are still under caution.” She paused the recording. “We just need a few minutes — can we get you some tea or coffee?”
Kravers rose to his feet so quickly that his chair threatened to topple backwards. “What’s going on here?”
Wild raised a critical finger. “You wanna watch a temper like that. People might get the wrong idea.”
Hollings dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. He looked as if the world had nothing left to surprise him. “It is a little stuffy in here. Some tea in a side room will give everyone a chance to cool off. And perhaps a biscuit?” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, as if he knew what a dick his client had become.
“Of course,” Marsh replied curtly. “I’ll ask one of the PCs to bring it down for you. If you’d care to follow me.”
By now, Wild knew that carefully controlled voice, which meant things were about to get difficult for him.
After depositing the visitors at the far end of the corridor, she turned abruptly to Wild. “Back in the room.”
He nodded dolefully. No tea for him then. He followed her in and closed the door. She looked pissed off.
“I don’t like surprises, Craig.”
Back in London he would have said something glib about the Secret Santa. He knew better here. He glanced up at the wall clock. “Give me five minutes. I’ll see if I can get hold of Jeb. Hopefully he’s sober, but you know how it is with funerals. Maybe we should get an update on his grandad and see whether Mrs Walsh still wants to press charges?”
Marsh nodded and her face softened. “Good point.” Her tone made it sound like good boy. “Don’t mention the alleged assault to Jeb though. Fair enough if his grandmother has already told him, but we can do without his involvement. I think we need to build bridges with Aaron Kravers. There is more to this — you mark my word.”
Wild took his leave of her and went back to his desk. Before he rang Jeb, he tried to fit the pieces together in his head. Kravers had said nothing about UK relatives. Quite the opposite. He wondered idly whether there’d be some record of all US servicemen who were stationed locally before the D-Day landings. Meantime, there were more pressing matters at hand.
Jeb’s voice seemed to echo at the other end of the line. Another voice in the background sounded like Nathan’s, and Wild heard the clink of glasses.
“I need to talk to you. Now.”
“You’ve got some nerve. You know we had the funeral today. Can’t it wait?”
If Wild had thought it through, he would have planned exactly what to say. But if he had been that sort of copper, he would have made DI by now. “It’s about DNA, Jeb.” He was answered by silence. “Now, are you going to find somewhere quiet so we can talk in private or would you prefer I speak to Pauline instead?”
The next sound he heard was the clunk of a laden glass against a hard surface, followed by the scurrying of footsteps through a swing door and outside.
“So, what’s all this about?”
“Spare me your feigned offence. I don’t have time for it. And to be honest, your bohemian minstrel act is wearing a bit thin as well. Tell me about the DNA match with Aaron Kravers, or so help me I will come there, arrest you myself and then charge you and Pauline with obstruction.”
“Hold on a second. Pauline doesn’t need to know any more about this. It is a private business arrangement between Mr Kravers and myself. Alright . . . I know this is going to look bad, but I wanna get it off my chest, okay? I might not be a qualified private detective, whatever that is. But I have provided Mr Kravers with a service.”
“You told me that no money changed hands.”
Jeb’s sigh sounded like the truth escaping. “I offered to do some local research on his behalf. After all, I had access to my great-grandfather’s records. That’s got to be worth something. Anyway, I wanted to be thorough, so I read my great-grandad’s personal diaries as well as his notes . . .”
Wild stared across the room. “Did Kravers know you had access to family diaries?”
Jeb laughed. “Course not! He was paying me by the hour! I set up a Gmail account in the name of Jay Investigations and told Kravers I did this as a sideline.”
“So, he doesn’t know you’re related to Dr Walsh?”
“You London boys catch on quick, eh?”
Wild was still shuffling ideas in his head when he realised he hadn’t said anything for several seconds. “Right, D
NA. And make it quick. I need to be somewhere.”
“The thing is . . . well, I haven’t broken any laws or anything. Well, not intentionally.”
Wild waited.
“Okay, so there’s probably something you ought to know . . .”
Wild heard the office door behind him and turned to see Marsh pointing at her watch, as if he were an imbecile.
“Better make it quick, Jeb.”
“The Yank’s relative fathered a child when he was over here during the war.”
“I’ll get back to you.” Wild cut the call and returned to the lion’s den, updating Marsh on the way.
When the four of them were back together again, Aaron Kravers was more conciliatory. Either he’d had a successful personality transplant, or his solicitor had managed to inject some sense into him.
“Can I just start by apologising for my manners earlier? I’m not sleeping well, and jetlag makes me cranky.”
Wild remembered something that had been bugging him. “Out of interest, where did you keep those dairies you borrowed?”
Kravers smiled. “You’ll think I’m crazy! I didn’t want to trust them to a hotel safe. And I didn’t feel comfortable leaving them in my room, so I put them in the trunk of the car for safekeeping.”
Wild nodded. One mystery solved. “Tell me about the DNA.”
“I suppose it was a couple of weeks after I first starting communicating with . . .”
Wild glanced at his notebook. “Jay Investigations.”
“Uh huh. They emailed me to say they might have a possible DNA match and gave me a site to use. I knew that couldn’t be right although I was intrigued. So I uploaded a sample like they said and I got a match. I’ll be honest, I thought it was a scam, but up to that point everything had been done electronically so unless they had someone working for them Stateside it didn’t make sense.”
“What about contact details for the matching sample?”
“Not a chance, which the investigator obviously knew in advance.”
Long Shadows Page 11