by Eva Dolan
‘And is she going to come clean about Ainsworth’s murder?’ Ferreira asked impatiently.
‘She is,’ Ms Hussein said.
Zigic heard the unvoiced ‘but’.
Ferreira voiced it. ‘She wants something in return?’
‘I’d like to be able to tell her that you’ll inform the CPS that she has cooperated with you from the moment you first spoke to her.’ She held a finger up. ‘Which she has. Nadia has been scrupulously honest with you and she will continue to be.’
‘It kind of depends what she knows,’ Ferreira said. ‘And if the evidence backs her up. She’s hardly a reliable witness right now.’
Zigic felt a prickle of unease, listening to them talk. Deals made in corridors and promises for support that might not be justified – he didn’t like working this way, thought that it undermined the whole process. Sometimes it was necessary and he would swallow his principles and do what had to be done. But he wasn’t convinced it was necessary in this case.
Ms Hussein obviously read his reluctance. She stepped back very slightly.
‘Why don’t you take some time to consider it, Inspector,’ she suggested. ‘I think Nadia has been through enough for one day, don’t you?’
Ms Hussein returned to the interview room briefly to say goodbye to Nadia before she was taken back down to the cells for the night. Then she left as well, taking the corridor at a brisk clip, as if she had plenty still to do this evening. Zigic suspected she would arrive fully prepared tomorrow for the next round, knew she wasn’t someone to underestimate.
For a moment they lingered in the corridor. Neither of them was quite ready to return to the bustle of the office after what they’d heard.
Ferreira drew her fingers back through her hair, blew out a long slow breath.
‘You were right.’ The admission looked painful to make after days of arguing with him over Nadia’s innocence. ‘She lied about the whole thing.’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that though, isn’t it?’ He sat down on the cold radiator. ‘Nadia was desperate for a way out and Sutherland took advantage of that desperation to manipulate her into bringing a false charge.’
‘She didn’t have to do it.’
‘Didn’t she?’ Zigic asked. ‘What would you have done in her situation?’
‘Took a guard hostage, fought my way out.’
She forced a smile and he managed an unconvincing chuckle in return.
‘Why do you think Sutherland wanted her to make the accusation?’ Ferreira asked. ‘Assuming we can even believe that part of the story.’
‘He says he loves her. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she wasn’t deported.’
‘Okay, let’s assume that’s right,’ she said. ‘Why Ainsworth in particular? Why not one of the guards? Sutherland and Ainsworth were supposed to be fairly friendly. What changed?’
Zigic considered it, feeling the hard ridges of the radiator cutting into his palms. ‘A guard would have been a much easier sell.’
‘Right. Ainsworth was Hammond’s golden boy from what we’ve heard. Even with a theoretically pretty credible report from Sutherland, he still didn’t entirely believe Josh was guilty.’ She spread her hands in a questioning shrug. ‘So why did Sutherland make life difficult for himself by trying to frame the most trustworthy member of Hammond’s staff?’
‘It’s got to be something personal,’ Zigic said.
‘We need to talk to Hammond.’
He checked his watch. Half past seven.
‘Find Hammond’s home address, let’s see if he’s any more forthcoming away from Long Fleet.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
‘I’m not usually a “first one up against the wall come the revolution” type,’ Ferreira said, as they pulled up outside James Hammond’s home. ‘But fucking seriously?’
‘Private-sector money.’ Zigic shrugged.
But it rankled him a little, too, seeing what keeping vulnerable women locked up in small cells for indefinite periods of time got you. A large stone cottage, five broad windows wide, with a thatched roof and four chimneys. His and hers Mercedes parked in the green oak garage and something sportier with a decal he couldn’t place, occupying the third bay. The houses around it were much the same. This was the village you moved to when you didn’t want mere middle-income earners as neighbours.
Ferreira stalked away from him along the pea gravel drive and by the time he caught up to her, she was banging on the front door with the side of her fist. Giving it the attitude of a bust rather than a request for assistance.
‘Best I lead, I think,’ he said.
She cocked her head at him. ‘Don’t trust my manners?’
‘He doesn’t like you.’
‘I’d worry if he did,’ she said, stepping back to allow him to fill the space on the doorstep between two deep red acers in lead planters.
James Hammond answered the door and even off duty he had a whiff of the managerial about him, dressed in chinos and a pink polo shirt, a cut-glass tumbler of Scotch in his hand.
‘You shouldn’t have come to my house,’ he said, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. ‘This is Long Fleet business and it belongs at Long Fleet. Make an appointment and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He moved to close the door on them and Zigic shoved his forearm against the wood, holding it open.
‘We’re sorry to have to visit you like this, but it’s a matter of urgency and we’ll try not to keep you from your evening.’
Reluctantly Hammond let the door swing open again, but didn’t invite them in.
‘Do you really want to do this on your driveway?’ Zigic asked.
‘Fine.’ Hammond huffed, reached for a set of keys from a bowl on a console table and began to lead them towards the garage, up a set of exterior steps and into a large room, which covered the span of the building. It was set up like an artist’s studio, blank but primed canvases leaned up against the brilliant white walls, shelves of painting materials and brushes in tall ceramic pots. The works in progress were vibrant abstracts, impasto finishes and deep surfaces all bisected with spidery fault lines.
‘Your work?’ Zigic asked.
‘My daughter’s,’ Hammond said, full of pride. ‘She’s the artist.’
There was a faded orange-velvet chesterfield pushed up against one wall and Hammond waved them towards it. They sat as he pulled over a stool to sit on, awkward with his glass held in both hands between his thighs.
‘Have you charged Sutherland yet?’ he asked.
‘We still trying to figure out exactly what happened,’ Zigic told him. ‘But during questioning Nadia Baidoo told us that the accusation she brought against Josh was false.’
‘I bloody knew it,’ Hammond said bitterly. ‘I was sure he wasn’t like that.’
But you still sacked him, Zigic thought.
‘Why did she lie?’ Hammond asked.
‘She didn’t want to be deported.’
Hammond nodded. ‘The usual ploy then.’
‘You didn’t deport the other women who reported attacks?’ Ferreira asked.
‘It was case-dependent,’ Hammond said firmly.
‘And Nadia’s case wouldn’t have been compelling without the attack?’
‘I can’t recall the details at the present moment.’ He sipped his Scotch. ‘But she wouldn’t have been given leave to remain simply because she made an accusation against a member of staff, no. That would create a dangerous precedent. It would be tantamount to giving in to blackmail.’
Zigic didn’t believe him. From what they knew of Nadia’s case, her asylum status was based on her position as a dependant and the moment she reached eighteen and was no longer reliant on her mother, the law would have considered her safe to return to Ghana.
Hammond wasn’t going to admit that though and it had little bearing on their case anyway.
‘Can you remember who examined her after she was attacked?’ Zigic asked.
‘It would have been
Sutherland,’ Hammond said, virtually spitting out his name. ‘Josh was the alleged perpetrator so Sutherland would have done the examination. There wasn’t anyone else.’
‘Nadia claims Sutherland concocted the allegation.’
‘Because he wanted to get her out of custody for his own use.’
Zigic winced at Hammond’s choice of words, apposite but brutal, and wondered if it was a comment on Sutherland or if Hammond’s role made it impossible to see those women as anything more than units on a balance sheet.
‘We assume that’s why,’ Ferreira said. ‘Sutherland collected her from the hostel within a few days of her release. He seemed to have it all figured out.’
‘The sly bastard,’ Hammond muttered.
‘The question we have now,’ Zigic said, ‘which we’re hoping you might be able to assist us with, is why Sutherland chose Ainsworth as the target of the allegation.’
Hammond scratched his eyebrow, bemused-looking. ‘That is rather an odd one. Are you certain he made that choice? Mightn’t she have decided for herself?’
‘Nadia maintains that it was very much Sutherland’s call.’
‘And you believe her?’ Hammond asked. ‘Even knowing that she’s a liar.’
‘Within the context of the rest of her statement, yes, we do believe her.’ Zigic shifted his weight and felt something that might have been horsehair poke into his backside, shifted again. ‘Sutherland and Ainsworth were supposed to be quite friendly. They’d worked together to report abusers in the past. We’re struggling to understand what might have caused Sutherland to turn on Ainsworth.’
Hammond looked pensively into his glass. ‘You do appreciate the position I’m in here, Inspector. I’ve worked damned hard to clean up Long Fleet. I’ve spent two years doing everything I can to improve the lot of our ladies; I’ve tried to make their time with us as comfortable and as safe as possible.’
Zigic was sure he could hear Ferreira’s teeth grinding.
‘And in all of that time,’ Hammond said, ‘there’s not been a single credible report of abuse by any staff member.’ He pointed at them. ‘Not. One.’
‘You’ve done an admirable job,’ Zigic told him. ‘And we understand how badly this could reflect on you when it comes out. Which is why I think it’s in everyone’s best interest to build a solid case against Patrick Sutherland.’
‘If he’s responsible,’ Hammond added hopefully.
‘If, yes,’ Zigic conceded. ‘The stronger the case we put in front of him and his solicitor the higher the probability of a confession and the less likely you are to find yourself at the centre of a media circus.’
‘So we need to know what went on between Sutherland and Ainsworth,’ Ferreira interrupted, the frustration sharpening her tone. ‘Where did the break occur?’
Hammond threw back the last mouthful of his drink and rose from the paint-spattered wooden stool. He made his way over to a chaotic workbench, filled with sketch pads and pencils, old Coke cans and water bottles.
Zigic glanced at Ferreira and she shrugged one shoulder, seemingly as uncertain about where this was going as he was.
Under the workbench Hammond rummaged around in a plastic box and came up with a half bottle of vodka.
‘There was an incident,’ he said, his back still turned to them as he poured another drink. ‘Earlier this year. A woman was admitted – I forget the details – but about six weeks after she came in, Josh found out she was pregnant.’
‘How pregnant?’ Ferreira asked.
‘Four to six weeks, Josh said.’ Hammond replaced the cap on the bottle and took his time returning it to the box under the bench. ‘It was so close that there was no way to say for certain if she’d fallen pregnant before she came to us or not.’
‘But Josh thought it happened in Long Fleet?’ Zigic asked.
Hammond turned around, nodding. ‘He asked the woman about it but she wouldn’t tell him anything. Not who the father was, not when it happened.’
‘She must have said something.’
‘She wouldn’t.’
‘Did you speak to her?’ Ferreira asked.
‘That isn’t part of my job,’ Hammond replied. ‘But I did in this instance. Mainly, because we’d been doing so well that I was – and I’m not ashamed to admit this – I was bloody angry that something like that might have happened again on my watch.’ He sighed. ‘But she wouldn’t talk to me. She sat there shaking, she could hardly even look at me.’
‘She was scared of you,’ Ferreira said.
Zigic nudged her gently. There was no point rubbing it in.
‘Who did Josh think the father was?’ he asked.
‘At first he didn’t want to speculate.’ Hammond came back to his stool, lowered himself down slowly as if he considered it untrustworthy. ‘I’m not sure he had anyone in mind at that point. But he kept pressing the young woman to talk, he was monitoring her more closely – he didn’t need to, the pregnancy was progressing perfectly well – but he used that as an excuse to speak to her.’ Hammond took a mouthful of vodka and winced slightly at the rawness. ‘Eventually he came to me again and told me he thought there was something amiss with Sutherland.’
‘Why did he think that?’
Hammond grimaced. ‘He couldn’t give me a straight answer. That was the problem. If he could have shown me evidence. Or if she would have just spoken up, I could have done something. Honestly, I didn’t even believe him at the time. I thought he’d got so accustomed to looking for abuse that he’d started to see it where it didn’t exist.’
‘Why didn’t you mention this to us sooner?’ Ferreira demanded. ‘You must have realised it might have been significant.’
‘Until you came for Sutherland this afternoon, I’d forgotten all about it,’ he said, sounding wounded. ‘Josh had concerns that didn’t stand up to scrutiny and I put it out of my mind and got on with my job.’
It sounded unlikely but Zigic suspected it was the truth. When you dealt with so many people on a daily basis, your mind had a way of wiping them out, freeing space up for the next group and all of their problems and demands. He could only guess at the stress Hammond was under, the money involved, the scrutiny from his bosses.
‘Did Sutherland know Josh suspected him of abusing the woman?’ he asked.
Hammond looked queasy suddenly. ‘I spoke to him about it, yes.’
‘You directly accused him?’
‘Indirectly,’ Hammond said. ‘But he must have been aware that the idea came from Josh.’
‘How was their working relationship after that?’
‘As far as I know they carried on much the same as before. But there was rarely any reason for me to visit the medical bay, so they might have been at each other’s throats for all I know.’
Zigic thought of how obscure Josh’s working life had remained throughout the investigation. They hadn’t been allowed into the main body of Long Fleet, hadn’t see his office, had spoken to only Sutherland and the nurse, Ruth Garner, who hadn’t mentioned any ructions between her co-workers.
All they’d heard was ‘stress’ and ‘moral discomfort’ from the people who knew him best. No mention of a feud. Nothing that could have led them to Sutherland quicker. Hammond was helping now because they had him on the back foot, leveraging him with the threat of media intrusion, but without that threat would he even be telling them this?
‘What happened to the woman?’ Ferreira asked finally.
‘She was deported.’ Hammond’s gaze dropped to the floor between his feet.
‘You do remember something about her case then,’ Ferreira said, and Zigic heard speculation behind the reproach in her voice. ‘Where was she deported to?’
Hammond frowned. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information about her. There are rules governing privacy –’
‘This is a murder investigation,’ Ferreira snapped. ‘And whatever happened to this woman plays directly into it.’
‘It isn’t a matter of wh
ether I want to tell you or not,’ Hammond said, calmer than Zigic expected him to be. ‘I simply can’t share her information with you.’
‘We need to speak to this woman,’ he said.
Hammond looked worried, his hand going up in a gesture of surrender or mollification. ‘Inspector, please. I want to help you however I can but this is just something I can’t do.’
‘Then what can you do?’ Ferreira asked.
‘I’ll send you the report I have on Nadia Baidoo’s attack,’ he said, looking to Zigic, hope in his eyes. ‘Sutherland claimed he witnessed Josh attack her. And you know that isn’t true now because she’s told you the truth.’ The hope was morphing into desperation. ‘If you can put Sutherland’s lies about it to him, then surely he’ll have to come clean?’
It wasn’t exactly what they needed but it was as much as they would get from him, Zigic realised, and it was more than he expected from the man as they approached his house.
Showing Sutherland his own lies, there in black and white, might just be enough to upend him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Billy said, topping up her glass with red wine. ‘Ainsworth knew Sutherland got some woman pregnant inside Long Fleet and then Sutherland convinced Nadia Baidoo to accuse him of assault so he’d be sacked.’
Ferreira took a sip, placed the glass on the worktop next to the chopping board where she was slicing garlic. ‘That’s about it, yeah.’
‘But Sutherland was a whistle-blower?’
‘What better way to look clean than to expose everyone else who’s dirty?’ She scraped the garlic into the pan. ‘Sutherland wanted to keep up his shitty behaviour, he needed rid of Ainsworth. Because he was watching him from that point, I guess.’
‘You can’t prove any of this though,’ he said. ‘Ainsworth’s dead, Hammond won’t go on record and you have no idea where the woman is.’
‘We don’t even know who she is,’ Ferreira told him. ‘I called Ruby Garrick – she runs the Asylum Assist charity – and asked her to put the feelers out, see if anyone she knows is aware of a woman who was deported earlier this year while she was pregnant.’