Dark Truths

by A. J. Cross

Before Judd could respond, he straightened, reached for his keys. She eyed the fob. Alfa Romeo. ‘I have some names for you, Mr Prentiss. I’d like you to tell me if you recognize any of them. Annette Barlow.’ Judd waited, getting no flicker of recognition. ‘Daniel Broughton. Justin Rhodes. Mr Prentiss?’

  He stared at her. ‘I don’t know them. What’s the meaning behind this?’

  ‘It’s a straight question, Mr Prentiss, nothing hidden. I didn’t ask if you knew them. I asked if you recognized their names.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like to say about Zoe?’

  ‘No. It’s too upsetting.’ He paused. ‘Is Christian a suspect?’

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘It’s what the police do, isn’t it? They look at who stands to gain.’

  She waited for more. It didn’t come. ‘How might Mr Roberts gain from your sister’s death?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not a clue. It was a general observation of Christian. He’s a slick character. He gets into people’s heads, takes advantage.’ He jiggled his keys.

  She stood. He did the same. ‘How’s the investigation progressing?’

  ‘We’re following up lines of inquiry and Dr Traynor is bringing his skills to it.’

  He gave her one of few direct looks. ‘I saw him on the news recently. The cool intellectual. Is he any good?’

  Ignoring the question, she led the way from the room to the main entrance, held out her hand. ‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Prentiss.’ He took it briefly. She walked him out of the building, watched as he got inside the sleek red sports car then drove past her without a glance.

  She came into Watts’ office, hugely irritated and frustrated. She’d failed to get from Prentiss what she wanted. She gave the door a hard shove against its frame. ‘Of all the spoilt, self-centred, contradictory, immature …!’ She went to the sink, ran water, filled a glass and drank. On a deep breath, she went to the computer and began word processing a detailed account of the half hour or so she’d just spent with Prentiss, the words racing across the screen. Deleting ‘wanker’ and ‘tosser’, she searched for other words. ‘Contradictory’ would definitely stay, as would ‘immature’. Immature at thirty-five. She shook her head, added: ‘Overly-focused on his own physical health. One minute depressed-looking, the next angry, and the next optimistic.’ Her fingers flew, except for a short pause over a particular phrase. Leaving it in, she jabbed ‘Print’, fetched it from the printer and placed it squarely on the table where Watts usually sat.

  NINETEEN

  Watts waited as the duty sergeant inside the basement custody suite painstakingly processed details grudgingly supplied by the man standing before him. Richard Conrad Nilsen. To Watts, he looked much as Merriman had described, and also familiar. Dark-haired, on the heavy side, his backpack and its contents were now spread out on the desk. Watts eyed the pale sling as the duty sergeant methodically entered all of them, then sent the details to the printer. When it lapsed into silence, he reached below the desk, lifted out the sheets and handed them to Watts. ‘All yours, Sarge.’

  Passing them to Traynor, Watts glanced again at Nilsen, whom he’d cautioned half an hour before, then to a duty solicitor coming into the suite. A door on its other side opened and a belligerent-looking male in jeans and vest emerged, flanked by officers.

  The duty officer nodded to it. ‘That interview room’s all yours.’

  Watts took out his phone, said a few quiet words then cut the call. He gave Nilsen’s belongings another once-over. ‘I need audio-visual facilities.’

  ‘You should come down here more often. That room has both.’

  Watts turned to Nilsen. ‘This is Dr William Traynor. He’s a criminologist and he’ll be sitting in on the interview. He’ll show you into the room.’ Cradling his arm in his free hand, looking angry, Nilsen went with Traynor and the duty solicitor. Watts reached for an item of Nilsen’s belongings, held it up to the duty sergeant. ‘I’m taking this for the next ten minutes or so.’ Entering the interview room, he activated the PACE machine, getting an aggrieved look from Nilsen.

  ‘You had no right to take my sling away, my arm is causing me considerable pain and I wish to lodge a formal complaint against you.’

  The solicitor eyed Watts. ‘Any response to what Mr Nilsen has just said?’

  ‘No,’ he snapped, taking the chair next to Traynor. ‘Richard Conrad Nilsen, I’m interviewing you under caution in connection with an alleged sexual assault at approximately nine fifteen this morning on a path off Blackfoot Lane.’ Watts’ eyes moved over the smooth face opposite. Nielson’s age was no longer a mystery. From a distance his clothes, build and demeanour might suggest late thirties, early-forties at a push. In fact, he was just twenty-two years old and looking increasingly irrelevant to the skulls found in the vicinity of Blackfoot Trail. Despite his agreeing with Traynor on maintaining the investigative focus on all of the victims, Watts was now considering Nilsen as a possibility for Zoe Roberts’ murder. ‘Is there anything you’d like to say, Mr Nilsen?’

  ‘Yes. There is. I did not assault that woman.’ He pointed to his arm. ‘I couldn’t have.’

  ‘We know you were in the area. Did you see any females this morning, Mr Nilsen?’

  ‘Only her, walking her dog where I happened to be and which I don’t deny. I’d hardly admit to it if I had done what she said.’ He looked at the duty solicitor, ‘And which I find personally insulting.’

  Watts studied Nilsen. ‘Tell us about this woman.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ snapped Nilsen. ‘I’d gone for a walk to take my mind off the pain I’m experiencing. I saw her. Admired her dog. That was the sum total of my engagement with her. She walked on and I went back to the road. I don’t understand why she would level such an accusation at me. I’m not the kind of person to assault anybody. I’ve never had dealings with the police. You must know that.’

  ‘What’s the problem with your arm?’

  ‘Cervical radiculopathy.’

  ‘Sounds painful.’

  ‘It is. Extremely.’

  Watts slow-nodded. ‘Are you on medication?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Watts allowed a small silence to build. ‘For the benefit of the visual recording, would you demonstrate the limitation of your arm, Mr Nilsen?’

  Nilsen looked at the solicitor who nodded. Sighing, he produced minimal movement, winced and sagged against his chair, his face contorted. ‘Don’t ask me to do that again, because I won’t and you can rely on my following up this issue with your superiors.’

  ‘That’s your right, Mr Nilsen. Do you regularly walk in that area?’

  Nilsen shook his head. ‘I’ve been there a couple of times at most.’

  ‘When?’

  Nilsen looked irritated. ‘I don’t remember! I don’t plan walks. I tend to do them on my days off.’ He jabbed the table several times. ‘I want it on record that I totally deny everything this woman has accused me of. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘Greenway College in its administration department. What’s that got to do with this farce?’

  ‘You’re not at work today?’

  Nilsen rolled his eyes. ‘It so happens it’s my day off.’

  ‘Were you at Blackfoot Trail early on the morning of Monday, the fifteenth of August?’ Watts saw sudden wariness in Nilsen’s eyes.

  ‘What’s that got to do with today?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  Nilsen looked at the solicitor again, got another nod. ‘No, I wasn’t. That was the day I returned from holiday in Crete.’

  ‘What time did you arrive back in Birmingham?’

  ‘In the late afternoon. About five p.m.’

  ‘You’re sure about that, Mr Nilsen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Watts’ eyes were fixed on him. ‘How did you injure your arm?’

  ‘I tripped carrying my suitcase inside my house.’

>   ‘We’ll want to see printed confirmation of your travel arrangements.’

  Nilsen’s eyes flicked to Traynor and back. ‘Why?’

  ‘As proof of your whereabouts on that particular day.’

  Nilsen’s head spun to his solicitor. ‘Do I have to provide those details?’

  The solicitor gazed amicably at Watts. ‘Perhaps you’d outline your interest in that particular Monday, DI Watts?’

  ‘No problem. Early on the morning of Monday the fifteenth of August, a male answering Mr Nilsen’s description and wearing a light-coloured sling, was seen at Blackfoot Trail.’ He regarded Nilsen for a few seconds. ‘Also, that same morning, a young woman was attacked and killed there. What do you have to say about that, Mr Nilsen?’

  Nilsen said nothing. He looked shocked. Watts waited, wondering how long Nilsen would stick with his return-from-Crete story. He saw canniness arrive in the dark eyes. Not long at all, by the look of it. A phrase of Judd’s came into his head. Watts was now betting his pension that Nilsen knew what had occurred at Blackfoot Trail, the hole he was digging for himself and was now weighing up two options: sexual assault charge, or sexual assault-plus-murder?

  His words came quickly. ‘I’ve confused the dates. It was the Sunday afternoon I returned from Crete.’ He still looked worried. As well he might, thought Watts.

  ‘Tell us what you were doing at Blackfoot Trail on that Monday.’

  Nilsen stuck with denial. ‘I was not there that day.’

  Watts slow-nodded. ‘In which case, you’ve got a twin. The description we’ve got fits you and him to a tee.’ His eyes fixed on Nilsen, he knew there was zero chance of his murdering three adults, two of them male and removing their heads when he was twelve years old, but Nilsen was a sex attacker and there was an agreed sexual motive for Zoe Roberts’ murder. Watts made a quick note to get Merriman in to look at a video of database images, including Nilsen’s to see if she could identify him. No fan of technology, Watts made an exception for VIPER which would save Merriman the ordeal of facing her attacker. ‘Let’s get back to this morning. You’ve admitted seeing and speaking to a woman whilst walking along a path off Blackfoot Lane.’

  ‘So, it’s a criminal offence now to be pleasant to somebody? Is this a police state?’

  ‘She says that you exposed yourself to her, made comments about her physical build and that you pulled down her top, exposing her upper body.’

  Nilsen stared at him. ‘I did no such thing! If she said that, she’s got some kind of problem.’ He tapped the solicitor’s notepad. ‘I hope you’re getting all of this. I totally refute this woman’s accusations. If I had the urge to do something like that, which I don’t, I couldn’t have. You’ve seen my physical limitation.’ The solicitor calmly wrote. Nilsen leant to Watts, his arm held close to his chest. ‘I want some water. I want to leave.’

  There was a quiet knock on the door. It opened. Watts spoke. ‘For the benefit of both recordings, PC Chloe Judd has entered the interview room.’ She came to the table, placed a single sheet face down in front of Watts and left. He picked it up, turned it over, looked again at the e-fit supplied by Townsend, passed it to Traynor. Little wonder Nilsen had looked familiar. Watts was satisfied that this twenty-two-going-on-forty-something college employee had been at the trail on the morning Zoe Roberts was killed and that he had also attacked Merriman in broad daylight this morning, in an area with a strong police presence. All of which told him that Nilsen was an impulsive, opportunistic sexual offender with a raft of problems. He glanced at Nilsen’s mulish face. There wasn’t enough yet to charge him with Roberts’ murder, but he was raising him to person of interest.

  ‘It’s hot in here. I’ll get somebody to fetch you that water.’ Watts stood, walked steadily across the room to the door then turned. ‘Mr Nilsen?’

  Startled, Nilsen looked up, both arms rising smoothly, his hands closing on the blue squash ball Watts had sent travelling at speed towards him. Watts came back to the table. ‘Richard Nilsen, I’m charging you with the sexual assault of Alicia Merriman …’ Nilsen said nothing. Watts brought the interview to a close. He looked down at him. ‘That’s not the only trouble you’re in as far as I’m concerned. I’ll see that you get that water.’

  The PACE machine was dormant, Nilsen gone. The duty solicitor watched as Watts gathered papers, glanced across at Traynor and smiled. ‘A nice theatrical turn, Detective Inspector, but I’m wondering what Nilsen’s solicitor will say about it when he appoints one.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to wonder about it. Nilsen sexually assaulted a woman this morning, and we have a witness who’s placed him at Blackfoot Trail on the morning of Monday the fifteenth of August, the day a woman was murdered there. That’s all that interests me.’

  Watts and Traynor came into the office. ‘What do you think?’ asked Watts.

  Traynor nodded. ‘Nilsen assaulted Merriman.’

  Watts reached for the phone, tapped the number of Nilsen’s college. After a brief exchange he ended the call. ‘Confirmation that Nilsen was in the UK on Monday, the fifteenth of August. He called into the college in the afternoon. Not good at constructing an alibi, is he?’ Watts’ hands slapped the table. ‘Right. He’s now a person of interest in the Zoe Roberts homicide but we need more evidence than an e-fit.’

  ‘Where are the behavioural links to the other victims?’ asked Traynor.

  Watts eyed him, words that had been at the edge of his thinking for days now surfacing. ‘I’ve got to say this to you, Traynor. We’ve been searching for linkage for days and it’s got us nowhere. I’m changing the focus of this investigation.’

  Traynor stared at him for several seconds, reached for his backpack, headed to the door and out. Watts shook his head. It had needed saying. Seeing Judd’s report of her informal interview with Alec Prentiss, he reached for it, was halfway through it when she came in.

  ‘I’ve just seen Dr Traynor,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t look too happy. What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He held up the report. ‘What’s your problem with Prentiss?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Where to start? I really tried to get him talking about his sister’s life but it was like packing smoke. My opinion? He’s a rich man’s son, the spoiled centre of his parents’ universe, although he’s got zero time for them. He and his sister are enough to make anybody think twice about having kids.’ She pointed at the report. ‘I didn’t get much of what you asked for and what is there I had to drag out of him. I just couldn’t get on his wavelength. He was all over the place.’ She looked at Watts. ‘If you’d been there, you’d know. He’s contradictory, unsympathetic to his family, too busy bleating about his own upset, plus his view of himself is so wrong it’s laughable. He thinks he’s an entrepreneur but he’s never spent a day out there, earning his own living. He should try it, some time. He’s your typical millennial. He thinks he’s special and different and entitled and he’s totally unrealistic about life, the world. He’s lucky to have his parents supporting him.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a “don’t like”.’ Watts put the report down. ‘I know you’ve got no time for that family but as police officers we accept what people in trouble tell us and we keep our own attitudes out of it.’

  She frowned, impatient. ‘But some of what he told me didn’t make sense.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit tough on him? He, that whole family is under extreme stress. Maybe you had expectations of him today because of our prior visit to the family.’

  She sat back, looking vexed.

  ‘You have to stay objective, Judd. Put personal attitudes and expectations to one side.’

  She reddened. ‘All he did was complain about how he’s treated by his parents, about their not letting him take a week off work for emotional exhaustion, and not one word about how they’re feeling. He’s a selfish bastard! I admit I wasn’t keen on the mother. Now, I feel sorry for her. And the father.’

  Watts pushed the report toward
s her. ‘It’s detailed and to the point, but you don’t need me to tell you that you can’t include phrases like “self-centred arse”.’ He sighed. She was exhausting in all sorts of ways and today he’d had enough. ‘I’ve told you, lose the chip.’ He reached for his keys. ‘I’m off to see Justin Rhodes’ family.’ He saw her mouth open. ‘On my own!’

  TWENTY

  Watts came through the small gate, raised his hand to the Rhodes family standing at their front door and walked to his vehicle, his phone to his ear. He ended the call. His third effort to contact Christian Roberts had gone straight to message, no doubt to be ignored like the other two.

  He got inside his car, took a breath. It had been a tough three-quarters of an hour, but not because they’d made it that way. He was often surprised by the courage of people in their situation. Justin’s sister had arrived and they had all talked freely about him, smiled during the telling of one or two anecdotes, answered all of Watts’ questions as best they could. Watts reflected that for every grieving individual or family there was no predicting how they’d respond to news of the kind he’d just delivered. The Rhodes family had accepted it calmly with some tears. They would have been expecting it at some time, maybe reached that stage of grieving which allowed them some acceptance. Watts knew first-hand about accepting loss so you could drag yourself out of its pit. It was a long road, your foot slipped, but over time it got easier. He’d asked them if they knew of anyone who might have wanted to harm Justin. They’d said no. Asked if they thought his work as a reporter might have put him at risk; they’d been adamant that that wasn’t the case, that Justin had never so much as hinted to them that what he did at the newspaper carried personal risk, had never styled himself as any kind of press vigilante. Finally, he had asked if Justin had mentioned receiving an offer of information or help, maybe, something to do with a new job? No, they said. Nothing like that. They had told Watts how proud they were of Justin. Neither parents, nor sister, had mentioned any problems he was having with colleagues or anyone else in his life and they’d spoken very positively about his boss, Jess Meredith. From them Watts had got a real sense of the living, breathing Justin. Very different from the meeting he and Judd had had with the Prentiss family, the father mostly silent, the mother effusive, the brother contributing next to nothing. Judd hadn’t fared any better today where Alec Prentiss was concerned. They’d get him in again and Watts would question him.