by Matt Johnson
‘What did you know about their sex life? Did he discuss it with you, for example?’
‘Is that relevant?’
‘Just answer the question, please.’
Finlay shrugged. ‘He didn’t discuss it with me.’
‘So, if he said he had discussed it with you, he’d be lying?’
Nice move, thought Grahamslaw. Create doubt. But Finlay wasn’t that wet behind the ears.
‘I’d say he might remember something I’ve forgotten,’ he said.
Good reply. The Commander fought hard not to revel in the frustration he knew Mellor would be feeling.
‘Indeed,’ said the Superintendent. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Last week. We had a drink with him and Sandi at my local pub.’
‘Mrs Beattie was with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did they seem together?’
‘They seemed to be getting along fine. I had the impression they were very fond of each other.’
‘Did either of them mention to you that they liked to use recreational drugs?’
‘Kevin doesn’t take drugs.’
‘And what about Mrs Beattie?’ Mellor demanded.
‘I saw nothing to suggest it, no.’
Grahamslaw noticed a slight edge to Finlay’s response, a hint of anger, or possibly frustration. Beneath the calm exterior, something was definitely bothering him.
Mellor continued. ‘You’ve no idea why PC Jones might decide to kill Mrs Beattie?’
‘Like I said a moment ago, sir. I find it hard to believe he did.’
‘Yes … as you say.’ Mellor glanced towards his Sergeant, who reached into a briefcase on the floor and then placed an A4-sized brown envelope on the desk between the Superintendent and Finlay.
Grahamslaw glanced at it. Although open at one end, the contents were concealed. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. The revelation that a gun had been found in the boot of Jones’s car was something he had kept from Finlay. It wasn’t that he wanted to give the Complaints Branch an edge, more a sense of wanting to know the truth. Finlay was a good cop, of that there was no doubt, but all police officers knew they must act within the law, so if the Inspector knew something, now was the time to find out.
Mellor fingered the envelope, as if teasing his interviewee with the fact he knew its contents and his opponent didn’t. ‘Tell me what you understand by the term “trophy weapon”, Mr Finlay?’
‘A memento of battle, sir. Like an assegai brought home from the Zulu wars, or a German bayonet kept by a Tommy as a keepsake memory from World War Two.’
‘And what about the rights and wrongs of doing so? We all know that lots of soldiers do it; even journalists have been known to bring back trophies. What do you think?’
‘You want my opinion, sir?’
‘Indulge me a moment, yes. I’m sure that members of the SAS have quite a collection.’
‘There’s a process to deal with trophies and, to the best of my knowledge, it is stuck to. Museums throughout the country would be somewhat bare if it wasn’t for such things, don’t you think?’
‘That’s as maybe, Inspector. With regard to PC Jones, are you aware of his having kept any weapon or equipment after leaving the armed services?’
‘I am not, sir.’
Grahamslaw again watched Finlay closely for any sign of discomfort. That there were none didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Although it was many years since the Inspector had undergone training in how to resist interrogation, he had only recently attended CID training courses where his memory and skills would have been refreshed, albeit from the approach of the interrogator rather than the suspect. He was lying, of course – of that the Commander was certain, but it didn’t show.
‘What about you?’ Mellor continued. ‘Did you decide to keep anything as a memory keepsake of your time in the army?’
‘Just a few bits and bobs. Badges, hats, that kind of thing.’
‘Nothing illegal, then?’
‘No, nothing illegal.’
‘No … of course not,’ Mellor replied, his expression tight-lipped.
Grahamslaw recognised the cynicism and when the Superintendent raised his eyebrows and turned towards him in what appeared to be an attempt to secure a degree of empathy, he was careful not to react.
‘So, you would have no idea where PC Jones might have obtained a Glock 9mm pistol, I assume?’ Mellor continued.
‘Not as a trophy weapon, certainly.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘When Kevin and I left the services, we were using the Browning. The Glock only became popular many years later.’
‘My information is that the Glock was in use as early as 1982. So, it’s quite possible PC Jones could have obtained one before leaving the army.’
Finlay raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we discussing a theory, or a specific weapon? If it’s a theory, I’d have to accept you could be right. If it’s a specific weapon you’re referring to then the first thing I would do is check when it was manufactured.’
Mellor paused, and the Commander wondered if Finlay’s response had given him a new line of enquiry to follow up on. After a moment, Mellor turned to his Sergeant, who slid the envelope across the table towards him. Slowly, and deliberately he removed a series of medium-sized photographs, which he placed face down on the desk. ‘What car does PC Jones drive, Inspector?’
‘A blue Peugeot.’
‘Would you recognise it? Do you recall the registration number, for example?’
Finlay shifted in his seat and gazed to where the fingers of Mellor’s right hand were teasing at the edge of the uppermost photograph. As the Superintendent turned it over, Grahamslaw noticed a slight flicker in the Inspector’s eyes.
Mellor simply smiled.
Chapter 28
‘Can I thank you for your cooperation, sir?’ Mellor handed Finlay’s mobile telephone to his Sergeant, who placed it carefully into an open evidence bag. With the interview concluded, the Superintendent had requested they return to the Commander’s office to discuss developments.
‘How long will you need it for?’ asked Grahamslaw as he sat down behind his desk. ‘We don’t exactly have a large number of spares these days.’
‘If it’s clean, just a few days. If it reveals anything we need to speak to Mr Finlay about, then I couldn’t say.’
‘Very well. I thought you might have been a little more helpful when he asked about that PC from Kentish Town, the one who held the WPC at knifepoint.’
‘None of his business, with respect, sir. That officer will face charges and get everything due to him. People like that have no place in this job and shouldn’t be any concern to us.’
Grahamslaw bit his tongue as, for just a second, he felt a rush of temper. ‘Finlay made him some promises,’ he said, firmly.
‘As part of the negotiation to secure the release of a hostage and surrender of a weapon. He did that job fairly well until his insubordinate response at the point where I had ordered an immediate arrest.’
‘Which he pointed out was unnecessary,’ Grahamslaw replied, tersely.
‘In his opinion. Finlay might do well to remember we have a rank structure in the police service.’
‘Yes … as should we all, Superintendent. Your report did reach me by the way.’
‘And you canned it, I heard.’
‘I discussed it with your Commander. We were both of the opinion that your publicly expressed opinion on the decision last year not to prosecute Finlay may have influenced the impartiality of your conclusions.’
Mellor huffed just as a tap on the door indicated that Mick Parratt had returned. He walked straight in. ‘Here’s the charger,’ he said, placing the device on the desk in front of Mellor. ‘I’ve told him to take the rest of the day off.’
Mellor handed it to his sergeant.
‘Can you give us a minute, Mick?’ said Grahamslaw.
Parratt didn’t reply. He nodde
d and, ignoring the two complaints unit detectives, left the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Thank you,’ said Mellor. ‘But my opinion on that decision is most unlikely to change.’
‘I’m aware of that, Jim. I didn’t ask Mick to step out for your benefit. I want to know what else you have on Kevin Jones.’
‘Only what was mentioned in interview, so far. He’s regained consciousness but we have yet to talk to him formally. The gun we found in the boot of his car has gone off to the lab for analysis. All I can say for certain at this time is that it looks like a case of either murder-suicide or manslaughter-suicide. Jones killed his girlfriend and then decided to end it all.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Looks to be a ligature around the neck. Either they were indulging in a bit of autoerotic asphyxiation to heighten the sexual experience and he killed her accidentally, or he did it deliberately for reasons we have yet to establish.’
‘She was suffocated?’
‘Post-mortem will confirm that, I expect.’
‘Tidy that he had a supply of horse tranquilisers at hand, don’t you think?’ Grahamslaw commented.
‘Don’t think we hadn’t considered that, sir. We’ll ask him what he was doing with those when we question him, but we’re aware that ketamine can be used as a recreational drug as well as being a powerful sedative.’
‘I’d also be asking myself why he didn’t shoot himself when he had that gun available.’
‘Again, that’s something we plan to put to him. Now, with your leave, we’ll be heading back to Barkingside.’
‘Is that where they’ve based the murder squad?’
‘It is.’
Grahamslaw shook hands with the two detectives before they left and, with his office vacated, telephoned Parratt.
In less than a minute, his Superintendent was at the door with Robert Finlay.
‘Come in, both of you … and shut the bloody door.’
As the Inspector sat in front of him, he loosened his collar.
‘You OK, Finlay?’ Grahamslaw asked.
‘Never better,’ he said, although the irony in his voice was crystal clear.
‘They want you suspended from duty.’
‘On what grounds, guv?’ Parratt interjected.
‘Material witness to a murder? Maybe as a suspect? I’ve known people suspended for a lot less. I told them to fuck off and come back when they had something more than guesswork and theory.’
‘Thanks,’ Finlay responded weakly.
‘You’re not out of the woods yet,’ Grahamslaw answered as he turned to him. ‘Mellor clearly wants your scalp and he thinks he’s close. He’s trying to rattle your cage to see what drops out.’
‘Did you find out any more about what’s happened to Kevin?’
‘He’s back in the world of the living, if that’s what you mean. But Mellor hasn’t had clearance to interview him yet. That won’t be long coming, mind. Later today, possibly.’
‘No way he killed Sandi.’
‘Maybe not deliberately, no. But from what I’m hearing, it sounds like a sex game gone wrong.’
‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘Well, for now that doesn’t matter. All that does matter is you keep your fuckin’ nose out of the enquiry.’
‘He’s a mate, and if he needs help…’
‘Then he’ll get it from a solicitor, not you. And I’ll tell you this: if your mate has been keeping trophy weapons then no solicitor on this earth is going to be able to help him. He’ll be going away for a fuckin’ long stretch. Any – and I repeat, any – cop caught doing that kind of thing would be for the high jump, understood?’
Finlay nodded, and Grahamslaw hoped the message got through to him.
‘Right, now leave Mr Parratt and me to get on with what we’re supposed to be doing.’
Finlay stood and was just opening the office door to the corridor as Grahamslaw spoke again. ‘Don’t forget what I said about Jim Mellor, he’s like a dog with a bone. You’ve made an enemy you’d be wise to treat with respect.’
The Inspector paused for a moment before replying.
‘I know that, guv. I know that.’
Chapter 29
I made my way back to the trafficking office where I signed ‘off duty’ in my diary. My hands trembled as I wrote. Fortunately, the office was empty as I certainly wasn’t in the mood to answer the questions Matt and Nina would no doubt have been itching to ask.
In all my days as both a soldier and policeman, I don’t think I’d ever felt quite so angry, or experienced such hatred for another human being. Jim Mellor had really managed to get under my skin. It wasn’t the fact he was investigating a suspicious death that a friend of mine appeared responsible for; it was his complete indifference that stunned me. The interview had progressed as Grahamslaw had predicted, save for the surprise concerning the pistol found in Kevin’s car.
Right at the end, Mellor had let rip into me for what he referred to as my ‘insubordinate behaviour’ and made it perfectly clear if I went anywhere near the investigation into Kevin, he would have me immediately suspended pending disciplinary action. My protests met with the stonewall indifference of an individual who was clearly used to getting his own way. And as he spoke, he also used verbal and facial expressions that I knew the tape couldn’t pick up and which seemed designed to wind me up. It worked, I bit. And it was only thanks to Grahamslaw’s interjection that the interview didn’t descend into a full-on row.
They say that every man has his trigger point. For some, even simple arguments over a pint in the pub can see that red mist descend. For others, it takes a great deal more. But this was my friend we were talking about, and, as I waited for the lift, I knew my personal buttons had been pushed so much I’d had to work hard to maintain control. Mellor had made me angry. He was clearly the kind of cop who made up his mind about a crime and then looked for the evidence to support his view. But he was wrong – so wrong. Somehow I had to make him see that. But I also wondered if I’d been wrong myself when I’d lied about whether or not Kevin had told me about his sex life. He had, and I knew the direction it had taken. So it hadn’t surprised me to learn what he had been heading off to after we’d parted. But Kevin wasn’t an idiot, he wouldn’t do anything to put Sandi at risk and he definitely didn’t do drugs. That meant there had to be another explanation for what had happened.
My heart was still racing several minutes afterwards, and in the relative silence of the lift cubicle I could actually hear the sound of blood rushing near my inner ear. I flexed my fingers, paced my breathing and took deep gulps of air to try and maintain composure. Exiting the building provided some relief. As the cooler air entered my lungs and I headed towards the train, I felt my core temperature lowering and, slowly, normal breathing resumed. Beneath my jacket, I felt cold and damp, my back tacky where beads of sweat had stuck to my skin before evaporating.
I hardly noticed my tube journey, made the changes between trains without conscious thought, and by the time I arrived at Cockfosters to collect my car from the station car park, I had lost all track of time. I probably shouldn’t have driven in my distracted, emotional state, but the Citroen started reliably as always and, before I knew it, I was pulling into the driveway of our home.
Jenny was waiting at the door. Grahamslaw had telephoned, warning her to expect me. ‘You’ve been sweating,’ she said, as we embraced.
I was starting to shiver. ‘Not a good morning,’ I muttered.
‘And you look like shit.’
‘Where are the girls?’
‘Charlie is sleeping, Becky’s at play school. I mean what I said. You look really tired. Why don’t you have a sit down and I’ll make tea?’
I wasn’t about to argue.
I slipped off my jacket and slumped into the soft chair I liked to use when watching the television. Closing my eyes, I tried to relax. I knew Jenny was going to be asking a lot of questions in a few moments and I need
ed to prepare what I was going to say. The news about Kevin was going to be particularly hard to explain, especially the part about the gun.
Within moments, I was asleep.
Chapter 30
I woke to find a mug of cold tea on the table next to me.
Jenny was giving the girls their tea. As I appeared in the kitchen door she took one look at me and then sent me upstairs to take a bath.
An hour later, feeling a lot more human, I joined her in front of the television. She turned it off. ‘I’ll open a bottle of wine,’ she said. ‘And I think we should chat.’
I agreed, and waited on the sofa in the living room until Jenny appeared with two glasses.
‘Do you want to start at the beginning?’ she said, as she poured.
I wasn’t sure where to start and, to begin with I didn’t make a lot of sense. But, the more we talked, the more focussed the conversation became. Jenny listened as I talked, asked questions and joined in with ideas and suggestions when I seemed to be either stuck for the right words or lacking the means to describe how I felt. She took the news of Sandi’s death quite badly and for several minutes I found that it was me comforting her.
‘She was lovely, I can’t believe she’s gone,’ she said, as she held me tight.
I couldn’t either.
‘We need you back, Robert,’ Jenny then said, unexpectedly, as she pulled away from me. ‘Looking after your girls.’
I was confused. ‘I’ve not been anywhere.’
‘Not in the physical sense, no. But you’ve been away in a different world, especially over the last couple of days. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve spoken to you and you haven’t even heard me.’
‘I’m sorry … I didn’t realise,’ I said.
‘I know. That’s why I don’t make a fuss about it. But it’s not easy, I’m telling you.’
‘Kevin’s in trouble, Jen. If what I’m saying is right, somebody has fitted him up.’
‘Is that likely? I mean really likely?’
‘How do you mean?’