by Salkeld, J J
‘Inspector Hall, I must ask you not to invite my client to speculate on matters of which he can have no knowledge. Could I ask you to restrict your questions to matters on which my client does have knowledge?’
Hall looked down at his pad.
‘So let’s just get a few points clear for the tape, shall we? Where were you last Wednesday, between 8pm and 11pm?’
‘At home.’ Hamilton seemed to have got the message to keep his answers brief.
‘Can anyone else confirm that?’
‘No.’
‘Did you speak to anyone on the phone, or did anyone come to the door?’
‘No.’
‘So you can’t prove that you were at home?’
‘Inspector Hall, this is becoming tiresome’ said Palmer. ‘My client knows perfectly well where he was last Wednesday evening. It is entirely up to you to demonstrate otherwise, if that is your belief.’
Hall didn’t break his verbal stride.
‘And you didn’t go to Serpentine Woods?’
‘I did not.’
Then Hall did hesitate.
‘And you didn’t attack your daughter?’
‘Of course I didn’t. How can you even ask such a question?’
Hall paused.
‘We’re going to need a list of everyone who has been inside your house since last Wednesday evening. Can you give me those names now?’
‘You mean excluding all the police who have been inside my client’s house?’ said Palmer. ‘You will add those names to the list and make them available to me I’m sure.’
Hall nodded assent.
‘So who else has been in your house, apart from us? I assure you that they will be spoken to about this.’
‘My ex-wife, her husband, my daughter, my mother, my brother and Jim Daniels, who is the general manager of my firm. Then there’s the undertaker and one of his colleagues, and the vicar. I think that’s everyone.’
‘My client will certainly continue to reflect on that question, and will let you know if anyone else has been in his house. May I assume that he’ll be able to undertake such reflection from the comfort of his own home?’
‘I’m afraid not. Your client will be spending some time with us while we continue our enquiries. I believe you have a note of the time of his arrest?’
‘I do, and you can rest assured that I will make an application for bail at the first available moment, although I remain hopeful that my client will be released before that time.’
Back in the office Hall called the team together. He briefed them on the interview, and started on next steps.
‘Everyone who spent time at the house needs to be re-interviewed, and eliminated afresh. We need to know which rooms they say they were in, and whether or not they were alone at any point.’
For the first time since the investigation started there were a couple of audible groans. Hall wasn’t surprised, because it was inevitable that everyone was getting tired, but if John Hamilton was guilty that was the quickest way to a bit of R&R.
Ian Mann was less tolerant, and told everyone to quieten down. They did, and Hall carried on. ‘We don’t know that John Hamilton is guilty of anything, but if we can be sure that he, and only he, is responsible for that phone turning up in his house then we’ll charge him, no question. And we’ll probably be able to do it tomorrow. All being well we just need one last push, so Ian, let’s get the interviews shared out please.’
‘Which one for you and me boss?’
‘Surprise me. But make it someone we haven’t spent time with yet. And before John Hamilton’s solicitor heads back to Manchester in his helicopter or cruise liner or whatever it is can we get back in with them and get a list of the rooms that each of his visitors was in, and whether they were ever alone. And get that out to everyone who is going out before they leave if you possibly can.’
Hall went back to his office and wrote down the two binary positions that seemed possible. Either Hamilton had killed his daughter and failed to dispose of the phone, or someone had planted the phone in his house, presumably to implicate Hamilton. The latter seemed unlikely in the extreme, but he was just starting to think about it carefully when Mann knocked on the open door.
‘Who did we get in the lucky dip?’ asked Hall.
‘Simon Hamilton. Just seemed sensible for us to stick to the immediate family. And I didn’t think a sensitive soul such as yourself should have to meet an undertaker.’
Hall smiled, but he wondered if it was a bit of a dig. However, after a working life as a copper even Andy Hall had developed a little bit of a hide.
‘Is he at home?’
‘Just spoke to his wife, and he’s expected home any time now.’
‘Then let’s go.’
They drove out of Kendal on the Crook road, Hall obeying the speed limit all the way. The sat-nav got them to Hamilton’s postcode, then they drove slowly until they saw his house name at the end of a long drive. Hall could see the light reflecting off Windermere ahead of them.
‘There must be money in MDF’ said Mann.
‘I think there used to be’ said Hall. ‘But it wasn’t MDF back then, all solid timber.’
‘You sound just like my dad’ said Mann.
Simon Hamilton answered the door when Mann rang the door bell. As they’d pulled into the drive Hall’s headlights illuminated a Porsche coupe and a Mercedes estate, and even in the fading light they both looked as if they’d just been driven off the forecourt.
‘I have my doubts about anyone whose car is that clean’ said Hall. Mann kept his mouth shut.
Hamilton introduced his wife, Sarah, who immediately went to the kitchen to make coffee. They were both well dressed, and Hall thought that Simon Hamilton looked a lot younger than his brother. But it was partly the clothes, which Hall, although forbidden from his children from any fashion-related comments, thought were a bit too young and ‘street’ for Hamilton. In particular he noticed his shoes, which he thought were a good deal too pointy for comfort.
‘I hear that you’ve arrested my brother. You can’t possibly believe that he had anything to do with my niece’s death. That could never happen.’
‘We were hoping that you could help us with something in particular’ said Hall.
‘Anything, if it helps my brother to prove his innocence.’
‘Have you been round to your brother’s house since it happened?’
‘Yes, of course, I was there on Thursday. For about an hour, soon after he got the news about Amy.’
‘Was anyone else there?’
‘Let’s see. There was Amanda, John’s daughter Lucy and our mum. I think that was all. Things were pretty fraught as you can imagine.’
‘And can you remember which rooms you were in?’
‘Which rooms?’
‘Yes, which rooms did you spend time in?’
‘Let me think.’
Sarah Hamilton came into the room with their drinks, and put them down on the coffee table. Although the house looked to Hall as if it was built between the wars the furniture was all very modern, and it didn’t look as if any of it came from the family’s shops. Sarah showed no sign of wanting to stay in the room. ‘Why don’t you stay, Mrs Hamilton?’ said Hall.
She smiled briefly, and sat down. She busied herself with the coffee, offering milk and sugar to Hall and Mann.
‘I think we were all in the kitchen, and the living room’ said Hamilton. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s it.’
‘You didn’t go upstairs?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’
Hamilton was very aware that both policemen were watching him closely.
‘I’m sure.’
‘And were you in any of those rooms on your own? Take your time.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’m sure. I wasn’t.’
‘Thanks’ said Hall. ‘We’ll need you to pop down to the station at some time in the next day or so and sign a stateme
nt to that effect.’ Hall looked around the room. ‘This is a lovely house, Mrs Hamilton. Have you been here for a long time?’
‘We moved in about six years ago.’
‘Managed to catch the top of the market with this place too’ said Simon Hamilton. ‘But they aren’t making this view anymore, so I’m confident the price will come back.’
Hall got the impression that Sarah Hamilton had heard this before.
‘Still, a home isn’t just about money, is it?’ said Hall, looking at Sarah. She didn’t reply. They all sipped their coffee.
‘Do you see much of your brother?’ asked Mann, putting his cup down. He had never seen the point of cups and saucers.
‘Not much lately. I’m in Manchester a lot these days, and you probably know that I’m not involved in the family business anymore.’
‘That must have been a wrench’ said Hall.
‘No, not really. I can’t see a future in high street retail, full stop. And my brother hasn’t really moved the business on. I’ve never been one for history either. I’d rather build something on my own.’
‘And that’s your property empire?’
‘I wouldn’t call it an empire. But yes, and funny enough the only value I can see left in the family business is the property portfolio. Furniture shops tend to be big, and often have big yards and outbuildings, so the firm has got some very decent sites, all owned outright.’
‘But isn’t that a bit of a happy accident?’ said Hall. ‘Presumably your family built up their property holdings in the course of business, and over a pretty long period of time. It always strikes me that people usually make money on property by accident.’
‘That’s a very shrewd comment Inspector’ said Hamilton. ‘Have you got a buy-to-let portfolio tucked away by any chance?’
‘Sadly not sir. Don’t even own my own shoes. No, the Police pension and an occasional go at the Lottery, that’s my lot.’ Hall didn’t know why he’d said that, because he’d never played the Lottery. It all went very quiet. ‘Thanks again Mrs Hamilton’ said Hall, ‘we’ll leave you to enjoy your evening in peace. Would you mind if I used your loo before you go?’
‘That reminds me’ said Simon Hamilton suddenly. ‘I think I used the loo at John’s house.’
‘Upstairs or downstairs?’
Hamilton hesitated for a second. ‘Downstairs. Yes, I’m sure it was downstairs.’
On the way back to the station Mann called Jane and asked for the details of what John Hamilton had said about his brother’s visit.‘Yes, he confirms what Simon is saying. Didn’t mention him using the loo, but otherwise it all ties up.’
Hall sighed. Exhaustion was really starting to catch up, and he was dazzled by headlights of cars coming the other way. He dropped Mann off at the station and drove home listening to The Low Anthem. He pulled into the drive, turned the engine off, and sat until the cold really started to bite.
Ryan had been sitting in his mum’s old Fiesta since soon after ten that morning. He didn’t care if Adam was the devil incarnate, there’s no way that Wayne would be up earlier for anyone.
By two in the afternoon Ryan was regretting not spending more time in bed himself. There’d been no movement at all at Wayne’s house. He’d played so many games on the new phone he’d bought with most of the rest of his £500 that the battery was almost flat.
Every time a car came down the street he slid down in his seat, but he’d parked between an old Nissan with two flat tyres and a kitchen fitter’s van, so he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be spotted anyway. And since he didn’t know what Adam looked like then there had to be a good chance that Adam wouldn’t recognise him either.
It was half three before anything happened. The kids had made their way past him on the way home from school, walking slowly in groups of two and three, before he saw the motorbike. There were plenty of bikers round about, but they tended to ride sports bikes with fairings, and this was a big, off-road ready sort of bike. Not that it looked as if it went off road much, if at all.
Ryan thought he’d got his hopes up for nothing when the bike passed Wayne’s house, but a couple of minutes later he saw it in the rear view mirror, stopped on the opposite side of the road fifty metres down the road. Ryan couldn’t tell if the bike was still running, but the rider was still on it, and his helmet was on. Another minute went past, then the rider put the bike on its stand and walked towards Wayne’s house. His crash helmet was still on, and Ryan slid down in his seat as the man walked past.
Something about the bike, and the expensive looking leathers, told Ryan that this bloke wasn’t local, and sure enough he walked straight up to Wayne’s door. It opened immediately and the man stepped inside.
So this was Adam. Had to be. Ryan made a snap decision, got out of the car and walked back, behind the parked van, and then crossed over to look at the bike. He snapped a quick picture of the number plate with his phone, and walked round. It looked nearly new, expensive, and well cared-for. It certainly didn’t look like a drug courier’s bike.
Ryan didn’t hang around, and was soon glad he hadn’t. He’d already decided to try to follow Adam, although he noticed that the Fiesta’s fuel gauge was almost in the red, so he better not be going far. Ryan was sure that Adam would go back the way he’d come in to the estate, because the other way just went further in, so he started the car and drove up to near the exit on to the main road. And he’d only been there for a couple of minutes or so when the bike came up the road.
The bike turned right onto Windermere Road, heading towards the Lakes, and Ryan pulled out behind. Adam rode towards the middle of the road, and within the speed limit. For a second Ryan was reminded of a police motorcyclist. Surely he couldn’t be a copper? Ryan wouldn’t put anything past them.
At Plumgarths roundabout the bike indicated well in advance, and took the Crook road. Ryan was now right behind the bike, so he fell back a bit. Adam was obviously a cautious man, but Ryan doubted that he’d notice an old, locally registered Fiesta trundling along behind him.
The fuel warning light soon came on, and Ryan was a bit surprised that it still worked. He’d give it to Bowness he decided, or maybe as far as Newby Bridge if he went south, or the Lakes School if he was further going into the Lakes. When they got onto the main road again there’d be more traffic to stay behind anyway.
The bike turned left when it got to the lake road, but within half a mile turned right, down a drive to a few lakeside houses. Ryan didn’t follow, but drove back to Bowness and parked up. He walked to the chipper, which had only just opened, bought a large bag of chips and sat in the car eating them. He was hungry, and the first few burned his mouth he ate them so fast.
When he’d finished he walked down to Ferry Nab, to see if there was a path along the shore of the lake to the houses. As he expected there wasn’t, so he walked along the main road instead, and when nothing was coming either way he ran quickly into the drive, then slowed and walked instead.
The houses were large and far apart, and they just got bigger the nearer the water he got. Ryan thought about his excuse if he was asked what he was doing, because this certainly looked like a neighbourhood watch kind of area. He decided to go for window cleaner’s mate, dropped off to collect money. Maybe one of the nosey bastards might even pay him.
But no-one came out, so Ryan walked as far as the last house, whose far side must have had uninterrupted views of Windermere. He’d seen no sign of the bike, nor of Adam. So he started walking back, and as he passed a gravel drive he noticed a distinctive tyre track, just one, and it was most definitely a motorbike.
He looked up at the house. Adam must be an ace drug dealer. No wonder he wanted to keep his identity secret from bottom-feeders like him. But as he walked back up the long drive and along the verge back to Bowness Ryan had another idea. What if Adam had come from money to drugs, and not the other way round? That might also explain why Adam tried so hard to keep out of sight.
And Ryan realised that maybe th
is showed Adam’s weakness, rather than his strength. Because all that cloak-and-dagger stuff was fine when things were going well, but a proper hard man wants his people to know who he is when he needs to keep them in line, so they’ll recognise the man with the fists, or maybe the knife, when they see him.
As he drove slowly home Ryan reckoned that he’d done a good day’s work. He didn’t know Adam’s name, but he knew his address, because where Adam lived houses had names, not numbers. He also had the registration number of the bike, and the name of the dealership it came from, because that was written on the numberplate. So getting Adam’s real name was going to be easy. And if Adam was just some rich bloke who wanted a bit of excitement then Ryan was beginning to think of a few ways that he could provide some.
Wednesday, 15th December
Hall had woken several times in the night, and thought he’d heard his wife come in at about two. But he wasn’t thinking about her, he was thinking about John Hamilton in the cells that night. What if he wasn’t guilty? How would he be feeling in that case? And how would he be feeling if he was?
Hall tried to put everything out of his mind, not think about having to charge Hamilton in the morning, and eventually he’d fallen back asleep. When he woke he was in the middle of a dream where he was buying Christmas presents, and he was trying to work his way between huge boxes of perfume that blocked the aisles in some huge department store. Usually he loved buying presents for Carol and the kids, and always had, but this year he’d done next to nothing so far.