An Accidental Death: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  ‘So. What do you want to do? Just leave it as it is? Walk away?’

  Finally she had handed him the initiative.

  ‘Not at all. The fact that I’m not mad doesn’t mean I don’t want to get even. They got at my phone – I’ll have to fork out for a new one.’

  ‘I know I shouldn’t ask but – do you have a plan?’

  ‘Yes. This is how I see it. This morning’s game of Keystone Cops tells me that they haven’t, or hadn’t as of this morning, got hold of Petar Subic, always assuming that he’s our man. I mean, he’s become a sort of mythical figure, it seems no-one’s even laid eyes on him since Wayne Fletcher. Anyway, after this morning, we have various possibilities. One, they followed the girl using Waters’ good description, and found Petar as a result – as you say, game over for us and possibly for him as well.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

  ‘But I asked Waters if he’d seen anything unusual, vehicle-wise, and he said not. Two – they somehow picked the girl up anyway and took her somewhere to answer some questions. I’ve got the impression she’s a bit of a handful, so that might not be a quick job. That could turn out any number of ways, and her dad won’t be very happy.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘She got to wherever she was going.’

  ‘And then? Do you think it was Hanna Subic?’

  Smith shrugged.

  ‘I think it might have been. Her parents clearly let us think she was in Bosnia, never revealed that there was someone else in the house – why be that disingenuous unless whoever it was was up to no good, at least, no good in the eyes of the law?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I reckon this is about Captain Hamilton’s past catching up with him. He was a blanket-stacker out in Bosnia, got involved in something dodgy. People have long memories.’

  ‘What’s a blanket-stacker, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Old army – you asked someone in intelligence what he did and he’d answer ‘Stack blankets’, meaning he worked in the stores or something. It was a way of telling and not telling.’

  ‘You got this from his record?’ Then she looked at the phone and said more loudly, ‘Which I never sanctioned or knew anything about.’

  ‘Yes, sort of, it’s that kind of record. And I met the man. You get to know the type.’

  ‘Well, obviously you do. If it was option three, what can you do?’

  Smith looked at his watch as he answered.

  ‘Keep my appointment with Mirsad Subic. Make him a sort of offer…’

  ‘And if he refuses?’

  ‘Think again, but that would probably be it.’

  ‘And Waters?’

  ‘Right out of it. He’s not happy but I did warn him, so… I’ll find him some filing. I might need one other pair of hands, John Murray would be best. He likes a bit of heavy lifting now and then.’

  ‘David? If there’s risk of violence you know I can’t-’

  ‘Minimal risk, purely a precaution. He’d really just be my driver. I’ve always fancied having one of those.’

  ‘And the phone?’

  They both stared at it some more.

  ‘Well, now that I know, it might come in useful.’

  Mirsad Subic himself opened the door and welcomed Smith back into the house. There was no sign of Mrs Subic as they made their way through into the same lounge; Smith looked around and noticed that the photograph of the two girls had disappeared. When they were sitting down, Subic pointed to a sheet of paper on the coffee table between them – neatly typed out, a list of names and addresses. Smith picked it up and read through it, wondering how many of them had received a phone call from Mr Subic in the past couple of hours. Then he put it back onto the table and looked directly at the other man. He said nothing and it was Subic who broke the silence.

  ‘I hope that this is what you were looking for, sergeant. As far as I know, these are good people. They will not resent being asked to assist in your enquiries.’

  Smith smiled his best world-weary smile, supporting it with a little shake of the head.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Subic, but I don’t think that I need to trouble them, do I sir? The list is a little superfluous really, but I imagine that you know that yourself.’

  Subic was very still, returning Smith’s steady gaze, and he said nothing.

  ‘I could set off now and ask you a lot of questions but that won’t get us anywhere because in your past life, in Bosnia, that was your own area of expertise, wasn’t it, and I doubt if anything I asked you straight out would cause you the slightest difficulty. So, instead, can I just take a few minutes of your time to tell you what I think I know? I say ‘think I know’ because there isn’t much about this business that I can be completely certain of yet.’

  Subic was still silent but he gave a shrug that meant OK, tell me if you wish.

  ‘I know that your daughter, Hanna, has been much more diligent about staying in touch with home than you led me to think. I’ve seen the details of her movements in and out of the country, sir, and I can only assume that she does come back to Kings Lake when she’s in the country, which she is at the moment. Mrs Subic looks like a very honest woman to me, and I appreciate that the little deception she practised on us was difficult for her – that’s why she has stayed out of the room today. She must be very concerned by what’s been happening.’

  Somewhere the mention of his wife had touched a nerve, just as Smith had intended.

  ‘I know that someone else was in the house when DC Waters and I visited you but of course you were under no obligation to tell us that. I know that someone, and I believe it was the same person, left this house at,’ and then he reached for his notebook, ‘at 10.23 this morning, by the back entrance.’

  Subic’s eyes were on the notebook for a moment.

  ‘And I believe that she was on her way to see the person at the centre of all this, as a result of the phone call that I made to you this morning. I have to confess to you, Mr Subic, that that was the purpose of the phone call that I made.’

  ‘Sergeant, this is a most extraordinary story.’

  ‘It is indeed, sir, but I’m glad that you did not call it a fantasy. Sometimes I have been accused of that but not in this case, not yet. I know that your nephew, Petar Subic, stayed with you for a while during the time when other Bosnian refugees were arriving here, that he did not settle and that he returned to Bosnia. I know that he and Hanna were very close.’

  ‘Most of what you say is simply a matter of public record – the latter point is a matter of opinion, obviously. Is there anything more than this?’

  Smith opened the notebook again as if searching for something, anything that would impress Mirsad Subic more than he had been able to do so far.

  ‘I know that a young man of eastern European origin left Kings Lake in a canoe on the morning of Saturday the 24th of August. I know what time he passed through the lock at Oldmills. I think I know what happened to that canoeist at a place called Vine’s Drove – I think that what happened there was some sort of dreadful accident. I know where the canoe ended up, and that cigarette packet that I showed to you was found just a few feet from where that canoe ended its days. I think that I know where the occupant of that canoe was going, sir, because I have met and interviewed Captain Jonathan Hamilton.’

  This time the effect was visible – a shadow passed over Mirsad Subic’s face and left it looking a little different now.

  ‘I have no idea what happened in Bosnia to start this all off – obviously you do. I’m now going to explain to you what took place this morning.’

  ‘Sergeant Smith, this is a most odd way of - what are you doing? Investigating? Telling me all this is most unorthodox.’

  Smith had to smile at that. It was as if, despite his own involvement, Subic had to point out, from a purely professional standpoint, all the mistakes that this police officer was making.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Subic, for putting it so politely. This morning we
were following this young lady after she left your house when it became apparent that someone else was following us, if you understand me. It was my judgement that there was now a risk to some of the parties involved, and so I called off the surveillance.’

  There was a long silence, fully thirty seconds while Subic considered all that he had heard. Smith listened but there was no sound elsewhere in the house, as if it too was holding its breath and wondering what came next. When Subic finally spoke, Smith thought that the voice was changed, somehow resigned, even a little sad.

  ‘Whoever could have been following the police in your country as they go about their work?’

  ‘Oh, I think you can imagine the sort of people who might be interested in a matter like this, sir.’

  Subic gave a faint brief nod of the head.

  ‘Mr Subic – I am not interested in what Petar intended to do when he found Captain Hamilton nor why he intended to do it. My only interest in this case is that the circumstances of that young man’s death be fully known and that if someone needs to be punished for it then that is also seen to be done. I am also concerned that no-one else should be hurt in any way as a result of all this – there has been enough misery already. I include your daughter in that, Mr Subic. From your calm manner, I’m assuming that she got to where she was going this morning but I cannot guarantee her safety whilst Petar remains at large. I hope you can understand that, sir.’

  Subic stood up slowly, and Smith thought then that he was going to be shown the door. Instead, the man walked across the room to the window that looked out over the extensive and beautifully-tended back garden. He stood there for a while, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, an oddly informal stance, as if he was wondering whether he needed to cut the lawns.

  ‘Your country has been very kind to us. We have made a good life here.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt that you’ve given a lot back in return, sir.’

  Subic nodded.

  ‘I think so. But you know, it is the young people, the next generation who feel the anger. One might expect us, the ones who suffered, to be the most deeply wounded, to be unable to forget – but it is not so. The young grow up, they hear the stories, they discover the truth. And then… And then some of them want revenge, justice, whatever you wish to call it.’

  Smith said nothing more; Subic was bringing himself around to a decision.

  ‘I find it very sad. But it is not new. What do you say? The sins of the fathers?’

  Subic came back from the window and sat down again.

  ‘Sergeant, you will understand that at this moment I cannot comment on anything that you have put to me. My position is difficult here. But I have to think of my daughter now, of her safety and her future. If she had been involved in the kinds of matter that you have suggested, then she might have committed certain offences.’

  ‘That is a possibility, Mr Subic. As I have said, my interest is only in what led to the death of Wayne Fletcher, and I don’t see how your daughter can be implicated in that.’

  ‘And the – other matters?’

  ‘Not my concern at all.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I really hope you do, sir, I’m sure that you do. It would be better for all concerned, in my view, if Petar were to come forward and explain what occurred at Vine’s Drove. Whatever else took place or was intended is not the subject of my investigation – but there will be other people who might want to deal with it very differently. I’m sure that you know more about the law than I do, Mr Subic, but there are new things in place now concerning terrorism and all that. It’s possible that someone might want to go down that route with it, and then it’s a different ball game, if you’ll forgive the expression. You know the dangers inherent in conspiracy charges, sir – all sorts of people could end up facing them, and perhaps not even in an open court.’

  Subic was taking it all in, had probably got there ahead of Smith himself. He looked quizzical for a moment before he said, ‘I do not quite understand where your own loyalties lie, sergeant. These are your country’s laws, your security services, aren’t they?’

  ‘My loyalties? If I have any left after spending most of my working life trying to enforce more and more laws upon more and more people… Well, my loyalties are probably just to the family and friends of Wayne Fletcher.’

  Subic was coming close to it now.

  ‘You do not think that my daughter will face charges?’

  ‘I cannot guarantee that. But the best chance for her and for Petar is for him come forward and tell us what happened. I believe that they would be better dealing with Kings Lake police than with anyone else who is taking an interest in the matter.’

  Subic stood up again, and Smith did the same.

  ‘Thank you, sergeant. I will consider this story that you have told to me. It might be that I will telephone you later with a response. I have your number from your last call and-’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Subic, that phone has let me down. I took the liberty of putting another number on this piece of paper, sir, just in case you did decide to get back to me.’

  He passed over the piece of card with a new number. Subic took it and smiled.

  ‘Were you that sure of me, sergeant? I don’t know whether to feel flattered or foolish.’

  ‘Neither is necessary, Mr Subic. I’ll be at my desk until six o’clock tonight.’

  Waters had a pile of new folders on the table in front of him – it looked as if he was about a third of the way through them. He looked up and nodded when Smith passed by and sat at his desk but said nothing. It was just after four o’clock, two hours since he had left Mirsad Subic and there was nothing to do now but to go on waiting. Subic’s demeanour had changed during their conversation but nothing had been openly admitted, nothing was definite; Smith wondered if anything ever would be in this case. But what else could have been done?

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  When Waters looked up, Smith pointed to the folders.

  ‘It’s the ATM thing. Wilson saw me not doing much and asked if I wanted to see what they’ve got so far.’

  ‘Good. That’s a long-running thing. If they’re near to cracking it, they’ve done well. Any thoughts?’

  Waters looked down at the folders again.

  ‘It’s a lot of money stolen from ordinary people – they ought to get years for it. Getting hold of the hard drive was the clever thing. I don’t know who managed that yet but…’

  He was feeling awkward, realizing whom he was talking about now, and uncertain how to finish it. Smith suddenly seemed uninterested and took out his phone. He tapped it on the desk a couple of times and examined it again.

  ‘You know what? I reckon this phone’s giving up on me. Still, I shouldn’t be surprised, everything else has. Anyway, earlier on I took the liberty of-’ and then Waters’ own phone was ringing in his trouser pocket. He took it out and answered while Smith watched and listened. From Waters’ end, the conversation was somewhat stilted – ‘Pardon?’ and ‘Who?’ and ‘How did you…’ but eventually he looked back at Smith and said, ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘Really? How extraordinary. Who is it?’

  ‘Mirsad Subic.’

  ‘Oh, right, I was just saying, wasn’t I? Hello? Hello, sir – yes, you’ve got through to me. Yes, that was DC Waters…’

  And Waters watched and listened, not bothering to pretend to be reading the folders. Subic was doing most of the talking – in fact, Smith said very little. He said ‘That’s right’ a couple of times, and ‘I think that would be wise, sir, very wise.’ Smith wrote something down on the pad in front of him.

  Finally, it was coming to an end. Smith said, ‘I’m going to say nine o’clock, then. Good, the best thing to do. Oh, Mr Subic, there’s one more thing you could do that might help. If you could…’ and then Smith stood up and walked away, speaking inaudibly into the phone for another minute or so.

  When he returned, Waters held out his hand. Smith went to his desk
, picked up his own phone and placed into Waters’ outstretched palm.

  ‘I know it’s asking a bit much but mine’s playing up and I can’t get it sorted tonight, can I? I just need to borrow yours for an hour or two this evening. I promise I won’t wipe anything or look into your address book or whatever it’s called now. I won’t call my uncle in New Zealand either. Is that alright? There’s no problem with mine until you try to use it.’

  Waters looked more surprised than annoyed.

  ‘I know one thing, DC – the next time I hear you say ‘I’ve taken the liberty’ I’ll know you mean it.’

  ‘Good lad, have it back to you first thing in the morning. Now I need to find Big Bad John. Any ideas?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  At the back of the empty staff canteen was a single door out into an alleyway that led onto Hills Road; it was rarely opened and acted as nothing more than a fire escape. Smith pushed but it jammed halfway, and he had to lean against it to make enough room to squeeze through. Then he walked along the alley until he could see up and down Hills Road – he looked at the parked cars, memorizing them out of habit, but was as certain as he could be that this time he would not be followed.

  At exactly half past eight the taxi drew up and Smith crossed the pavement, getting into the back seat. He said hello to the driver, one that he vaguely recognized, which was reassuring, said it looked like rain again and gave the man an address. As they travelled west across the city, he took out Waters’ phone and the scrap of paper on which he had pencilled John Murray’s phone number. He added the number to the contacts page and then checked and double-checked that he had it correct.

  There was now a spattering of rain on the windscreen, just enough for the driver to give it a couple of swipes with the wipers – at least I got that right, thought Smith. He looked out of the side window. The cloud had brought an early dusk and already there were lights in the windows of the flats and houses, little rectangles of yellow and orange on the darkness; warm rooms, televisions on, the lingering smells of dinner, children getting ready for bed – family life. Priceless – so why isn’t it enough for some people? Why are there so many stupid, selfish, angry individuals out there keeping others like him in work? He couldn’t fathom it out.