by Carole Pitt
'Where did you meet him?' she asked.
'The first time was in Auckland. He'd gone there to verify some piece a group of archaeologists unearthed. I'd heard of him of course, he'd written several books on the search for lost First Nation treasure. You've got the wrong man Liz.'
She could see his belief in Morven was genuine. What surprised her was he'd overlooked a well-known fact, that the least likely people often commit murder.
‘You're lucky they haven't run any stories yet. I can guarantee when they do Morven will be portrayed as the victim and you lot as incompetent.'
The word incompetent angered Elizabeth and she fought the urge to shout him down.
'So on the basis of one brief meeting and perusing a few books you've decided he's innocent and feel duty bound to tell me to disregard any evidence. Come on Nick, what's in it for you? Are you out to prove a serious injustice hoping one of the broad sheets will offer you a job? Or are you just fed up because the private detective business isn't doing well and you need a fat salary to keep your fiancé in diamonds.' Elizabeth stood up. 'I'm leaving. I shouldn't even be discussing this with you.'
'Believe me, your evidence is wrong.'
'I'll make my own mind up about Morven and if you're harbouring any ideas of helping on another police investigation you can forget it.'
'I'm going to see him now. I had a phone call from one of his associates, who has asked me to act as an intermediary with embassy help.'
Elizabeth wondered why one of Morven's friends, who she presumed also lived in Canada happened to know Calbrain's phone number. That was too much, even for her. 'I'm sure no one will object to you liaising with the embassy. Morven will receive what help he needs. What's the point of asking to see me when you know there's no chance of influencing the outcome.'
'I'm doing it for your own good. What I'm saying is that the publicity surrounding this case won't do yours or Gloucestershire Constabulary's name any good. You had one bad case, surely you don't want another.'
'I won't be railroaded into believing we deliberately arrested a high-profile person on a whim. You've got a bloody nerve after what happened.'
Calbrain looked away. 'I tried for months to open up a dialogue between us. You didn't want to, now I've found another woman you can't stand the idea.'
'I didn't remember you having such an inflated ego. What's happened Calbrain, has the Spanish woman successfully moulded you into husband material? If she has then you're trapped and it's your own lousy fault.'
'Maybe I want to be trapped, what the hell's wrong with that? It's a shame you don't fancy the idea. If you're not careful you'll turn into a lonely resentful woman.'
'So what if I do. Once I stop obsessing about finding the right bloke I'll definitely end up a better detective. Men are no more than fucking horrendous distractions and I've proved I can do without them, but thanks for the concern. Talking of hardnosed coppers I suggest you get around to Park Road and ask to see DCI Yeats, he's in charge and he's from Belfast. Don't say I didn't warn you.'
Elizabeth waited, hoping he'd ask about Daly but he didn't. Why should he, she thought, after Daly had wiped the floor with him. Her need to see and speak to Daly surfaced again. The feeling was so strong she decided to forget about his privacy or the half-baked rumours about what he was or wasn't doing. She would begin searching for him as soon as she'd figured out where to start.
Before going off Calbrain repeated his warning. 'Check the evidence. Morven has influential friends and supporters who will never believe he's guilty. I'm going straight to Park Road. If you want to avoid bumping into me I suggest you stay away.'
'How long will you be there?'
'As long as it takes,' he said and walked off.
Calbrain had changed and in certain respects seemed like a stranger. How does that happen she wondered after they'd become so close? She knew the reason why but her pride prevented her from admitting it. What she had to accept was their relationship was over. She watched him until he disappeared from view. Then she surprised herself. She rang Yeats to tell him Calbrain was on his way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nearly nine months had elapsed since Calbrain last stepped through Park Road's entrance. He recognised the desk sergeant and introduced himself.
'I'm here to see DCI Yeats,' he explained.
'Name, address and contact details,' the sergeant demanded. Calbrain was under no illusions the sergeant remembered him.
He gave him the information, feeling like a criminal. Why was he so surprised after Daly had ordered him never to set foot in the place again? He'd kept his promise until today. This time he had no choice.
'DCI Yeats isn't available,' the sergeant mumbled.
'I'll wait,' Calbrain said and sat down. He studied the reception area. Nothing had changed since his last visit; the move to CID's new premises was obviously still on hold. Calbrain sympathised with everyone working in a building that was way past it's sell by date.
He closed his eyes and remembered his first encounter with Elizabeth Jewell. If only he'd stayed away from her, but back then he'd needed a challenging woman. Had she not quickly become an obsession, he might have avoided a lot of heartache. They hadn't stood a chance right from the beginning and after she was seriously injured, her colleagues had condemned him and sealed their fate. He'd understood what a difficult choice she'd faced. By continuing their relationship, she might have lost their respect.
Now he was committed to Francisca. He checked the time and wondered how long he'd have to wait. Three youths and a teenage girl staggered through the main entrance. Two uniformed officers steered them to the counter.
'Who's on?' The taller officer asked nodding towards a door in the far corner.
'Gareth,' the desk sergeant said and grinned.
'Right you lot, follow me, we have the best crime deterrent in the world downstairs in the shape of one Sergeant Gareth Harris. Some good advice until we contact your parents. Be nice to him.'
Calbrain watched as the officers escorted the group towards the stairs leading to the custody suite. He remembered the shabby dark narrow corridors well. He stood up and wandered about to ease his anxiety. Professor John McAlister had begged him to intervene and Calbrain knew he could have refused, but he owed him. One way to repay his debt was to help Jacob Morven find a suitable lawyer.
Ten minutes later the sergeant shouted his name.' You can go up now. DCI Yeats is in Daly's old office.'
Calbrain nodded. Was the sergeant's reference to Daly a reminder of his fall from grace, or worse, a shot across the bows? He would soon find out.
He hurried up the stairs, memories of the last time filling his head until he stopped outside the office. The door was ajar; he pushed it slightly and saw it was empty. Then he heard a voice behind him.
'Go on in,' Yeats said.
They were of a similar height and build and Calbrain estimated they were also about the same age. When Yeats turned to face him Calbrain had the feeling he'd seen him before. Elizabeth had said he was from Belfast, a city he'd only visited twice. He tried to remember where else he might have bumped into him but drew a blank.
'Take a seat,' Yeats said.
'DI Jewell tells me you're from Belfast,' Calbrain said.
'Correct, and why would you be interested in that?'
Before answering, Calbrain recalled a couple of facts. The Royal Ulster Constabulary had changed to the Police Service of Northern Ireland in two thousand and one after a big shake up. He recalled how constant accusations by certain Catholic communities and human rights groups had played a part in the reorganisation.
'I researched the history of the troubles for a television documentary.'
Yeats bent his head pretending to examine a document. Calbrain felt the tension in the room and decided not to pursue the topic. Yeats looked up, his face straine
d, his eyes wary.
'Before we start Calbrain, I know all about you. I thought I'd better make that clear. My first requirement long before I came here was to read a mountain of paperwork. Familiarise myself with future colleagues. Your name came up in relation to a botched rescue attempt.'
'I'm not here to discuss that period, or my relationship with DI Jewell.'
'I'm sure you'd rather forget it, I would if it was me. It's hard to live down an incident like that. So what can I help you with?'
For a few seconds Calbrain felt like smashing his fist into the man's face. He unclenched his hands and calmed his thoughts. He could hardly say, by the way, you've arrested the wrong man. 'Can you confirm Jacob Morven has been charged?'
Yeats reverted to businesslike. 'Until we issue a press release I'm unable to confirm any details on Morven's status. Go home Calbrain, unless you have a lawyer waiting outside in a fancy car.'
'Not yet, but I'm working on it. A colleague has asked me to liaise with the Canadian Embassy. As you should know, any foreign national arrested abroad is entitled to consular help. I've arranged to meet someone at the embassy tomorrow, then a firm of solicitors. That's why I'm here, to take Morven's instructions.'
'You're not a relative or his lawyer so I can legitimately refuse. He can organise his own representation, or use the duty solicitor. That is until such time you do bring in the big guns.'
Calbrain ignored the sarcasm. 'If you have arrested him then I will remind you of consular requirements. He must appear before a magistrate's court within twenty-four to thirty six hours. The consular official will also monitor his detention. I'm sure you know how embassies operate from your experience in Ireland. They are specific about treatment, conditions and equality with local prisoners. They will also follow the case through the legal system.'
Yeats tapped a key on his computer and appeared thoughtful. 'Excuse me while I authorise your visit, I'll be back in a while.'
Calbrain hoped Yeats had thought twice about refusing his request and was clearing the way with the duty officer. Police work was straining from the burden of political correctness. He cast his mind back to Daly, famous for ignoring such trivia yet he still commanded respect. He wondered what had become of him and wished he'd asked Elizabeth while he'd had the chance. Perhaps Daly was seriously ill. If something awful had happened to him, surely she would have mentioned it. Daly's sudden departure had all the hallmarks of a mystery. His prying journalistic mind wanted to dig around and find out more.
Yeats was gone for ten minutes. Fed up with hanging on Calbrain left the office, he was only a few yards from the stairs when Yeats appeared with a uniformed sergeant. 'You've got forty minutes.'
Calbrain followed the silent officer. He'd never forget the cell's claustrophobic feeling and wondered how Morven was coping. A man brought up in wide open spaces then suddenly incarcerated, might crack. The officer opened the cell door and the clanging of metal against metal gave Calbrain a jolt. Instead of finding a man sitting with his head in his hands, Morven was standing up and appeared calm.
'Yeats told me you were on your way, thank you for coming.' Morven said.
Calbrain felt the full force of Elizabeth's hypocrisy. Why alert Yeats when she obviously hated him? He had to put her out of his mind. He had come to help a fellow Canadian. 'Are you coping?'
'It isn't easy but neither is it a burden. We have met before but forgive me for not remembering where.'
'It was a long time ago,' Calbrain replied. 'In New Zealand, but I'm not here to reminisce. I only have a short time to talk. John asked me to help you in any way I can.'
'How do you know John?' Morven asked.
'That's another long story. I've an appointment at our embassy tomorrow, after that a meeting with a firm of solicitors in Chiswick. Yeats is adamant you should find yourself a local solicitor, but John's instructions are clear. Do not allow them to pressure you.'
'I'm not bothered who represents me as I won't be here much longer. I didn't kill this man and they can't prove it. Eventually they will realise their mistake.'
Calbrain didn't believe Morven was naive, yet within the next few hours he would become a big media story and the man appeared unfazed.
'I'm not here to discuss what happened. John asked me to liaise because he didn't know anyone else in England he could trust. I need a list of items you might need. I also have to ask if you want to choose your own lawyer, or leave it to me.'
Morven's face changed. Calbrain noticed an element of stress creeping in. 'I don't know any lawyers in the UK unless the embassy can suggest someone suitable.'
'They can't advise or recommend legal representation. Their role is to make sure the cops in England don't stitch you up,' Calbrain answered.
Morven rubbed his temples. 'I've read about some of their catastrophic mistakes.'
'It happens in every country, not just here. If you write down the things you want, I'll collect them for you.'
‘I'd like my computer returned, but I don't suppose they'll let me have it.'
'I'll ask but don't hold out too much hope. What books do you read? Give me a few ideas.'
'Not fiction. While I'm stuck here I might as well familiarise myself with English history. One section I know very little about is the ancient Druids.'
'Apart from the legends neither do I,' Calbrain said. 'They were Pagans who allegedly practiced human sacrifice. You must have heard of the wicker man. That's about as much as I know but I'll see what I can find.'
Morven nodded, 'Thanks. I can't pay you yet.'
Calbrain was about to broach finances. 'John's provided a substantial cash deposit for bail and whatever else you require.'
'Is it certain I'll get bail? Morven asked.'
'I honestly don't know. During my days as a crime reporter, it varied from case to case. You're not a flight risk and you have plenty of funds, so there's a fifty-fifty chance.'
Calbrain's back began to hurt again. A few weeks ago, he'd woken up with severe pains and had gone to see his GP who suggested physiotherapy. The sessions had relieved the symptoms for a while, but the pain had started up again. The wedding, scheduled for August would take place in Francisca's hometown in Southern Spain. A big affair, her father had informed him. Calbrain had never worried about his health, but Francisca loved sport and had insisted teaching him to sail. He'd spent a gruelling holiday on her sailing yacht, Odyssey, which he knew had caused the problem.
'Can we sit down?' he asked Morven.
They sank onto the bunk. 'Those items I need. Have you got a pen and paper?' Morven asked.
Calbrain twisted his back as he took a notebook and pen from his pocket. He winced as he handed them over. 'Jot down what you want.'
'You're in pain, ' Morven said.
'Bad back. I'm feeling old.'
'I sense you have emotional problems as well,' Morven said as he wrote.
'I'm about to be married,' Calbrain winced again and stood up.
Morven handed the list back. 'Thanks, I appreciate what you're doing. Tell John I'll be in touch when I can.'
'I better make tracks.' He offered Morven his card. 'My home and cell phone numbers, in case you need to reach me urgently.'
'I hope your back improves.' He stared at Calbrain then closed his eyes. 'There are two women in your life. One of them will make you very unhappy.'
Calbrain didn't fall for psychic predictions. Morven was certainly a strange man; the short time he'd spent with him had certainly had a weird effect. As he left the building he realised his back pain had suddenly eased. His phone beeped and he stopped in the car park to read a text. It was from a van driver who collected biological waste from the pathology labs in the area. He knew many of the staff and Calbrain occasionally paid him for any information he came across. The text referred to overheard conversations by various lab technician
s. Calbrain didn't care which method his informer used, as long as he got the goods.
According to the text, certain staff with firsthand knowledge of the Wilson case had voiced opinions during a lunch break. It seemed they had questioned certain results.
Thank God, he thought. He was glad he didn't have to prove whether Morven was innocent or guilty, just make sure the evidence against him was disputable. Having spent the last half hour with him, he found it difficult to believe he'd killed a perfect stranger in a foreign country. Why would he do that? Yet Yeats couldn't wait to lock Morven up. Did Yeats need to impress someone? No, that idea made no sense.
As Calbrain hurried away, he decided to utilise the software the insurance company had provided. Car accident fraud was big business and he'd recently uncovered a gang who made it their speciality, thanks to huge advances in compressing information and making it more accurate. Now he'd put it to a different test and see what surfaced.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cheltenham town centre was always busy and today was no exception. Elizabeth wandered aimlessly in and out of shops oblivious to her suraroundings. More than an hour and a half had passed, she hoped by now Calbrain had left Park Road.
Patterson had gone to meet Philip Younger, the forensic accountant and Eldridge, for some reason was avoiding her.
Whenever she thought about her work colleagues, there was no doubt Yeats had a lot to answer for. He'd completely distorted Park Road's dynamic with his military type rules and regulations. He'd stamped on the slightest dissent and banned any light-hearted banter. The mere mention of his name reduced everyone to a resentful silence. Often Elizabeth felt she was living in a battlefield. Then to add to her misery, another bulletin had arrived about the new HQ building, explaining the current delay. The architects were currently suing the building company for costly mistakes. It all began over a year ago when a major problem with the roof design had caused the first hold up. Now a wall needed rebuilding. Elizabeth wondered why the construction of the new HQ had ended up a complete farce. Granted it was much bigger, but with all the money thrown at it, she still couldn't understand why it was no further forward. No one probably cared much about the actual building, just the monetary reward and their reputations. She looked up at the sky, another lovely day but one more winter in Park Road might prove too much for CID, especially if Yeats was still in charge.