Faraday 02 Network Virus

by Michael Hillier

  “Oh. Right.” He turned to his wife. “You make sure you say what I told you just now. OK?”

  She ignored him.

  “Come on then. I’ll be back in a minute, Marion.” Charlotte shepherded Bostock back to the waiting room. She asked George, “Is Constable Howell in yet?”

  “Just arrived, ma’am.”

  “Can you ask her to come to interview room five? I need to take a formal statement from Mrs Bostock.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.”

  Charlotte returned to the interview room. She took a comfortable chair beside the woman.

  “Now - you understand, Marion, that this is a very serious allegation. I’m not doubting your complaint in any way, but if we successfully prosecute a man for this crime he will serve a long prison sentence and will have a black mark against his name for the rest of his life. His legal team will be doing everything they can to find holes in the case against him. So it’s essential that we do everything correctly. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t want to make a fuss. He seemed a nice young man until he’d drunk too much.”

  At that moment Bobbie Howell entered. Faraday told the policewoman to set the recording equipment working and enter the initial data.

  “Now then,” said Charlotte, “will it upset you too much to go back over the whole story of exactly what happened?”

  Marion shook her head and said, “No,” quietly.

  “Very well, then. Let’s start with you serving behind the bar on Sunday evening. What was this man called?”

  “James.”

  “Do you know his surname?”

  She shook her head again. “I’m sorry.”

  “No other details?” A headshake. “No? Don’t worry. What time did James come into the club?”

  “It was about nine, I think.”

  “And did he sit at the bar straight away as soon as he arrived?”

  “That’s right. I served him a double whisky and he asked for a jug of cold water to add to it. I thought he was very sensible.”

  “When did you start talking to him?”

  “More or less straight away - when I wasn’t serving other drinks. But the club was very quiet, being a Sunday night with just one or two small tables filled.”

  “Who started the conversation? - other than asking for drinks, of course?”

  She shrugged. “He did, I suppose. But I often chat to single men at the bar. There’s not a lot else to do when it’s quiet. And he seemed a nice, gentlemanly sort of person, if you know what I mean.”

  “What sort of things did you talk about?”

  “He told me he was a captain in the army. Then he told me about his friend…”

  Charlotte led the woman through their conversation and the subsequent events up to the time when he drove off, leaving her lying in the puddles in the car park.

  “I was so ashamed of myself,” said Marion. “It was so stupid of me. I don’t know why I put myself in that position. I suppose I’d drunk more than I was used to.” She looked at Charlotte. “I don’t usually drink much, even though customers often offer. Normally I only have the tonic without the gin, if you know what I mean.”

  The detective knew exactly what she meant.

  Marion studied the floor again. “He said I led him on and I suppose I did in a way. I could tell he liked looking at me. I should have had the sense to realise where it might lead. It was just that he gave me the impression that he was really interested in me and I liked that.” Her voice dropped. “My husband said that I flaunted myself.”

  “Whether that’s true or not it doesn’t justify this man’s violent behaviour,” said Charlotte. “If every man who thought a woman was showing off her good looks went and raped her we’d be back in the stone age.” She paused. “Now then. I want you to give me what help you can in trying to locate this man. Had you ever seen him before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Can you say yes or no, Marion, for the benefit of the machine.”

  “OK. No.”

  “Had he been in the club before?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Have you asked the manager and the other staff if they’ve ever seen him before.”

  “Yes, but they haven’t.”

  “Do you have any idea where he lived?”

  “He said he was stationed in Germany - doing manoeuvres. He said he was here on holiday and staying with his mother who lived in a village the other side of Totnes. I think she is fairly important in the village. He talked about her going to bring and buy sales and garden parties.” She shook her head. “But he said he was going back to Germany in a few days. I expect he’s left the country by now.”

  “I don’t think it will be too difficult to track him down. The problem will be to collect evidence against him to make the charge stick.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “Now - the car he was driving. You say you didn’t see the number.”

  “No.”

  “But it was a red Ford?”

  “Yes - a Ford Mondeo, I think,”

  “Do you remember if it was right hand drive?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Did you notice which side the steering wheel was on? Was it the same side as most cars in this country?”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, I think so.”

  “So it was either hired or borrowed - perhaps from his mother. Would you say the car was new?”

  Marion shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “OK,” said Charlotte. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think it will be important.” She changed tack. “You said you washed all the clothes you were wearing?”

  “Yes. They were all wet and dirty. I couldn’t put them on again, the state they were in. Besides …” She hesitated. “I wanted to wash away the memory. I felt so unclean. That’s why I had a bath.”

  Charlotte reached out and touched her hand. “I understand. Don’t apologise for what’s a very natural reaction.”

  “But it makes it more difficult for you.”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to see how the man reacts when we interview him.” She paused. “Now, you said that he broke your bra straps. Have you repaired them because, if you haven’t, I think we ought to have that bra as evidence. It might be useful to show the man when we interview him. I’d like to see his reaction.”

  “I haven’t got the bra any longer. I threw it away.”

  Charlotte’s interest sharpened. “Did you wash it before you threw it away?”

  “No. I just chucked it in the bin. I couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. It was a pity because it was a nice bra.”

  “You threw it in your own rubbish bin. Do you know whether your rubbish has been collected since?”

  “No. Collections are on Thursdays.”

  Charlotte gestured to Constable Howell to turn off the recording machine. “That’s a job for you after this interview, Bobbie. I’d like you to go to Mrs Bostock’s home after we’ve finished the interview and look through her rubbish bin. Make sure you come back with the brassiere in an evidence bag. We’ll have some tests carried out on it.”

  “Right, ma’am.”

  “OK. You can switch the machine on again.”

  She led Marion through the remainder of her statement without turning up anything that would be much help to the prosecution. Then she released the two women and called in John Prendergast to back her up while she took Mr Bostock’s statement.

  She decided she would use the computer to trawl data about the villages north of Totnes to try to discover the location of the mother of the rapist. However, unless the brassiere produced some usable evidence she doubted whether the CPI would be willing to proceed with the recall of the man James from Germany to stand trial.

  - 7 -

  It was nearly ten o’clock when Charlotte returned to the office she shared with DI Stafford Paulson. She sat down in her chair and exhaled.

  “I gather we’ve had a rap
e,” he volunteered, raising his eyes from the file he was studying.

  She nodded. “And an irate husband.”

  “Is this strictly our responsibility?”

  “The rape counsellor in Exeter is on two weeks’ holiday. We were told to deal with it in her absence.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Silly woman.” She shook her head. “She worked as a barmaid at the Red Garter Nightclub. She let this well-spoken army officer take her into the car park behind the club after midnight. There were no lights on.” She shrugged. “The guy was drunk and upset because his mate had been killed in Afghanistan. Marion’s an attractive woman. She was apparently wearing a dress with a low-cut neckline and she was raped.”

  “It’s still a serious offence, no matter what she was wearing.”

  “Of course it is. Unfortunately Marion seems to think it was partly her fault. So she didn’t report it until this morning, under pressure from her husband. He’s a merchant seaman who got back from the Far East last night. He is making a stink for everybody - including Marion.”

  “Oh dear. Do you know anything about the army officer?”

  “So far only his Christian name - James.”

  “Is he a local guy?”

  “Marion thinks his mother may live somewhere near Totnes.” She shook her head again. “I expect the bugger’s long gone.”

  “He shouldn’t be too difficult to track down with our new computer program.”

  “I agree, but I don’t know whether I can get clearance from above to chase after him to Germany, without some factual evidence.”

  “Like that, is it?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid so. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve sent Bobbie and John off to see what they can find, but I’m not very hopeful.”

  Once Stafford would have been incensed to have half his manpower taken away without a previous consultation but he and Charlotte had struck up a very satisfactory working relationship in the ten days they had been sharing an office and he appreciated the need for her to take early action.

  “Well, I need to go over to the coastguard place at Start Point. I’ve just had a phone call from Adam Shakespeare. Do you remember he was the guy who boarded the de Billiere boat when it ran aground on Slapton Sands? Apparently he’s remembered something else he ought to have told me when I saw him last week.”

  “Oh, yes.” Charlotte was only mildly interested. “Is it worth your time to go over there?”

  “Well,ma’am. You did agree that Mrs de Billiere’s death seemed a mite suspicious.”

  “Sorry, Stafford.” She concentrated. “Remind me. What exactly happened?”

  He took a breath and launched into the story. “On the second of July two years ago Joanne de Billiere spent the afternoon stretched out in the sun on the afterdeck of the family gin palace in Torquay Marina. Nobody actually saw anyone with her. However some time in the evening the Billiere boat put to sea, presumably with Joanne on board. Jimmy Tate, a security assistant at the marina, thinks it unlikely that she would have decided to sail off by herself. It was a big motor cruiser and she’d never done such a thing before. So it’s likely there was a man with her. Jimmy says she was fond of men.”

  “How old was she?”

  “She was in her early fifties but Jimmy describes her as ‘stylish’ and ‘up for it’.” He raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, the Sarah Jane - that’s the name of the boat - was reported aground next morning on Slapton beach not far from the car park. The coastguard were asked to investigate, so Adam Shakespeare went down there. When he climbed aboard he found one of the engines was still running very slowly and was nearly out of fuel, but there was nobody on board.”

  “Could they have climbed ashore?”

  “Yes, they could, but you’d have thought they’d have shut down the engines before they left the boat.”

  “Hmm.” Caroline looked out of the window as she pondered. “Don’t I recall that Joanne’s body was washed up some weeks later?”

  “That’s right - eighteen days later to be precise. The body was found in Pudcombe Cove near the mouth of the Dart - halfway back to Torquay.”

  “Did we get involved at that stage?”

  “Only briefly.” Stafford’s eyes glinted. “I sent Greg Mallinson along with the police doctor to inspect the body. After an initial inspection the body was sent to the RDE for a post mortem which certified death by drowning. There were no other apparent injuries. That ended our involvement.”

  “And the coroner decided it was misadventure?”

  “Yes. There was no other evidence we could offer. John Mears only took half an hour to decide she must have been on her own, fallen overboard, couldn’t get back on to the boat which was a large vessel under power, and drowned after about a quarter of an hour. Apparently she could swim, but not very well.”

  “What about the husband? What state was the marriage in, if the wife was ‘up for it’, as you so delicately put it?”

  “Alfred de Billiere was staying at his London club.” He pulled a face. “The Met sent a constable round to interview the members. There were several witnesses who confirmed he couldn’t have been in Torquay on the night she died.”

  “He’s a wealthy man, isn’t he? There’s always the possibility that he employed somebody else to do it. Has anybody looked at his financial dealings round about the time of her death?”

  Stafford shook his head. “At the time it wasn’t considered to be a suspicious death. It was only last week, when we started looking for similar cases to Cynthia Adams that we decided the Billiere death needed further investigation.” *

  “That’s right.” Charlotte was quiet for a few moments, thinking it over. “You’re right. We must follow this one up. Best of luck. Are you off now?”

  “I said I’d call over in the next hour.”

  “OK, see you later. Think of me. I’ve still got to finish my reports on Cynthia Adams and Julia Hillman. Then I’ve got to prepare something for the PCC regarding the death of Giles Adams in police custody.” *

  “Giles was hardly in police custody.”

  “Superintendent Lasham referred it to Complaints because you said you were arresting him before he jumped off the cliff.”

  “Bloody hell! That’s not fair. I never got anywhere near the bloke.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Charlotte. “The lovely super is after my scalp. I was the senior officer present and therefore he holds me responsible.”

  “Can he do that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s going to get far. I’ve been in touch with the union lawyers in London and they’re confident that Adams hadn’t actually been taken into custody when his death occurred.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it Stafford. It’s just another round in the Mark Lasham versus Charlotte Faraday dispute. This one’s going to continue running for some time.”

  “Best of luck.” Paulson pulled a face. “Rather you than me.” He picked up his mobile and his notebook and departed.

  - 8 -

  When Stafford Paulson got to Start Point he found Adam Shakespeare in friendly mood. This time he invited Paulson into his cottage which nestled in the shade of the lighthouse. He took him into the kitchen and brewed a remarkably good cup of coffee which Stafford accepted with pleasure. Then he led the way into the front parlour where they settled into comfortable chairs.

  “I’m not on duty this morning,” offered Shakespeare in explanation.

  Paulson inclined his head. “I understand you’ve been thinking about the de Billiere cruiser.”

  “That I have. You asked me to tell you if I remembered anything else from when I boarded the boat on Slapton Sands.”

  “Well,” said Paulson, “at our previous interview you said there was something that made you think there had been more than one person on board the boat on its trip down the coast but you couldn’t think just what it was.”

  “I did that.”

  “And have you decided
what it was?”

  “Well - not exactly. I realise now that what I found wasn’t actually telling me that there were two people on board. But, when I thought about the fact that de Billiere’s wife had supposedly fallen overboard, then what I found could mean there had probably been somebody else there as well.”

  Stafford reined in his patience. “So what was it that you found?”

  “It was only a fag-end. I noticed it stuck in the duckboards on the floor of the afterdeck. I bent down and picked it out and chucked it over the side.” He grinned apologetically. “I suppose you could say I destroyed the evidence.”

  “Is that it?” Paulson felt a strange sense of disappointment. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to check if Joanne smoked. I must admit we’ve never had a reason to find that out.”

  “Ah,” said Shakespeare with the air of somebody plucking a rabbit out of a hat, “but the important thing is what type of fag-end was it?”

  “So - what was it?”

  “It was a Gauloises blue. Do you know what they are?”

  “They’re a type of French cigarette.”

  “That’s right. They’re a very strong smoke and they also have a strong smell.”

  “Blimey! I didn’t know you could still get that type.”

  “Oh, I think you can.” He gestured. “But the point is they’re quite rough fags, not the sort that a posh woman like Mrs Billiere would smoke.”

  Paulson pondered whether this was a vital piece of evidence. He must discuss it with Charlotte.

  “So you think that this cigarette end suggests there was a man aboard?”

  “Not only that - a man who smokes Gauloises blue. There can’t be many of them around in the Torbay area. I used to smoke them myself before I gave it up and I know what a problem I had finding where to get them.”

  “Is that how you knew it was Gauloises?”

  “Aye.” He nodded positively. “As I said, the smell is something you don’t forget.”

  “Of course,” said Paulson, “the fact that the cigarette end was found on the boat doesn’t mean the smoker was on board when Joanne fell overboard. He may have been there at an earlier time that day or on some previous day and the fag-end hadn’t been noticed.”