Faraday 02 Network Virus

by Michael Hillier

  “You bet he did, Mr Hillman. Why do you think he sent down an enquiry agent to accompany you when you were looking for the body? A very wily bird is our Alfred. You can be sure he knew all about her intention to divorce him. And my bet is that he wouldn’t have been happy about it. He’d already paid a fortune to stop her going ahead with the two earlier divorce petitions. Now he was going to have to do it all over again. Isn’t that correct?”

  Hillman said nothing.

  “And,” continued Paulson, “it was going to be even more difficult this time because she’d got another chap in her sights - you.” He pointed at him. “Did she tell you how much she was going to claim as a divorce settlement?”

  The other man nodded. “Fifty million.”

  “What I want to know is how did Alfred find out how much she was going to claim? Hugo Farmer told Joanne that she mustn’t say anything to her husband until the petition was filed because he would immediately start to move his assets out of her reach and I think she was canny enough to follow his advice.” Paulson leaned forward. “So I want to know who told de Billiere that the petition was pending. The solicitor would never have released that information. So it must have been someone she told in confidence - somebody close to her, like you.”

  There was a bitter smile on Hillman’s face. “You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?”

  “So was it you?”

  He nodded.

  “But why, for goodness sake? You would have benefitted from the fifty million, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, but only indirectly. Joanne was sharp enough not to have given me control over any of it.” He pushed his chair back from the desk as though to distance himself from the inspector’s accusatory stare. “Besides, I didn’t have any choice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, the reason I was in London when Jo died was because Alfred had sent for me.” His arm swept round, indicating the splendid offices and showrooms. “You see, when I took over this business after my father’s death none of this was here. The whole business was fading fast. He had been ill for the last ten years of his life and virtually left the company to run itself while cutting me out from any control. The two car manufacturers we were agents for were both threatening to move their agencies elsewhere. Too much cash had been taken out of the business and there was no capital left for the new developments which were essential if we were to recover. In the current economic situation the banks weren’t prepared to loan anything. So I had to find a private backer.”

  “Do you mean Alfred de Billiere?”

  “That’s right.” He looked appealingly at Paulson. “I’d known Alfred and his wife for a number of years. At that time, about three and a half years ago, I was still married and hadn’t had any personal contact with Joanne. I approached Alfred and offered him a shareholding in the company if he’d give me the cash to redevelop this site. He agreed but insisted that I give him a fifty-five percent controlling shareholding in return for him providing finance of up to five million at a competitive interest rate. It was the best offer I could find, so I accepted.”

  He took a breath and continued, “We built these new showrooms and improved the company’s image hugely. We retained our agencies with the manufacturers.” He shook his head. “But recent times have been hard, especially in the motor trade. Margins have been squeezed. Profits have been low, and not enough to pay all the interest on Alfred’s loan.”

  “You mean you owed Alfred more than when you started?”

  “Correct. By the time Alfred contacted me the debt was five-point-three million. He wanted to talk to me about various things so I went up to his headquarters in Canary Wharf. When I got there he told me that he’d had a private enquiry agent watching Joanne and they’d reported to him about her developing relationship with me. They’d also seen her visit her solicitors on a number of occasions. It didn’t take long for a clever operator like Alfred to come to the right conclusions. The only thing he didn’t know was the details.”

  “So was he warning you off?”

  “Oh no. He just wanted to know what she was looking for. When I told him, he said the fifty million was ridiculous, and I must admit I didn’t think it was a realistic figure myself. He said he was happy to agree to a divorce. In fact he was willing to offer Jo what he considered was a reasonable settlement. She could have the house and the boat and he would give her two million which, as he said, if it was sensibly invested, would bring her in a very decent personal income - possibly a hundred thousand a year.”

  “And what about you?”

  Hillman took a breath. “Well, if I could get her to agree to this he was prepared to reduce the business debt by two million and give me back half his shareholding. That would mean I would recover control of my company and interest would be reduced to a point where I would stand a chance of paying the balance off within ten years. Then he would release the rest of his shares to me.”

  “I see,” said Paulson. “I take it that seemed a very good package to you.”

  “Too right it was. Everybody appeared to get what they wanted out of it.” He smiled briefly. “Alfred was so certain that I’d agree that he’d had a formal agreement drawn up which he handed to me there and then. He had also arranged for a large legal practice which didn’t deal with his affairs to give me advice before I signed. I went to them the next morning and they could see nothing wrong with the form, so I signed it and returned it to him. All I had to do then was to get Joanne to agree and he would return his signed copy to me.”

  “But before you could talk to her she disappeared.”

  Hillman nodded bleakly.

  Paulson looked directly at the man. “How did you feel about that?”

  “I was shattered. Of course, like you, I blamed him at first for arranging her death in some way. But he didn’t refuse to see me or anything like that. When we met he promised me it was just a tragic accident. He pointed out that it had happened too soon after our discussion - that very same night, in fact - for it to have been arranged by him.” He grimaced. “And I - well, I at least half-believed him. So I agreed to wait until her body had been found and then to see what the coroner’s verdict was before I took any further action.”

  “But what about your personal agreement?”

  “Well.” Hillman shook his head. “That was the sweetener, I suppose. If the coroner found that the death was accidental or due to misadventure, he said he would honour the agreement.”

  “Hah! So your silence was being bought.”

  “I can see that you would look at it like that now,” agreed Hillman. “But then I didn’t see it like that. I was mourning the loss of my future wife. My negotiations with Alfred had been friendly. The fellow seemed to be making a reasonable offer and we all wanted to go on with our lives as best we could.”

  “You didn’t consider,” asked Paulson, “that this convenient death was saving him the best part of fifty million.”

  Lionel Hillman shook his head, “I said I never thought that was a realistic claim. He said, that although he and Joanne had drifted apart, he was still upset by her disappearance. You must realise that we thought there was still a chance in those first few days that she was still alive. She might have been picked up by someone or simply got off the boat when it was beached and wandered off for some reason. It was only gradually that hopes of her surviving faded.”

  “You said nothing about any doubts you might have had - not even to the coroner?”

  He shook his head.

  “So you got your agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  “And has it worked well for you?”

  He nodded. “The business has been steadily improving during the last two years.”

  “Is there another prospective Mrs Hillman?”

  “Oh no. Jo would have been an ideal partner. People seemed to think the worst of her because she was always friendly towards everyone, but that was just on the surface. I found that underneath she wa
s a much deeper person. Alfred had never given her enough of his time to get the best out of her. I was planning to offer her a partnership in this business and I think she would have made a success of it. I have missed her sadly.”

  Paulson stood up. “Well, I’m going to need a formal statement from you. I will get what you’ve told me written up, send you a copy, and then I’ll ask you to come down to the station in a few days and sign your agreement that this is a true record of your evidence. You can bring a solicitor with you if you wish.”

  “What will happen to de Billiere now?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t think we’ve got enough to nail him with yet.” He pursed his lips. “But I’m gathering a dossier together. Sooner or later we’ll get a breakthrough. Why? Are you worried about what he might do to you?”

  “Oh, no. If he really did cause Joanne’s death I want him to pay for it. And, if it’s my evidence that condemns him, so be it.”

  So Paulson left. Now at last he felt he was approaching the truth about Joanne de Billiere’s death.

  - 31 -

  It took Charlotte until late afternoon to obtain the search warrant she needed to descend on Charles Hawardine. As the afternoon progressed she pulled in the teams who had been out looking for Tracey. She hoped they wouldn’t be needed any more after this afternoon. So, when they arrived at Stokewell House, there were ten of them in four cars, including the five members of the CID and the photographer.

  She instructed the other vehicles to remain out of sight of the camera on the left gatepost as she drove up on her own and stopped in front of the gates. Then she rang the bell.

  “It’s Charlotte Faraday again, Mr Hawardine. I’m afraid I have a few more questions for you.”

  “For you, Charlotte, it’s a pleasure,” replied the metallic voice.

  She thought his pleasure wasn’t likely to last for long. She was quite slow in getting back into her car so that the gates had opened wide before she entered. Then, as she moved forward, two of the most energetic young constables ran forward and placed large wedges under the gates to prevent them closing. The queue of four cars drove up the winding drive and on to the gravel forecourt.

  Hawardine was waiting for them outside his front door and, as she expected, there was no longer any indication of pleasure in his voice.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Paulson went up the steps and handed him a copy of the piece of paper they’d obtained from the court. “This is a search warrant to look at the whole of your property. The warrant tells you that you will be compensated if we incorrectly damage any of your belongings.” He walked straight past the owner as the man looked at the piece of paper. His team of two beefy young constables followed him.

  “This is an outrage,” complained Hawardine as he trailed behind them into the house.

  As planned, Greg Mallinson, armed with a copy of the warrant, led his team of three on a search of the outbuildings, while Charlotte with John Prendergast, Bobbie Howell and the photographer set off down the path to the boathouse. In only a few minutes they entered the copse near the river and, as expected, found the door to the boathouse was locked.

  John was carrying a small crowbar ready for this expected obstacle but, as Charlotte stood back for him to attack the door, he put it down and said, “Just a minute, ma’am.”

  There was a plant pot to the left of the foot of the steps and, when he moved it aside, there was a key-ring lying there with a couple of keys on it. He looked carefully at them, chose one and found it opened the door immediately.

  “That was bright of you, John,” she said appreciatively.

  He grinned. “My old mum always did that to save her forgetting her keys. I guessed the bloke wouldn’t be too keen on walking all the way back up to the house if he realised he’d forgotten his keys. Also,” he pointed out, “there aren’t likely to be many people wandering round here looking for a way into the place - except us, of course.”

  Charlotte led the way up the stairs and opened the door straight ahead into the control room. She paused to press down some switches and the whole place sprang into brilliant light. The four of them stopped and gazed in astonishment through the glass wall into the studio bedroom.

  “Well, I never. What a place.” That was Bobbie.

  “Blimey,” said the cameraman. “Look at that equipment. It must have cost thousands.”

  Charlotte turned to him. I want you to photograph every single thing in these two rooms, getting them into proportion. Bobbie, you stay with him in case he needs your help in any way.”

  “She’ll also be useful for scale,” he said.

  “John, you come with me. I want to see what’s downstairs.”

  They returned to the entrance and then went down the steps to river bank level. As expected, the other key opened the door to the boathouse proper. Charlotte was hoping this was where Hawardine was keeping Tracey, but in this she was to be disappointed. The whole place was completely empty. The concrete ramps which should have had boats on them were bare. There wasn’t even a tackle cupboard or a storage bin in the place. This level was obviously disused.

  “Let’s look outside.” Charlotte led the way round the building. The river frontage took up one side of the building. The water level was down at the moment and there was just one small, open rowing boat tied up high and dry. Charles Hawardine clearly wasn’t a boating man.

  Round the other side was a lean-to presumably intended for equipment. For a moment Charlotte’s hopes rose, but the door was unlocked and, when they opened it, the place was empty. There was no sign of Tracey having been hidden here. Perhaps the others would have had more luck up at the house or in the outbuildings.

  She and John returned to the door at the entrance to the studio. When they got there they encountered Hawardine hurrying down the path towards them.

  “You’re in deep trouble, my girl. Now you’re guilty of breaking and entering into my boathouse.” He paused with his mobile phone in his hand. He punched in a number and listened. Very quickly he had a response.

  “I’ve run her to earth now,” he shouted. “She’s been breaking into my boathouse. Here - you’d better speak to her yourself.” He handed the phone to Charlotte.

  “Faraday,” roared Lasham’s voice. “What the hell are you doing invading Charles Hawardine’s private property?”

  “At the moment I’m having photographs taken of a studio he’s set up to take pornographic films.”

  “What the hell does that mean? And call me ‘sir’!”

  “It means that your good friend Charles Hawardine has been interviewing twelve-year-old schoolgirls, instructing them to strip off all their clothes and pose in the nude on a massive satin-covered bed with a view to taking paedophiliac films of them in various sexual acts and selling them to his equally perverted contacts. Can I ask whether you’re one of them, sir?”

  “No I am not. I hope you have the evidence to back up those allegations.”

  “I do, and I am currently gathering more. Furthermore one of these young girls has been kidnapped and has been missing for five days and your dear friend is one of the prime suspects - sir.”

  “Huh.” There was a pause. “Put me back on to Hawardine.”

  Charlotte handed the mobile over, turned on her heel and mounted the stairs to the studio where the photographer was just finishing.

  “Got all you need, Andrew?”

  “Yes, ma’am. This lot will make an interesting record.” He started packing his camera and other equipment into the steel-bound case he took everywhere with him.

  “Right,” she said. “Let’s go, then. There’s nothing else to keep us here.”

  The four of them descended the stairs. John locked both doors and was about to return the keys to where he found them but Charlotte stopped him.

  “I want to keep hold of those, John. Please put them in an evidence bag and label them accordingly.” She turned to DC Howell. “Bobbie, can you ring the station and
tell them to send a carpenter down here. I want to have the door sealed to the upper floor.”

  As they emerged from the copse Hawardine was waiting for them. “Can you please tell me what is happening, Charlotte?”

  “Certainly. Charles Hawardine, I am arresting you on suspicion of committing offences against under-age persons in contravention of the Sexual Offences Act 2003.”

  “What!” The man seemed completely surprised by his arrest.

  Charlotte gave him the statutory warning. “Provided you give me your undertaking that you will accompany me peaceably to Torquay police station for questioning I will not find it necessary to handcuff you. Do you agree?”

  He nodded. The self-confidence seemed to have been knocked out of him and he was now just a big, flabby, grey-faced individual. “Can I ring my solicitor?”

  “Please do. Tell him to meet us at the police station in an hour’s time. You can also have a brief talk in my presence to your chauffeur/handyman about anything he needs to do to care for the estate in your absence. You should make it clear to him that he is not to enter the boathouse or permit anybody else to enter it until I have had the seals removed from the doors. Now, please follow me.”

  She set off up the path, leaving John to stand guard until the carpenter arrived. Hawardine, after making his phone call to his solicitor, trailed behind her. Bobbie Howell brought up the rear. When they reached the front of the house the others were there. Nothing of note had been found by Paulson or Mallinson.

  “Have the grounds been searched?”

  It appeared not.

  “OK. Greg, I want you and your team to walk the grounds to see if there are any other buildings or possible hiding-places.” She turned to Hawardine. “How many acres have you got?”

  His reply was almost absent-minded. “About forty-five, mostly wooded. But you won’t find any hiding-places out there.”

  “Is it all fenced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t take you more than an hour to cover everything thoroughly, so you should be through before dark. Keep your car to drop off the other two on your way back and you can bring John Prendergast with you.”