‘To the States. Caught up with a few contacts I’d made to get right up to speed with the latest developments over there before setting up our company. We explored a few possibilities-franchising, partnerships, etcetera-but in the end we decided to go independent. Best way.’
‘Right. So you know all about the problem with the Verge evidence. What was it, a breakdown in supervision?’
‘I’m not really acquainted with all the details, Bren. Leon told me a bit about it. He said it was all cleared up now, though. Is that right?’
‘Seems so. Apparently a clerk called Langley made a simple error. Did you know her?’
Oakley shook his head slowly. ‘Leon did mention the name. I suppose I must have bumped into her, but I can’t really recall. You know, mistakes like that can be the result of size, Bren. The organisation gets too big, too unwieldy, and quality control suffers. Whereas with a small outfit like ours, there’s more personal responsibility. Fascinating case though, the Verge murders. And you’ve cleared it all up magnificently-with a bit of help from DCI Brock, I dare say.’ He chuckled. ‘You must be delighted.’
‘Yeah, it was interesting. Did you ever meet Sandy Clarke?’
‘The killer? No, I don’t believe I had that pleasure. Must have been a devious character.’
‘Oh yes, there are a few of those around.’ Bren glanced at his watch. ‘Well now, have you any literature you can leave me, Paul? I’m afraid I’m due in a meeting.’
‘Oh, can’t I buy you lunch, Bren? Never mind, another time. Here’s our prospectus and some brochures to pass around to whoever you see fit, okay?’
Bren showed him to the door, then went up to Brock’s office.
‘Chief,’ he said, noting the ordnance survey map spread out over the old man’s desk, Brock peering closely at it through his half-rims.
‘Morning, Bren.’ He straightened.
‘The fens?’ Bren asked, seeing the tracery of dead straight roads and waterways passing unswerving across the map.
‘Yes. Marchdale.’
‘Working out how to get there?’
‘Something like that. What can I do you for?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem. Something I need to pass by you, if you’ve got the time.’
They settled in the two old leather chairs that Brock had long ago installed each side of the fireplace, and Bren spelled it out.
‘If Kathy got it right about the clerk and the Verge office records, then Oakley was lying through his teeth, no two ways about it.’
‘Yes, I see. You say you spoke to Oakley alone? I suppose Kathy was caught up in her committee.’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that. I think she’s worried that Oakley might have got Leon involved in this somehow.’
‘In what, exactly?’
‘Hard to say. I’ll let her put you in the picture, chief, but I gather she and Leon aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment, and she’d rather be kept out of it.’
‘Hm. Even if Oakley was responsible for the original slip-up, and has covered it up, it’s still hardly a matter for us.’
‘Kathy feels there’s more to it. She thinks that the original forensic evidence against Clarke may have been deliberately hidden.’ He saw Brock’s eyebrow go up and added quickly, ‘It’s just a theory, but she thought it needed checking out.’
Brock got to his feet and went over to the window, and stared out at the damp morning. The top floors of the main Scotland Yard building were visible over the rooftops against the sky, and he visualised Commander Sharpe at one of those windows staring back down at him.
‘I’ll have a word with the director at the lab, Bren,’ he said finally. ‘Then we’ll decide what to do.’
When the committee reconvened early that afternoon, after a shared lunch of sandwiches and orange juice provided by Robert’s assiduous staff, Kathy was handed a note requesting that she report to DCI Brock as soon as she was free. She managed to bring the session to a close within an hour, and hurried back to Queen Anne’s Gate, where she found Bren waiting with Brock in his office.
‘Didn’t think you’d get away so soon, Kathy,’ Brock said. ‘Come in, sit down. We’ve been talking about the Oakley business you asked Bren to follow up. He’s had an informal interview with Oakley, and I’ve spoken to the director at the lab, and both seem to raise more questions than they answer. I understand you don’t want to be involved in this for personal reasons, which is understand able, but I’d like to hear your comments all the same.’
Kathy, still a little out of breath, nodded. ‘Yes, fine.’
‘This is a copy of the statement that Debbie Langley signed when she was visited at home, ten days ago.’
He handed Kathy a single faxed sheet. The text stated that Debbie Langley freely admitted that it was possible, under the pressure of the workload during May of that year, that she was responsible for the error in transcription which had led to a piece of forensic evidence in the Verge investigation being overlooked. It was signed and dated by her, and as Kathy scanned past her signature to the familiar scrawl underneath, her heart gave a jolt. The statement had been witnessed by DS Leon Desai.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said softly. ‘I even asked Debbie if it might have been an Indian who came to speak to her, and she said no. She knew Oakley quite well from her days at the lab, she said. She was adamant that it was Oakley.’
‘But he could hardly be the one to witness her statement,’ Bren said. ‘He doesn’t work at the lab any more, and he was under suspicion himself. The question is, what’s Leon playing at?’
‘Well,’ Brock said, ‘we can check that easily enough. But then there’s Oakley’s conversation with Bren this morning. He denied knowing Debbie, and also said he’d never met Sandy Clarke.’
‘Clarke’s secretary was quite clear. Brock, I’m not imagining this …’
Brock raised a placatory hand. ‘Of course not. Bren spoke to her again, and we have a signed statement and a hard copy of their record of visitors that day. He was definitely there. So, what’s going on? Bren says you have a theory that Oakley may have deliberately hidden the evidence against Clarke.’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
‘In order to blackmail Clarke?’
Kathy said nothing, hearing the scepticism in Brock’s voice.
‘Well, how do we find out? He’s hardly going to admit it. Blackmail, perverting the course of justice on a major inquiry-he’d be looking at what, ten, fifteen?’
His question hung unanswered, until Kathy finally said, ‘That’s what bothers me. If he did do that, and then the evidence finally came out, and Clarke realised that he’d paid Oakley off for nothing, what would Clarke do?’
‘Speak to Oakley?’ Bren said. ‘Threaten to report him?’
‘It’s the timing again,’ Kathy said. ‘Clarke died so soon after you confronted him with the DNA evidence, before you really had time to question him in depth. And there’s the tidiness of the scene of Clarke’s suicide, the neat fingerprints in all the right places. You’d expect an LO to at least get that right.’
Bren looked troubled. ‘I think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. Oakley wouldn’t have known enough to write Clarke’s confession, would he?’ He turned to appeal to Brock, who seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.
‘He might if he’d had help,’ Brock murmured eventually. ‘If he’d seen the record of Clarke’s interview with us, and spoken to someone who’d read the file. You’re worried that Leon might be involved somehow, I take it, Kathy?’
‘I think… I think he might want to help a former colleague, another LO. Innocently, I mean. I think Oakley could have used him, like with endorsing Debbie’s statement.’
‘Interesting.’ Brock roused himself, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve got another meeting now, and we’ve asked Mr Oakley to come in to speak to Bren and myself at four. I’d like you to watch it on the closed circuit, Kathy. Let’s talk again after that.’
/> As she and Bren made for the door, Brock called Kathy back. ‘Bren mentioned that you and Leon are going through a bad patch, Kathy. I’m sorry. You okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘A temporary hiccup, I hope?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Doesn’t look like it. But it has nothing to do with this. I don’t want to see him compromised by someone like Oakley, that’s all.’
Was that all? She found it hard to concentrate on anything in the hour before she went to the small monitoring room next to the interview room to await Oakley’s arrival.
He was clearly very pleased to be asked back so soon. He shook hands vigorously with Brock, who thanked him for coming in.
‘Very glad to, Chief Inspector. This is a follow-up to my meeting with DS Gurney, I take it?’
‘In a way.’
‘Excellent. As the lads at Quantico like to say, “Let’s go drill some data”.’
Kathy saw a scornful look cross Bren’s face, and almost felt sorry for Oakley as he gushed on. But there was something deeply egotistical beneath the enthusiasm, she thought, something a little too clearly self-serving.
‘Before we go any further, Mr Oakley,’ Brock was saying, ‘I want to make it clear that this is an official interview in connection with our investigations into the murder of Ms Miki Norinaga on the twelfth or thirteenth of May last. Just so there’s no confusion, I shall caution you in the usual way, and emphasise that you’re not obliged to answer our questions, though we will value your assistance.’
Oakley looked astonished, but recovered enough to give a puzzled smile and offer his full cooperation.
‘Good. We’re interested in a meeting you had with Sandy Clarke at the offices of the Verge Practice on the morning of May twenty-third, a couple of days after you took over as LO on the Verge inquiry.’
‘Sandy Clarke?’ The lines of perplexity on Oakley’s face deepened, and he suddenly wrapped his arms around himself, clapping one hand over his mouth in an attitude of deep thought, which looked to Kathy more as if he were imitating the monkey that wasn’t supposed to speak any evil. ‘Sandy Clarke… Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. Was there more than one meeting, perhaps?’
‘What? Well, no. To tell the truth, I can’t remember meeting him at all. I think I may have mentioned that to Bren yesterday.’ His eyes narrowed cautiously now as he glanced at Bren sitting by Brock’s side.
‘There is a record of everyone who enters and leaves the Verge offices, and Mr Clarke’s secretary is quite clear on the matter. Apparently you had so much to talk about that you overran your time, and Mr Clarke was late for an important appointment. You remember now? Maybe you have a pocket diary you could check?’
Oakley’s hand began to move, then stopped. ‘Well, if you say so, Chief Inspector, I suppose I must have met him. There was so much going on just then… Is it important? I suppose you’re going back over all his contacts, are you? Now that he’s been identified as the culprit?’
‘The odd thing is that you kept no record of your meeting, apparently. In the files you left behind, at least.’
‘Really? Well now, let me see…’ He made a big show of reaching into the briefcase he had set at his feet, and coming up with an electronic personal organiser. ‘May twenty-third?’ There was silence as he tapped and scrolled and fiddled around. ‘Oh, here we are. You know, you’re right. I’ve got an appointment here for “V.P.” at eleven a.m. Would that be it? Yes, I remember that week-chaos, it was. And I believe I do remember going to the Verge offices soon after I took over as LO. To orientate myself.’
‘It was only four months ago. What did you and Mr Clarke talk about?’
‘I couldn’t say exactly. General stuff about the case, I suppose.’
There was a long silence, then Brock said in an undertone that Oakley might not even have been expected to hear, ‘You disappoint me, Mr Oakley.’
Kathy couldn’t see Brock’s expression clearly on the small monitor, but she knew the impression Oakley would be registering, of withdrawal, of values being readjusted, of options reconsidered; all uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps…’ Oakley forced confidence into his voice. ‘Perhaps if you told me what this was about… What you’re after, exactly. ..’
But Brock ignored him and, as if suddenly bored, got to his feet and walked heavily over to the window, hands thrust deep into his pockets, and stared bleakly out at the rain.
Bren cleared his throat. ‘This morning I asked you about another person you claimed you hadn’t met-Debbie Langley.’
It was at this point, Kathy decided, that Oakley finally began to realise that none of this had anything to do with giving him business. He stiffened visibly, and she imagined the brain cells beginning to fire at panic speed.
‘Do you still deny meeting Debbie Langley recently?’ Bren barked. Oakley didn’t reply. ‘Let’s save time,’ Bren persisted. ‘I have here a copy of a statement signed by her on September thirteenth, ten days ago. She says you got her to sign it. Did you?’ Still Oakley said nothing. ‘Did you pay her to sign this, Mr Oakley? Did you give her money?’
At the time, Kathy wasn’t sure if this was a good approach-possibly, she admitted to herself, because it hadn’t occurred to her. But it galvanised Oakley. His face went very pale and he found his voice.
‘I understand now,’ he said, voice shaking slightly with the effort of controlling himself. ‘I understand what this is about now. You people… you always stick together, don’t you? I know what this is about. It’s that Kolla woman, isn’t it? She’s behind this, right? My God, hell hath no fury eh?’
Despite the jolt at hearing her name, Kathy was struck by how anger had changed Oakley. No longer the supplicant salesman, he seemed stronger, more formidable, even to have a certain dignity. She wondered if she’d misjudged him.
He stuffed his personal organiser back into his briefcase, a slight fumble betraying his agitation, then he was on his feet.
‘Where are you going, Mr Oakley?’ Bren asked.
‘I’m leaving,’ he said, and added, in a parody of Brock, ‘and you disappoint me, Mr Gurney.’ He turned and swept out of the room. Kathy heard his footsteps thump past in the corridor outside.
‘Well,’ Brock was saying as she walked into the interview room, ‘that was interesting. What did he mean by that, Kathy?’
She saw Bren deliberately turn his attention to his file.
‘He obviously thinks I engineered this. He’s a good friend of Leons. He must think I’m stirring things up to get at Leon or something.’ It sounded feeble, but it wasn’t up to her to spell out what was going on between Leon and Oakley.
‘He seemed very emotional,’ Brock said. ‘Have you two met before?’
‘Just the once, in the company of Leon. We exchanged a few sentences, that’s all.’
‘Hm. What did you make of him, Bren?’
‘Well, he didn’t need his gadget to tell him where he was on the twenty-third of May. He knew bloody well, and he remembers what he talked to Sandy Clarke about. The question is why he doesn’t want to tell us about it.’
‘Exactly. And if it were important, you’d think there would be some trace of it somewhere. Would Clarke have made a record of the meeting? A file note, or a word jotted on the back of Oakley’s card? Would he have discussed it with someone at the office, or with his wife? And we’d better speak to Leon about his signature on this statement of Debbie Langley’s, and anything else he cares to enlighten us on. But you can leave all that to us, Kathy. You can forget about it.’
If only, she thought, as she made her way back to her room, a feeling of foreboding growing in her.
She spotted him just as she reached the shelter of the canopy outside her block of flats. She was shaking the water off her umbrella when she saw him running through the rain towards her, the splash of his footsteps muffled in the downpour. The collar of his black raincoat was turned up, his black hair gleaming as he passed beneath a light.
‘Kathy!’
‘Hello, Leon.’ Her heart sank as she took in the features of his face and remembered how beautiful he was.
‘Kathy, you’ve got to stop this.’ He was close, eyes bright and angry.
‘What?’
‘What you’re doing. It’s so stupid.’
‘I’m not doing anything, Leon. Do you want to come in?’
‘No! You went to see Debbie Langley, didn’t you?’
She nodded.
‘I wouldn’t have believed you’d react this way. It’s so incredibly vindictive! But there always was a hard streak in you.’
‘Leon, I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t understand what Paul Oakley’s been playing at, but I do think you should watch out. He’s -’
‘Don’t you threaten me!’ He stopped himself, as if remembering that he had to focus on one thing only, and not lose his temper. ‘Look, for whatever reason, you’ve made something out of nothing. I’m telling you, you’ve got it all wrong. I want to ask you, please, stop this. Get Brock and Bren to drop it.’
‘It’s gone past that. Paul hasn’t been truthful. He has to be straight with them.’
It was only when she was safely in the lift, her knees trembling, that she became aware of her unfortunate choice of word. She hoped Leon hadn’t thought it deliberate. He would take it as further evidence of her hard streak, she supposed. As the lift rose slowly through the floors another thought occurred to her, that Leon had stood over her in the way she had seen other men behave, trying to intimidate a woman by physical and verbal pressure. She had never imagined he would have been capable of that.
Later that evening, as she was about to go to bed, the bottle of wine finished, the Leonard Cohen CD milked of every bleak meaning, she jumped at the sudden ring of the phone. At first there was silence on the line, and Kathy wondered if Paul Oakley might be turning his hand to menacing behaviour. Then she heard a woman’s voice. ‘That’s you, is it, Kathy?’
She recognised Leon’s mother, sounding hesitant but also vaguely put out, as if it were Kathy who’d made the call, and at an inconvenient time.
‘Hello, Ghita.’
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