by Salkeld, J J
‘This is the Horse Fair, two years ago. It’s taken just off Roman Road, we don’t know which day yet but it’s probably the Friday or the Saturday. The photographer lives out of area, but Ian is getting in touch with him. Anyway, there’s no doubt that here Morrow and one of the Plouvins, we assume its David but can’t be sure, are in conversation. And of course we do have formal statements from both Plouvins, stating that they had never met Cliff Morrow. Now this picture isn’t absolutely definitive, because the photographer could have snapped Morrow just asking Plouvin the time or something, so evidentially it doesn’t move us all that much further forward.’ Hall paused, and registered the disappointment on some of the team’s faces. ‘But we know better than that, don’t we? Of course the Plouvins knew Morrow, or at least one of them did, and of course the fact that Morrow’s body turned up in the Plouvin’s back yard is significant. There’s a connection, we can be confident on that now, and there’s every chance that the Plouvins are directly connected with Morrow’s death. So, as of now, the Plouvins become our focus. Until now I’ve been trying to hedge our bets, but time and money are short, and we have to make our choice. And I choose the Plouvins.’
‘So we’ll be bringing them in right away then, boss?’ asked Mann.
‘No, not yet. We need more. Looking at the picture it doesn’t look as if anyone else was with them, does it? But let’s wait until we see what other pictures that photographer might have taken at the time. This picture is just one of the ones that he posted online, so there may well be more. But if there aren’t then we will need to talk to them both, because we need to establish which one of the Plouvins it is.’
‘It’s David, surely’ said Mann. ‘Has to be. His brother just isn’t the type.’
‘Maybe, but let’s not make any assumptions here. Let’s go back through everything we’ve got on Morrow, and the Plouvins, and find that connection. There has to be one, I’m sure of it.’
Val Gorham certainly wasn’t giving anything away. As Jane spoke she made the occasional note.
‘So what you’re saying, Jane, is that you think DCI Hall has made a serious error of judgement with respect to these two cases of sexual touching?’
‘I wouldn’t say serious, ma’am.’
‘Then why are you here? When a DS asks for a meeting with the station Superintendent to discuss an operational decision made by a senior officer then the matter must be serious, by definition. Extremely serious, in fact.’
‘I just thought that you’d share my concerns about this case, ma’am.’
‘Because I’m a woman, you mean? I sincerely hope that would never be the case. What if it was men who had been the victims of sexual touching? Would you have come to me then? I’m afraid I’m very disappointed in you, Jane. This isn’t some sort of girls’ club, and you are in danger of triggering off an extremely dangerous series of events.’
‘I don’t follow, ma’am.’
‘If I make any formal note of this conversation, as I am obligated to do, then a number of outcomes are inevitable, and some others are highly likely. Among the inevitable outcomes is that DCI Hall will be required to justify his operational decision to me, and that meeting will be formally minuted. Should I fail to support his analysis, or find failures in his management approach, then various sanctions against him could follow. Happily, from Andy’s perspective, I think there is very little chance that I would take such a view. And then there are the other possible consequences, Jane, have you thought about those?’
‘You mean personal consequences?’
‘I do. My own view is that it is most unwise for Police officers to become involved in any form of romantic entanglement, but that’s a matter for the two of you. However, I can’t consider any emotional collateral damage, as it were, if and when I become involved in this issue. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘So here’s what I suggest we do. You get back to your duties, and I return to mine. This meeting never took place.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Not at all. But don’t ever dream of doing something like this again, Jane, is that clear?’
‘Yes, ma’am, quite clear.’
‘Good. And one other thing. This is none of my business, but I think that you need to think very carefully about whether or not you can adequately separate your work and your home lives. To be blunt, can you be an equal at home, and a subordinate at work?’
‘I think so.’
‘That may not be enough going forward, Jane. You’re a DS now, and vacancies do come up here at HQ and in the Divisions periodically. And since Andy will be returning to Kendal soon it might make sense for you to think about a new role.’
‘A transfer?’
‘Just think about it, and let me know. Just don’t dwell on it for too long, because you’re both fine officers, and I’d hate to see either of you suffer a reduction in your effectiveness because of any unresolved issues. As I say, your personal lives are your own affair, and God knows some coppers do have the most complicated personal lives imaginable, but when you’re here, at work, then I take a very close interest. A very close interest indeed.’
Tuesday, 18th June
‘This really is the most dreadful waste of my clients’ time, Chief Inspector’ said Charles Jenkins. ‘You’re not dealing with a couple of scallywags off one of the estates here, you know.’
Hall smiled. He’d had plenty of run-ins with Jenkins before, and it wasn’t like him to try a bit of bluster. Perhaps one of his clients was rattled.
‘Let’s make a start, shall we. I suggest we talk to David first. You know my colleague, DS Jane Francis, don’t you?’
Jenkins offered his hand. ‘I do. Well, if you insist. It makes no difference who you interview first, DCI Hall. Neither has anything whatsoever to contribute to your investigation.’
David Plouvin looked pale and tired. Hall introduced Jane, and switched on the recorder.
‘Let’s talk about the Horse Fair from the year before last. In your statement you say you think that you probably attended, with your partner and her children.’
‘That’s right, I probably did. I mean we probably did.’
‘But you didn’t meet with anyone there?’
‘I might have met people I know, I might even have chatted to people I don’t. It’s that kind of place. But I didn’t go with the intention of meeting anyone, no.’
‘And you don’t recognise this man?’ Hall slid a copy of the picture of Cliff Morrow across the small table.
‘How many times? No, I don’t know this man.’
‘And yet we have a photograph showing the two of you in conversation.’ Hall paused, and then turned over the A4 print that had been lying, face down, next to his notepad. ‘Who do you see in that photograph, Mr. Plouvin?’
‘That’s not me. It must be my brother.’
‘Christopher?’
‘Well it wouldn’t be Rupert, would it?’
‘So it’s Christopher Plouvin in the picture?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you recognise the man with him? The man he’s talking to?’
‘No. Why should I? We may be identical twins, but we’re not joined at the hip. We don’t share a nervous system.’
‘You still should recognise the other man. Have another look. Take your time.’
David Plouvin picked up the picture and looked at it.
‘Is it this Cliff Morrow? The picture you just showed me, of the body you found by Long Meg?’
‘None other. I knew you could do it, Mr. Plouvin. Now wouldn’t you say that’s more than a co-incidence, your brother talking to a man who later turned up dead, just a couple of hundred yards from where you live?’
‘Please don’t invite my client to speculate, Chief Inspector. I believe that the convention is that the Police are responsible for doing the detective work, no matter how threadbare.’
Hall smiled. Jenkins was rattled, but he couldn’t see why. J
enkins must know that the photograph had very modest evidential value.
‘All right, let’s try another question. Do you know what your brother and Mr. Morrow were talking about?’
‘No. Why should I? It could have been anything, couldn’t it? How do you even know they were talking?’
‘Again, Chief Inspector, please ask questions that there is at least a faint chance that my client might be able to answer.’
‘Did your brother mention that he had met Mr. Morrow to you?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
Hall sat back. ‘Thank you, Mr.Plouvin. That’s all for now, but we may well need to speak to you again. So don’t decide to go and visit your brother in South Africa without telling us first.’
‘That’s the last place that I’d ever choose to visit, Chief Inspector, I can promise you.’
Five minutes later, in the same room, an almost identical scene played out. Hall, Francis and Perkins were sitting in the same seats, but Christopher Plouvin had replaced David. He seemed a good deal more relaxed, healthier even, than his brother.
‘Cast your mind back two years please, Mr. Plouvin. Did you attend the Horse Fair?’
‘I might have. I quite often do, either with my family, or visitors, or occasionally on my own. You’d be surprised who you meet at Appleby Horse Fair.’ Plouvin smiled at Hall.
‘I was just about to move on to who you met at the Fair’ said Hall. ‘Did you ever meet this man?’
Plouvin glanced at the picture of Morrow.
‘No. I’ve told you before, I don’t recognise him at all.’
‘Are you quite sure? Think back to your visit to the Fair, two years ago. Did you meet him then?’
‘I told you, I don’t even remember if I was there. One Fair tends to blend into another. The only thing that really changes from year to year is the weather.’
‘Oh, you were there all right. You can be certain of that. Have one more look, if you would,’
Plouvin shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, but the answer is still no.’
Hall turned over the second photograph.
‘Have a look at this picture. Do you recognise anyone in it?’
‘Yes, that’s me. How very clever of you Chief Inspector. I must have been at the Fair, after all.’
‘And the man you’re talking to?’
Christopher Plouvin picked up the photograph and looked at it closely.
‘Is that the dead man? Really, what a co-incidence.’
‘Isn’t it? What were you talking about?’
Plouvin didn’t hesitate long enough for Jenkins to intervene.
‘I don’t think we were talking. I certainly don’t remember if we were. A pleasantry about the horses perhaps, or maybe I was asking what he was doing later. I don’t remember at all. I’m truly sorry not to be more help.’
Plouvin looked pleased with himself. Hall sat back and looked levelly across the table at him.
‘But you have been a help, Mr. Plouvin.’
‘Really? In what way?’
‘Well, there’s no reason for you to understand Police procedure, so shall I explain how we work? I’m sure Mr. Jenkins won’t mind if we’re another few minutes, because he’s paid by the hour, isn’t he?’
‘I’d be fascinated’ said Plouvin. ‘I’ve done a bit of voluntary work with offenders, but that was years ago now.’
‘Really? That’s interesting. Very public spirited of you. And in that case you’ll probably already know more than most. Because thanks to the constraints of TV cop shows and the like there’s a general feeling that most crimes are solved by the discovery of clues, of evidence that firmly establishes guilt.’
‘The dripping dagger, you mean.’
‘Exactly, the dripping dagger. You should have been a crime writer, Mr. Plouvin, with a turn of phrase like that. And of course sometimes that is how it happens, especially with unpremeditated crime. There’s physical evidence, whether that’s a dagger or DNA, and we build a prosecution around that. But I’m going to let you in to a little secret, Mr. Plouvin, so I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t pass it on to any criminals of your acquaintance.’ Hall smiled, and Plouvin smiled back. ‘The way we actually work, especially in a case like this where the victim has already been dead for twelve months, is that we just take statements, endless statements. We take them from all sorts of people, and most of what they say is true, which is good, but also irrelevant, which isn’t so good. It’s a boring procedure, and it would make for terrible television. How many formal statements have we racked up on this case so far, DS Francis?’
‘Over two hundred, sir.’
‘Over two hundred, and more will be being added all the time. And what we do with those statements is compare them, both against each other and against other evidence, like this photograph say, and identify the inconsistencies, the lies, the half-truths, the deceptions, even the self-deceptions. And do you know what we do then?’
‘Have a lie down, I imagine’ said Plouvin, still smiling.
‘Sadly not, although that’s a suggestion that I will put to my Superintendent at the very next opportunity. In fact, what we do is this. When we find one of those inconsistencies, one of those lies, then we start to worry away at it. And if we find we can prove it to be a lie we see where that takes us next, and often it’s actually the start of building a case that’s strong enough to convince a jury. And you’d be surprised how tiny those initial inconsistencies can be, Mr. Plouvin, you really would.’
‘Congratulations, Chief Inspector. Your method sounds very impressive. Tiring, but impressive.’
‘Oh no, you misunderstand me, it’s not my method. I can’t claim any credit, absolutely none at all. Our investigative method is common to every CID officer in the country, and to tens of thousands more around the world, I dare say, and it’s based on two things. The first is the better part of two centuries’ worth of experience, of testing and developing our methods, and that’s powerful in itself, of course. And the second, which really is the key, is that our method is based on an understanding of human behaviour, in so far as it relates to offending behaviours anyway, and that hasn’t changed at all over the years. It’s as immutable as Long Meg herself, maybe even more so.’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt’ said Perkins, ‘but my understanding was that the idea of a formal interview was for you to ask the questions, and for my client to answer.’
‘But it is over, Mr. Perkins. I just wanted your client to understand how we operate. And the main thing that I want him to realise is that if, following this interview, we discover that he did know Cliff Morrow, then that will form the very foundation of a case against him. And further, that it is unwise to underestimate both our persistence and the extent of our resources, when it comes to progressing an investigation like this.’
‘Is the interview terminated?’ asked Perkins.
Hall said it was, and turned off the tape.
‘Thank you for coming in. That’s all for now’ said Hall.
‘Not quite’ said Perkins. ‘Since you have, for whatever reason, decided to explain your methods to my client I think I should do the same, but from my perspective. I appreciate that you’re salaried whether you’re working or not, so perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of listening for a minute or two?’
‘I certainly will, Mr. Perkins.’
‘Then, Mr. Plouvin, here are a couple of things that you should know. A technique that the Police often use is to try to put pressure on suspects by implying that they know more than they do, and infinitely more than they could prove in a court of law. Take this photograph as an example. All it proves is that you were, for a fleeting moment, close to a man who died a year later. You may, or may not, have exchanged a few words. What does that prove? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Its evidential value is as close to zero as makes no difference. And when it comes to the Chief Inspector’s point about the Police’s tenacity, and depth of resources, I’m afraid that’s
very wide of the mark. In my extensive experience the Police are, if you’ll excuse the phrase, criminally under-resourced, and in the absence of overwhelming evidence, which is found at an early stage in an investigation, then there is very little likelihood of a prosecution, let alone a conviction, at a later date. In my professional opinion the chances of anyone facing justice in this case are already vanishingly small. Mr. Morrow was, most likely, killed by some of his criminal colleagues, and the chances of any one of them confessing, or informing on another, are extremely small. And one final point, Chief Inspector.’
‘Yes?’
‘If it becomes clear to me that you, or your colleagues, are harassing my clients or their families I will not hesitate to make a formal complaint to your superiors. My clients do not expect any special treatment because of their position in society, but I will insist that their rights are both acknowledged and respected. My clients have repeatedly told you that they did not know Mr. Morrow, and unless you have compelling evidence to the contrary I do not want their privacy to be further invaded, nor their valuable time to be wasted on your sad little fishing expeditions. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Quite clear, thank you, Mr. Jenkins.’
At lunchtime Ian Mann knocked on Andy Hall’s door. The two men had worked together long enough for Mann to know that the interviews hadn’t gone well. There was no shouting, no slamming of doors, but the fact that Hall hadn’t stirred from his office for three hours was all the evidence that Mann needed. Hall was brooding on what had happened, re-running his mental tape, full of half-perceptions and instinctive reactions to what the Plouvins had said, in the hope that he’d spot something, anything, that would help him move the case forward. Most of the time there was nothing, not a glimmer of an idea, but just the odd time he got the sense of something significant, just on the edge of his consciousness.
‘Fancy popping out for a bite of lunch?’ said Mann.