Kathy made another noise, this time it was a gasp that was made up completely from relief. A few seconds passed, while she composed herself. Once she was ready, she started talking, and the trembling had subsided quite considerably.
“He attacked me, really badly. He was the driver, they were taking me to the moors to kill me and bury me, they told me about it. They said they’d already dug a grave. I was terrified, but… well, I couldn’t let them see it. I started answering back, telling them that I was being followed. The driver hated me, but I kept trying to piss him off. In the end, he snapped, he pulled the car over at some pub car park and started attacking me. He was trying to kill me, aw God, it was awful, he was ripping the hair out of my head. He knocked me unconscious, kicking me, jumping on me. He’s a fucking monster. When I woke up, he wasn’t there. It was just me trapped in the back of the car, Piers was driving. He told me that he’d killed him, Ben, the psycho driver. I didn’t believe him, of course. But, it seems that he was telling the truth!” Kathy did a weird, almost sarcastic smile. It was clear to Miller, Rudovsky and Saunders that Kathy was starting to feel the comfort of this news. She was still wearing the bruises that this man had given her, but he couldn’t harm her anymore. Saunders’ announcement had come as a huge relief.
“Tell us about the cover-story, the relationship with Piers. What are the details that you have revised?” Rudovsky asked the question.
“Its quite simple, Piers said we had to keep it as simple as possible, or else we would start forgetting bits. It all boils down to this. We met at Sally’s office, we went for a couple of secret dates and we have been in a relationship for over a year. We are planning to get married in 2020, and honeymoon at the Olympics in Tokyo. Piers said that this would be enough to make it all sound legit.”
“Okay, listen, Kathy, we’re going to let you get some proper rest now. You’ve been through such an awful ordeal, I think you need a good break from it all. We will need to talk to you again, at length no doubt. But that can wait for now.” Miller was playing a blinder at the compassionate approach, a characteristic usually delivered better by Saunders or Rudovsky.
“Thank you, I really appreciate that.”
“But before we let you get on your way, can I ask you one last thing?”
“Go ahead.” Said Kathy, looking as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
“Do you have any idea where Piers has put the belongings that he asked you to handle?”
“I don’t know about that.” Kathy started thinking. The detectives could see very clearly that she was giving it a lot of thought. “It was all in a bag, a black bin-bag in the back of the car.”
“And has Piers had an opportunity to remove this bag? I mean, has he been out of your sight since he took you to his house?”
“No, not really. I think he’s drugged me a few times, because I’ve fallen into some really heavy sleeps, but then again, that might be from my head injuries. But while I’ve been awake, no, he’s been breathing down my neck the whole time, he’s even stood outside the door when I’ve used the bathroom.”
“Okay, that’s great. We know we’re looking for a black bin bag. If we can find that, we can throw the key away as far as Piers Marshall is concerned, he’ll never get out of jail.”
Kathy was thinking hard. “You know, I’m sure it was still on the floor in the back of the car. I don’t know where the car is, or anything, but the last time I saw it, that’s where it was.”
“Okay, thanks a lot Kathy. I seriously doubt that it will still be there, but that’s really useful intelligence, thank you.”
“Yeah, nice one Kathy, much appreciated,” said Rudovsky, and she patted Kathy’s hand gently across the table-top, in an attempt to demonstrate her sincerity.
“Right, lets go and speak to the Chief Inspector here, and see what arrangements we can make to get you out of here, and to a safer, more relaxing place.”
“And to get me in a bed.” Said Rudovsky, who
looked completely shattered.
Chapter 54
“Okay, so we know what we’re doing.”
“Sir.”
“Sir!”
Miller was talking to DC Grant and DI Saunders in a small meeting room on the second floor of Shepherd’s Bush police station. Rudovsky and Kenyon had left an hour earlier, after being handed the keys to the Travelodge hotel room, the same one that Grant and Saunders had booked into that morning. They’d both looked glad of the opportunity to crash out, even if it was only likely to be for a few hours.
It was almost 6pm, and DCI Miller was now the last surviving SCIU team member who’d not had the chance of a rest. This shift was getting into its thirty-second hour, and Miller looked like he’d been on a bender for a few days. He really was getting too long in the tooth for this kind of craziness.
It had been a rewarding shift, though. The afternoon’s developments had been very positive, particularly the SOCO reports from Piers Marshall’s car, which had been discovered in the car park at London TV, seven miles away from Marshall’s home in Belsize Park. Forensics had uncovered some great evidence, despite the fact that the vehicle had encountered a rather shambolic attempt at a valet. Things were looking good, and the finishing line was coming into view.
Miller handed the photo-copied planning notes to his colleagues. “Piers has had half an hour with his legal team. He’s now been in police custody for thirteen hours. We need to get cracking, we only have him for another eleven, before the twenty-four hours are up. Remember what we’ve discussed, we need to lead him down his own little path, and then, just when he, and his brief think that he’s home and dry, that’s when you bamboozle him.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Yes, absolutely itching to get in and get on with it, Sir.” Grant looked full of enthusiasm for the job in hand, and that raw eagerness reminded him of Saunders’ gusto for the job. DC Helen Grant was going to fit in well, thought Miller as he smiled warmly at the two detectives who were desperate to get into the interview room, and put this case to bed. He suspected that they wanted to take each other to bed, shortly afterwards.
“Just want to say, Grant, your probationary period ends in four weeks, doesn’t it?”
Suddenly a new expression eclipsed Grant’s face. The enthusiasm and passion in her eyes changed to a fear, an anxiety.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Well, I tell you what, if you carry on the way you’ve started, you’ll definitely be a full-time team member. I’ve been really impressed, and I know DI Saunders has, too.”
Grant blushed, and looked down at her lap shyly. “Thank you Sir.”
“You’re welcome. Credit where it’s due and all that. Now, I’m going to try and have a siesta somewhere, because I feel like the next time I blink, my eyes will stay shut. So off you go, good luck, and I’ll look forward to watching the video footage of you dismantling Piers Marshall’s story a little bit later on.”
“Thanks Sir.”
“Cheers.”
* * *
A couple of minutes after Piers Marshall, his solicitor, and the two Manchester detectives entered the interview room, all of the formalities were done. Piers had been read his rights, and the interview commenced. Part one was going to be a doddle. At least, that was the plan.
Saunders kicked things off. “Okay Mr Marshall, apologies for the delay in getting to speak to you.”
“Its fine, we’re here now. My complaints will be made to the appropriate body, at the appropriate time.” Piers Marshall had a very indignant attitude. He was arrogant and huffy, and he spoke down to the police as though they were of a lower-class to him. He spoke as if they were a couple of builders who were interrupting his afternoon tea on the terrace. Piers Marshall was the archetypal upper-class, spoilt boy. His world had taught him that the family money he’d been born into made his blood warmer, his arms stronger, his family greater human beings than those with less m
oney. He was the ultimate stereotype, clichéd English toff, and he really didn’t care what anybody else thought of that, either, as a matter-of-fact.
Piers Marshall looked extremely pleased with himself, and his arrogance was truly mesmerising. If he was remotely worried or concerned about this police matter, nobody would ever have guessed. He was treating this as though he was merely here to report his car stolen. Both Saunders and Grant found a new layer of dislike for the man.
“Mr Marshall, as you will understand, we have taken a great deal of time speaking to Kathy about the activities of the past seven days.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have, which begs the question, what the hell am I still doing here?” Piers folded his arms and placed his foot down on the floor very heavily.
“Kathy has surprised us with a few things today. The main one, was that she told us that she stayed with you for the past week.”
“Well it’s hardly a crime is it? Have you people not got any real work to be getting on with? This is absurd.”
“I’m sorry, I understand that you are frustrated, and we shouldn’t keep you too long now. We just want to clarify a few matters which have arisen.”
“Well, lets get on with it then old boy, for heaven’s sake.” Piers exhaled loudly, and looked up at the ceiling.
“Okay, well, I’d just like to know if you were aware of the media appeals regarding Kathy’s disappearance?”
“Yes of course I was aware. I’ve not been in Timbuktu for the past week. Of course I saw the media. I own London TV. Please don’t try to be a smart Alex with me, detective.” Piers had the kind of face that you’d never tire of whacking with a cricket bat.
“With that in mind Mr Marshall, did you not think that it would be a good idea to inform the police, to let us know that Kathy was safe and well?”
“Yes, well, the thought had crossed my mind, actually. But the bottom line is this, it was Kathy’s call to make. It was all rather, shall we say, emotional. If I know anything about survival in this world, one thing I know is that you don’t interfere with emotional women’s matters.”
Grant decided to rephrase, and ask Saunders’ question once again, dissatisfied by the wishy-washy, nonsensical reply. “What, even when the national media are running it as the top story? Did you not think that you had a civil duty to inform us that Kathy was okay?”
“A civil duty? You’re having a giggle, right? I respected a friend’s wish for privacy at a difficult, emotional time. I have nothing more to add. Please feel free to charge me with failing my civil duty, or whichever ludicrous crime you believe I have committed. Ha ha, honestly! This really is quite incongruous!”
“But from what Kathy has told us Mr Marshall, you and her are more than just friends. Aren’t you?”
“That’s a private matter. It has no bearing on this conversation, none whatsoever. Next.”
“Mr Marshall, Kathy has informed us that you and her are engaged in quite an advanced personal relationship. Can you confirm, or deny this, please?”
“Do I really have to answer such dishonourable questioning?” asked Piers of his legal representative. The man whispered his response. Saunders thought he’d heard, “It would probably hurry things along.”
After a long, rather dramatic pause, Piers nodded. “Yes, okay, Kathy and I are a couple. But this goes no further than these four-walls. Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly well Mr Marshall. Thank you. But this leads us back to your civil, no, I guess moral duty to let Kathy’s husband know what was going on, surely?”
Piers guffawed, a big, exaggerated wheeze of a laugh. Eventually, he stopped. “Oh, I apologise. I’m just so amused by your line of questioning, it really is a waste of my time. Look, once and for all, Kathy is safe and well, and we just want to start a new life together. The sooner you let me out of here, the sooner I can contact Jack, and tell him the news. I’ll tell him that you told me to call.” Piers laughed again, and it was just as insincere, and artificial as his first attempt at trivialising the situation.
Saunders and Grant looked a little awkward as Piers continued to indulge himself in his fake amusement. His legal representative didn’t look as though he was particularly impressed, though.
“Okay Mr Marshall, we’re nearly done here. But we just wanted to ask you about Kathy’s injuries?”
“What about them?” asked Piers, his grin still covering his face. That loaded question didn’t seem to phase him.
“Can you tell us how she came to receive those injuries?”
“I’m not too sure. I think she said she’d fallen down some stairs.”
“Any idea which stairs?”
“Well, I can only assume that they were the stairs in my town-house, as that’s where we have been staying.”
“Mr Marshall, can you be a little more specific about this matter please?”
“I’ve just told you all I know.”
“So your lover is very seriously injured at your home, and you don’t even know what happened?”
“But I’ve just told you what happened.”
“Hmmm, you seemed a little uncertain. It’s making alarm bells ring. It’s making me think that things are maybe not as straight-forward as we had first anticipated.”
“What in the name of hell-fire are you alluding to?”
“Mr Marshall, I am alluding to the fact that your lover has suffered a number of serious injuries at your home, at a time when she is registered, very publicly as a missing person, and you don’t seem certain how she sustained the injuries, or why you should have informed police that she was with you. It doesn’t quite ring true.”
As intended, this remark angered Piers. “Look, you bloody spiv. Kathy was a bit drunk, and she fell down some stairs. Now, please accept my apologies if I don’t have Rain Man’s memory, but I didn’t see it happen, and I don’t really entertain drunk people’s hard-luck stories. Once again, if you can charge me with this crime, go ahead. I’m super-rich, I’ll win the court-case. Believe it.” Piers smirked, and it caused a renewed sense of loathing on the opposite side of the table.
“Mr Marshall, I cannot understand why you seem so aloof about Kathy’s injuries. You should have called an ambulance, or taken her to the hospital.” Grant was keeping the tempo.
“Seriously, my patience is wearing dangerously thin. You don’t lecture me. Next question.”
Unwittingly, Piers had set Saunders up beautifully for the first stomach-punch of the interview. His arrogant, “next question,” remark was the perfect springboard for Saunders to explode his first bomb. This was going to make wonderful viewing for DCI Miller later, thought Saunders, as he set about wiping the smirk off Piers Marshall’s pompous face.
“Okay, my next question relates to the sad news regarding Bob Francis’ death this morning.”
Piers Marshall changed colour before Saunders’ and Grant’s eyes. His puffed-up blotchy-red complexion turned sheet-white, almost blue.
“Bob… I’m sorry, Bob Francis?” Piers was in shock. Saunders’ announcement had hit him like a lightning bolt. One-nil.
“Yes, Mr Marshall, Bob Francis. He sadly died this morning when our officers went to speak to him regarding Kathy’s disappearance.”
“Kathy’s disappearance?”
“Yes Mr Marshall, we had reason to believe that he was involved.” Two-nil.
“No, what… Bob? No…”
“Oh yes, and we also have very strong evidence that suggests he was involved with the murder of Janet Croft.”
“Jan… wait, Kathy, Janet…” Piers Marshall’s face was a picture. He knew that he looked like a rabbit in the headlights, a rabbit that was desperate to dart away, back into the shadows, but was too startled. Piers’ brain couldn’t work quickly enough. He was very visibly trying to think of a way out of this, desperate to pull something out of the bag, but Saunders’ barrage of damning points just kept coming, each one rendering him more and m
ore powerless. It was like a conveyor belt of devastatingly bad news.
“And the unexplained death of Ben Thompson.” Four-nil.
“Wha… Ben wasn’t… you mean… I’m?” There was a greasy, shiny film covering Piers Marshall’s deathly-white forehead. He was a jibbering wreck, he couldn’t articulate his thoughts, he couldn’t string a sentence together. The look of sheer exasperation, the reluctant acceptance that he wouldn’t be blagging his way out of this very easily, was a total joy for Grant and Saunders to witness. They didn’t care that they were grinning at the man in the seat opposite them.
This slimy, cocky, piece of murdering scum was beginning to realise that his rather idiotic notion of walking out of this place in a few minutes time was actually nothing more than an absurd fantasy.
“Can you tell us where you were last Thursday, between the hours of twelve noon, and midnight, please Mr Marshall?” asked Grant. Her stunning smile made Saunders’ stomach flip over again.
“I’m requesting a break, please, if that’s okay?” asked Piers Marshall’s solicitor.
“By all means, take as long as you need.” Said Saunders, who had deliberately adopted the smug and arrogant persona that Piers Marshall had left well behind, as he sat trembling, looking down at the floor, realising that he was snookered.
“Before we break off though, I must inform you that when you come back in here, we will be asking you a number of questions, including why this was found in the foot-well, under the passenger seat of your car,” Grant produced a transparent plastic evidence bag which contained a dirty, old door handle. “And we’ll also be asking you why the back-seat has produced hundreds of traces of Kathy Hopkirk’s and Ben Thompson’s blood.”
Piers was silently sobbing, shaking so much that it looked as though he was rocking in his chair.
“And, I’ll show you these photos before we break off. This shows Piers Marshall’s Range Rover, on the M56 motorway, last Thursday evening. If you look closely, you will make out that Piers Marshall is driving the vehicle. In the passenger seat is a man, and we believe this man to be Ben Thompson. This next photo was taken six minutes later, on the same stretch of motorway, and Ben Thompson is no longer in the passenger seat. And we all know why, don’t we Mr Marshall? Anyway, I’ll leave you with that. See you in a bit.”
Gone Too Far : DCI Miller 4: Britain's Most Hated Celebrity Has Disappeared Page 34