‘John!’
‘Sorry, DC. He’s only gone and found something under there. I’ll put him on.’
‘DC?’
‘No, we’re doing Batman today. What have you got, Boy Wonder?’
Smith could sense the excitement down the line or bouncing off the satellite dish, whatever you said these days. In the background, Murray’s voice, rhythmic syllables as if he was counting something.
Waters said, ‘There was a tin wedged right up under the bows. I could hardly reach it – but it’s full of twenty pound notes.’
‘Chris, tell me one thing before you go any further. Are you wearing the gloves?’
‘Yes, DC.’
‘Thank God. Are they nice new ones? Not the gloves, the notes. How much?’
There was a pause, then Murray’s voice indistinct, before Waters answered.
‘One thousand, two hundred and forty. DC, I’ve got the original numbers on my phone; the ones I’m looking at now must be from the same batch.’
These are moments to savour – little by little they were zipping up a case around Philip Anthony Wood.
He said, ‘Good work, Chris, really good. Put John back on. John? We have to look at the blood, now. Secure the boat, and someone will have to stay down there. I’m going on the hunt for a SOCO as soon as you’re off the line. If there’s one within twenty miles of Lake, they’ll be on their way. If it’s going to be a longer wait, I’ll get a uniform to take over, alright?’
Chapter Twenty
‘We walked along the jetty towards the boat, and when we got there, he said to me, “Hold on, John, let’s just look at this properly before we begin searching it.”’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said, “OK, DC.”’
‘He did well, though, John.’
‘Too right, but he had the advantage, being so thin. I couldn’t have squeezed in there – I don’t know how Philip Wood did either.’
They were sitting in the incident room, and it had just gone two o’clock that same afternoon. PC Ford was guarding the boat in his support role as detective-in-waiting, and with any luck Sally Lonsdale herself would be there in her plastic suit within the hour. Waters was temporarily missing, which usually meant that Clare had not had a text from him for two hours and he was now obliging. Serena Butler and Mike Dunn were on their way back from The Wherryman, and Smith was wondering just how large the lemonade bill was going to be. When they were all present, DI Reeve would join them.
Murray said, ‘Nothing at the pub?’
‘Haven’t heard anything. It’s down to the money as to whether we can keep hold of him unless Sally can strike it lucky amongst the slime and fish guts.’
‘Nice. You fancy him for it, DC?’
‘Do you?’
Murray’s opinion was worth having. The big man thought it over before answering.
‘He hasn’t provided any evidence that he was somewhere else on the Monday when the phone was bought. Whoever took it out of the box wiped it for prints, so we know it was for something dodgy anyway. Wood knows the boats down at Scanlon’s, he knows how the platforms are serviced. Do we know if he ever goes out to them? We know he has a key that gets him in and out whenever he likes, and that he has a boat of his own. Now we find some of the same money on that boat. He’s in it up to his neck.’
‘I’m totally with you so far, John. What was the point of the blue phone? I think I know but I need to hear someone else come to the same conclusion.’
‘We’re meant to think it was Bell’s phone, or one of them.’
‘And the reason someone wants us to think that?’
‘They wanted us to think that Bell had actually been there on the platform that Tuesday night.’
It was an almost physical relief, to hear that, and Smith simply enjoyed it for a moment. Then he added, ‘It looks like a late one tonight. You don’t need to hang around. Get home to Maggie. She’ll be waiting for her nuts.’
A short silence before they both laughed.
‘Thanks for agreeing to step up, DC. It means a lot to both of us.’
‘The god-parent thing? To be honest, John, the god part will be easy – I reckon that comes naturally to me. The father bit might take some work. But hark, I hear steps in the corridor. I hope they’re not pie-eyed…’
Serena Butler came into the room, followed by Mike Dunn and Waters. Smith still found her face difficult to read but Dunn and Waters were already in conversation – something to do with the case. They all sat around the same table, Serena taking out the photographs and laying them out in a line.
Mike Dunn said, ‘We got one half-hit on Wood – one of the bar staff thought he’d seen the face before but he couldn’t be sure when, just that it was recent.’
Smith looked around the faces at the table.
‘Sorry – the lemonade deal is off. In fact, you might have to pay me compensation for the stress of sitting here waiting for that stupendous piece of intelligence. This is why I say send messages or something. Set fire to the rubbish at the back of the pub and send smoke signals, I don’t care as long as we don’t waste time, people…’
He came to a halt because Mike Dunn did not seem particularly troubled by this minor outburst – in fact, he was clearly waiting for Smith to shut up.
Smith said, ‘Right, what is it?’
Serena Butler was fiddling with the six photographs, getting them into a perfectly straight line. Then she answered Smith’s question.
‘It’s as Mike said, nothing worthwhile for Wood. But two of the bar staff picked out another face without hesitation, just because he’s regular.’
The photographs were upside down and Smith glanced at them.
‘Well, not impossible, is it? Some of our clientele are bound to drink in a place like The Wherryman. Take a few randoms, I said, so that could happen.’
Mike Dunn was smiling and he nodded to Serena, telling her to go on.
She said, ‘The barmaid who served James Bell wasn’t on duty but I thought it would be worth speaking to her as well. They gave us her address – that’s why we’ve been so long. Her name is Amanda Hockley.’
Smith felt his eyes being drawn down to the photographs again, to one in particular.
Serena continued, ‘Amanda is the sort of witness we dream about. She picked out the same man straight away – as one of the men that James Bell was drinking with on Saturday the 15th. This was the man who called him away from the bar. She doesn’t know his name, and neither do we, but we have a face now.’
Smith said, ‘No, sorry, the odds on that are too long…’ and then he realized. He looked up at Waters.
‘Who got the photos ready?’
Mike Dunn said, ‘Chris did, he printed a few off this morning.’
Smith turned the photograph around, to be absolutely certain.
‘Well, this one didn’t come out of records, did it? Where did it come from?’
Waters was uncomfortable with all the faces that were turned to him, waiting for the answer. Smith looked annoyed and what he, Waters, had done was probably against the law, he now realized.
‘It came off the Meet The Team page of 3S Security. I just thought-’
‘Go on. Put them out of their misery – name the face.’
‘Stuart Aves.’
‘Who is?’
‘Head of security on the Elizabeth platform.’
Smith said, ‘Who told me that he did not know James Bell personally. The same chap who puts new padlocks on gates and wanted to take the blame for Bell’s terrible accident.’
It took half a minute to sink in.
Then Serena Butler said, ‘What the hell made you think of that?’
Waters said, ‘I’m not sure, now. I knew that DC had doubts about him… The pictures didn’t have to be of convicted people, did they? I did the address check, so I knew he lived in Lake. Would it be a problem if it comes to trial? I-’
It was John Murray who laughed first, and the
n Mike Dunn and Serena Butler joined in. Smith shook his head, instead, and when it was quiet enough he said, ‘I’d just like to point out that I taught this boy everything he knows.’
He had sent everyone else home but Mike Dunn had stayed on in case the next interview threw up something that needed a pair of legs – they were almost halfway through the twenty four hours. Smith didn’t know anything about Dunn’s personal circumstances but staying on late didn’t seem to bother him – it was, if anything, the reverse of that. He ought to ask about, see what was known. Alison Reeve had been updated, the paperwork for the searches had been completed and now they were waiting; Sally Lonsdale had agreed to have a preliminary look at the samples from the boat before she too went home.
The call came at 18.30.
‘DC, have you any idea what this would cost as overtime?’
‘No, because I never claim any. I’ve no time for people who came into this job for the pay. Apart from anything else, they must be really stupid. Got anything for me?’
‘Let me say that you have excelled yourself this time. Much of the blood is from Arenicola marina, a species that I have not encountered before in my career.’
‘Just another of the benefits of working closely with my team. What’s one of those, then?’
‘Commonly known as a lugworm.’
‘OK, fishing bait, that makes sense. You only said “much” though.’
‘We also have fish blood – which is surprisingly similar to human blood at superficial levels of analysis.’
‘No, I’m not surprised – I’ve met some pretty cold fish. If it wasn’t so late, I’d be making some more excellent jokes at this point, but it is, so… Tell me this isn’t over between us, Sally.’
He heard the clicking of a mouse or a keyboard.
‘I don’t like to disappoint the men in my life, DC, even the desperate ones.’
‘Sally, I hear there are many desperate men in your life.’
‘OK, that’s good enough. I found traces of human blood on one of the seats and on a duckboard which is sheltered by the wheelhouse-cabin structure. A few days old, maybe a couple of weeks. We need longer to get you a match-quality result but I’m due to be here in the lab in the morning, and I can push it on. Also, there are some odd fibres that look as if they don’t belong on a boat. My guess would be some sort of carpet but there was no sign of a source on the boat today. If you can hold off on the violent crime in Lake overnight, tomorrow is possible.’
‘If I hear of anything coming in, I’ll go down and pull the fuse out of the box in the cellar. Sally, I’m writing a post-it for my computer screen – it says “There’s only one Sally Lonsdale.”’
‘I suppose that means I’ll have to play myself, then.’
‘No idea - sorry.’
‘In this television series they’re going to make about you. At least, that’s what I heard…’
‘Oh, that. No, I said it would have to be Keira Knightley at least.’
She said, ‘Yes, I can see that. Goodnight, DC.’
This would have come from Allen – ‘Oh yes, a book about one of my officers…’ How far would it run, and for how long? Now it was a bloody television series. He needed a strategy for this, but not now. He had to find Alison Reeve, get someone to call Harry Ward back in and have Philip Wood brought up from his cell. The night was still young.
The two of them, Smith and Alison Reeve, were seated and waiting when Wood was brought in, followed by Harry Ward. The usual reminders were given, the usual procedures were followed and the recorders were switched on again. Smith reached down and then placed the phone box and packaging on the desk.
Reeve said, ‘Philip, what can you tell us about this?’
‘It’s a box for a phone.’
Such irony, Smith thought, is a great leap forward in the evolution of this inquiry. At some point, either with or without Harry Ward’s advice, Wood had decided to talk.
She said, ‘It’s the box for the phone that we have here – your phone. The paperwork shows that you’ve only had this one for a week or so. Did you have a phone before this one?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to your old phone?’
‘I chucked it away.’
‘Why?’
‘It didn’t work any more.’
Smith looked at Harry Ward, a look that said, it’s going to be a long night.
‘Why didn’t your old phone work any more, Philip?’
‘I dropped it down the toilet.’
Smith couldn’t help himself.
‘Well, I hope you flushed properly before you fished it out. How did you dispose of the old phone? I expect you know they’re worth a bit online… If we had more time, I would ask what you were doing, holding your phone over the toilet, obviously.’
‘I binned it.’
‘Into the recycling bin?’
It was worth a shot – once they had recovered a hard drive like that.
‘No, in the black bag. Sorry.’
Smith gave him a friendly smile – this was more like it.
‘Not a problem, Philip – I’ve got some doubts over all this eco-stuff myself. But if I’ve got this right, on Monday the 17th of this month, you bought two phones in two different shops; one for yourself and one for James Bell. Why didn’t you buy them in the same shop?’
There was a pause and Smith thought, I need to keep the questions short and simple or we’ll be here as dawn breaks over the docks.
‘I don’t know anyone called James Bell.’
‘I didn’t say you did. I said you bought a phone which ended up in his possession – sort of. How did it get from your hands onto the gas platform where we found it, Philip? Take your time – we’ve got all night.’
‘It’s not me on that film.’
‘So tell us where you were on that Monday morning at 11.00.’
‘At home.’
‘With your Mrs.’
Wood nodded.
‘Well, we’ve had a word with her. And guess what?’
Wood stopped nodding.
Smith said, ‘She don’t know nothing.’
Wood began nodding again, this time embellishing it with a smile.
Reeve said, ‘But, Philip, remember what we said about the money you used to pay for it? The twenties, crisp, new twenty pound notes? Sergeant Smith…’
He reached down to the floor by his seat and came up with two evidence bags; one contained the tin that Waters had discovered, and the other its contents. Wood shifted a little in his seat.
Reeve continued, ‘These items were found on your boat at Scanlon’s this afternoon. Apparently someone had gone to some lengths to conceal the tin. It seems an odd place to hide one thousand, two hundred and forty pounds.’
Smith said, ‘Interest rates are at an historic low, though, ma’am.’
She said to Wood, ‘These notes have serial numbers that run on from those we know were in the possession of James Bell. They were on your boat. The phone that you bought with the same money ended up in James Bell’s room on the gas platform. Are you still expecting us to believe that you have no knowledge of James Bell?’
She didn’t engage with suspects in the way that Smith intentionally did, but there was something intimidating about her calm, logical, analytical approach; Wood already knew that the next question was primed and in the tube ready to be fired. She would have made a good lawyer.
‘Are you seriously expecting us to believe that, Mr Wood?’
Smith thought, he’s going back into “No comment” at any moment, and we don’t want that.
He said, ‘Of course, ma’am, there is a possible explanation for the money on the boat. Philip, do you ever lend the boat out for someone to do a bit of fishing?’
Wood thought about the possibilities before he answered.
‘Yeah, sometimes.’
‘Recently? In the past couple of weeks?’
‘Probably.’
‘So someone else could ha
ve hidden the money there, planning to go back and get it later.’
Wood nodded.
Smith turned to DI Reeve.
‘And that could also explain the traces of DNA we found on the boat, ma’am.’
Wood said, ‘What DNA?’
‘The bloodstains on the duckboards. I expect someone cut themselves on a fishing knife. I mean you’d hardly notice among all the blood from the fish and Arenicola marina, would you?’
Wood said, ‘You what?’
Smith was cheerful, opening up his notebook, pencil at the ready.
‘Don’t worry, Philip. We’re getting the human blood analysed as we speak. I’m sure it will be fine. If it did happen to belong to someone that you claim you’ve never met whose name has been mentioned already, that would be what I call a bloody coincidence. In the meantime, I’d like you to give me all the details of the people you’ve been lending your boat to, OK? Names? Ben Ainslie? Sir Francis Chichester? Captain Ahab?’
Philip Wood’s twenty four hours was due to end at 10.36 the following morning. At 10.31, Detective Superintendent Allen authorised the twelve hour extension in view of the fact that forensic results were imminent and that, depending on what they were, any subsequent charges might be serious ones. However, he had made clear, the money and the purchase of the blue Samsung phone alone were not enough to keep Wood in custody – Allen said that he would not even bother to call the CPS with that.
An odd calm descended on the incident room – everyone had something to do and appeared to be doing it and yet no-one was getting anything done. The likely whereabouts of Stuart Aves and Donald McFarlane had been established but to pursue them without bringing Wood’s interrogation to some sort of conclusion would make no sense. Smith sat quietly at his own desk and mapped out on paper two alternative scenarios – one with Wood released and one with him being charged and remanded in custody. If they could not put someone else into James Bell’s flat, they had to put James Bell somewhere else after he had left it; on one level, it was a simple as that. They had the unidentified hair samples, of course, taken from the dents in the wall but those did not belong to Wood… Which, on reflection was not a bad thing, he thought. It had been clear to him from the start that whatever had been done in the flat that Saturday night had not been done by a single person, and they had Mrs Fairhead’s statement that there had been two or three men at the door late in the evening. The hair samples were not recognized by the database, which meant that they belonged to someone without a previous conviction, someone who had never been a suspect in a criminal case, and he already had two people to interview who fitted that description. Along with about forty million others, he told himself, in one of his regular, self-imposed reality checks.
Luck and Judgement Page 26