Then the silence was shattered.
“DC Cotton,” barked Hawkins. “I’d like you to tell me what the hell you think you’re up to.” His tone was more than threatening.
“I don’t understand, sir. Is there a problem?”
“A problem!” he yelled. “Of course there’s a problem. A huge bloody problem! You have more than likely compromised the whole case!”
Jennifer felt her knees buckle while her gut had developed a free-falling existence all of its own.
“I … I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Her eyes flickered towards Freneton and back. If it were possible, the superintendent’s frown was even deeper, her whole demeanour darker and more threatening. The corners of her mouth dropped in a sneer.
“We’ll give you one chance, Cotton,” she snarled, interrupting Hawkins. “One chance to explain. But let me make it perfectly clear. Your career’s on the line here; you might even be prosecuted for trying to pervert the course of justice.”
Jennifer’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on a rock, but no sound emerged.
“Well!” yelled Freneton, making Jennifer jump in fright. “Jesus, girl, what is wrong with you?”
Jennifer was fighting to remain standing to attention, her breathing heavy. She was reeling from the verbal barrage, the implied accusations that she knew nothing about.
Freneton continued, her words a series of stiletto thrusts.
“We have some more results. Lab results. DNA results. Your profile.”
“My … profile, ma’am? You mean you think I’ve contaminated the scene? That’s impossible.”
She turned to McPherson whose face now looked as if root canal would be preferable to being there.
“Guv, you saw me do the preliminary examination of the X-Trail. I gloved up and touched nothing inside the car. I know I didn’t wear a mask, but I didn’t speak or sneeze or anything while I was looking in the car. I couldn’t have contaminated it. And even with the gloves, I touched nothing except the door handle, and the shoe when I bagged it. At the scene in the woods, I was fully gowned, masked and everything, so it can’t even be saliva—”
“Shut up, Cotton! Stop babbling!” yelled Freneton.
“It’s got nothing to do with scene contamination, DC Cotton,” interrupted Hurst, his voice insistent but deliberately softer. He was livid with her but that didn’t dampen his dislike of Freneton. If she continued like that unchecked, she’d have Cotton a quivering wreck on the carpet.
“Like me, and everyone else on the team, your DNA is on record for elimination purposes for exactly the reasons you just described: in case anyone is sloppy enough to contaminate the scene. It’s a serious matter when it happens, we know that, but we have to accept that it does happen.”
Jennifer was nodding frantically. “I know that, sir, I know why it’s done.”
In her mind she was running through every occasion she had had anything to do with any of the physical evidence, and she could think of no time when she could have screwed up. She knew the rulebook backwards and sideways and could recite it chapter and verse, in Italian or French if need be. And she took pride in adhering to it.
Hurst continued. “One of the things the lab does is to run all the profiles, full and partial, and all the controls against each other — it’s part of the protocol — and one of their more astute young scientists noticed your DNA.”
Jennifer was shaking her head. “What do you mean, sir, noticed my DNA? What’s so special about my DNA?”
Olivia Freneton was ready to pounce; she wanted to be the one to deliver the killer punch.
“It’s very similar to Henry Silk’s, DC Cotton, that’s what’s so special, as you put it,” she snapped, her voice still hovering precariously on the controlled side of rage. “It contains what the scientist called several rare alleles, which are something of a research interest for the scientist. When she then found that Silk’s DNA has the same rare alleles, our astute young scientist asked for our approval to carry out a paternity test. And her conclusion, confirmed by her seniors, is that Silk is your father. Ninety-nine point nine percent certain. He’s not even an uncle, Cotton; he’s your father!”
She banged on the table with her fist, taking everyone by surprise.
“Henry Silk is your father, Cotton!” she repeated, emphasizing every word.
She paused, taking satisfaction in watching Jennifer absorb what she’d said, that they’d discovered her secret. Then she continued to drag the blade around in the wound she’d opened up.
“And, DC Cotton, I don’t and won’t accept for a moment that you didn’t know. We’ve spent the last hour going over conversations various of us have had with you in the last week or so and it would appear that you’ve tried hard to persuade more than one of your colleagues that Silk is innocent. Now we understand your motive.”
Jennifer could almost feel McPherson cringing behind her as she remembered their conversation in the pub. Judas! she thought. But that thought was an aside. Jennifer was incensed and her anger cut through her shock.
“Ma’am, I can assure you, I can assure you all,” — she glanced briefly at Hawkins and Hurst before focusing back on Freneton’s malevolent gaze — “I had no idea that I was related to Henry Silk in any way. It’s a total shock and in fact, I dispute it. I think there’s been some sort of cock up. My father was a doctor who was killed in a car crash before I was born. Obviously I never met him but I know my mother loved him dearly. Like most people, I only know about Henry Silk from what I’ve read in the glossies; I’d never met him before last Monday.”
She paused, panting, desperate to defend herself. Something else occurred to her.
“And anyway, if you’ve been reviewing my conversations with the team,” — her tone was verging on sarcastic as her eyes flashed to Hurst who was now examining his fingernails, avoiding eye contact — “you’ll know that I was the one who found the red shoe in Silk’s car. And I was the one who noticed the scratches on his neck. Do you think I would have done that if I were trying to protect him? I think he’s as guilty of the murder of Miruna Peptanariu as all of you do. It’s the sheer stupidity of his actions I find difficult to fathom.”
She was almost shouting.
“Watch your tongue, DC Cotton,” snarled Freneton. “You can protest all you like. I, for one, do not believe you. You’re off the case, young woman, and as your squad commander, I’m suspending you from duty until further notice. Your dishonesty has created a huge amount of extra work for everyone and will cost the SCF a fortune. You’ll never work with this team again; they won’t want you. When the defence finds out, and I doubt we can keep it under wraps, they’ll be screaming ‘foul’. And I can’t even begin to imagine what the press will do when they get hold of it. They’ll have a field day; make us look like complete idiots. All thanks to you, DC Cotton.”
Her voice was rising as her rage started to get the better of her.
“Didn’t you once stop to think of the waves you’d be creating, or that your secret wouldn’t eventually be discovered? Thank God we found out now. If it had happened during trial, we’d never have recovered.”
She stopped to take a slow and deliberate breath, and then continued in a more even voice.
“I’m also going to report this to the Internal Investigation Branch, and knowing them, they’ll have your hide. I can’t imagine anyone here will stand in their way. For the present, DC Cotton, I should warn you that you are not to breathe a word of any of this to anyone, inside or outside the team. If you do, I’ll make it my personal business to ensure you are kicked out of the force in disgrace. Now, get out of my sight.”
Jennifer was shaking. She lowered her head and shifted her eyes from Freneton to Hawkins, and then to Hurst. Benign, friendly Mike Hurst. He was her mentor, more than any of the others, and now he hated her for something that must be untrue, and if it wasn’t, something that she had still had no knowledge of.
All she could perc
eive in their eyes now was hostility. She realised her chin was quivering more than the rest of her. They were not going to see her break down and cry. She turned swiftly on her heel and without even a glance at McPherson, who had to step smartly out of her way, she pulled open the office door and left.
She was hardly conscious of walking along the corridor and into the squad room. As the door slammed behind her, she became aware of every pair of eyes in the room watching her, but she couldn’t look at any of them, not even Derek. She grabbed her bag from where she’d left it on her desk on the way through and rushed out of the door.
Derek Thyme watched her go. He was as alarmed and confused as the rest of them — they’d all been listening to the yelling, shouting and arguing from the inner sanctum all morning. He looked across at one of the other DCs, Joe Renton, one of the older ones. Not over bright, but steady and reliable. Renton caught his eye and nodded after Jennifer.
“What you waiting for, Justin? You’re her mate; go after her, find out what the hell’s up.”
Derek shot out of the room and caught up with Jennifer on a half landing on the stairs. She heard him coming but ignored him.
He grabbed her arm. “Jennifer. Jen. What’s happened? Are you OK? I’ve never seen any of them so angry. Not even the Ice Queen and she’s always angry. McPherson was apoplectic; I thought he was going to have a heart attack.”
Jennifer stopped and half-turned towards him.
“I can’t tell you, Derek. They’ve forbidden me.”
She had a sudden thought that if what she’d been told was true, they had no right to ban her from announcing who her father was. But then the thought of how that would be received hit her.
“All I can say is that I’ve been suspended. They want to prosecute me, Derek.”
“What! Why? What’ve you done? That’s rubbish; they can’t do that. I don’t believe it.”
“Look, Derek, it’s better we don’t even skirt around it. I can’t say anything, Nothing. No hints. They’re bound to question you when you go back and even if they haven’t seen you follow me, they will still question you as part of their investigation. You’re a close colleague; they’re bound to.”
“Question me about what? I don’t get it, Jennifer. Anyway, if they’re going to question me, they’ll tell me what it’s about so you might as well tell me now. Won’t make any difference.”
“Yes, Derek, it will. Let them tell you if they want and then let them swear you to secrecy until the press gets hold of it. For my part, I can’t and I don’t want to even come close to opening up the possibility of you being in any way complicit.”
Derek stared at her, trying to work his way through the complexity of her sentence. He gave up and took hold of her shoulders.
“Jennifer, whatever they’re accusing you of, I don’t, can’t believe that you’ve done something wrong. You’ve got a brilliant mind — I’m in awe of you — and you’re going to make a great detective. It gives me a buzz just working alongside you, even though I know I can never be as good as you are.”
She touched his arm and sagged.
“Thank you, Derek, you’re very sweet. It’s good to know I’ve got one friend here.”
“You’ve got more than one, Jennifer. The whole team feels the same.”
Jennifer pulled open her bag and snatched out a tissue. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.
She managed to stall them and wipe her nose.
“Look,” she sniffed, “you’ve got to watch your back. You all have. Freneton will take no prisoners.”
She stopped and looked at the ground, suddenly overwhelmed again.
Derek was still not taking no for an answer.
“Jennifer, you’ve got to tell me.”
She looked up at him but hardly saw him, her mind working overtime. She suddenly let go of his arm and ran back up the stairs, leaving Derek staring after her with his mouth open.
She banged open the door to the squad room, strode through and into the corridor beyond. Hurst was back in his office talking to McPherson. Jennifer pushed open the door without knocking and marched up to Hurst while totally ignoring McPherson. She hadn’t forgiven him.
“What the hell are you doing here, Cotton? You’ve been suspended.” Hurst was shocked and distinctly uncomfortable. The Ice Queen might emerge from under her rock at any moment and accuse him of collaborating with the enemy.
“You’ve been ordered to leave. Any time you spend near this case is compromising it further.”
Jennifer ignored his rant. “Boss, I want another DNA profile done on me. I think there’s been some enormous screw-up. There’s no other explanation. What they think is my DNA can’t possibly be. There’s no way that man can be my father.”
Hurst took a deep breath as he thought about it. Finally he nodded. “That’s a fair request, Jennifer, but I hope for your sake, for all our sakes, that you’re right.”
He looked at McPherson. “Rob, take her back to the squad room and get someone to take a buccal swab from her, witnessed. Then get the sample to the lab and get it fast-tracked. I need that result asap.”
He turned back to Jennifer.
“After that’s done, DC Cotton, get out of here and don’t come back until you hear from me.”
C hapter 16
Late the following afternoon, Jennifer was at home in her apartment unable to concentrate on anything, her mind still spinning around the meeting with her senior officers the day before. She had spent the past twenty-four hours racking her brains for any indication in her past that her being Henry Silk’s daughter could possibly be true. If only she could ask her mother, but she couldn’t.
A cardboard box on the coffee table in front of her was full of old family photographs she had selected from several much bigger boxes stored at the family house outside Milan when she moved to the apartment in Nottingham. There were many of her as a baby and a small child, either alone or with her mother and Pietro, joyful images from holidays in the sun and the snow, the house in Sardinia, various yachts, fashion shows, parties. There were also many Jennifer had selected of her mother as a child with her own parents. Jennifer had never known them; they died before she was born. She remembered thinking it slightly odd at the time that there were none of her mother from around her mid-teens until when she was twenty-three and holding the newborn baby Jennifer in her arms. Now she found it more than odd: there was a distinct gap.
She was idly flicking through the photos when her main gate buzzer sounded through the intercom. Whoever it was had held their finger on the button for too long: it wasn’t a casual caller.
She sighed, reached over to the handset and pressed a button.
“Yes?”
“It’s Rob McPherson. We need to talk.”
Jennifer considered telling him to go away, that he was the last person she wanted to talk to. Instead, she pressed the gate release button.
“It’s flat three,” she said, pressing the door release for her apartment. “The door’s on the left.”
She heard the front door close and McPherson’s footsteps as he came up the stairs.
“In here,” she called through to the hallway at the top of the stairs. She wasn’t going to get up and greet him.
McPherson appeared at the door, his eyes automatically scanning the room, the detective in him noting its important features.
Jennifer indicated an armchair opposite to where she was sitting and he sat down.
“Nice place,” he said absently, although his eyes had now settled on the box of photographs.
“Thanks, but I doubt you’ve come here to view the property.”
He looked up, his square jaw set, his eyes troubled.
“The lab has profiled the sample you gave yesterday, Jennifer, and it’s the same result. Hurst also got them to repeat Silk’s profiling. There’s been no cock-up: all the profiles match the previous ones. They are sticking by their opinion that Henry Silk is your father.”
Jennifer l
eaned forward, putting her head in her hands, her eyes staring blankly. She was gutted. She’d pinned her hopes on a mix-up of samples.
McPherson waited until she looked in his direction.
“Hurst is spitting; he thought you were right. Freneton is giving him hell — they hate each other, as you are probably aware. Look, Jennifer, I need some background from you. Could you tell me something of your childhood, your family? Tell me about your mother, what she told you about your father. If you want us to believe your story, we’ve got to have something to go on.”
Jennifer stood and walked over to the balcony doors. In Lincoln Circus below, she could see two children of about three and five playing with a ball, giggling, laughing, calling out to their parents who were laughing and waving back. An ordinary, normal family, a family whose lives hadn’t just been shattered, people who would go home, enjoy their evening meal, watch TV, read to the kids.
She felt like screaming, tearing her hair, beating her fists on McPherson’s head.
She turned to face him, leaning against the French doors. He was watching her carefully.
“Jennifer,” he started, “about yesterday. You must have thought I was doing the dirty on you, telling tales.”
“Weren’t you?”
“She gave me no choice, the Ice Queen, I mean. She’s like a Rottweiler. I’ve had some tough bosses in my time, but she takes the biscuit. But I wanted to say that I’m sorry. It was nothing personal. When she hit me with the DNA results, she made it sound like the end of the world. A huge conspiracy on your part.”
Jennifer nodded vaguely and walked slowly to the sofa. She sat, pulling one leg up under her.
Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller Page 11