Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective

by Michael Hillier

  “How many families are involved?”

  Lord Harry’s face grew even longer. “Probably at least two hundred and fifty.” He shrugged again. “Mind you, I think a number have already decided to move to London or go abroad for the period when they might be at risk.”

  “And when is that?”

  “Er - when is it precisely, Paulson?”

  The inspector swallowed. “Well sir - the earliest death suggested by Julian Brace (he’s the journalist at the Herald) is nineteenth June - the latest, seventh July.”

  “Nineteenth June?” said Faraday. “But that’s less than a week away.”

  “Bloody hell, you’re just like the rest of them. You immediately jump to the conclusion that there’s going to be another one this year.” Lasham jutted his head aggressively at her. “There just isn’t any evidence to support such a conclusion.”

  Paulson was startled. Even the DCC murmured, “All right, Mark.”

  However Charlotte stared straight back at him, apparently unmoved by the obvious contempt in his attitude. “I presume you mean that no kind of pattern has been established to link the deaths, other than the fact that they come from the same area and the same financial background and that they occurred at about the same time of year.”

  “More than that,” said Lasham. “Oh, you know the details, Paulson. You spell it out for her.”

  “Well,” Stafford considered how he should put it, “this article only appeared last Thursday and we don’t usually set up major investigations on the strength of a newspaper article. However I’ve dug out the coroner’s records of the other four deaths, as a precaution. The findings were that one was accidental, one was suicide and two were misadventure. A question mark was raised over one of the latter.”

  “And what about that one?”

  Paulson shook his head. “It was a simple matter. The dead woman was called Mariella Prince. She was a spinster, rather mannish. She used to enjoy going out for long walks on her own. She apparently slipped and fell while boulder-hopping across a river on Dartmoor - on her own, of course. It appears she fell head-first into a pool about two feet deep and drowned while unconscious. The river runs in a very rough bed in that area, broken up by lots of boulders which create side pools off the main course.” He paused for a second. “Anyway the coroner seemed to consider that the medical report raised some doubt about the credibility of the cause of death. But, after we had made our report, he decided there wasn’t enough evidence to pass an open verdict.”

  “What about your report?”

  “We drew a complete blank. The death was investigated by Sergeant Gregory Mallinson. The woman had been the only daughter of a prominent local solicitor who had died a couple of years earlier. We could find no living relatives. Most of her money went to a cat sanctuary up-country - an independent trust which she had founded and supported for years. There were a few small bequests to staff and friends - nowhere near enough to provide a motive for murder. Nobody had seen her with anyone before her death. Nobody knew of any contacts she had, other than local friends and neighbours. None of those gave us any cause for suspicion. The matter was filed pending further information.”

  Faraday looked at him with a speculative expression. “And the others?”

  “They all appeared natural at the time. When I read about it on Saturday I thought the suicide is possibly the only one which might have a bit of a question mark hanging over it.”

  “I don’t think we all need to be involved in this discussion,” intervened Lord Harry. “You can start looking into the details when you get back to Torbay, Charlotte. Have you somewhere to stay?”

  She turned to him. “Yes sir. I’ve booked myself in with an aunt who lives in Newton Abbot.”

  “How are you travelling?”

  “I came by special car, sir, because of my equipment. But that’s gone back to London.” She paused for a second. “I was told a car would be provided when I got here.”

  “Do you drive yourself?” asked Corbett.

  Charlotte was a tight-lipped as she replied, “yes - sir.”

  “Good.” The DCC was apparently unaware of her reaction. “That’ll save a bit on manpower. I’ll get a car to you in a couple of days. Meanwhile I’m sure Stafford will be delighted to drive you, or else arrange for someone in the section to do it.”

  He smiled benignly at them. “You’ll be able to drop her off at her aunt’s on the way home, won’t you Stafford? It’ll give you a chance to discuss some aspects of the case and plan for your onslaught tomorrow.” He banged the desk. “I want you to hit the ground running on this one.”

  He held out his hand to Charlotte. “Nice to have you aboard, my dear. You know where I am if you want any advice or assistance.” He turned back to his desk and the others perceived that they were dismissed.

  * * * * * * * *

  Paulson and Faraday were on the by-pass and heading south before either of them spoke about it again. The boot was full of her equipment and her personal baggage was on the back seat. There was a certain air of tension in the car.

  Stafford was quiet, concentrating on his driving and the misgivings he had about the new arrangements. He had warned the staff in Torquay that he was going to Exeter to discuss the Advertiser article. He had left copies with them and instructed them to have a rethink about the Cynthia Adams case ready for a conference when he returned. They expected that. They were all sensitive about the lack of progress that had been made on the case. The last straw had been this article by the bloody journalist, Julian Brace. However he hadn’t told them about Faraday, so nobody was expecting Paulson to turn up with a new thirty-year-old female to boss them around. That would take some explaining.

  He was unaware that she was watching him and it almost made him jump when she spoke. “I realise this new set-up is going to be difficult for you,” she said. “I will do my best not to undermine your authority elsewhere.” There was a slight smile on her face. “I think it’s important that we try to get on together.”

  “Miss Faraday,” he began and paused. “Do I call you Miss or Mrs?”

  This time her smile was more positive. “I hope it’s going to be Charlotte.”

  “Of course.” He sounded boorish to his own ears as he insisted, “but I need to know when I introduce you to the staff and to others.”

  “Very well.” Her smile tightened as though this was the usual reaction of the old chauvinist brigade. “You may introduce me as DCI Faraday to the staff or as Ms Faraday if we should ever attend a social event together.”

  He pulled his ear in embarrassment as he concentrated on getting into the correct lane to take the Telegraph Hill ascent. He was aware that they’d started off the relationship on the wrong foot, but he didn’t intend to fawn over her like the DCC.

  * * * * * * * *

  Charlotte broke the silence again as they accelerated up the hill. “Thank you for the copy of the newspaper article. I have read it briefly. But you can tell me more about it.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I assume you took no personal part in the investigations into the deaths it refers to.”

  “What investigations?” He gave a short laugh. “We weren’t involved at all, except in the case of the woman who banged her head on a rock. That was four years ago. But, from what I recall, there was never any suggestion of foul play at the time. We were only asked to report on that one because it seemed a strange kind of a death.”

  “What are you going to do about these other deaths, now the question has been raised by the article?”

  “Well.” He was concentrating on the road. “When I read the coroner’s reports I must say that my first reaction was similar to the DCS’s - that it was a load of rubbish. I admit it does seem to be quite a coincidence but so far I haven’t read anything to link any of the deaths with Cynthia Adams.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “What you’re really saying is that you don’t want to spend weeks ploughing through piles of c
omputer print-outs to see if you can spot any little details which might link in some way with your records of the Adams enquiry.”

  He glanced at her quickly before he nodded. “We’re only a small section. I’ve got a sergeant and two DC’s. We’ve already interviewed more than four hundred people and DNA tested nearly sixteen hundred. We must have collected more than twenty thousand sheets of data so far. That’s a hell of a lot to plough through when we’re not really sure what we’re looking for.”

  “Don’t worry.” She looked at him closely, trying to judge his reaction. “That’s precisely what my computer programme is designed to do. As long as I can construct the right bridges between your records and the inquest data it will lead me to any links of information in seconds.”

  “What? - without having to read the documents?”

  “Yes. The information is already there. The programme simply does what your brain would be doing if you waded through the paperwork but it does it about one hundred thousand times faster than you could. And it doesn’t get tired and fall asleep.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Exactly.” She didn’t tell him how long it had taken to perfect the data handling capabilities or the huge storage capacity needed. “Of course the computer will throw up hundreds of anomalies which will have to be waded through but I can normally clear those in an hour or two with the help of the local knowledge of you guys. Then there will be a few that can’t be easily resolved. Those are the ones that will need investigation.”

  “Wow.” Paulson was silent for a long time, presumably absorbing the import of what she had told him. At last he said, “I’m afraid I’m no great shakes at computers. I didn’t even study IT at school.”

  “You don’t need to be an expert. I can lead you through that part. Your value is in two things - firstly, what is stored away in your head and not logged on the computer; secondly, in your ability to go out and interview people in their own environment where they will be relaxed and are more likely to open up to you.”

  “But then I’ll have to come back and enter it all on the computer.”

  “Not any more, you won’t. I’ll give you a new type of mobile which is permanently wifi-linked to the computer. The speech recognition software is now so good that the computer can convert it instantly to readable data. All you have to do is read through what is recorded when you get back to check it for correctness.”

  “Is that legal? It all sounds like big brother’s taken over.” The very thought seemed to silence him.

  “The complete system has been checked by our lawyers and it’s all perfectly legal as long as the data is kept confidential.” She gazed at him, trying to get his support. “After all it’s no more than you having perfect recall of your earlier conversation with the witness.”

  She saw that he was trying to foresee the changes that this new system was likely to bring to his method of operating.

  However Charlotte wanted more information about the existing setup. “Lasham’s the controlling type of boss, is he?” She corrected herself. “I mean - he likes to be the one to make the decisions. Do you need to run everything in front of him before you decide what to do?”

  Paulson shook his head. “Not entirely. But, as I said, we’re only a little section. Torbay is not a great big division like you’ve been used to. We’ve always got too many cases to cover them all properly. If we’re going to spend several weeks investigating four old deaths which aren’t even suspicious, then I think that Lasham’s got to tell me what other cases are to be put on a back burner while that’s going on.” He flashed a brief grin at her. “Do you see my problem?”

  “It seems to have been taken away from you.”

  He gave a short, sardonic laugh. “On the contrary - with your arrival he’s been able to duck the responsibility.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Surely it’s clear,” Paulson said. “If you take my staff away, my clear-up rate will drop. When the top brass put a question mark against my figures, he’ll respond with my bleat that I’ve only had sixty percent (for example) of my usual manpower for the last three months. They may blame you, if you’ve got nowhere, or me, if you’ve cleared it up. Either way he won’t get the blame. Lasham’s good at that.”

  Charlotte noticed the bitterness in his voice. She wondered if it was going to be difficult to get enthusiastic support from this man. Would every bit of co-operation have to be forced out of him? She said, “Well, I’ll only ask for help when I need it. But I hope you’ll find the computer will help you clear things up faster.”

  She noticed that he spoke very little as he drove. The car was moving fast along the dual carriageway through the forest over the top of Haldon. The road was clear and the early evening sunshine sparkled as it spattered down through the trees. She thought how delightfully different it was to the grimy back-streets she had left that morning. But she didn’t have any time to waste on enjoying the lovely setting.

  “Let’s talk about the Cynthia Adams case,” she suggested. “You dealt with her murder yourself?”

  “Yes.” Just a monosyllable.

  “You talked to the hotel staff?”

  “Of course - all the ones who might have seen anything relevant.”

  “I take it nobody saw the man. He didn’t book the room or anything?” Even as she asked, she was sure he wouldn’t have missed such elementary points.

  If he resented her questions, he was careful not to show it. “The room was booked by Cynthia Adams by telephone and paid for by credit card. The room number was given to her over the phone. She drove to the hotel on her own in her own car, parked it in the hotel car park, and collected the key to the room from reception on her own - that’s as far as they can remember.”

  “I’m surprised they could remember so much.”

  He looked at her sideways. “It was the third time she’d done it in a fortnight.”

  “Really?” That took her breath away. “Same man?”

  “We assume so. There’s no reason to suggest Cynthia was on the game or anything like that. In fact I’m sure she wasn’t. She had been the mayor the previous year.” He changed the topic. “Where am I to deliver you?”

  “Seymour Road. It’s in an area called Knowles Hill.”

  “I know it.” He nodded. “Very pleasant area. Good views.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Aunt Harriet’s from the posh end of the family - widowed now, but still comfortably off.” She paused before continuing, but she wasn’t going to let him avoid her questions. “So, it sounds as though Cynthia was carrying on a fairly serious affair for a lady of mature years.”

  He glanced at her again. There was a wisp of a smile about his features. “Careful,” he said. “The lady in question was only a few years older than me. I see no reason to assume her sexual urges had atrophied. Quite the reverse, in fact.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Charlotte, aware that she had better tread carefully, “you would assume that Cynthia and her murderer had known each other for some time. Weren’t her family aware that she was having a relationship with someone?”

  “Nothing’s come to light.” He concentrated on his driving as he slowed down for the roundabout at the end of the dual-carriageway, pulling into the right hand lane. “In fact her son was quite prickly about it when he was interviewed. Cynthia had only been a widow for about six months. Giles - the son - claimed that she and her husband had been a very happy couple. He was obviously shocked to think that his mother had found another man so soon after her husband’s death. I think we were both aware, when I was interviewing him, that the affair could have started before the old man’s death and Giles didn’t like that idea very much.”

  Charlotte thought some more about it. “So nobody knows who this man is? Nobody saw him entering or leaving the room where the murder was committed and nobody noticed anyone unusual around the hotel at the time of the murder?”

  “It’s a big hotel.” Paulson seemed defensive. “One
of the biggest in Torbay. Nearly all the staff are foreign - mainly Italian or Portuguese. The manager himself is Italian - a Mr Montessori.”

  “What time did the murder take place?”

  “About six to six-thirty in the evening.”

  Her brow furrowed. “And what time was the body discovered?”

  “Just before seven. A maid went into the room and found her.” He smiled. “They called the local station.. Luckily I was still in the office and went straight over.”

  “It seems a bit odd that they decided to go into the bedroom at that time.”

  “Precisely,” said Paulson. “I asked the manager about that but he was rather evasive. He admits that nobody heard any noise or made any complaint. In fact the room showed no sign of anything more violent than love-making. There were no reports of any suspicious occurrences. Montessori said that the chamber-maid (who could hardly speak a word of English and needed him with her all the time to translate) - he said she went into the room to turn down the sheets, assuming the guests were at dinner. Frankly I think that was rubbish. I believe he was on the fiddle. I’m sure he was aware that the room had been let for an afternoon’s sexual liaison and that the couple wouldn’t be staying the night. He was planning to relet the room to some evening arrivals for cash, which of course would have gone into his pocket. So he sent the chamber-maid in to check whether they had left yet and whether Cynthia had forgotten to hand in the key.”

  He paused for a second before he shrugged. “Not that it makes any difference to us. Nothing was easier than entering and leaving that hotel without being noticed. In has an enormous reception area and there are two other entrances, five staircases and three sets of lifts. Installation of CTV cameras is rudimentary and a permanent record of what they were showing wasn’t kept at the time of the murder. The hotel has seven floors and three wings. With two hundred and ninety rooms, people are coming and going all the time.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible to keep any sort of a check under those conditions.”