Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective

by Michael Hillier

  “If the normal standard of your investigation is up to the level of this,” she indicated the piece of paper, “then you wouldn’t have been doing anything useful for anybody.”

  Mallinson squared up to her. “Well ma’am, I’m not a damned cipher. I like to think for myself, instead of doing what a computer tells me.”

  “Sergeant Mallinson.” Charlotte forced herself to take a deep breath. “The list of questions produced by the computer is not a substitute for thinking. You are supposed to read through the list and decide how to set about your questioning in the best way to get the maximum information out of the person being questioned, without forgetting things and avoiding the need to go back again later. Far from wasting your time, it helps you to save your precious time and cover far more ground with less wasted effort. If you had tried to do the job properly you would have found that out.”

  “It still wouldn’t have helped me with my other jobs, would it?” he mumbled grudgingly.

  “There’s no reason why not,” she said. “In a few days we have already covered more ground on the Adams case than the section had managed to cover in the last year. I expect to complete all our main enquiries in less than a week. I will then be able to complete the matter virtually on my own. And after that I can make computer time available to help you with other enquiries, if you want it. Although I expect you’re too much of a Luddite to see the potential.”

  Mallinson was on a short fuse. “Well, I don’t see why we should be told to go round jumping through hoops by a bloody -“

  “That’s enough,” Paulson roared from the doorway, where he’d been waiting unnoticed. The suddenness of the attack silenced the sergeant. Stafford Paulson advanced on the man. “There is no excuse for swearing at anybody. And if you’ve got any sense, Greg, you’ll shut your trap right now, before you put both your other feet in it.”

  Greg Mallinson’s mouth opened and shut. All he managed was a grudging, “Yes, sir.”

  “Now,” said the inspector, “you’d better go back to this solicitor chap and ask your questions all over again, and this time make sure he answers each one fully.”

  “No.” Charlotte’s eyes were blazing. “I intend to go back to Mr Farmer myself and ask the questions. I will take Sergeant Mallinson with me so that he can find out the correct way to do it.” She turned and went back to her desk and picked up the phone. A few minutes later she was talking to the solicitor.

  “Mr Farmer. This is DCI Faraday from the local CID. Sergeant Mallinson interviewed you yesterday. Unfortunately we need more information than you gave him. I’d like to come round now and fill in the gaps. It will only take quarter of an hour.” She listened to Farmer’s protest. “Well, I agree it would have saved everybody a lot of time if you had provided us with all the information yesterday afternoon. That’s why I would like you to look out the will of Mariella Prince’s father and briefly update yourself on its main contents before we arrive.”

  There was a further burst of speech from the other end of the phone. Charlotte looked at her watch. “Don’t worry, Mr Farmer, we’ll be round at nine-thirty. As long as you’re well-prepared, we shall be finished by ten. That will give you plenty of time to make your court appearance at noon, won’t it?”

  She paused long enough to hear his reluctant agreement, then added, “By the way, did you also draw up the trust deed for Henry Adams.” She smiled humourlessly and nodded. “Well, perhaps you’ll also check that one. If you did, you can have a copy available for me to inspect at the same time. Thank you for your help, Mr Farmer. I’ll see you at nine-thirty.”

  Charlotte put down the phone and looked round. Mallinson had gone. She crossed to the door to the general office. “We’re leaving at twenty past nine,” she said to the sergeant. “Make sure you’ve read right through the questionnaire again before we go.”

  Then she closed the door and turned to face Paulson. “I’d be grateful,” she said, “if you’d leave me to sort out my own problems next time, instead of charging in with the Sir Galahad bit.”

  “But -” Stafford Paulson was startled by her lack of gratitude. “The bloke was being abusive and insubordinate and was about to start swearing. We can’t allow behaviour like that.”

  “My solution to such problems,” said Charlotte firmly, “is not to pull rank or sex on people like Mallinson. I want to convince him with reason and logic.” She shrugged. “I can take any amount of swearing if I can manage to get through to the sergeant that this is a system which will serve him well in the future.”

  The inspector shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t convince Mallinson with logic,” he said. “He’s made his up his mind he doesn’t like your system. So the bloke’s a lost cause as far as you’re concerned.”

  “I don’t agree with that,” she said. “By the time this case is over I want to do my best to convert the whole department.” She smiled at his look of disbelief. “I’m grateful to you for your good intentions, but I would rather you left me to fight my own battles in future.”

  “Very well.” Paulson stood up with a resigned expression on his face. “I’m off to Start Point to see the coastguard who boarded Joanne de Billiere’s boat. I don’t expect I’ll be back much before lunch.”

  “Right,” said Charlotte, sitting down. “I’ll see you later.”

  Stafford Paulson paused with his hand on the door handle. “By the way,” he said, “for what it’s worth I am getting to be quite impressed by this computer system. I admit that in three days you’ve got further on certain aspects of the case than we did in a year.” He grinned. “If you keep this up, I’ll be putting in to the Chief Constable for permission to have one here permanently. It’ll be interesting to see what Chief Superintendent Lasham makes of that.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned back at him. “That makes it even more important that I try to convert our friend Greg Mallinson.”

  * * * * * * * *

  They were ushered into Farmer’s office without even a short wait in reception.

  The man had a tendency to bluster. “I’m not at all happy about all these questions,” he complained. “I don’t believe in raking up all these old matters which were tidied up and put away years ago. And I certainly don’t approve of being forced to dig up information from my strong-room and having to give evidence on it at short notice.”

  “Mr Farmer,” said Charlotte equably, “we are not taking a witness statement from you. All we want is information to help us forward with our enquiries. A murder has been committed. It is a possible that others may have been committed in the area. There is just an outside chance that Mariella Prince was one of the victims. Surely you would want us to leave no stone unturned in our attempts to try and bring the killer to justice.”

  “Of course not.” Farmer turned pink. “But you surely can’t believe this rubbish cooked up by some journalist.”

  Charlotte gave him a benign smile. “And I am sure you would be the first to criticise the police if they failed to investigate every possibility which was raised.” She allowed her eyes to harden. “Just as I would be the first to complain to the Law Society if I had grounds to believe that a solicitor was wilfully refusing to help us with our enquiries.” She heard Mallinson take a quick breath behind her.

  “I resent that remark, DCI Faraday.” Farmer was now sitting upright in his chair. “I would inform you that I have never obstructed the police in the legitimate exercise of their duty.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” she agreed smoothly. “That’s why I hurried round here to receive your earliest co-operation, and to leave you free to do as you wish without interruption from me during the rest of the day and over the weekend.” She smiled again. “I believe in two-way co-operation, Mr Farmer.”

  “Hmm,” the solicitor snorted. “Well, I’ve got out old Prince’s will, as you asked. And furthermore I’ve also been able to find a copy of the Adams Trust Deed, though what possible connection that can have to this business, I can’t think
.”

  “Let’s deal with the will first.” Unbidden, Charlotte took a seat opposite him. “Can you give us a photo-copy of it.”

  Farmer looked down his nose at her for a minute and then relented. “I don’t see why not. You’ll treat it as confidential?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s a simple enough matter. Vernon Prince’s wife died more than ten years before he did. Mariella, who was his only remaining close relative, continued to live with him and keep house for him after her mother’s death. As a result he left everything to her. The house was transferred to her name, his partnership in my firm was disposed of by independent valuation and the proceeds were awarded to her - after deduction of tax of course. Certain share-holdings and other investments were transferred to her, together with a sizeable amount of money, being his cash savings and the proceeds of two substantial life assurance policies. She was virtually the only heir and was left very well off.”

  “I understand that she left it all to some cats’ home.”

  The solicitor pursed his lips. “People do all sorts of strange things with their wealth - particularly inherited wealth. I do not regard it as part of my job to advise them who to leave it to.”

  “I’m sure you don’t,” she said. “Was the cat’s home informed of this handsome legacy before Mariella died?”

  “Certainly not by me.” Farmer looked affronted. “I can’t answer for what Miss Prince told them.”

  “Even if she did tell them about it, I wouldn’t think they would have despatched a hit squad to speed up their receipt of the legacy,” said Charlotte.

  “I should hardly think so,” he agreed. “I believe she was supporting the venture with substantial amounts of her money when she was alive, so they had no particular reason to wish her dead.”

  She sighed. “Nevertheless, I suppose we should speak to them, just to tie up any loose ends. You have their address?”

  “It’s in Mariella’s will, made soon after she inherited from her father.” He slid another document across the table. “You may have that copy. I already have one in our records.” He looked down his nose at her. “Do you still consider I am hindering your enquiries?”

  “Certainly not.” Charlotte’s smile broadened. “In fact, I think that’s all I want to know about Mariella Prince.” She turned to Mallinson. “Can you think of anything I’ve missed?”

  The sergeant cleared his throat and agreed that he couldn’t.

  “Now,” she said, “can we briefly turn to the Adams Trust Deed.”

  Farmer nodded. “I have it here. I am not so happy about you having a copy of this, because it is still in current use and will continue to be so for at least another twenty years. I appreciate that I could be compelled to present it for evidence at a later date, but I think I should not let it out of my hands until then.”

  “I understand,” said Charlotte. “I only want to check a couple of items and obtain a little information.”

  “Be my guest.” He passed the document across the desk to her.

  She leafed through it fairly quickly making a few notes. She looked up after a while and asked, “Did you draw up this document yourself, Mr Farmer?”

  “I did,” he acknowledged, “although it’s in a fairly standard form.”

  “Were you a close friend of Mr Adams?”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say close. Of course we had been solicitors to the family for many years.”

  “I’m just surprised,” said Charlotte, “that you are not one of the trustees. Why is that?”

  “There’s no mystery to it,” he shrugged. “I wasn’t asked.”

  “The trustees are Giles Adams, who is one of the beneficiaries, and two other private individuals - a man living in Sussex and Mr Lionel Hillman, living locally. Is that usual?”

  “Perfectly usual.” He smiled. “They were the names given to me by Mr Adams. It’s quite common for the beneficiaries to be trustees - after all, who has more interest in the trust performing satisfactorily?”

  “And, at the same time, Giles Adams’ company are the accountants to the trust?” Charlotte put her head on one side enquiringly.

  “At the time the trust document was drawn up the company was owned by Giles’ father,” said Farmer smoothly. “He obviously wanted to keep it all in the family.”

  “And that’s permitted?”

  The solicitor straightened up a little. “Of course it is. Firms of chartered accountants are regulated by statute. They are in the forefront of our professional community.”

  “Well, that’s all then.” Charlotte smiled as she rose to her feet. “I don’t think I need to take up any more of your valuable time, Mr Farmer. Thank you for your help.”

  He shook her hand with a beaming smile. “It’s always a pleasure to assist such a charming policeman,” he said. His earlier hostility seemed completely forgotten.

  * * * * * * * *

  Back at the office Charlotte said to Mallinson, “I’ve got to go out again in a little while. As your penance, you can enter this data on the computer. Young John will show you how to do it, and I’ll check it when I return.” She presented her back to him, ignoring his scowl of objection.

  She was followed into her office by DC Howell. “Miss Faraday, ma’am.”

  “Hello Bobbie.” Charlotte grinned at the unconventional form of address. “Have you had any luck yet with our Mr Raymond Parsons?”

  “No ma’am. He doesn’t own a house in Torquay any more. He moved away soon after his wife’s death. But I’ve been on to his office in London. They say he’s in Australia at the moment. His company has a subsidiary out there. He’s expected back two weeks on Monday, but they can send him a message to contact us if we want them to.” She put her head on one side. “I was going to ask whether I should do that.”

  Charlotte thought about it but shook her head. “I don’t think so - not yet. Let’s see how our other enquiries progress over the next few days. Then we’ll have a better idea of how important it is to speak to him.”

  “Very well, ma’am.” Bobbie turned to go, but stopped,“Oh, by the way, ma’am. Mr Julian Brace at the Advertiser rang half an hour ago and asked to speak to you.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  The young policewoman shook her head. “No ma’am. But he left his number and asked if you would ring him back.” She handed over a slip of paper with the number on it.

  “OK. I’d better do that before I go out.”

  Charlotte dialled the number and was put straight through. “Mr Brace? Hello - it’s Charlotte Faraday.”

  “Oh. Good morning, DCI Faraday.” Brace seemed strangely hesitant. “I - I’ve finished this article you wanted me to do. I thought I’d like to - er - run it in front of you before I published it.”

  “Good idea,” she agreed. “Can you e-mail it to me?”

  “Well.” There was another pause. “I would really have liked to go through it with you personally, so that we can discuss any points you may wish to raise.”

  Charlotte smiled to herself. “All right,” she said.

  “And there’s something else I’ve found.” He took a breath. “Of course it’s probably just another silly idea of mine. But I thought I ought to show it to you.”

  “Of course you should,” she agreed.

  “I - er - I wondered about dinner this evening.”

  “I can’t make this evening,” she said for reasons which she couldn’t sort out in her own mind. “I’m afraid you’ll have to spend this evening watching television with your wife. But I can meet you tomorrow morning.”

  “Working on Saturday?” Brace chuckled. “There really is a new wind blowing through the police force in Torbay.”

  “On the contrary,” quipped Charlotte. “Tomorrow sounds like pure pleasure to me.”

  This time he really did laugh. “OK, ma’am,” he said, “I’ll pick you up from your office at ten-thirty, shall I?”

  “That’ll be fine.”
<
br />   “By the way,” he said. “I don’t have a wife. I’ll have to watch television all alone tonight.”

  “What a pity,” said Charlotte gaily as she rang off. She knew now why it had been her instinct to refuse his invitation.

  * * * * * * * *

  Half an hour later she turned up for her appointment with Lionel Hillman at his palatial car showrooms on the Newton Road. Nevertheless she was kept waiting for ten minutes in the comfortable reception area. A cup of rather nice filter coffee made the wait more bearable.

  Hillman was effusively apologetic when she was shown in to his office. “So sorry,” he oozed, “I had to finish a most important telephone call - had to tie up a vital contract with a big company.”

  Charlotte just nodded. She noticed Hillman was a large, substantially over-weight man with the salesman’s expansive bonhomie. He gave the impression of being in control of his life, at the centre of things. His skin was sun-tanned, his fair hair thinning. His clothes were lightweight and immaculate. He was the epitome of success. But Charlotte also noted that his eyes didn’t seem to smile at her with the rest of his face. She felt that Mr Hillman was concealing something underneath the friendly facade.

  She took the seat he offered. As she settled back into its deep luxury, which she suspected had been aligned to show him as much of the occupants legs as possible, she looked around the office. Everything was very modern. Along one side was a row of double-glazed windows looking down on to the main showroom area. Lionel Hillman obviously liked to be able to see what was going on.

  He gave her another of his best sales beams. “So how can I help you, Miss - er -.”

  “DCI Faraday,” she corrected. “I wanted to speak to you briefly about the circumstances surrounding your wife’s death - nearly three years ago.”

  “Oh.” He put on an ill-fitting expression of sadness. “It was very distressing at the time. But my friends have been a great help. I have managed to put all that behind me now.”