by Luke Delaney
“And when do you plan on interviewing my client? Soon, I hope.”
“When the Section Eighteen searches are complete and I’ve had time to assess the evidence.”
“How long, Inspector?”
“Two or three hours.”
“That’s totally unacceptable,” Templeman argued. “Clearly you’re in no position to interview my client, therefore I suggest you release him on bail until such time as you are ready. Later this week, perhaps.”
“I’m investigating a murder,” Sean reminded him, “not some Mickey Mouse fraud. Hellier stays in custody until I’m ready.”
Sean typed in the code on the security pad attached to the outside of the custody suite. When the pad gave out a high-pitched beep, he pushed the door open, immediately looking for a jailer to take Templeman off his hands.
“Murder or fraud, Inspector, everyone is entitled to a fair and vigorous defense,” Templeman continued. “And that’s what I’ll ensure my client gets.”
“Everyone except the dead,” Sean replied coldly. “Everyone except Daniel Graydon.” He grabbed a passing jailer before Templeman could reply. “This is Hellier’s attorney,” he said. “He would like to see his client as soon as possible.”
“No problem,” the jailer responded. “If you follow me, sir, I’ll sort that out for you.”
Sean was already walking away, Templeman calling after him: “I need to see any relevant statements you have. I’m entitled to primary disclosure, Inspector. I’m entitled to know what evidence you have against my client.”
“And you will,” Sean answered, already looking forward to the moment when he would reveal that Hellier’s fingerprint had been found in Daniel Graydon’s flat, but undecided as to who he was most looking forward to seeing squirm: Hellier or Templeman.
Sean bounced up the stairs and back along the corridors to the incident room, tired legs suddenly alive again. He reached the room in time to hear the volume within rising. It could mean only one thing: Donnelly’s search team was back. Sean headed for his office, passing Donnelly en route. “My office, when you’ve got a minute, Dave.”
Donnelly dumped several evidence bags on his own desk and headed straight for Sean’s office.
“What have you got?” Sean said.
“We’ve seized every bit of clothing he owns and his shoes. We’ll get that lot up to the lab tomorrow.”
“I need something now. Something for the interview. I want to charge Hellier tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Sorry, boss. No smoking gun in the house. But it’s all wrong there-he keeps his office locked all day when he’s not in there, even when he’s at home. His wife says she doesn’t know where he keeps the keys. She also says she knew nothing about the floor safe.”
“Floor safe?” Sean asked.
“The jewel in the crown. Guy’s got a floor safe in his study.”
“Plenty of rich people have got floor safes. Doesn’t mean much.”
“True, but how many keep rolls of U.S. dollars in them, with their passports? There was an address book too.”
“So he’s prepared to leave in a hurry. Who knows why? If it was a crime not to trust banks, we’d all be in jail.”
“For someone who doesn’t trust banks, he’s sure got plenty of money in them. Close to half a million, from what I could tell. God knows how much the final total will be.”
“What about the address book?” Sean asked. Often it was the smaller, less dramatic items that held the vital clues. A scrap of paper with a number written on it among pristine bank statements. An old person’s collectible in a young man’s flat. If it seemed out of place, no matter how slight, it could be the biggest lead of all.
“I just had a cursory glance. Nothing more than initials and numbers. If they’re phone numbers, then they’re definitely not local. Probably overseas. It’s not arranged alphabetically. I’ve already checked for the victim’s initials, DG. Not in there.”
“Hellier could be using codes,” Sean said. “Get every number in there up to Special Operations 11 and have them run subscribers’ checks on the lot anyway. Tell them we need names and addresses by tomorrow lunchtime at the latest.”
“I’ll ask, boss, but that’ll be tight.”
“Do it anyway. In the absence of anything else, I’ll press on and interview Hellier. Let’s see what he’s got to say about his fingerprint being in the victim’s flat.”
Donnelly sat in on the interview, but it would be Sean who’d ask most of the questions. The interview room was barren. A wooden table, four uncomfortable chairs. The walls were dirty beige. No pictures. The room smelled of rubber flooring and stale cigarettes. A double-deck tape recorder lay on the table. Microphones were pinned to the wall.
Sean, Hellier, and Templeman sat quietly, watching Donnelly break the cellophane tape around two new audiocassettes. He put both into the recorder and slapped the machine shut.
Sean broke the silence. “When we press start, you’ll hear a buzzing sound. That’ll last about five seconds. When that noise stops, we’re recording. Do you understand?”
Templeman spoke for Hellier. “We understand, Inspector.”
Sean could feel a “No comment” interview coming his way. He nodded to Donnelly, who pressed the record button. The two tape reels began to turn together, the buzzing noise louder than anyone had expected. Even Sean felt his heart skip a beat. After a few seconds the noise stopped. There was a second of silence before he found his voice.
“This interview is being recorded. I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan. The other officer present is. .” He let Donnelly answer for himself.
“DS Dave Donnelly.”
Sean continued: “I am interviewing-could you please state your name for the tape?” Sean spoke to Hellier. Hellier looked at Templeman, who nodded that he should speak. Hellier leaned forward a little.
“James Hellier.” He leaned away.
“And the other person present is?”
Templeman knew his cue. “Jonathon Templeman. Solicitor. And I’d like to say at this point that I am here to represent James Hellier. I will advise him regarding the law and his rights. I am also here to ensure the interview is conducted fairly and to challenge any questions or behavior by the police that I deem to be inappropriate, unfair, irrelevant, or hypothetical.
“I would also like to say that against my advice”-Sean saw Templeman cast a quick glance at Hellier-“Mr. Hellier has decided he would like to answer any questions you ask.”
Sean wondered if they’d staged this little performance. Templeman’s idea, probably. Cast Hellier in the role of the victim of circumstance. The innocent man out to prove it. Whatever it was, Sean hadn’t seen it coming. He continued with the preinterview procedure.
“You have the right to consult with a legal representative or solicitor. You can consult on the phone or have one attend the police station, and this right is free. As we know, you have your solicitor, Mr. Templeman, present here anyway. Have you had sufficient time to consult with your legal representative in private?”
Templeman continued to speak for Hellier. “Yes, we have.”
“I must remind you that you’re still under caution. That means you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so. However, it may harm your defense if you fail to mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”
“He understands,” Templeman said.
Sean decided to break this routine. “I would like Mr. Hellier to answer for himself. I need to hear that he understands from his own mouth.”
Templeman was on the verge of protesting, but Hellier spoke. There was no feeling in his voice. “I understand, Inspector. The time has come for explanations.”
Sean’s stomach tensed. Was Hellier about to spill? Had the burden of guilt caught up with him? Few had the strength to carry their darkest secrets all the way to the grave.
Hellier and Sean lo
cked stares. Sean spoke. “Mr. Hellier. James. Did you kill Daniel Graydon?”
Sally entered the Intelligence Office at the Richmond police station where she was met by a uniformed constable. “Are you the DS from the SCG?” he asked unceremoniously.
“Yes. I’m DS-”
“So what is it you’re after?” the constable interrupted, apparently not interested.
“Information from your records,” Sally told him. “Back in 1996 a man called Stefan Korsakov was charged here with a serious sexual assault and fraud.”
“An unusual mix,” offered the constable.
“Yeah,” Sally answered. “Later the assault charges were dropped, but he went down for the fraud. You should have a charging photograph of him. I need to see it.”
“Back in ninety-six? You’ll be lucky if we still have a card on him. Unless he reoffended within the last five years, his old card wouldn’t have been transferred on to the new Intelligence System. It may have been shredded. We kept the more interesting ones, though. People most likely to come back and haunt us. What was the sexual assault?”
“He raped a seventeen-year-old boy in Richmond Park. Tied him up and threatened him with a knife.”
The constable scratched the side of his face. “Hmm. That’s definitely the sort of person we should have kept. I’ll have to check in the archives. What did you say this bloke’s name was?”
“Korsakov. Stefan Korsakov.”
The constable began to move alongside the metal filing cabinets, which were just big enough to hold the old intelligence cards. As he did, he spoke to himself: “K, K, K, K. . here we are.” He stopped and opened the cabinet containing records of people whose surname began with K. He fingered through the files.
“Korsakov. Korsakov. Stefan Korsakov.” He pulled a thin card from the cabinet. “You’re in luck. We kept his card.” His smile soon turned to a frown. “Bloody typical.”
“Problem?” Sally asked.
“The photographs. They’re not here. Some bastard’s taken the lot.”
Did I kill Daniel Graydon? No, Inspector, I didn’t. No matter how hard you find that to believe, it’s the truth.” Hellier’s eyes were giving nothing away. Damn, he was difficult to read.
“Why did you lie to us?” Sean asked. “You told us you were never in Daniel Graydon’s flat, which leaves me very confused as to how your fingerprint ended up on the underside of his bathroom door handle.”
Hellier sighed. “I lied to you, and that was wrong. I was foolish to do so and I can only apologize for wasting your time. I pray to God I haven’t distracted you from catching the person responsible.”
Sean didn’t believe a word.
“I have been to Daniel’s flat. I was a client of his. I’ve been so for the past four or five months.”
“And on the night he died?” Sean asked.
“No. I didn’t see him the night he was killed. I didn’t go to his flat that night. I hadn’t been to his flat for over a week.”
“You see,” Sean said, “whoever killed Daniel got into his flat without breaking in. We believe Daniel let them in. Now what sort of person would Daniel let into his flat at three in the morning? A friend, perhaps? Or maybe. .” Sean paused a second to make sure he still held Hellier’s gaze. “. . a client? One who made regular visits. One he thought he could trust.”
Templeman could stay silent no longer. “These questions are totally hypothetical. If you have evidence-”
Hellier put a hand on Templeman’s forearm. Templeman fell silent. “I want to answer their questions. Any questions. I didn’t go to his flat that night.”
“So why did you lie about never having been to Daniel’s flat? You knew this was a murder investigation. You must have known the serious consequences of lying to us. You’re not a stupid man.”
Hellier looked at the floor and spoke. “Shame, Inspector. I don’t expect you to understand. I only wish you could.”
Sean had had about all he could stomach. Most of his childhood he’d felt nothing but shame. Shame and fear. Listening to Hellier’s false pleadings made him feel physically sick.
“You live a lie. You lie to your wife, kids, family, friends. You pay young men to have sex with you and then curl up in bed with your wife. You lie to the police, even though you know that may delay our investigation. And now you want me to believe you lied because you were ashamed of your sexual preferences. I doubt you’ve ever been ashamed of anything in your entire life.”
Hellier looked up from the floor. His eyes were glassy. “You’re wrong, Inspector. I am ashamed. Ashamed of it all. I’m ashamed of my life.”
Sean studied him for a few seconds, looking deep into the darkness that he knew seethed behind Hellier’s eyes. “So what was so special about Daniel?” He wanted to keep it personal. “Why keep going back to the same boy?” He used the word “boy” deliberately.
“I have needs. Daniel helped me with those needs.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I practice sadomasochistic sex. So did Daniel. I went to him for that. I generally saw him once every two to three weeks. That’s what I was trying to hide. I was a fool, I know.”
“What did this practice involve?” Sean asked.
“That’s hardly relevant,” Templeman interjected.
“There are unexplained marks on the victim’s body. Mr. Hellier’s sexual behavior may explain those marks. It’s relevant.”
“Nothing too shocking,” Hellier answered. “I would tie him up, by the wrists usually. With rope. We used blindfolds, sometimes whips. Mainly it was role playing. Harmless, but not something I wanted the world to know about.”
“I can understand that,” Donnelly said.
“Did he ever tie you up?” Sean asked.
“No. Never.”
“So when you say sadomasochistic, you filled the sadist’s role, yes?”
“Not always. Daniel would beat me sometimes, but I never felt comfortable being in bondage. Daniel said I lacked confidence. He was probably right.”
Hellier had an answer for everything. Sean dropped the address book on the table. It was still in the plastic evidence bag. “What’s this?” he asked.
“An address book,” Hellier answered. “Obviously.”
“It was pretty well hidden for an address book. No names either, just initials and numbers.”
“It contains certain contacts of mine I would rather my wife and family didn’t know about.” It was an answer that made sense. Like all his answers.
“Is Daniel’s number in here?” Sean asked.
Hellier hesitated. Sean noticed it. “No.”
Why would that be? Sean wondered. Here was his secret book, yet one of his biggest secrets wasn’t in it. That made no sense. “You sure his number’s not in here?”
“Yes,” Hellier said. “His number’s not in there.”
Sean decided to let it go for now, until he understood more. “And the cash: I believe it was about fifty thousand in mixed currency, mainly U.S. dollars?”
“I like to keep a decent amount of cash about. These are uncertain times we live in, Inspector.”
“And the money spread across the world in various bank accounts belonging to you? Hundreds of thousands, from what we can see.” Sean knew these questions would get him no further, but they had to be asked.
“One thing I won’t do, Inspector, is apologize for my wealth. I work hard and I’m well rewarded. Everything I have, I earned. My accounts are in order. I can show you where the money came from and the Inland Revenue can unfortunately vouch for the fact that I’m telling the truth.”
Sean was getting nowhere and he knew it. He needed to knock Hellier off his stride-get personal and see how Hellier reacted. “Inland Revenue, your account, your job at Butler and Mason-it’s all very top end, isn’t it?” He noticed a small, involuntary contraction of Hellier’s pupils that disappeared as quickly as it had come. “And you, in your thousand-pound suits and three-hundred-pound shoes-you’re a polish
ed act, James, I’ll give you that.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” Templeman interrupted. “It hardly seems relevant or proper.”
Sean ignored him. “But underneath that veneer of yours, there’s an angry man, isn’t there, James? So what is it that’s really pissing you off? Come on, James, what is it? What are you trying to hide? A working-class background? Maybe an illegitimate child somewhere? Or did you disgrace yourself in some previous job-got caught with your hand in the cookie jar-everything was smoothed over, but still you were shown the door? Come on, James-what is it you’re hiding from me-from everyone?”
Hellier just stared straight into him, his eyes never blinking, lips sealed tightly shut, possibly the faintest trace of a smirk on his face as his muscles tensed, controlling his facial reactions, making him impossible to read.
“You know, James,” Sean continued, “you can have it all-the job, the money, the wife and kids, the Georgian house in Islington-but you’ll never really be like them. You’ll never be accepted as one of them, not really. You’ll never be like. . like Sebastian Gibran, and you know it.” Another contraction of Hellier’s pupils told Sean he’d hit a raw nerve. “You can try and look like him, even sound like him, but you’ll never be like him. He was born into that role. He’s the genuine article, while you’re a fake-a cheap imitation-and you can’t stand it, can you?”
He leaned back, but still Hellier wouldn’t break, sitting silently, his hands resting on the table, one on top of the other, seemingly unmoved.
Sean tapped a pen on the table. He had one other question he was burning to ask, something that just didn’t make sense about the fingerprint they’d found, but some instinct warned him that it wasn’t the right time yet. Like a champion poker player knowing when to slap his ace down and when to hold back, a voice screamed in his head to save the question until he himself understood its significance.
“We’ll have to check on what you’ve said, so unless you’ve anything to add, then this interview is concluded.”
“No. I have nothing to add.”
“In that case, the time is seven fifty-eight and this interview is concluded.” Donnelly clicked the tape recorder off.