by Luke Delaney
Hellier could barely disguise his contempt. “Trap! You think they’re clever enough to trap me? They’ve got nothing, and Corrigan knows it. He’s trying to make me panic. Well, let him do his worst. You just keep your mouth shut and try to look professional. Let me do the talking and follow my lead. If Corrigan wants to play, fucking let him. Tell them we’re ready to be interviewed.”
Sean began the interview with the usual formalities, Hellier responding with a nod when asked if he understood the caution and his other legal rights. He nodded again when Sean repeated why he had been arrested for the suspected murder of Linda Kotler. His face was expressionless.
In an effort to gain credibility with Hellier, Templeman immediately went on the offensive: “I would like it recorded that it has been almost impossible for me to properly instruct my client, as the investigating officers have told me nothing about the allegation. Nothing about any evidence they may have that indicates my client could in any way be involved in this crime.”
Sean had been expecting as much. “The allegation is one of suspected rape and murder. It occurred less than thirty-six hours ago. I’m sure your client will be able to answer my questions without being given prior knowledge.” Sean waited for a protest. None came. “I’ll keep the questions simple and direct.” He and Hellier locked eyes across the table, then Sean launched into the interrogation: “Did you know Linda Kotler?”
“No,” Hellier answered.
“Was that a no comment or a no?”
“That was a no. I don’t know anyone by the name of Linda Kotler.”
“Have you ever been to Minford Gardens in Shepherd’s Bush?” Sean was trying to shut him in.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Hellier answered.
“Maybe?”
“I’ve been to Shepherd’s Bush, so maybe I’ve been there.”
“Minford Gardens?” Sean repeated.
“Wherever.”
“Have you ever been to number seventy-three Minford Gardens?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.” Hellier sounded bored.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Sean had to be precise. Any ambiguity now would be exploited later by the defense. Hellier didn’t answer. “I’ll take that as confirmation. But you’re lying. You have been there,” Sean continued.
Hellier gave no reaction other than raising one eyebrow slightly. Sean noticed it.
“You met Linda Kotler. You met her the same night you killed her.”
“Really, Inspector,” Templeman jumped in. “If you have evidence to support your allegation that my client was involved, then why don’t you just say so and tell us what it is. Otherwise this interview is over.” Sean ignored him. Throughout the interruption he maintained eye contact with Hellier.
“Where were you the night before last?” Sean asked.
“You mean you don’t know?” Hellier tormented him. “All those policemen following me and you have to ask me where I was. How galling that must be for you.”
“No games.” Sean was trying to keep the pace going. “Where were you?”
“That’s my business,” Hellier snapped.
Good. His calm was breaking.
“And now it’s mine,” said Sean. “Who were you with?”
“No comment.”
The questions and answers came quickly. Templeman kept on the lookout for a break, a chance to object, but he knew neither Sean nor Hellier would listen to him. This was between the two of them. Personal.
“If you’ve got an alibi, you’d better give it now,” Sean told him.
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing,” Hellier retorted.
“You weren’t at home.”
“Your point?”
“And you weren’t at work.”
“So?”
“So between seven P.M. and three A.M. the next morning, where were you? During the time Linda Kotler was murdered, where were you?” Sean’s voice was rising.
Hellier fought back. “Where were you, Inspector? That’s what people will really want to know. Would she be alive now if you’d done your job properly? You’re desperate and it shows. You stink of fear. It’s blinded you. What have you got? Nothing but theories.
“So you don’t know where I was the night this woman was killed. That proves nothing.” Hellier leaned back, satisfied.
“How long did you watch her for?” Sean suddenly asked. “For a week, like you did with Daniel Graydon, or was it longer? Did you spend days and days fantasizing about killing her, the images in your mind growing ever more vivid, until you could no longer wait? You followed her home, didn’t you, James? Then you watched her windows, waiting for the lights to go out. And when they did, you waited until you were certain she was asleep before you scrambled up the drainpipe and climbed through her bathroom window. Then you knocked her unconscious, tied her in your favorite bondage position, and raped and sodomized her. And when you were finished, you strangled her-didn’t you?”
Hellier made as if to answer, but Sean held up his hand to stop him as the images in his mind revealed further details. “No, wait, I’m wrong-you didn’t strangle her after you’d raped her. You killed her while you were still inside her, didn’t you? That’s how it had to be for you, wasn’t it?”
Hellier’s eyes raged inside his stony face, the muscles in his cheeks visibly flexing as he fought to keep control. Finally he spoke. “That’s a nice little story you’ve cooked up, Inspector. But it proves nothing-nothing whatsoever.”
“You’re right.” Sean sounded humble. “It doesn’t prove a thing. But these will.” He slid a copy of a form across the table. “Item number four,” Sean said. “Item number four should be of particular interest to you.”
Hellier scanned the list of items submitted to the forensics laboratory. He saw that item number four was two hairs. He shook his head as if he failed to realize their importance. “This concerns me how?”
“We need samples of your hair and blood, for DNA comparison,” Sean informed him.
“You’ve already taken samples.”
“I can’t use those. This is a different case. I need fresh samples.”
Hellier looked across at Templeman, who nodded confirmation that Sean was telling the truth.
“Fine,” said Hellier. “Take your samples and get me out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “Get you out of here? No, that won’t be possible. You’re staying in custody until the DNA comparison’s complete.”
“Fuck you,” Hellier exploded. He was standing now. “You can’t keep me locked in this fucking cage.” Templeman pulled him back into his seat.
Sean spoke for the benefit of the tape recorder. “Interview terminated at twelve twenty-three P.M.” He clicked the machine off. “I’ll arrange for someone to take your samples.” Then he walked out of the interview room, leaving Donnelly to deal with Templeman’s protests. He smiled as he closed the door behind him, listening to the raised voices fading in the background.
Featherstone sipped a coffee as he waited outside the custody suite. He knew Sean would head that way eventually. Much as he liked the guy, even believed in him, he was aware that, so far as the top brass were concerned, Sean had a tendency to sail way too close to the wind.
“Sean,” Featherstone said, surprising him as he clattered through the door. “You got a minute?” He gestured toward an unoccupied room.
“Can this wait?”
“Best not. We won’t be long.”
Reluctantly, Sean followed Featherstone into the room.
“It seems some influential people are beginning to stick their noses into your investigation,” Featherstone warned him. “Calls have been put in to the Yard and the brass are getting nervous. I’ll keep the hounds at bay, but you’d better make sure you’ve got some evidence to back up any move you make.”
“We found hairs at the latest scene,” Sean told him. “We can get DNA off them. We match them to Hellier and then it’s
all over.”
“That’s a start,” Featherstone said. “But we can’t hold a suspect in custody while we wait for a DNA comparison. So what’s the plan?”
“I need to keep him rattled. Keep him off balance. Let me keep him locked up for a few hours.” Sean spoke quietly, suppressing his anger. “Then I’ll bail him, once he’s nice and wound up, not thinking straight. The surveillance team can pick him up the second he leaves the station.”
Featherstone inhaled deeply. “Okay. We’ll play it your way, but be careful with this one, Sean. Hellier has some very powerful friends.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“One other thing,” Featherstone said as Sean turned to leave. “What’s this I hear about the victim in Shepherd’s Bush saying she’d met you the night she was killed?”
“You heard?”
“There’s not much I don’t get to hear about.”
“Hellier likes to play games.”
“You need to be careful,” Featherstone warned him again. “Be very careful. People are watching this case. People are watching you. My advice-make sure you can prove where you were and who you were with the night Linda Kotler was killed.”
“You can’t be serious?” Sean asked, incredulous. “You don’t actually think. .?”
“Not me,” Featherstone assured him. “But this investigation is turning out to be more complex than anyone expected. It’s making the powers that be very nervous, Sean.”
Sean felt a huge weight pressing down on him, as if Featherstone’s words and inferred suspicion were slowly crushing the life out of him. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he said curtly, turning his back on the superintendent and walking out of the room.
He made his way along the corridor and into the communal toilet. After checking to make sure he was alone, he filled a sink with cold water and bent low over it, scooping up handfuls and burying his face in it before straightening to meet his own reflection staring back. His eyes were sunken with tiredness and dehydration, Featherstone’s words still ringing around inside his head. He reached out for the reflection, but the image looking back at him kept distorting to someone else: to the disfigured image of Daniel Graydon, the horrified face of Heather Freeman, and finally Linda Kotler’s face, contorted with agony and fear. He rubbed the mirror, smearing it with water then waiting for it to clear. When it did, it was his own face again, staring back and asking the question: could he have killed Linda Kotler? He swallowed drily, remembering the images he’d seen in his head at the murder scenes and other murder scenes in the past. Not for the first time he found himself asking another question: were these images from his projected imagination, or were they memories-memories of crimes he had committed?
“You were at home with Kate the night Linda Kotler died, and the same when Daniel Graydon was killed-you were at home.” Desperately he tried to remember where he’d been the evening Heather Freeman was killed, but he couldn’t. He felt the panic seeping through his very soul. “You were with your wife,” he hissed into the mirror, but he couldn’t chase away the doubt, the possibility he was no different from half the inmates of Broadmoor. Could it be that his home life was a fantasy, his wife a figment of his imagination, his entire family nothing more than a mirage-a projection of what he wanted most but could never have?
“No,” he banged the mirror with the underside of his fist. “For Christ’s sake, get a grip. You’re tired, that’s all. You solved those other murders. The people who did them are locked up for life because of you.” He took a deep breath. “Hellier killed these people. I’m real. My life is real. It’s real.”
Suddenly the door was thrown open by a uniformed officer desperate for the toilet. He stalled for a second at the sight of Sean standing in front of the mirror, face dripping wet, hands gripping the basin. With a brief nod at Sean, he disappeared into a cubicle. When the door closed behind him, Sean quickly dried his hands on a bunch of paper towels and made for the exit.
Sally entered Che shortly after 1 P.M. and immediately spotted Gibran seated at a table, sipping a glass of amber-colored wine. He stood when he saw her. A waiter pulled a chair out for her as Gibran indicated for her to sit with a wave of his hand and a smile.
“DS Jones. I’m very grateful you were able to see me.”
“Please,” she said. “Call me Sally.”
“Sally, of course. And you must call me Sebastian-deal?”
“Deal,” Sally agreed.
“Can I get you a drink? Or is that against the rules? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” He gave Sally a boyish grin, full of mischief. She already felt relaxed in his company.
“Why not? Whatever you’re having will be fine.”
Gibran nodded once at the nearby waiter, who scuttled away immediately. “The venison here is excellent,” he informed her, “but a little fussy for my taste. You’ll find I’m a simple man with simple tastes, except when it comes to people, of course.”
It seemed to Sally that he was trying to impress her with his modesty and down-to-earth attitude, despite his obvious wealth and influence. She was duly impressed, but she wasn’t about to let it show. Not yet.
“So, what is it I can do for you, Sebastian?”
“Straight to the point.” He stalled while the waiter served Sally’s wine. “I hope you like it. Dominico here tells me it’s a very fine Sancerre and as I am nowhere near as well informed in these matters, I’m completely in his hands.” Gibran waited for the wine waiter to leave before speaking again. “You must tell me if the wine’s any good, then I’ll know whether Dominico’s been ripping me off the last few years.”
She took a sip and smiled at him, holding his gaze for a little too long. She concentrated on sounding businesslike. “It’s very nice, thank you. Now, why am I here?”
“I wish I could say it was purely for pleasure, but I’m guessing you’ve already assumed that’s not the case.”
“I’m a detective. I try not to make assumptions.”
“Of course. Sorry,” Gibran said with natural charm. “We’re here because we have a mutual interest in a certain party.”
“James Hellier?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, his expression suddenly serious, the flirtatious, boyish personality evaporating in an instant.
“Mr. Gibran-Sebastian. If you’re here to try and somehow influence my opinion of Hellier’s involvement in this case, then I should warn you-”
“That’s not my intention,” Gibran insisted, tapping his glass while speaking. “I wouldn’t insult your intelligence. I thought you should know my feelings on the subject, that’s all.”
“Your feelings on the subject would only be of interest to me if they were somehow relevant to our investigation. So, are they?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not. I just thought someone connected to the investigation should know, which is why I called you.”
“Why didn’t you contact DI Corrigan?”
“I get the feeling he’s not my biggest fan.”
“Well, I’m here,” Sally said with an air of resignation. “So what is it you think I should know about?”
“How can I put this?” Gibran began. “When James first came to us, he was a model employee. He served the firm above and beyond all expectations for several years.” He paused. “However. .”
“However what?” Sally encouraged.
“I’m sorry.” Gibran shook his head. “It’s not in my nature to talk out of school. I would imagine it’s the same in your job, rule number one being to look out for each other.”
“Well, you haven’t broken any rules yet, because so far you haven’t told me anything.”
“And under normal circumstances I wouldn’t tell you.” Gibran’s blue eyes drilled deeply into Sally’s, showing her a flash of his true power and status. She found him no less attractive for it. “It’s just that, lately, well, I’ve found his behavior to be somewhat. . erratic. Unpredictable. Troubling, even. Half the time I don�
��t know where he is, or who he’s with. He’s missed several high-profile meetings the last few weeks, all of which is out of character.” Gibran appeared genuinely concerned.
“When did you first become aware of this change in personality?” Sally asked.
“I suppose it started a couple of months ago. And now this latest episode, the police raiding our office, dragging James away like a common criminal. Not exactly the image we’re hoping to portray at Butler and Mason.”
“No. I don’t suppose it is.”
Gibran leaned across the table, and spoke quietly. “Do you really believe he killed that man? Is James capable of such a thing?”
“What do you think?” Sally asked.
Gibran leaned away again before replying. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Not now. My head’s spinning a little at the moment. I’m coming under some fairly intense pressure from above to resolve this situation.”
“Has something happened to make you feel that way?”
Gibran sipped his wine before answering. “The other day, I went to James’s office to speak to him, to see what I could find out.”
“I hope you haven’t been playing amateur detective,” Sally warned him. “That could cause us procedural difficulties, especially if you’ve questioned him at all.”
“No,” Gibran replied hastily. “Nothing like that. But you should understand that I am responsible for a great many things at Butler and Mason and a great many employees. I am, if you like, Butler and Mason’s own internal police force. I will do whatever I have to do to protect the firm and the people within it. If James is putting either at risk, then. .” Gibran let his statement linger.
“You do what you have to do. But make sure you don’t cross over into our criminal investigation. That would leave us both in a compromised position.”