Robbing the Dead (Inspector Jim Carruthers Book 1)

by Tana Collins

  Carruthers looked across at Fletcher. ‘Andie, can you get us a jug of water and three glasses.’

  ‘What did that mean? We know about your past?’ repeated Carruthers as Fletcher left the room. Holdaway shook his head. He looked away from Carruthers as he spoke. ‘I have no idea.’

  Carruthers wondered why Holdaway was being evasive. There was a lot more going on than just fatigue. What had got him so afraid that he couldn’t help the police in their investigation? What was the information he was withholding? What was his real interest in the Bloody Sunday enquiry? Carruthers wasn’t sure if he believed that Holdaway was writing a book. He studied Holdaway intently. The man clearly knew more than he had admitted.

  ‘If you want us to help you, you have to tell us everything. Tell me about the last letter. What did it say?’

  ‘You will pay for what you did.’

  ‘What did you think they meant by that?’ Carruthers wondered about blackmail.

  Holdaway didn’t look up and he didn’t answer.

  ‘Professor Holdaway, have you received any demands for money?’

  ‘No.’

  So they’re not trying to blackmail him, thought Carruthers. OK, professor. Now, the million-dollar question: ‘Where have you been since the explosion?’

  ‘In hiding.’

  ‘In hiding,’ Carruthers repeated. He sat back in his chair. Scratched his chin. Something wasn’t adding up. The professor could have had no way of knowing that it was a car bomb at that time or that it was his car that had been targeted. He had to keep probing but first he was going to change tack.

  ‘We understand you’ve just brought out a book on the failings of Welsh nationalism. I presume I’m right in thinking that would make you pretty unpopular with the Welsh nationalists?’

  The door opened and Fletcher walked into the room carrying a tray loaded with a jug of water and three plastic glasses. She set them down on the table and took her seat.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I haven’t read it,’ said Carruthers, pouring three glasses of water and offering one to Holdaway, who accepted the glass without acknowledgment. ‘But I understand that in it you argue Welsh nationalism has failed because it never posed a serious enough threat to the security of UK citizens. Am I right?’

  Holdaway lifted the glass to his lips. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly say that.’

  Carruthers felt the need to push on. He watched Holdaway take a thirsty gulp. ‘Would you agree, though, that the publication of your book would put you at serious threat from one or two of the more, shall we say, extreme elements? Perhaps a splinter group?’

  ‘It’s looking that way, isn’t it?’

  Carruthers made eye contact with Holdaway. ‘You think it’s the Welsh?’

  ‘To be honest, I have no idea who planted the bomb. I can only think the likelihood is it’s Welsh terrorists who don’t like the fact I’ve brought this book out.’

  ‘Clearly they wouldn’t be too happy that you’ve bought a second home there either? Professor Sadler told us.’

  Holdaway bristled. ‘That busybody.’

  ‘I don’t want to call into question your judgment, but did it not occur to you that buying a holiday home in Wales so close to your book being published might not be the brightest idea? I take it you do know there’ve been various arson attacks by the Welsh on holiday homes of the English in the past?’ Even as he said the words Carruthers didn’t believe this was the reason Holdaway had been targeted. After all, it was twenty odd years ago. His mind was still trying to find connections between the professor’s choice of library book and the shooting of Ewan Williams’ sister.

  ‘Of course I do. I’ve written the book, remember? I’ve come across these groups in my research. But life’s moved on since then. The last one was a long time ago.’

  So Holdaway doesn’t believe it’s Welsh Nationalists any more than I do, thought Carruthers. Interesting.

  ‘It didn’t deter you from either writing the book, or from buying a holiday home though, did it?

  ‘I believe in freedom of speech, inspector. Both freedom of speech and freedom of movement.’

  Carruthers drew in a long breath and exhaled it sharply. ‘Very noble. Do you still believe in freedom of speech, even when your right to free speech may jeopardise your own safety? Or other people’s safety?’

  Holdaway stood up shakily. ‘Look, I didn’t come into the police station to be insulted. I would also like to remind you that I’m not a suspect.’

  ‘Sit down, please.’ Carruthers felt a sharp burst of irritation. ‘We haven’t finished here yet. You didn’t think you might become a target, even when you started to receive anonymous letters?’

  ‘I live in Scotland. I didn’t think they would bother targeting someone as far north as this. Like I said, I didn’t take them seriously.’

  ‘Didn’t take them seriously? Isn’t that the exact problem you were touting in the book? Welsh Nationalism wasn’t taken seriously because they weren’t violent enough. How is that not an open invitation to Professor Holdaway hunting season?’

  Holdaway’s left eye started to twitch. Carruthers studied him.

  ‘Did you have any reason to believe, when you received the letters, that they might be from Bryn Glas 1402?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Like I said, I didn’t take them seriously. Is there any chance you might be mistaken? That they’re not from Bryn Glas 1402, I mean, but rather a group or individual setting out to try to discredit them?’

  ‘It is a line of enquiry we’re considering,’ he admitted. He supposed it would make Holdaway feel better to believe that Bryn Glas 1402 were the target, and he was merely an unlucky pawn. ’

  ‘Do you know a man by the name of Rhys Evans?’ he asked.

  Holdaway shook his head.

  ‘Dave Roberts?’

  Another shake of head.

  ‘No. Who are they?’

  ‘Rhys Evans was the man murdered in Castletown earlier this week,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘The man from the RAF? Are you saying there’s some connection between his death and the car bomb?’

  The room was warm. Carruthers was starting to get a headache. He could smell sweat. Wasn’t sure if it was Holdaway’s or his own. He picked up his own glass of water and drained it. Poured himself another and topped up Holdaway’s. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. He studied the older man. ‘Would there be any reason Bryn Glas 1402, rather than another terrorist group, would target you?’

  ‘None, except that they’re currently active, unlike the Welsh Republican Army. But like I said, I’ve never felt under threat from a specific group, despite receiving those letters. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it was foolish of me. No Welsh terrorist group has operated in Scotland before. Mostly their activities have been confined to the Welsh border.’

  ‘Have Welsh terrorists ever attacked individuals before rather than holiday homes?’

  ‘They have tried to target individuals in the past but not been successful. And they’ve attacked more than just holiday homes. For example, the Conservative Party Offices in London were attacked in the late 1980s, as were a number of estate agencies that handled Welsh property transactions to the English.’

  Carruthers lifted his eyebrows in surprise. ‘I don’t remember reading about that.’

  ‘Oh yes, these businesses were widely dispersed. Think one was in Birmingham. In fact, as far as holiday homes are concerned, between 1979 and 1994 they’ve claimed responsibility for three hundred arson attacks on English-owned properties. However,’ Holdaway continued, ‘what you’ve got to remember is that, realistically, the number is a lot lower. You can’t rule out insurance claims, that sort of thing.’

  A minimum of twenty years ago, thought Carruthers. His intuition was telling him they were starting to get off track. Like Fletcher he just couldn’t buy into the theory that it was a Welsh terrorist group in operation. The peak of Welsh terrorism was just too long ago. So who were Bryn Glas, re
ally? And why had they claimed responsibility?

  Carruthers frowned. ‘There’s a possibility that whoever’s planted the bomb is linking up with their Scottish counterparts. It’s something we’re currently investigating. As you’ll be aware, a lot of these groups have connections with terrorist organisations in other countries.’

  Holdaway shuddered, but nodded. ‘I know there is a sizeable number of folk bitterly unhappy about the results of the Scottish Referendum. And the timing would certainly make sense. Is that something you are looking in to?’

  ‘It’s certainly a line of enquiry,’ said Carruthers.

  Carruthers shuffled his notes. ‘Now, we have been led to believe that you always take your lunch break at 1pm. The car exploded at precisely 1:15. You were incredibly lucky not to be in or close to the car when it exploded. Talk me through the events that occurred just prior to you leaving the building.’

  ‘I got a phone call,’ said Holdaway, whose hands shook slightly.

  ‘From the bomber?’ Carruthers was surprised. He riffled through his notes again. As far as he’d been aware there’d been no warning given.

  Holdaway made a visible effort to stop the tremor in his hands by placing one on top of the other. When this didn’t work he placed both of them on his lap palms down.

  What did they say? In this phone call?’ Carruthers prompted.

  ‘Well, that’s just it. I picked up the phone and the person rang off without speaking.’

  ‘What did you say when you picked up the phone?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you say hello or good afternoon? Did you mention your name? How would you normally answer the phone?’

  ‘Professor Holdaway. That’s how I answered the phone. It’s how I always answer the phone.’

  ‘I’m just trying to establish whether it might have been the bombers who rang you. Can you remember what time you took the phone call? It’s very important.’

  ‘Yes, it was exactly 1pm.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I looked over at the clock on the wall. I’m a creature of habit, Inspector Carruthers. As you have already pointed out I always take my lunch at 1pm.’

  ‘And you’re in the department every day?’

  ‘Yes, well, at least on week days.’

  ‘The bombers would have known that. They would make it their business to find that out. They like people whose movements are habitual. OK, what happened next?’

  ‘Well, I gathered up my car keys, briefcase and left the office.’

  ‘How long did it take you to get ready?’

  ‘A few minutes.’

  ‘So you would have actually left the office at approximately 1:05? Yet you never made it to the car park?’

  ‘No, that’s just it, though. On a normal day I would have been in the car by about 1:05.’

  ‘Where do you usually drive to?’

  ‘I like to get out of the building. I always take the car and go for a little drive. Park up somewhere. Don’t you see? They meant to kill me. I’m sure of it. If it hadn’t been for that student waylaying me on the stairs…’ Holdaway left the rest of the sentence hanging in the air. He was clearly rattled. His shakes seemed to have got worse.

  Carruthers’ ears pricked up at the mention of someone on the staircase.

  ‘What student?’ he asked.

  ‘I got halfway down the first flight of stairs and this bloody student accosted me.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘To ask me questions about a particular course I teach. Told him to go through the proper channels; that I was on my lunch break. He seemed most insistent. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was a bloody nuisance to be honest but now it looks as if I owe him my life.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ said Carruthers sharply.

  ‘Well, now you mention it. I did think it rather odd at the time. He didn’t really look like a typical student.’

  ‘In what way? asked Carruthers.

  ‘Older for a start. Mid-twenties.’

  ‘He could have been a mature student,’ said Carruthers. ‘Was he enquiring about an undergraduate course?’

  ‘Yes, nationhood and nationality. It’s very popular.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. What else can you tell me? How would you describe him physically?’

  ‘Let’s see. Quite short, about five feet seven inches, stocky, short cropped black hair.’

  ‘Accent?’

  ‘English.’

  ‘Regional dialect?’

  ‘Don’t think he had one.’

  So in all likelihood the Home Counties, thought Carruthers, wondering how important this new piece of information was. Could this man be connected to the bombers? He had an English accent, though, so maybe it was an innocent enquiry after all.

  ‘Oh come off it. You don’t think he was connected to the bombers do you?’ Holdaway asked.

  ‘I really don’t know. You said yourself he didn’t look like a student. What was he wearing?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Blue jeans, sweatshirt.’

  ‘Logo?’

  ‘No logo. At least none I could see. He was carrying a rucksack. I remember that. Kept fiddling with the strap.’

  ‘Colour and make?’ prompted Carruthers.

  ‘Black. Yes, definitely black. Not sure of the make.’

  ‘This might be nothing but we’ll get you to work with putting a likeness together. We need to eliminate this man from our enquiries.’

  ‘You mean a police artist?’

  ‘We’re now using computer based facial composite systems.’ Carruthers looked across at Fletcher. ‘Andie, can you get this set up?’ Fletcher stood up. ‘Can you also get the professor some sandwiches?’

  Fletcher nodded and left the room.

  ‘Right, we’ll see if we can get a likeness put together straight after this interview. You look like you might function better after eating. Now, what were you doing when the bomb actually exploded? Were you still talking to our would-be student?’

  ‘Yes, yes I was. He opened the rucksack to get out, well, I thought it was a bottle of water. Then the explosion happened. It was deafening. A few seconds went by and then there was chaos. We both ran downstairs. I knew instantly it was a bomb.’

  ‘You said he was carrying the rucksack. Did he have it on his back or on one shoulder?’

  Holdaway thought about it and spoke carefully. ‘I think it was on his shoulder because when he unzipped it he just swung the bag round. I don’t remember him having to take his arms out of it before opening it.’

  ‘You said he’d been fidgeting with the straps. Did he appear nervous?’ Once again Carruthers felt he was missing something. Something important. Something Holdaway had said perhaps. What was it?

  ‘Nervous? A bit perhaps. Excitable, definitely.’

  ‘Which shoulder did he carry the rucksack on?’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘The right, I think.’

  ‘Did you manage to see inside the bag when he unzipped it?’

  ‘No, not really. I mean, I wasn’t really looking at his bag. Just noticed he had one and that he unzipped it.’ Holdaway raked his shaking hands through his hair.

  ‘After the bomb exploded, nobody saw you, professor. Where did you go and how did you leave the building without being seen?’

  ‘I came down the stairs. The front door was open. I could see Barbara Fairbanks, our secretary, standing in the doorway. She had her back to me. Her office is on the ground floor. I heard her say, “Oh my God.” Like I said, I knew it was a bomb. It was Northern Ireland all over again. I just panicked and fled out the back door. I realised it was me they were after. Thought there might be a sniper out the front to finish me off.’

  ‘You served in Northern Ireland?’ asked Carruthers astonished. And then it came back to him. He’d moved on too swiftly in the interview. Hadn’t given proper thought to all the man’s answers. Holdaway had said he’d known it was a bomb. How could he have
known that? Unless of course he’d heard bombs explode before. That’s why he’d wanted the bloody book from the library. Now he thought about it, Holdaway had stood up when Carruthers had entered the room. That was often the sign of a military man. It wasn’t much but still, he should have taken more notice. It was all falling into place.

  ‘Yes. Parachute Regiment. 1971–1974.’

  Carruthers looked at Holdaway. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this at the start of the interview when I asked you about the connection with Northern Ireland?’

  Carruthers riffled through the notes Harris had gathered on Holdaway. Christ, there was no mention of Holdaway having been in the army, let alone serving in Northern Ireland. What the fuck had Harris been thinking to have omitted that vital piece of information? It was a rookie’s mistake. 1971–1974. The dates fit. And Holdaway was over in Northern Ireland during the so-called peace march.

  ‘So you served in Northern Ireland from 1971–1974?’

  ‘I wasn’t in Ireland all that time.’

  ‘OK. Can you give me the dates you were in Northern Ireland.’ Carruthers picked up a pen.‘

  ‘I was over there for six months from early 1972.’

  Carruthers suddenly switched tack. ‘You told Superintendent Bingham you couldn’t remember what happened after the bomb exploded or where you went.’

  ‘That’s right,’ admitted Holdaway looking rather shame-faced.

  ‘Why did you leave the army?’

  Holdaway looked rattled at another sudden shift of questioning and remained silent.

  ‘Why did you leave the army? After all, you only served three years.’

  In the silence that followed, Carruthers noisily exhaled his breath. ‘You know that we could charge you with wasting police time, don’t you? Not to mention withholding information. You’ve already given the bombers forty-eight hours head start on us. Now for the last time, why did you leave the army?’

  ‘Medical discharge. Satisfied now? I was found to be suffering from a kind of, well, you would call it post-traumatic stress disorder nowadays. I’ve spent the last forty-odd years trying to put it behind me. The past never leaves you, though. All it took was that explosion and I was back there in Northern Ireland.’