“Be specific. You chatted about what?”
Willend put his hands behind his neck and looked at the ceiling. “Hassan’s a big supporter of Arsenal, so we talked for a few minutes about their chances this year. Actually, he was the one who did most of the talking. I’m a novice about the game. We talked about his daughter, Sarah. He’s very proud of her. She wants to go into medicine, and he told me how she won the science competition at her school. I had given her some advice when she designed her experiment. That’s about it.”
Elaine consulted some notes. “I thought Sam and Leyla Khoury owned the store.”
“They do, but they’re in York, visiting Leyla’s sister. Hassan is their son. He covers for them when he’s not working his regular job.”
“And what job is that?”
“He’s a school teacher.”
“You seem to know a lot about the Khoury family.”
“I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve been in London. I see them at least once or twice a week, when I go to the store.”
Elaine smirked. “It’s very convenient for you that this, umm, Hassan, happened to be in the store on that night. When the store owners were away. Very convenient.”
Willend looked perplexed. “What do you mean, ‘convenient’? What the hell does that mean? You think I arranged for him to be there?”
Elaine made a note. “I said no such thing, Dr. Willend. Was anyone else in the store?”
Willend was visibly agitated. He took a moment to calm himself, then spoke. “Yes, a woman was there when I got there. She bought some milk and some cans of something, I think, and left before I did.”
Elaine heard Cranwell’s voice in her earpiece. “Let’s talk.” She turned to Benford. He nodded. “One twenty-one PM. DS Hope and DCI Benford are leaving the room.” She punched the button. The constable in the corner shifted in his chair but remained silent.
Benford and Elaine joined Cranwell in the viewing room. He didn’t appear pleased. “Well? It doesn’t seem like you’re getting very far here, Elaine.”
“It takes time. He’s calm and confident, not cocky or cheeky. He got a bit flustered there, but he’s deflecting very little if at all. I don’t see any avoidance or deceit in him. It was the same thing when we were at his house. If he’s hiding something, I don’t know what it might be yet. It may take some time.”
Benford snorted. “Bollocks. He followed Sheila when she got off the bus, and he’s the last known person to see her alive. He didn’t mention her when we first talked to him. He owns a dark car. He made up that cock-and-bull story about that Hassan bloke. I think he’s a bloody good actor and he’s rehearsed it.”
Cranwell turned to Elaine. “What else do we know about him?”
Elaine paused. “DC Costello interviewed the A&E staff this morning, while we were at Willend’s house. He’s been a senior surgical consultant at the hospital about two years. Specializes in trauma surgery; he fixes accident victims, that kind of thing. Mostly kids, but adults and wounded soldiers as well. He’s apparently very good at it, and the house officers and nursing staff seem to like working with him. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“His personal reputation at the hospital is that he’s quiet and something of a loner. He’s good to work with, but he gets very moody at times. Simon said the word ‘withdrawn’ was used more than once. He said his main assistant got very nervous when he pressed her on that. It seemed like she didn’t want to talk about Willend any further and said that we’d have to ask him.” Elaine paused.
“There’s one other thing. Simon talked with one of the other surgeons. Apparently there’s a locker room the male doctors use. This surgeon said Willend always turns to face the room when he’s changing clothes. He said Willend is scarred. His back got badly burned in Iraq and he had skin grafts. Spent a bit of time in hospital. Anyway, when he changes clothes, he keeps his back to the wall, perhaps so other people can’t see the damage.”
Cranwell perked up. “That’s interesting. Brilliant but moody and a loner. Iraq. God knows what happened there. Burned! PTSD, you think? A bipolar Jekyll and Hyde?”
Through the window they could see Willend sitting calmly with his eyes closed, his hands folded on his lap.
Benford nodded toward him. “He’s rehearsing his story.”
Elaine shook her head. “No. He’s meditating.”
Cranwell looked at them both. “Whatever he’s doing, we’re not getting any further while we’re standing out here. Go back in and shake him up a bit more. See if he fizzes.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the preliminaries, Benford began. “Dr. Willend. When we spoke at your home—or I should say, your sister’s home—you seemed to get upset when we talked politics.”
“Not upset, but yes, I was pulling your chain. It sounded like you were making a supposition about me that was off base.”
“There was no supposition on my part. I asked a simple question, based on something you said.”
“Actually, it was based on the way I said it. Not every Texan—or American, for that matter—satisfies your preconceptions. Suppose I stereotyped you? Maybe you live exclusively on ackee and saltfish and roll yourself a big fat spliff several times a day? Does Inspector Hope live to suck down cheap whisky and start bar fights?”
Elaine’s eyes narrowed. He’d picked up on her Scottish accent. It’s time for a little bit of rough, Lainie. “Only when Celtic loses. I saw the pictures on your piano. You have a lovely family, Dr. Willend. It’s a shame they don’t live with you. Did you abandon them back in the States, or did they kick you out back to Mommy in London?”
Willend’s eyes flared and he sat bolt upright. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. With visible effort, he relaxed, and his gaze shifted away from her and into a thousand-yard stare.
There, Elaine thought. That hit him hard. “Dr. Willend?”
“They died.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. How did they die?” Elaine’s tone indicated she wasn’t sorry at all.
“In a car crash, six years ago.” Willend was still staring into the distance.
“I’m over here, Mr. Willend. Look at me. Do you still keep in touch with your soldier friends in the photo?”
His stare didn’t vary. “No. They’re gone too.”
She capped her pen and closed her notebook. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “You’re pretty much on your own, then? Alone?”
Willend’s eyes refocused and fixed on Elaine’s face. “No, I have my sister and mother. And I . . .” He paused and exhaled audibly. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, but we would like your cooperation.” She held her eyes steady on Willend’s face.
Willend’s gaze didn’t move from Elaine. “I think I’ve cooperated so far. Since I’m not under arrest, I would like to leave now.”
Benford spoke up. “You have nothing more to tell us?”
“No.”
“And everything you have told us is true?”
“Yes. I would like to leave.”
Benford looked at Elaine, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. He continued. “We will need to search your home and your car. Do we have your permission or must we get a search warrant?”
Willend paused for a moment. “I have a few conditions. You do not search Kate’s room or office. I don’t have the right to speak for her. Besides, her rooms are locked and I have no pass code. Also, I have a computer system in my office that belongs to the hospital and contains very private patient information, so you cannot touch it. For the rest, you have my permission, but only if I am there.”
Benford harrumphed. “We aren’t going to squabble over this, are we? We need to search your house and car, and we will.”
“No, we won’t squabble. You said I’m not under arrest, which means that you’re asking me for a favor. If you can’t accept my conditions, you’ll need to get a warrant. Perhaps you can convinc
e a magistrate to give you one based on circumstances and stereotypes. Whichever option you choose, I’m going home now.”
Willend started to rise from the table. Benford spoke. “Will you call your sister to see if she will give her permission to search her rooms?”
“I could call her. She may or may not answer. I doubt if she would give permission in a situation like this. She works directly for the Foreign Secretary, and her current assignment is with the United Nations Human Rights Council. Her specialty is ‘rule of law,’ so she has an extremely healthy respect for legal protocols. Kate Willend is her name. You can Google her or check with the Foreign Secretary. I’m sure he likes being disturbed by the police on Sunday afternoons.”
“This is a murder investigation, Dr. Willend. There are serious consequences for hindering an investigation and wasting police time.”
“I’m not hindering your investigation, nor am I wasting your time. Searching a high-profile diplomat’s home without her express permission or a warrant would create a huge shit-storm, and you know it. You suspect me of killing this girl, but you know you don’t have enough to charge me. You’re going fishing, and you’re afraid that if I’m alone at home, I might destroy evidence while you go get your warrant.”
Willend leaned forward over the table. “I’m willing to cooperate up to a point. Wouldn’t you rather at least have my permission to look through the house and keep an eye on me at the same time? Then if you find something, you can get your warrant and arrest me on the spot.”
His eyes locked on Elaine’s. “Or more likely, you can go away and leave me alone.”
Benford exchanged a look with Elaine before he answered. “I’ll agree, for now.”
“Since you brought me here, may I get a lift home?”
“Certainly. Inspector Hope will take you and wait with you until the crime scene team arrives—CSIs, as some call them now. And before you leave, we’d like to take a DNA sample from you.”
Willend looked relieved. “That’s not a problem.”
SIX
A beefy plainclothes officer joined Elaine and Willend as they were leaving the station. His shaved round head sat atop a thick neck, which, together with his huge hands, indicated massive strength. Elaine introduced him as DC Bull, to which Willend replied, “I imagine so.” DC Bull shook his head and frowned.
Willend apologized. “Sorry, that was rude of me. No offense intended. It’s rare that someone’s physique and name are so well matched.” Bull grunted in acknowledgement and took his seat in the car.
Elaine was a fast and decisive driver who understood her engine’s power curve and shifted appropriately. She knew the route and planned ahead, her car moving quickly through the traffic.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. Willend sat quietly, looking out the window. Bull’s large frame occupied most of the back seat opposite Willend. He rocked to and fro with her fast turns and lane changes.
She felt rotten about interrogating Willend so harshly. It had made her more than a little grouchy, which probably had come through in her tone. She was almost certain Benford was wrong, but orders were orders. If she were in charge, she would not be so aggressive.
Elaine was a good interrogator because she found it easy to empathize. Her empathy helped her find vulnerability in the suspect’s protective shell. Once she knew his weakness, she probed it with questions, like a medieval knight used a stiletto. She pressed relentlessly until her insistent point found its mark, and the guilt and confession gushed out for the world to see. Benford had told her she was a good interrogator because she was a woman.
She figured it was because she knew a lot about guilt. She sensed Willend was carrying deep guilt, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with Sheila’s murder.
Willend spoke.
“How long will it take the forensic team to get there?”
“Probably an hour, perhaps longer, given that it’s a Sunday.”
“I was wondering if I’d have time to make some lunch. You and the constable are welcome to join me.”
“We’ll stop for carryout instead.” Elaine jabbed the brakes, downshifted into second gear, flew around a corner, and wheeled into a parking spot in front of an Indian restaurant. She heard Bull sigh hugely. He looked vaguely ill, like a nauseated shot-putter. “Nothing for me,” he said.
A short while later, they stood at the door of Willend’s house. Bull held the food containers while Willend unlocked the door and asked them to wait while he disabled the alarm systems. Apparently Bull’s motion sickness had dissipated, because after smelling the curries, he had decided that he really wanted a burger. Or two. They had stopped at a McDonald’s for him.
Once they were settled at the table, Elaine began the conversation. “Two alarm systems. That’s quite a bit of security.”
Willend nodded. “Three, actually. There’s another you don’t see here. One is the general system for the exterior that sounds an alarm and notifies the police. The second detects motion inside the house. It’s silent and it notifies both the police and a security team at the Foreign Office or Special Branch or somewhere. I don’t know anything about the third one, except that it guards Kate’s study and it notifies people who none of us really want to meet. I think they wear black and shave their heads and strap big knives to their boots and carry H&K machine pistols. It probably would get messy and unpleasant.”
“That’s positively Bondian. Or SMERSHian, take your pick. Whatever is she protecting?”
“I don’t want to know. Apparently the systems were designed specifically for the house and were installed when it was built. There are details about the house that I find a bit odd, but Kate assures me that they are intentional.”
“So if we got a warrant and searched your sister’s office or bedroom without her knowing it, we would set off a silent alarm and meet those nasty people who we really do not want to meet?”
“I presume so. And start that shit-storm.”
He offered Elaine the naan, and she took a piece. “So Kate had the house built to her specifications?”
“Yes. The previous house on the site had burned down and was tangled up in insurance litigation. Kate, or maybe one of her government friends, was able to come up with a solution that pleased both sides. She and Mom bought the site and built this house.”
“But your mother doesn’t live here?”
“She did for a while, but then she moved to a flat in the Barbican. Kate was here mostly by herself until I moved in two years ago.”
“Mostly by herself? Failed marriage? Boyfriend problems?”
Willend laughed. “Something like that. But that’s over now. Even with all the traveling she does, she’s been in a steady relationship for over a year.”
“In the interview, you got upset when I asked about your family. It was like I had entered a forbidden zone.”
“Maybe it was the way you entered it.” Willend sat back in his chair. “I only talk about Diana and Liza with Kate and Mom and maybe a couple of friends back in the States.”
“Why is that? What happened?”
“Like I said, I don’t talk about it. They died in a car accident. That should be enough for you.”
Elaine kept pressing. “Well, it may not be enough. In a murder investigation, there isn’t room for emotional niceties. Everything we police think should be put on the table will be put on the table, and only then do we and the Crown Prosecutor decide what part is evidence and what is not. I can jail you for obstructing a lawful police enquiry.”
Willend looked a bit taken aback. “Be that as it may, my family tragedy six years ago is of no concern to your investigation. I have nothing to hide. I’m innocent, and it’s only a matter of time before you and Benford realize it. I have every confidence that you will eventually find the killer, and that killer is not me. I’m patient, and more important, I’m well within my rights.”
Elaine had finished her curry and needed some time to collect her thoughts. “May I us
e your toilet?”
Willend paused, then indicated the stairs. “Be my guest. Up, second door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Bull appeared to be nodding off in the leather chair. The two burgers had been soporific enough to overcome the caffeine from the large Coca-Cola he had used to chase them down. He hadn’t had any chips, though—watching his weight.
Elaine nudged Bull as she passed and continued up the stairs, thinking over what she had learned, which was next to nothing, really. Willend was tough. Every time she had tried to crack his shell and crawl inside, he reverted to some version of his smug refrain. “I’m innocent and I know it. One day you will too.” No defensiveness, no prevarication. A portrait of an honest man.
She stared into the mirror as she washed her hands. Her talk with him, and her gut, told her again that Peter Willend was innocent. If she was right, they were wasting their time. With any luck, the team would uncover evidence that pointed in a new direction, and she could leave the difficult doctor behind. She hoped so. As she passed the door next to the lavatory, she noticed it had an electronic combination lock. Curious, she tried the door across the hall. It was locked.
When she returned, Willend had moved to the piano and was syncopating his way through the introduction to “Night and Day.” “Do you play?” he asked.
Dammit, she thought. “A bit, but I haven’t played seriously in years.” Which was a lie. She owned a piano, played it well, and practiced a couple of times a week.
Willend pressed. “Would you care to join me? It might be fun.”
“That wouldn’t . . . ah, the SOCO team is here. That’s scene of crime officers. CSIs to you Yanks.” She looked out the front window. A white SOCO van had parked in the drive, and several technicians were walking toward the house.
Elaine said, “Turn off the alarms or whatever so we can open the door.”
Willend didn’t look up. “I’m playing. The front door alarms aren’t on.”
She rolled her eyes and motioned to Bull, who opened it to admit the SOCO team. One of them, apparently the leader, said to no one in particular, “I understand there are some restrictions on . . .”
Souls of Men Page 5