Carter looked at Smith for the first time. Smith had expected the brother to be older but that was not the case – three or four years younger but very protective, and annoyed at Smith for stating the painfully obvious. He ignored the sergeant’s remark and repeated what he had already told them about his movements from the 15th to the 17th of March. Controlled, disciplined even, but lots going on under the surface – the body a little too rigid for comfort, the eyes a little too fixed on those of Detective Inspector Reeve. Smith remembered his own instructor, Major D Agassiz – you never forget the man who teaches you that sort of thing. Loose-limbed and laconic, a most un-major-like major who told them in their first lesson as special operations hopefuls that he would teach them a bit of self-defence as it might come in useful. Within twenty minutes they all knew how to disable and if necessary to kill a man with their bare hands. Major Agassiz would have had some concerns about David Carter.
Smith sat back and folded his arms. Reeve had asked Carter to talk about the relationship between his sister and her husband. Again he made no attempt to conceal his dislike of Bell; the man was a drunk and a bully. He would never provide properly for his daughter. If he had gone, and however he had gone, it was probably for the best in the long run. She was better off without him.
Reeve said, ‘I’ve no doubt you told your sister that – did you ever say it to James’s face?’
‘There was no love lost between us.’
‘Did he ever threaten you – or you him?’
‘We had our moments.’
‘And did it ever come to blows?’
‘No.’
There was a pause before she said, ‘You say you did not see Mr Bell on the 15th. When did you last see him?’
Carter thought, or made a show of thinking.
‘Not since Christmas.’
‘And when,’ said Smith, ‘did you last try to see him?’
A pause while the odd stare travelled from the inspector to the sergeant.
‘I don’t understand your question.’
‘Since Christmas, when you say that you last saw Jimmy’ – and he could see that the deliberate use of the familiar name had its desired effect – ‘have you tried to meet him? Have you tried to speak to him again about his behaviour towards Lucy, to tell him to ‘man-up’ as they say now, and do a better job?’
‘No. Why would I? He’s incapable of changing.’
Smith looked at Reeve as if he needed her permission and she played along, as if she needed to give it. He reached for the wallet on the table, opened it and took out the single sheet of paper, the print-out from Traffic. Then he read through it again, slowly, as if he was seeing it for the first time, while Carter watched him.
‘Then can I ask you, Mr Carter, what you were doing driving along the North Lake Road towards The Towers at’, peering at the paper as if he had suddenly become a victim of presbyopia, ‘17.38 on Saturday the 15th?’
He turned the paper round one hundred and eighty degrees so that Carter could see it.
‘At this point, Mr Carter, most of our regular customers would say that their car had been stolen but as you did, we assume, arrive in Market Deeping about an hour later, that really won’t do, will it?’
Carter was taking his time. Smith turned the paper back around and returned it to the wallet.
‘I did go to the flat, or I got as far as the front door. I knocked on it but nobody answered. I never saw him.’
Reeve said, ‘Thank you, David. Can you tell us why you went there?’
‘Because it was ridiculous – Lucy having to leave the flat like that. Knowing he would be pissed and dangerous, not able to stay in her home because of his behaviour. I thought if I saw him before he went out, he might listen for once.’
Smith said, ‘You told us that he was incapable of changing, just a moment ago.’
Carter nodded and even managed a half-smile.
‘No doubt I was wasting my time. But I was angry that she had to leave because he’s so predictably stupid.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr Carter, a man with your training is potentially dangerous when very angry.’
‘I didn’t say that I was very angry. If you knew anything about it, you’d realise that one of the first things you learn is to control your emotions so that you never use those skills unthinkingly.’
‘Thank you for that, sir. I always say that I learn something new every day, even at my age. Can you tell us why you concealed from us the fact that you had been to Jimmy’s flat?’
‘Concealed’ did the trick, a low, sideways kick that caught him a little off balance.
‘I just did not want to get involved. Lucy has told me about what’s been going on but I didn’t see him – I don’t see what else I can tell you. And I don’t see where this is leading. He went to the rig, didn’t he, and then disappeared? How am I supposed to be involved in that?’
Reeve said, ‘You might be involved as a potential witness, David.’
‘A witness to what?’
A good question, thought Smith, and I wish I knew the answer.
Reeve continued, choosing her words with care.
‘You’ll know, I imagine, from Lucy that we have carried out certain tests in the flat. I won’t go into details but your being there and getting no answer on Saturday evening might be significant. Did you see or hear anything that suggested anyone was in the flat?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see anyone else on the landings or the stairs, any neighbours going by?’
‘No, no-one.’
And then Smith said, ‘As Detective Inspector Reeve has just pointed out, we have done various tests in the flat. Can you tell us whether it is likely that we will find your DNA in there, Mr Carter?’
‘My DNA?’
For the first time Carter looked surprised.
‘Yes. I’ll assume that you know what it is and that your question is about why I am asking. Have you ever been into the flat where Jimmy and Lucy and Leah have been living?’
‘Yes – about a year ago, not long after they moved in, but I-’
‘In which case, we might find evidence of that. Of course, we won’t know that it’s yours, you having no criminal record, unless you are prepared to give us a sample so that we can eliminate you from the results. Would that be alright, Mr Carter?’
Carter was thinking it over, perhaps wondering about the implications for his civil liberties.
Smith said, ‘Or would you prefer us to put you in touch with a solicitor?’
‘DC, that was a bit naughty.’
They were back in the incident room, and Smith was finishing his timeline at last.
‘I don’t see why. He’s the last man we can put within a few feet of Jimmy Bell, or at least his front door. He had, in theory, the opportunity and he’s not shy of admitting he had the motive. We could have pushed him a lot harder than we did, and we’ll check that he did actually arrive at Market Deeping. Anyway, he gave us the sample.’
As far as he knew, Waters and Serena were working in the office, and the other three were out in the field. For a straightforward missing persons job, that was a lot of activity, a lot of police time, but this had long since ceased to be that sort of case as far as Smith was concerned. Mentally he went through a list of what everyone should be doing and estimated how long it should take them. He pulled a face of irritation – they were stuck, stuck, stuck at intelligence gathering.
He said to Reeve, ‘If you could make that phone call now…’
‘Which phone call?’
‘To that number they use on the telly when the DI picks up the phone and says, we need these results in a hurry, and two minutes later they’re back.’
‘Oh, that number. Well, they solve all their cases in an hour and a half whereas we have to go the long way round. If I had a magic wand, what would you have back first?’
He thought for a moment.
‘I’d like to know what was on that phone – the
call history.’
‘Really? I’d have bet a tenner you’d want the blood results. Why the phone?’
Was it too soon to say, to put such an idea forward? He was still debating that with himself when the door opened and John Murray entered, making the whole room feel a little smaller. His usually glum face had lightened a little to merely deadpan, and Smith said, ‘Right, what have you got?’
The answer, in a word, was plenty. Murray had spent most of the afternoon at Lake General Hospital. It had taken a while but eventually he had tracked down Esme Fairhead, the sole occupant of flat 538, Nelson House, otherwise known as Tower Two. She was on a ward for the elderly and infirm, and it had taken all of Murray’s personal charm to get past the sister in charge. ‘All of it?’ Smith had said, concerned, as if Murray might have done himself an injury in the process.
The old dear was as bright as a button, Murray said. She asked him to adjust her pillows so that she could sit up and then answered every question. Yes, she knew the Bells and their lovely little girl, but only to speak to in passing. Yes, her flat was halfway along the south arm of the landing – from her window she could see across the gap to the corner near the lift where the Bells lived. Certainly she could remember that weekend because it was the one before she had to come in for the operation, and they had given her some new medication to take for five days beforehand. He wouldn’t believe how much it had upset her but she wouldn’t go into details… That was why she had to keep getting up and going to the loo. She couldn’t be sure of the exact time but it was well after dark. The landings and walkways are all lit up, better now since they put those new covers on that stop the children stealing the bulbs. Anyway, some time that evening she’d been up again, and looked out of the sitting room window. She could not be sure exactly but there had been three or four men at the door of the Bells’ flat, standing around it and sort of huddled together – maybe for a minute or so as if they were having trouble finding the key or as if no-one was answering their knock. Then the door must have been opened, there was light in the hallway and then it was closed again.
Smith said, ‘No chance of an ID of Jimmy Bell?’
Murray shook his head.
‘Must be forty yards if it’s an inch, badly lit, eighty-year-old witness on a new medication? The defence would send their work experience trainee, DC.’
‘Fair enough. But this is handy, John – well done for pursuing that to the end. Lucy Bell told us that he never had people back, that he was even more embarrassed about his address than she is, and now we have a party going on. She said three or four men? Presumably she would have noticed if there had been ladies present… When the old girl gets back to her flat, we ought to go over, have another chat and see what the view is like from her window. We might jog her memory.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll be going back.’
On the way out, Murray had spoken again to the sister. She was friendlier now, having watched him making Esme Fairhead laugh for a few minutes. When he had said that he would be back with a written statement for her signature, he had been told that the patient was on a combined morphine and stimulant regime; the consultant had decided that that was kinder than putting her through the operation. It was unlikely that Esme would be going home again.
Reeve said, ‘What a shame…’ and John Murray nodded.
Smith waited for what he hoped was an appropriate number of seconds before he said, ‘John, I know it’s late but can you get that typed up tonight? Then get back in there first thing tomorrow and get it signed. I can’t believe it – the closest thing we’ve got to a witness is about to shuffle off this mortal coil. I need to catch Bonnie and Clyde before they leave…’
He was heading for the door when Murray said, ‘DC?’
Smith turned.
‘I know it’s late as well, DC, but you’re also on a promise. Maggie? She wants to see you, and you’ve been saying you’ll go for a fortnight. I said you might call in tonight, and as I’m going to be stuck here for a while…’
Very neat, that, very adroit for a big man. Just one of the reasons that he liked John Murray. He said that he would call in on his way home.
Chapter Eleven
She had not seen him for almost two months, and she felt self-conscious – she knew how much she had grown in that time. What was he thinking as he sat in their lounge, waiting for the coffee to filter? When she went back in with the cup for him and her glass of mineral water, she felt like a barge under full sail, or as if she was constantly carrying in front of her a basket of washing, slowing at the turns and steering carefully through doorways. She lowered herself down and smiled apologetically – but beneath that, beneath the surfaces of awkwardness and embarrassment, was something deeper, something smug and self-satisfied, something that said this is it, this is what it’s all really about, there is nothing more important than this.
Smith made a point of staring at her midriff for a moment before he said, ‘Blimey!’
‘Yes, I know. It’s all happened in the past fortnight. One day I woke up and there it was. On my last scan, Thursday it was, I asked them to check that I don’t have a litter but it is just the one.’
‘Definitely John’s, then…’
She smiled and put a proprietorial hand on the bulge.
‘There’s been a bit of movement as well, which is quite early.’
‘But everything’s OK?’
‘So they tell me.’
‘Well, tell him or her to stay in for the full term. Once you’re in this vale of tears, there’s no going back! Do you know, by the way?’ with a gesture towards the future Murray-Henderson. He had a private bet with himself that they would tie the knot quietly one weekday morning but nothing had been said yet.
‘No – we said we’d wait. But I think it’s a boy.’
Somehow, that always makes it more real. He smiled at her, amazed at the change. He had concluded long ago that pregnancy doesn’t suit all women, just as not every man looks good in shorts, and he would not have been surprised if it did not suit Maggie – but it did. She looked younger and happier than he remembered her.
He said, ‘John told me you had something you wanted to ask me, or tell me. He didn’t give anything away, as usual.’
‘I’m working up to it.’
She had made up her mind, then – she had decided to leave the job after all. He couldn’t blame her, the way she looked now; she might even have decided to have a couple more, though she had probably not told John that yet. From a selfish point of view, however, he would be disappointed. It takes time to get a DC working just the way you want them, and he doubted whether he had enough time left to get anyone working as well as Maggie Henderson. Her leaving would feel like another tick of the clock, another inching forward of the second-hand that could never be re-wound.
Instead of telling him then, she asked about the case, and it was clear that, whether or not motherhood was her future now, she would miss the work. Most detectives avoid burdening their partners with too much detail, but John’s and Maggie’s situation was a little different; the forthcoming arrival made them seem no longer like the Odd Couple of Kings Lake Central but she was still, at least in spirit, a part of the team and John had told her about the disappearance of Jimmy Bell. From her sofa now, she asked the right questions and checked that Smith had done all the things that she would have expected him to do. He was intrigued when she seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Serena Butler about the missing man – that she didn’t like the sound of him much, and he asked her why.
‘He’s a player. The clothes, the nice phone; not much cash for wife and child but plenty for himself. I haven’t seen the photos – is he good-looking?’
Smith made a quizzical face.
‘I’ll be honest, Maggie – he doesn’t do a thing for me but I’d guess most ladies would say that he is, in a sort of Seventies porn-star way.’
‘I suppose there would be no point in me asking where you got that from?�
��
‘Not really.’
‘And he’s how old, exactly?’
Smith reached into his pocket for the notebook, glad to get another pair of trusted eyes on the case, even though the eyes were officially on sick-leave. He found something other than the notebook, took it out and said, ‘Bugger, I’d forgotten about that. I’ll take that in tomorrow,’ and put the card on the table. Then, from the notebook he read out, ‘Thirty seven next birthday. I’d say Mrs Bell is several years younger, poor thing.’
He looked away from the notebook then, and saw Maggie staring at the card on the table. The look on her face was oddly unstable, fluctuating between amusement and something close to horror.
‘DC? Where on earth did you get that from?’
He told her and waited for an explanation.
‘So you’re not just making that up – you’ve never been there yourself? I mean, a man in your situation… We would understand.’
Smith knew that he was being wound up but had no idea how; the ‘why’ was obvious enough – people didn’t get the chance very often and so they would make the most of it.
‘Maggie, I haven’t the faintest what you’re going on about.’
‘You found that in James Bell’s clothes? That does make more sense, to be honest. But I can’t believe that you’ve not heard of it.’
‘Of what? What is it?’
‘A private members’ club. It’s in Silver Street, off the Parkway. A very private club, if you know what I mean…’
He didn’t, and so she explained. Did he remember Linda Connolly? Yes, he did; tall, short dark hair, very athletic-looking, left Lake Central about two years ago. Maggie said that Linda had transferred to Vice in Norwich. About a year later she had become a mum herself, but before that she had asked Maggie one day, or rather one evening because they used to play badminton together, before – looking down at herself - well, before. The word ‘mum’ seemed to have distracted Maggie from her story, and she stared a little at Smith as if she was wondering what he was doing there. What he was doing was his very best not to snap his fingers in the usual way whilst saying ‘Yes, yes, get on with it!’
Luck and Judgement: A DC Smith Investigation Page 14