‘Has its own smell, doesn’t it, an estuary? Half-sea, half river, I suppose – or half-sea, half-land. The tide’s on the turn – you can tell from those buoys marking the channel, see? Floating on their sides.’
Waters nodded as if a geography lesson was just what he needed – or was it a poetry lesson? Smith had these moments. But no doubt they had come down to the water for a reason other than the further education of his assistant.
‘And a lot of boats here, more than you think from the road. Those big ones at the far end must be what take the containers out, by that new shed. There’s a crane for lifting them on and off – that looks new as well. A contract for that sort of work must pay – premises, specialist boats, experienced crew, fuel, office support… And then lots of smaller boats, right down to these dinghies tied up below us here. I can’t think these have much to do with the business but if you go to any harbour anywhere, you’ll see the same – dozens of little boats tied up, waiting. What for? What do people do with ‘em? Many’s the night I’ve lain awake worrying about that…’
Waters was staring at the river now. Smith was right; the buoys were still floating on their sides but they were slowly swinging around to point downstream. The tide was on the turn.
‘Well, come on. We can’t stand here day-dreaming. It’s time to go and knock on some Wood!’
After the double doors, a small office on the right had “Reception” over the door. Through the panel they could see a girl peering at a screen – she hadn’t noticed them. Smith carried on past that office and pushed open the door on the left – he couldn’t see Wood working at a desk all day. This door opened into the back of a workshop – benches, tools, the smells of diesel and oil and grease mingled with stale tobacco; if a health and safety inspector turned up and started making a fuss here, he’d probably find his fingers caught in some sort of vice.
They could see three men around an engine in pieces. They all looked across at the intruders, and then the oldest one – a tall, gaunt man with enormous, oil-covered hands - was coming towards them.
‘You lost, pal?’
Smith said, ‘I don’t think so. This is Scanlon Offshore Services, isn’t it?’
‘Aye. But I think you’ve took a wrong turn. You come through security?’
‘Well, we came through a security gate. Does that count?’
The man stood a few feet off, wiping his hands on a rag so filthy that the effect must be the opposite of what he was intending. Waters was transfixed by the hands, each of which looked large enough to reach all the way around a man’s neck.
‘If you turn around, go back through that door and go right, you’ll get to reception, OK?’
Smith said, ‘That’s helpful, thanks, and when we’re ready to leave we’ll do just that. However,’ now taking out the warrant card, ‘before we do, I’d like a quick word with Philip Wood. He came through here about five minutes ago, so if you could point me in the right direction?’
Waters saw the look between the two younger men who stood watching at the bench, and he double-checked to be sure that Wood was not one of them. Smith was eyeball to eyeball with the tall man but he too noted the recognition of the name.
‘You canna go wanderin’ about here, pal – it wouldn’t be safe for you. Rich? Go find Woody, bring him up here. Tell him it’s the police…’
The youngest of the three crossed the workshop and went out through another door. The tall mechanic finished wiping his hands and pushed the rag into a pocket of his overalls; he was quite intentionally in their way, and they would not get past him easily.
Smith said, ‘Very good. Thank you for your cooperation. I’m going to leave my colleague, Detective Constable Waters here while I have a word in the office. DC Waters, if you’d bring Mr Wood out to the office when he arrives?’
As he passed Waters, he said quietly, ‘Wait two minutes. If he’s not here, go back to the car.’
Smith walked quickly across the open space in front of SOS, wondering whether he would once have run and whether he could if he really needed to do so. It didn’t matter – looking around from his car, he could see no sign of Philip Wood. Still, just to be on the safe side… He reversed out, turned it around and drove down to the security gate. The road was effectively single track but to be certain, he angled the Peugeot a little across the space, leaving the engine running. Then he glanced at his watch - maybe a minute or a minute and a half had elapsed - and waited, watching out of the passenger side window.
Wood appeared at the far end of the building, just a few feet from where Smith and Waters had stood and contemplated time and tide minutes before. He waited, looked and then ran across the jetty until he was out of sight; for a moment Smith thought, there’s another way out, sod it, and then he realized that Wood would come up the line of cars out of sight of the building, that was all. So intent was he on avoiding the police, he didn’t yet seem to have noticed the car blocking his exit.
Sure enough, seconds later the Astra had reversed out, and then with a spin of wheels it was bearing down on the gate. It came so quickly that Smith thought, perhaps I won’t have to negotiate a trade-in after all, but it stopped a few feet short of him. Wood hit the horn and Smith realized then that the man had not, in his haste, connected the search for him inside the building with what was now happening in the car park.
Smith got out and walked towards the Astra, doing his best impression of a puzzled Frenchman, arms out, palms upwards. When he reached the car he could see Wood’s furious face, and see too that he was glancing back towards the building every few seconds – Smith made the gesture to wind the window down.
‘Sorry mate, she just won’t move. Could be the clutch. Can you give us a push, get it out of the way?’
Wood’s reply was brief but included a reference to Smith’s age and parentage. He’s not falling for that, Smith, so it’s plan B. He’s going to drive up on the path and over that collapsible bollard any moment but first he’ll take another look back.
When Wood did so, Smith’s hand was into the car and the key was twisted and removed in a couple of seconds. He stood four feet back, waiting for Wood’s next move – which could only be to come after the key as the old geezer wouldn’t put up much of a fight. Waters should be here any moment but he didn’t take his eyes away from the angry man in the car.
With this manoeuvre, it’s all in the timing. The door opened, the man twisted, one foot out and down, one arm out, the head and neck in line with the upright frame of the door – then Smith stepped in, leaning his full weight forward, bracing hard with one leg, his right arm reaching in and pulling against the driver’s head-rest. Their faces were inches apart but fortunately Wood’s was now twisted away from him – it was ages since a suspect had spat in his face and Smith was hoping to end his career before it happened again.
Wood was strong, and not simply because he was enraged – take a note of that. The door bucked back and Smith pushed in harder, putting more force through his leg and feeling the pain in his knee. Despite the door across his neck, Wood was giving out a stream of expletives but nothing too original, nothing that Smith had not heard many times before in similar situations. But where the hell was Waters? Chatting up the receptionist? This was no time to be showing initiative.
Wood got his left arm out through the window and tried get enough distance to punch Smith in the abdomen. He began to land a few blows, heavy enough to score a point in the ring, and Smith thought, maybe working a divorce or two wouldn’t have been so bad. Then Waters was there on the other side of the car, arriving at full tilt, must have run across the car park. He opened the passenger door and got in behind Wood.
Smith said, ‘Cuffs on his left, please.’
After he had heard them click into place, he said to Wood, ‘Right. You’re not going anywhere now, so you might as well pack it in.’
He eased off a little on the door and Wood tried to head-butt him, catching him hard enough on the left cheek.
&
nbsp; ‘I’ll take that as a no, then. DC Waters, put the other cuff around the steering wheel, and then we’re stepping away from the car. You tell him he’s arrested and I’ll call for a van.’
‘Charge, sir?’
Funny how he still did that in public – even in front of public like Philip Wood.
‘Oh, I don’t know – being a moron? Or assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, failure to water a hanging basket…’
Wood took another swing at one of the uniforms who brought the van but Lloyd and Mann were big, experienced men – the punch missed and the arrested moron promptly found himself face down on the tarmac. Smith and Waters watched as he was placed inside the cage and instructed on how to behave for his own safety.
Waters said, ‘I think we could have managed him between us.’
‘Could you? Oh well, maybe next time.’
Waters was still a bit keen at times, and Smith thought, it all goes back to when we had to confront Captain Hamilton and his new model army – getting a broken nose before your first arrest probably isn’t good for the ego. Perhaps Waters was trying over-compensate. He’d better explain.
‘Chris, you’re probably right. Somehow, between your natural youthful exuberance and my growing desire not to engage in fisticuffs, we could have managed to get him into my back seat. So why call a van?’
‘Reducing the risk?’
‘Yes, to all concerned, the prisoner included. I know it sounds daft but not everyone we arrest is guilty, and not everyone who resists arrest is a criminal. Sometimes we arrest seriously disturbed people for their own good, so hurting them in the process would be, well, counter-productive, to say the least. But in this case…’
Waters waited. Beyond Smith, he could see a sizeable boat heading downriver with the tide, containers on it, perhaps going out to a rig in the North Sea.
‘In this case, none of that applies to Philip Wood. However, in resisting arrest and causing us to deploy extra resources – I wish Superintendent Allen could hear me saying that – he has not done himself any favours when it comes to the interview or in the matter of police bail, has he? Second, we now get to go back into Scanlon Offshore Services and start asking questions about what sort of people they employ. They’ll have been watching our performance, and now realise that we are not to be trifled with. So let’s do that. You can be Mr Nasty today, if you want.’
Chapter Nineteen
Smith, Waters, Murray and Serena Butler sat in the incident room at 10.00, watching as Reeve connected her iPad to the intelligent whiteboard. A page of densely typed information appeared, and she scrolled down quickly to the final paragraph, the summary.
She said, ‘I’ve already read through this and given them a call about what these ‘blood characteristics’ actually mean. This stuff gets more sophisticated every time I see it. Basically, this was not a shaving cut – this was deep arterial blood.’
She allowed them to read the report’s conclusion, and Smith looked at his watch – the clock was ticking on the twenty four hours that they could hold onto Wood before charging him with something or letting him walk.
Reeve said, ‘And as you can see here, the alcohol level suggests that he was close to three times over the driving limit as well. James Bell was seriously injured and quite drunk when he lay on the bathroom floor. They cannot estimate how much blood he lost there but, in view of the SOCO’s photographs and the above characteristics, the lady I spoke to this morning said, and I quote, “It must have been a lot, possibly life-threatening.” So somebody cleaned up pints of blood, which is quite a task in itself. It probably wasn’t James Bell – that’s my guess. There was evidence of three other people in the bathroom. Mrs Bell and her daughter we can ignore, but the hair found on the bathroom wall does not belong to a family member – neither does it match anything in our database.’
Another minute gone – how many minutes are there in twenty four hours?
‘DC and I have talked about this just now. While he briefs you on what we’re going to do, I need to speak to Detective Superintendent Allen, and then we might need to call the CPS, depending on which way the interviewing of Philip Wood goes this morning. DC, all yours.’
Before she could leave the room, Smith had halted her progress.
‘Ma’am? I mentioned Mike Dunn? I know he’s due back in the other team but we’re going to need two pairs out this morning and probably for the rest of the day.’
‘Yes, I’ll see to that – he’ll be here shortly.’
She closed the door.
Smith said, ‘Wood kicking off like that this morning is a bit of a nuisance now I think about it, I’d rather have had a quiet chat and put the wind up him for a day or two while we looked into what he’d come up with. Now we’re into the twenty four hours and it’s all got to be done in a hurry. You need your phones switched on and you need to stay alert because there could be some swift changes of direction today. All clear so far?’
This was a different Smith for Serena Butler but not for Murray and Waters – no jokes, no irony, just a clear, concise briefing. He didn’t need to tell them this was serious now; his whole manner made that obvious. In the pause, the door opened and Mike Dunn came in – he must have run through the building and up the stairs to get here so quickly.
‘Good – now we’re all present. There’s a bit of office work first. Chris, we’ve got Philip Wood’s phone from when he was processed in this morning. Take a look at it and see what you can get – contacts, anyone we might know there, and a call history. If the history is deleted, make arrangements for it to go to Norwich asap. Can we get it located at all from the Saturday to the Wednesday? Also, find out when Mr Aves is due back from the platform; for all I know he might be back already because I noticed that the security staff are on different rotas to the crew. We need his home address as well. John, you work with Chris for today. Mike, get everything in place for someone to pay a home visit to Mr and Mrs McFarlane in the near future. Double check addresses and phone numbers, everything we’ve got on him. And her.’
He paused and looked at Serena Butler – ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m rather looking forward to meeting up again… Anyway, you’re with Mike for today. As soon as Wood starts fabricating an alibi, we need to be out and checking it. It’ll likely involve his home, and while you’re there – that’s Mike and Serena by the way – have a good look round. Some bloodied clothing would be nice but give it the works. You both know what you’re doing. Team B – back to Scanlon Offshore. Chris, they’ll recognize you from yesterday and should be suitably in awe – if not, you’ve got John with you. Does Wood have a locker, a shelf, anywhere he keeps stuff? We do know from yesterday that he keeps a fishing dinghy there; find it and go over it carefully – is there anything on it that forensics should examine?’
They had not been told exactly what he was thinking but it was slowly becoming apparent, and the sense of tension in the room was gradually increasing as it did so.
‘And we’re not done yet. It’s one of those days. Someone needs to get copies of the new photographs of Wood from half an hour ago, and get back to the phone shop and The Wherryman where Bell was seen that Saturday night. You know the drill – take a few randoms with you and see if anyone picks him out. It’s not evidence yet, obviously, but it helps us, it tells us if we’re on the right track and it might trigger someone’s memory. Whichever team completes task one first needs to get onto that, so talk to each other, and talk to me. Back here we need to know what’s happening, what’s being found and not found. Questions?’
There was a short silence while they took that all in, and then Waters spoke.
‘DC, why is DI Reeve speaking to the CPS already?’
‘She won’t be – it’ll be Detective Superintendent Allen. It might not come to it but… Well, if we decide we want to hold onto Philip Wood, we’ll need a good charge, but what? This might be a bit of a funny one.’
He could see them thinking it over – resi
sting arrest or assaulting a police officer would not do. Individuals charged with violence or robbery or both often walked out of the door these days.
Smith said, ‘Any offers?’ and John Murray spoke for the first time that morning.
‘Murder.’
The rest of them all looked surprised but it was Waters who said, ‘There’s no body!’
‘Ah,’ said Smith, ‘that’s what makes it a bit of a funny one.’
Reeve had told him outside the interview room that the Detective Superintendent was not a happy man, and Smith had said that it would be more productive if she only told him when the said senior officer was happy.
She said, ‘He wouldn’t commit to that charge without hearing what Wood has to say, so he’ll probably be listening in. And the other good news is that Wood has asked for the duty solicitor, who is already in there, waiting.’
Smith closed his eyes and said, ‘Just tell me isn’t Archer…’
‘It’s Mr Ward.’
Smith opened his eyes – ‘Ah, Harry’s alright. In fact, that’s a bonus. Ready?’
‘The thing is Philip – or would you prefer Woody? No? Alright then. The thing is, the last time you were in any bother was over the old benefits fiddle, wasn’t it? You were beginning to look like a reformed character, and when I saw your magnificent hanging basket display, I thought, blimey, he’s even taken up gardening. Then, when we met for the first time and I was about to introduce myself, you tried to knock my block off!’
He felt along the cheekbone – a little puffy and tender.
‘For the benefit of the tape, Detective Sergeant Smith is examining his injured face. So what was that all about, then?’
Wood glared back at him, much as he had been glaring for the past five minutes since Smith and Reeve had entered the interview room. And he was glaring only at Smith – Reeve wasn’t getting her share of the glare; Wood was taking the deception in the car park of Scanlon Offshore Services quite personally, it seemed.
Luck and Judgement: A DC Smith Investigation Page 24