Waters answered first – ‘They got someone to take the Samsung mobile and a couple of other things belonging to Bell onto the platform, using Bell’s security pass.’
‘Close.’
Serena Butler said, ‘No. They didn’t involve anyone else – there was no need. Wood took the pass and the phone, and Aves told him where to put it.’
Smith said, ‘Bingo. But how did Wood get off the platform?’
She said, ‘That was easier for him than it would have been for anyone else. If he’d ever been on the boats supplying the rigs – and I expect that he was – he knew all about the containers. Can you get inside them?’
Waters said, ‘Some of the water ones are big enough, and they have a cleaning hatch. And there are other wooden crates and boxes as well. You could hide and get lifted off. But they inspect them and secure them when they get them back onto the boats – it’s in the video clip. They would have seen something, surely.’
Smith nodded with a serious frown.
‘Yes, and being fine, upstanding citizens to a man, the employees of Scanlon Offshore Services would have called Lake Central and reported a stowaway…’
Waters remembered the men in the engineering workshop.
Smith said, ‘For all we know, Wood set something up on the Monday, and they were expecting him. All sorts goes on out there, and it always has, right from the early days.’
Mike Dunn said, ‘What about the CCTV of ‘Bell’ walking about in the middle of the night?’
Smith said, ‘All designed to make the gullible believe that he was back on the platform. Aves told Wood where to go, and for all we know, Aves doctored the tape or threw away anything that didn’t fit their story. Perhaps that’s why Aves came back onto the platform when he wasn’t actually on the rota.’
Reeve interrupted him.
‘Aves actually gave him a piece of paper with a map. He drew arrows showing where to go, and where Bell’s cabin was. New men come and go regularly – as long as he wasn’t found in Bell’s room, no-one would take a lot of notice of a strange face. Aves had given him a hi-vis jacket with all the right logos. He also had one of the outdoor coats they wear. ’
‘And that piece of paper is where now, ma’am?’
‘Somewhere off the coast of Norway if it’s still afloat.’
‘Bugger…’
Reeve opened her phone to check the time.
‘DC is right. We need much more on this – we’ve only just started, in fact. The more we can heap up on Mr Aves, the more likely he is to give us the name we want. Can we put his vehicle in the dockside area at any time from one am on the Sunday? Wood says they went out to Peter Black Sand and dumped Bell’s body, weighted down with bricks from Scanlon’s yard; Aves says he was at home doing his garden. I want every premises between Scanlon’s and the turn off North Road checked for its CCTV – both sides. Do any of them have cameras that look over the road? Chris, if Aves went out on that boat miles into the Wash, and he had his phone with him, can we track it from masts? I’d like to see him explain that if we can. What else?’
Smith said, ‘Find out from Wood exactly where they parked the Nissan. We’ve had some rain; if it was soft, there might be tracks – and while it’s here, check the vehicle for anything that can tie it to the area around Scanlon’s. Perhaps there’ll be pollen from a rare orchid…’
Waters was writing it down.
‘But there probably won’t be. Aves says he was in his garden. Can the neighbours see it? We need to talk to Mr Dowling again, and a few others. Did anyone see Aves pricking out his petunias? Oh yes, you may mock but these fingers are greener than they look. More importantly, can anyone remember seeing Aves arriving back in the afternoon? We can get an approximate time from Wood. If Aves decides to fight it, this is what the defence will do – so we need to have been there first. We really need to encourage Philip, ma’am; he needs to give us enough to prove that he was not acting alone and that he isn’t making malicious allegations. Until we’ve nailed his partner, he’s in a bit of danger.’
‘Agreed. I’ll take this back to him. Any other ideas, questions?’
Serena Butler said, ‘This is going to look bad for Scanlon’s. Why don’t we lean on them? Interview whoever was on the boat that Wednesday morning and whoever unloaded it, and mention the serious nature of the charges, the publicity that’s coming to the management.’
Reeve said, ‘Fair enough. But Wood has said that he hid in a water container and got out when no-one was around on the Wednesday morning. Do we need any more? It’s Aves that we want now, people.’
Mike Dunn said, ‘Back to my question, then. What do we do with him now?’
Smith answered for Reeve.
‘We dropped him at home, and he has no other vehicle that we’re aware of. Let him sweat for an hour or two. He might make a silly phone call. I suppose he might even send for a taxi. I reckon you and Serena, who he hasn’t seen yet, ought to go and plant yourselves along the road. If there’s a development, you’ll be able to nab him straight away, then.’
He looked around at them. The meeting had gone on for too long and they were all three of them waiting for the signal to go and do something. That was what he wanted to see. He nodded, and then he and Reeve were alone at the table.
‘McFarlane…’
‘Yes…’
They sat in silence, both facing it in their different ways, and then they could hear footsteps, short, brisk footsteps snapping their way towards them along the corridor. They both turned to face the door.
‘Ah, the very people!’
Allen came in and sat at the table, taking the seat that had been Mike Dunn’s. He seemed artificially bright this morning, like one of those lamps that are sold to certain sad individuals to compensate them for the loss of summer sunlight. Smith was certain that he knew at least one of the reasons why – a name had been inked in by a serious crime statistic.
‘Good quick work on this James Bell thing. Well done to both of you.’
Reeve said, ‘It was very much a team effort, sir.’
‘Good again. That’s what we’re always saying, isn’t it? Teamwork – it always achieves more in the end than the brilliant centre-forward going it alone.’
The footballing metaphor was an intentional common touch – the fact that it was thirty years out of date hardly seemed worth mentioning. It might be personal as well, of course, Smith being the brilliant centre forward, but soccer - that’s what they called it at the grammar school - never had been his game. He hadn’t put on a pair of boxing gloves until he was in the army; that he could do but it wasn’t much of a team sport.
He had lost track of what Allen was saying – this seemed to happen quite a lot. He re-focused and heard ‘and what about the other man involved? Er…’ Allen leaned over the files and found the name that he was looking for.
‘Aves. Where are we with him?’
They told him, repeating much of what had just been said to the others. This was a part of Allen’s job, to oversee and guide investigations when necessary, but there was something lacking in the way that he did it, something that always ended with him seeming a little smug, a little superior.
Smith said, ‘You said “the other person”, sir, but obviously there has to be a third, otherwise we are somewhat lacking a motive.’
‘Oh, I don’t know – what about the cash? They saw him flashing it around perhaps in the bar. Then again in the flat. Plenty of people have been attacked for less, and they’d all been drinking. I see this going to manslaughter. The injuries to Bell – as described by Wood – are consistent with that. You don’t often see a bathroom cabinet used as a murder weapon, you know!’
Smith was grateful that Reeve took over then, pointing out to Allen that the money was indeed significant, especially as there was a high probability that it had been taken out of McFarlane’s building society account. Then Allen wanted to explain to them that ‘high’ was a subjective judgement, and that ‘probabi
lity’ was exactly the kind of word that defence barristers loved to hear from detectives on the witness stand. Nevertheless, the superintendent could see that the two of them were united on the need to interview Donald McFarlane.
He said, ‘Right, you two shoot off and get some coffee or something, and let me look over what you’ve managed to put together. Give me twenty minutes.’
Reeve’s look to Smith was a warning, and he kept his silence until they were halfway back to her office. In fact, she spoke first.
‘Well?’
‘Patronising pillock springs to mind.’
‘Mmm… Not bad. Why are insults more effective when they alliterate? I suppose Sheila could have told us.’
‘I never heard her say worse than ‘fudge’ unless she was reading it aloud from a book.’
‘A lady to the end.’
In her office, Smith watched in some trepidation as she filled the kettle from the jug and took two tea bags out of a drawer – on the other hand, in sometimes avoiding the powdered milk that she would offer, he had here first discovered that tea is sometimes best drunk weak and black. One has to look on the bright side.
She said, ‘Don’t worry, he has to let us speak to McFarlane.’
‘Under certain conditions.’
‘Such as?’
He thought about it.
‘Here in the station so that he can keep an eye on us.’
‘Any other guesses? I’ve got one.’
‘Go on.’
‘We’re not to go and fetch him – we invite him in.’
Smith would have said the same. He looked at his watch and thought, it will be tomorrow now. And this next interview might be the last one that I ever do as a policeman not under notice to resign on the grounds of - what would it say? Ill-health? Unfitness for duty? Decrepitude? How long would it take for a career to die? One month or three, hanging around, fending off the sympathetic looks and fake congratulations, or taking leave owed so that you are not an embarrassment as new investigations begin that they don’t want you to be a part of any more?
The internal phone on Reeve’s desk bleeped. She picked it up, listened and sent Smith a look that said, it’s him.
‘Yes, we would, sir. That’s the possible motive, isn’t it?’
More indistinct, disembodied words for another minute or so, before she said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and put down the phone.
Smith sipped at the tea, which seemed to have an after-taste faintly reminiscent of creosote or wood stain; did she keep the tea bags loose in her drawer?
Reeve said, ‘Would we be disclosing to McFarlane everything that his wife told you about her relationship with Bell?’
‘No. I thought we’d miss out the whole sex thing and just concentrate on their shared interest in the sociology of working men’s drinking places.’
‘And I’m to make the phone call now, inviting him in for an interview.’
‘Well, do your best to sound seductive or he might decline our invitation. He’s a busy man.’
He thought some more about the tea, and then upended the mug anyway. It was warm and wet.
Chapter Twenty Five
Smith had listened on an earpiece when Alison Reeve made the call to McFarlane. When the company man had asked with some amusement whether he needed to bring his solicitor, Reeve had made the proper non-committal response; it was a good thing perhaps that Smith had no means of answering the question himself because he would have said, ‘Well, sir, that depends on how guilty you’re feeling today.’
All four of the detective constables had been present in the office, and the mingled tension and excitement had led to lowered voices as Smith and Reeve sat and reviewed their notes. John Murray had found a moment to say to Smith ‘A bit of a tricky one’ and that pretty much summed it up. In reply Smith had asked about the pre-natal classes and whether Murray had been practising high-speed nappy changes; he hadn’t but mother and baby were doing well. ‘Good,’ said Smith – ‘That puts all this nonsense into perspective, doesn’t it?’
But now, approaching the interview room door, it didn’t feel like nonsense. They had the impression from the phone call that McFarlane would not bring a solicitor but people in this situation often change their mind about that at the last moment. If he had done so, who would it be? Christine Archer was acting for Stuart Aves and could not therefore do the same for McFarlane. Someone from Pearson’s or the new firm that had taken offices on the market place? And it still troubled him – how had someone like Aves found exactly the right solicitor so quickly?
Looking in through the window in the door, Smith could see that McFarlane was alone at the desk, chatting to the uniformed officer. He looked at home, looked as if in the corner, out of sight, he had brought along Audrey Meacham and her desk so that he could continue working whilst dealing with the minor interruption of a police interrogation. The dark blue suit was expensively cut around his bulk, and the matching tie had on it what looked like the symbol of the local Conservative association; Smith had to smile at that - the man had come fully prepared after all.
Reeve was checking the arrangements for the video link with a uniformed female officer, another new one that Smith only recognised in passing. The time had been when he could have named every officer in the building and most of their husbands and wives, never mind what they liked to drink in the Featherstone Arms after a shift. But the Arms had gone – estate agent and optician – and so had the culture of commiseration and mutual support. Now if you had a problem, the force would provide you with a talking therapist – are there some that don’t talk, he wondered – and a booklet about how to reconcile professional and personal priorities. A pint of bitter and a chaser used to achieve similar results in the right company.
There is something gladiatorial about major interviews. Along the corridor, as they waited, Smith could see other officers, some uniformed, some not, some standing and holding apparently innocuous conversations, others putting their heads briefly out of doorways to see whether they had gone in or not. Well, as gladiators today, they didn’t have much in the way of weaponry. They had no aces either, if it was a game of poker, nothing to disclose at the appropriate moment that would throw McFarlane off his guard. Choosing not to have that solicitor at this first interview told them something; he was confident that he could answer their questions, he was certain that they had no evidence against him. Therefore, he felt he could take the risk and appear as an innocent man with nothing to fear. Choosing to have the solicitor, rightly or wrongly, always implies that a man sees his situation somewhat differently to that.
Then Reeve turned to him, her back straight, taking a breath, not smiling.
‘Ready?’
‘In our last conversation, sir, which I have noted down here,’ – waving the little black notebook that seemed out of place among the iPads, desktops, cameras and recording devices on the table – ‘you said that you vaguely remembered the name James Bell from your times working up in the Scottish fields. Has your memory become any clearer since we had that conversation, Mr McFarlane?’
He had asked to be called Donald again. Reeve had done so, and so Smith decided that he would not.
‘I’m afraid that it hasn’t. As I said before, there were many men coming and going all the time in those days. Bell is not an uncommon name, and neither is James. It was a long time ago.’
Smith looked into the notebook again as if he had already done the calculation.
‘About fifteen or sixteen years.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know why we have asked you to come and see us today?’
‘It can only be about Mr Bell’s disappearance, and I’m willing to help in any way that I can, though I don’t see that there is anything to add. My company has put out a statement regretting the loss, and he was actually an employee of Marinor. If-’
‘Just to be absolutely clear. You are saying that you have not recently met or spoken to anyone who you knew from those early days in Ab
erdeen?’
‘No, I haven’t said that. I’ve said that I haven’t met or spoken to anyone called James Bell from those early days.’
The correction brought Smith’s eyes up onto McFarlane’s face for the first time – a look that lasted for three or four seconds. McFarlane held his gaze steadily.
Smith said, ‘Have you then been in touch with someone else from those days recently?’
‘No.’
‘Then you could simply have answered my first question with “No”, couldn’t you?’
To some listening in and watching the video link, it would seem like a game of semantics; others would realise that it was much more than that. Smith looked down and opened one of the folders – then he said, as if only to himself, ‘Very odd…’ It was a cue for Alison Reeve.
‘What’s puzzling for us, Donald, is that although you are saying that you have not encountered James Bell here in Kings Lake, he does seem to be in your life a number of times, if you’ll pardon the expression. For example, you were, three weeks ago, working on the same gas platform for a fortnight. The platforms are not that large, are they? Yet you say you never met him there?’
‘That isn’t surprising, inspector. The men work shifts, and I do not. Neither do I spend all of the week on there – sometimes I might go out for only a day in the week. There is no reason, when I am there, for me to have any contact with the roustabouts.’
She nodded as if she was accepting the answer at face value. McFarlane looked away from her towards Smith but it was Reeve who spoke again.
‘But that’s just the start of it, Donald. Are you aware that when Mr Bell first approached Marinor looking for work, he used your name – that he even gave the personnel officer your Nordco telephone number?’
‘No, I was not aware of that, and I don’t know how it could have happened.’
‘You did not at any point endorse his application to Marinor?’
McFarlane had small eyes in a broad, round face – but they were sharp eyes. They had narrowed a little when he spoke again.
Luck and Judgement: A DC Smith Investigation Page 31