A Private Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  He said, ‘So, what about us, DC? What are these new orders going to be? Do you know?’

  ‘Not specifically, but whatever they are, you’ve got one final order from me.’

  Waters looked at the other two before he said, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nail this bastard.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  For three days, Smith had been keeping his distance from them – Alison Reeve could see that every time she went into the main office to speak to Terek at his desk. This could not be easy for him but Terek confirmed that Smith was just getting his head down, ploughing through the paperwork for Sokoloff and making a few useful suggestions about how it could smartened up before the final drafts went to the CPS. Murray, Butler and Waters had understood too, and they were not going across to Smith often or making any effort to involve him in what they were doing.

  And the irony will not be lost on him, Reeve thought, that the Andretti thing has come back to haunt him in the final hours – that the case which made him sort of famous has stolen from him his last case, and it’s another missing girl. As for Harrison, she had to agree with the superintendent that they had nothing on him for it; the fact that Zoe Johnson had been in his company before she disappeared seemed to be a ghastly coincidence. Smith’s bête noir, of course, that notion, but sometimes one must acknowledge that they do exist, they do happen. Reeve had examined the van when the forensics team were there on Tuesday. She had stood next to it and wondered whether the girl could have been on the floor or hidden somehow in the cab so customers would not see her but it was hardly credible. And why wouldn’t she have made some noise in that situation? They could place Harrison in the market square until almost midnight on the Monday – if she was in that van, would no one have seen or heard something?

  Reeve had examined too the idea that Harrison had arranged to meet Zoe somewhere else, after he had finished work. He was good-looking, and she had no doubt he could be charming enough when it suited him; young girls are vulnerable to their own imaginings but the feeling was that Zoe Johnson wasn’t dim. Surely she would have known enough not to meet him on a street corner after midnight and get back into his van?

  The forensics officer wouldn’t have definitive results for a week but she had told Reeve and Freeman that there was nothing obvious – she wasn’t expecting any surprises from what she had taken, and these people get to know when something will turn up. Harrison’s home was clean, literally, in every way you could imagine. John Murray had raised the question of whether there was another vehicle, and when asked Harrison had said he was between cars and just using the van at the moment. This too seemed a little peculiar, him making those long drives to the north of Lincolnshire in the van, but a check with the DVLA seemed to confirm that Paul Harrison hadn’t owned a car since August. It might be worth checking this with Shona Benson at some point.

  The ex-girlfriend was scared of him, no doubt in part because of his notorious relative, and the neighbour had called him creepy, but those aren’t grounds for putting a tail on him or sitting outside his place for a few days. Charlie Hills had confirmed that Harrison did ask who was going to interview him on the first occasion but how odd was that, really? It was possible, likely even, that Harrison, as Paolo Harris, had never forgotten being interviewed when he was nineteen, and could still remember the names of those officers. In no way could any of that be taken as implying he had committed any offences since then. Had he been involved with Andretti? No evidence had ever been found for that, either. And an anonymous letter to an old detective with a convictions list as long as your arm? They had nothing.

  It was Thursday, just before lunch, and DCI Reeve sat at her desk, going over all this again because they were no further forward. Every taxi driver in Lake must have been questioned about the girl by now. Kristi Hansen, one of the girls who had seen Zoe from the car they were being driven around in, had finally given up two names but the Asian boys were from good families. The car had been taken away for a month as punishment, but more to the point, both had been given solid alibis by their apologetic parents – they were at home before ten thirty on that Monday evening. Mehmet Sadik was a rather sad and lonely individual but not a rapist or a murderer, and again, never mind her instincts, there was not a shred of evidence other than the CCTV footage, which could be interpreted fifty different ways.

  Nothing. Alison Reeve could admit to herself the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction that Cara Freeman hadn’t found the answer either. Removing Smith from the investigation, including retrospectively, had been her idea, but after that the lead investigator of Regional Serious Crimes seemed to be no closer finding the missing girl than anyone else. The two of them were due to meet with Superintendent Allen after lunch to discuss progress in this case, and it was likely to be a short meeting, unless Freeman had come up with something she was keeping to herself. That was not impossible. You don’t get to where Freeman had as quickly as she had by playing fair by your colleagues, Reeve had begun to suspect. She had had a long wait to become a DCI, had earned it the hard way. Freeman didn’t seem to have waited very long for anything, and-

  There was a knock followed by the door opening immediately. It was Cara Freeman, looking a little flushed for a change.

  Reeve said, ‘I thought we were meeting after lunch.’

  ‘Brought forward, his office, now.’

  ‘He called you? Allen?’

  As the case’s SOI and as Lake Central’s newest DCI, surely Allen should have informed her first?

  ‘No, he shouted at me down the corridor and told me to fetch you. Something’s rattled his cage. Come on!’

  ‘Sit down both of you.’

  Just the three of them in Allen’s plush office. Reeve looked at the desk, its surface polished and without dust, and thought of her own, the start-as-you-mean-to-go-on resolutions already history.

  Allen said, ‘Zoe Johnson – any progress this morning?’

  They said, ‘No, sir,’ simultaneously.

  “Rattled” Freeman had said, and she wasn’t wrong. Reeve knew him of old, and although those little feet were often paddling furiously beneath the surface, usually with a view to self-preservation, Allen invariably maintained a smooth and professional exterior. But at the moment he had a rather hunted look about him.

  He said, ‘I see… I see. Well, something has come up this morning, and we are now in an awkward situation. Cara…’

  Reeve thought, ah, the friendly first name, that’s a danger sign. What has she done?

  ‘Cara, I think it was your idea that we follow up on the visits that Paul Harrison has been making to, er, Long Hill?’

  ‘Yes, it was. As a recent change in behaviour that was reported to us by Shona Benson, and as he was a possible suspect, it seemed worth a look. You say something has come up, sir?’

  Allen shifted in his chair – he seemed to be uncertain whether to sit forward with intensity or to lean back with an air of indifference.

  ‘Well, I took it upon myself to speak with the governor, whom I know, just from conferences and such like. I simply asked whether they were aware that the visits were being made by a relative and whether anything else had been intercepted in the post, that sort of thing. Just general background inquiries.’

  He’s conducting a cover-my-own-backside operation, thought Reeve – DC always says it’s Allen’s area of greatest expertise.

  ‘Anyway, the governor took it upon herself to take matters a little further. She has looked into it and she has – she has spoken to the, er, the prisoner concerned.’

  And he’s having some difficulty saying Andretti’s name, as well.

  Both women sat with their eyes fixed on the detective superintendent. Finally, he leaned back but it was too late to feign indifference now, and the movement looked only like wilting under their common gaze.

  Allen said, ‘I may have indicated to the governor the general nature of our inquiries, and she has communicated something of the matter to the inmate.
She tells me this morning that he has expressed a willingness to help us with our inquiries.’

  There was a lengthy pause before Alison Reeve said, ‘Marco Andretti?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Marco Andretti has offered to help us in the search for Zoe Johnson?’

  Allen was twitching a little in the effort required not to snap at his DCI.

  ‘Yes, he has.’

  It seemed about as likely as Pope Benedict turning up at Charlie Hills’ reception desk and making the same offer. Reeve looked at Freeman, who said brightly, ‘Maybe it’s his way of making reparation to society – that’s the latest thing. When do we go? And who’s going, sir?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mr Andretti has offered to help with one condition. It’s peculiar and I have to say that I am not inclined to go along with it.’

  His eyes went slowly from Freeman to Alison Reeve.

  ‘He has said that he will only speak to one officer. One particular officer.’

  And then, after one of those little eternities, she heard herself say quietly, ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘Smith, David, I want you to know that I am opposed to this in principle. It’s manipulative and opportunistic. He has seen a chance that would never normally arise, and he’s using the girl’s disappearance to get you in front of him again. Obviously it would be secure but no one has the right to expect you to agree to anything like this.’

  I do believe he means it, thought Smith. On his right, he could see Alison nodding in agreement – on his left, Cara Freeman was simply watching him and waiting. It had been her idea to look into the prison visits, then, and that was something he would have considered himself, if only because the investigation had run into a dead end some days ago.

  He said to her, ‘And your view of it, ma’am?’

  Freeman smiled at the absurdity – Smith had to be some years older than her father.

  ‘Entirely your decision. He hasn’t seen Harrison since the 11th, so it’s unlikely he knows anything useful, even if Harrison is implicated in Zoe’s disappearance – which most of us doubt. On the other hand, he might reveal something personal that could be handy if we decide to interview his cousin again, for a third time. Or maybe he just wants to chat over old times with you.’

  There was a tut of disapproval from Allen and a dark look from Reeve, but it was the sort of insouciance that appealed to Smith. He said, ‘Yes, there is that. We didn’t part on the best of terms. But what about Zoe? What’s your guess? Does he know anything?’

  Freeman gave the question its due, before she answered, with a look at Detective Superintendent Allen, ‘I’d like to know exactly how much the prison governor gave him to work with, and only she can tell you that. I’m guessing that it wouldn’t need to have been much and that he is manipulative. The planners usually are, aren’t they?’

  Smith said, ‘Manipulative is one word for it. You’re right, the governor might have thought she was giving away very little of consequence but he wouldn’t need much. I expect the inmates have access to news media too – if he’d been following the story, he’d soon come up with an angle. When was the last visit from Harrison, sir?’

  Allen was usually good with detail; a couple of dabs on his keyboard produced the answer – Saturday the 11th of November.

  ‘And no phone calls or letters between the two of them since that?’

  Allen said, ‘Nothing official, shall we say?’

  A mobile phone is always available in a prison, at a price. Smith wondered what kind of inmate Andretti had become – the sort who could get whatever he needed, or one who was hidden away from others for his own protection? Was he in a special unit where his particular offences might have earned him some sort of status? The world of incarceration is a very strange one, incomprehensible to almost all of those who pay their taxes to maintain it.

  Smith said to Alison Reeve, ‘What about Harris’s phone? Have we considered getting his records? I know we couldn’t locate an illegal mobile inside but there might be something.’

  Reeve answered, ‘We’ve not had grounds for that. We do have his number but-’

  Allen interrupted – ‘Authorisation would not be a problem if it’s felt necessary. But coming back to this visit, David, I don’t see what’s to be gained. This would be about you as far as Andretti is concerned, not Zoe Johnson. It would be about you and him, nothing more.’

  Smith tried to measure where each of them stood on this. For Reeve it was easy – out and out disapproval of the entire idea. Her motives would be to protect him, Smith, which was touching but which was also allowing her personal feelings to influence an operational decision. For Cara Freeman, also easy – she was up for it, probably even excited in a professional sense by the thought of being indirectly involved with one of the country’s most notorious murderers. Added to that, he was guessing she was a little more inclined to see Harris as a suspect than the others.

  Allen probably had the casting vote, then, and his position wasn’t so clear. He was saying the proper things but Smith had the sense that he was open to persuasion – that if he, Smith, wanted to do it, or was willing to, so be it. He’s been trying to get rid of me for several years, thought Smith, and he’s failed – maybe he wants to let Andretti have a go.

  ‘I have to agree, sir. The chances are that he doesn’t know anything and even if he does, why would he tell me when he seems to be close with his cousin? On the other hand, it’s a shot to nothing. What have we got to lose, apart from a day of my time and a hefty expenses claim for petrol?’

  Reeve said, ‘You have something to lose, DC. Contact with that man again? Sitting in the same room? Let’s not pretend that we haven’t all felt tainted by some of the people we deal with – we do.’

  She looked at the other two senior officers and there was no disagreement.

  ‘And Andretti is one of the worst, the lowest of the low.’

  ‘Agreed again, I’m agreeing with everyone this morning… But in that case, as I’ve dealt with him before, I’m already tainted, so it might as well be me. Have any arrangements been made, sir?’

  It was a fair bet they had.

  ‘Oh, well – Andrea Durrant, the governor, suggested to me that tomorrow morning… I could arrange a time. But only if-’

  ‘It’s a two-hour drive, the A1M is a fast road nowadays. I can be there be there for ten or eleven o’clock. It would be useful to speak to the governor beforehand, just to get some background, sir.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll arrange this in person, DC. The fewer people who know about it, the better. Obviously, this is all out of county and out of our jurisdiction. Everything will have to be done on the prison’s terms. If you feel you would like to take the rest of the day to prepare, please do. If you’d rather go home to do that, then-’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary. Besides, I’ve a lot of paperwork to get through, on the Sokoloff case, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Well…’

  There was nothing to be read on Allen’s face nor Alison Reeve’s, but Cara Freeman couldn’t resist a smile.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Long Hill is everything one would hope a Category A prison might be. It sits at the head of the one of those open but steep-sided valleys found in the highest part of the Lincolnshire Wolds, valleys carved out of the limestone and sandstone by the last of the great glaciers that once covered all of Britain save for a narrow strip of the southern coast. Around Long Hill in all directions is rolling, sparsely populated countryside, too high and exposed for arable cultivation, and the move to more intensive livestock farming in the lowlands means that not much happens up there now in the way of earning a living from the land. It is a quiet, forgotten sort of place where rabbits venture out in the daytime, and meadow pipits nest.

  The prison is modern, low-rise and purpose-built, designed so that it would not intimidate its surroundings, and Smith had noted on his map long before he arrived that there was only one road in and one road
out, and it was the same road. A quarter of a mile before the main gate, he noticed a remote camera discreetly positioned on a post set back a little from the road, and he gave it an approving nod. The sort of people who lived out their lives in places like this deserved no less – it took long enough to get most of them in here in the first place.

  At the first gate, one guard looked at his police ID while another walked around the car, peering into the back seat and then opening the boot. Allen had said that he was welcome to take someone with him for company, but what would have been the point? Besides, driving time was good thinking time, and he needed some of that. The boot was up for a long while and Smith wondered whether Serena had stowed herself away – there certainly wasn’t room in there for Murray or Waters.

  Then he was waved through to a second gate where the procedures were more sophisticated. His warrant card was examined again and photographed this time. The printed email Allen had received from the governor’s office was taken into a security booth, read by at least three men and then a call was made on a short-wave radio. The email did not find its way back to him but he was given a large security badge in lurid orange, which must be worn at all times, pinned to his breast pocket – ‘And if ye lose it,’ said the Scottish officer, ‘ye’ll find yourself in a cell until it tur-rens up.’ Smith didn’t laugh because the man clearly wasn’t joking.

  Either a tough old bird or a teenager fresh out of Home Office finishing school had been Smith’s guess for Andrea Durrant but the woman who got up from her desk to greet him was neither – she would pass for a middle-aged, plain-faced dentist’s receptionist. But he was on his guard anyway because you don’t get to run somewhere like Long Hill without being very good at something – and he didn’t know as yet what that something might be.

  She said, ‘Please do sit down, sergeant. Coffee? Tea?’