James Lorimer was a prosecutor by nature and he believed none of it, but he was there solely to witness that the deposition, affidavit to the Brits, was a true representation of the witnesses’ spoken statements. If James Lorimer had come across this case in his former role, rather than in his current position in the DoJ, he would have pursued this case, confident he could have got a life sentence. Luckily for him it was not a case in which the US had any jurisdiction.
Both men signed the form and the gathered threesome was joined by Elizabeth Chase Miles who, in the last twenty four hours, had become as close to Gil as a sister. Liz also saw herself as Gillian’s protector.
The four sat amiably sharing a pot of English tea and discussing Denton Miles’ potential candidacy. A successful run for the presidency would be an absolute
boon for all four people sipping Earl Grey from a pre civil war tea service.
***
Dee sat alone in her hotel room with her laptop wirelessly connected to the internet, her computer acting as camera and monitor for a Skype video call to her husband back in the UK. Seeing Josh looking relaxed and tanned in their apartment, Dee felt suddenly lonely. She hadn’t held her husband for weeks and she missed him. She missed his touch, his after shave and his quick quips. He could drive her mad when they were together, but when they were apart she just yearned for one of his light hearted insults or an unfunny quip at her expense. She even missed going to watch the football on a Saturday afternoon at West Ham, who were performing no better than they had been last year and who looked doomed to relegation to the Championship.
“I miss you, Dee,” Josh said as he wrapped up the call. “I might just jump on a plane and join you. I have a few days of annual leave due.”
“That would be good, but we shouldn’t waste it on my working days. Let’s wait awhile.”
“OK. But get some rest, you look weary. I’ll speak to you again soon. I love you. Bye.”
As soon as he had gone, tears escaped Dee’s welled up eyes. After years of being strong and independent, she was crying over a man. ‘Get a grip, girl’, she told herself.
She picked up her mobile phone. She had two email messages. The first was from Katie Norman whose acerbic commentary on college life cheered Dee up no end. The second was from Steve Post. DCI Coombs and DS Scott were on their way to Virginia and Gillian Davis had, surprisingly, been keen to speak to them. Her counsel, Pat Gallagher, insisted on accompanying her and holding the interview in a neutral venue. The meeting would be held in the FBI field office in Richmond, Virginia, just a hundred miles along US Highway 60.
Pete and Dee would be allowed to attend, but they would only be permitted to watch from a side room. That would have to be enough. She wanted to see the look on Gillian Davis’ face when she saw the evidence against her for the first time.
Chapter 57
FBI Field Office, Richmond, Virginia. Thursday 8:30am.
Just fifteen days after the deaths of the Hokobus, Pete was to witness Gillian Davis’ questioning, and he was looking forward to seeing her squirm.
Whilst they could have had the meeting in the Lynchburg satellite office of the FBI, the impressive building that housed the Richmond field office offered far more facilities. The building had a red brick facade that saw two wings springing from a central atrium. The windows were mostly square and the architecture plain, with the exception of the glazing over the front entrance which had a panel of square glazed windows, topped with a semi circular arrangement of windows above, almost like something one might see in a cathedral. A mock arch, constructed of light.
The reception area provided a respite from the cold winds whipping across the car park, and Pete and Dee were grateful for the overheated lobby. Steve Post brought them both visitors’ badges and then led them to a small conference room on the first floor, known as the second floor to their American hosts. From the window it was apparent that they were at the front of the building, in what would be the right hand wing when viewed from the front. They could see over the car park and to the road beyond.
Steve left the two alone with a tray of biscuits and some water in sturdy glass bottles, fastened with rubber ringed cork seals secured by a wire bound stopper; a little over the top, perhaps, for still water. A few moments later Steve returned, accompanied by DS Scott and DCI Coombes. Pete had never met the DCI, and so introductions were effected. Dee had not seen the DCI since her that fateful day at the London Eye, he enquired after her health. Dee appreciated his enquiry because she knew that he wasn’t a “people person” in any sense, and they weren’t friends even though they had worked closely together in the past.
The two policemen reviewed the evidence and explained their interview strategy to Pete, Dee and Steve. The evidence wasn’t solid, but it placed Gillian Davis very firmly at the scene of the crime.
***
The room overlooking the interview suite was necessarily dark. The subdued lighting allowed them to view the proceedings through one way glass. The sound was broadcast to speakers inside their room from microphones on the interview table.
Inside the interview room the two detectives sat opposite the suspect and her counsel. They had been friendly and quite disarming when they were introduced. They assured her that their sole intention was to clear up a number of questions that had arisen during their investigation into the deaths of the Hokobus. Her counsel, the redoubtable and quite famous Pat Gallagher, didn’t trust the Brits a jot. Why would he? They had stolen half of his beloved ancestral Ireland.
***
Gillian Davis wore a conservatively styled black jersey dress that covered her arms and fell to her knees. A patterned Pashmina hung around her shoulders, gathered at the front by a gold clasp at the nape of her neck. Her make-up was lightly applied and her jewellery was not ostentatious, despite her wealth. In the hour that she had been sitting in the room she had not spoken. Her counsel had answered every question on her behalf, but to his credit the answers were fulsome and helpful. Nonetheless, now was the time for the detectives to hit the former MI5 operative with their evidence.
“Ms Davis, we have evidence that places you at the scene of the crime at the relevant time. Would you like to comment?” Coombes growled.
“I don’t recall my client denying that she was in the vicinity of London’s third most visited attraction, along with hundreds of other people on that day or any other. Move on, please.”
Coombes growled again. “You were identified by a witness, who attests that you sprayed a paralysing substance in his face and kidnapped the Hokobus whilst dressed in a police uniform. Thus being the last person to see them alive.”
“Ah, I wondered when we would get to the mysterious policewoman. Before we address that statement, let me make one of my own. Surely the last person to see the Hokobus alive would be their killer, Inspector, and my client has never needed to deny that killing because she has never been accused of it. Should you deign to make such an accusation, I can assure you it will be denied, vigorously!”
The lawyer paused and looked at his notes.
“Now, about this policewoman. If the witness statements are correct, we seem to have a woman between five feet six inches and five feet ten inches. She was either blonde or possibly dark haired, it was difficult for the witness to be certain as she had her hat on. She had blue, green or brown eyes and a beauty spot above her lip, or not, as in the case of the artist’s impression. Finally she was very trim. She may have worked out, or, she had wide hips and an average sized bust.
I have to concede, gentlemen, that my client does indeed fit that description.” He grinned widely, and DCI Coombes seethed.
“Actually, we have a witness statement from the man she paralysed, who saw her close up and gave an accurate description which was then reproduced by a police artist. It is this description that makes your client a suspect in this matter.”
“Oh yes. I remember that witness. As I recall, he gave his detailed description to….” He paused t
o look at a copy of a police notebook that had been disclosed to him as evidence. “Detective Sergeant Scott! Well, how fortuitous. I guess that would be you, Sergeant?” he asked, looking pointedly at DS Scott. Scott nodded.
“Well, you should remember your reply, in that case.”
DS Scott flushed. How could he possibly know what was said at the scene? No-one would have written it down. He thought. The lawyer continued.
“If my sources are correct, you said that the description might fit half the women in London. Is that right, Sergeant?” The two policemen remained stoic, giving nothing away.
“You would be obliged to answer that in court, Sergeant, but if it helps, my investigator has a statement from the paramedic who attended the witness, if you would like to see it. In the meantime I assume that once again my client is prepared to concede that she could indeed fall into the classification of ‘half the women in London’. Now, if we could perhaps move onto some real evidence I would be grateful.”
The next few minutes were spent discussing CCTV footage of the parking garage that was inconclusive, the absence of physical evidence and a hire car that Gillian Davis had rented for the day and which was caught on camera in the general area, which the suspect did not deny. Coombes had played around enough; it was time for the killer blow to her defence.
“Ms Davis, this has all been very entertaining but there is one piece of evidence that is unequivocal and undeniable. We have a contact lens bearing your fingerprint and your DNA that you lost in the Hokobus car on the day of the murder. You were there, Ms Davis. You were in the car with the Hokobus. You sprayed them with your home made spray and then you killed them. I think that a jury will convict on that evidence alone.”
Chapter 58
FBI Field Office, Richmond, Virginia. Thursday 10:30am.
Dee was surprised to see that neither the suspect, nor her counsel, were at all affected by the fingerprint or the DNA evidence, neither of which had been shared with them previously. Dee wanted to believe that Davis’ facial control was magnificent and that inside she was terrified, but that did not gel. She looked calm and she was calm.
Steve Post had picked up on this, too, whilst Pete seemed unaware of the potential problem and so merely looked on in anticipation. The FBI man took his laptop out of hibernation mode and flicked on the CJIS search engine. With a few key strokes he obtained high level access to the recently completed CJIS database. Nestled in the West Virginia hills, not far away from the field office, the Criminal Justice Information Services building housed the world’s largest criminal database.
***
Pat Monaghan could hardly suppress his supercilious smile as he answered the accusation.
“Detective Chief Inspector. My client does not deny that a cosmetic contact lens with her fingerprint and DNA profile may indeed have been found at the crime scene.” He paused, giving the two policemen some hope that a limited admission would follow. “However, she does reserve the right to have our own experts carry out tests to confirm your allegation.”
The two policemen acknowledged that this was a reasonable request, but repeated their accusation that she had now been placed fairly and squarely at the crime scene.
“That is not strictly true, is it, Chief Inspector?” The lawyer enjoyed the puzzlement showing on the faces opposite. “If the contact lens had been found in a house, or perhaps an office or something else immobile that might be true. But even then we would have to accept the possibility that the contact lens could have been placed there long before the crime took place.
With a vehicle involved, your assertion becomes even more questionable...”
Coombes could bear it no longer and boomed, “Are you telling me that your client is denying that she lost her contact lens in that car? Mobile or immobile, it makes no difference. That is where it was found!”
“That may well be true, Chief Inspector, and if you had been listening you would have heard me say that, subject to testing, my client does not necessarily deny that she lost her contact lens in the car.
Unfortunately, you have allowed a single piece of flimsy evidence to blind you to other suspects. You have found one piece of forensic evidence and have fabricated - and I’m sorry to have to say it – a sloppy case around it.” The man reached down into his briefcase and extracted a few sheets of paper. DS Scott placed his hand on his superior’s arm to calm him down; the lawyer was in real danger of being throttled by Coombes, whose veins were now bulging.
“As you failed to conduct proper and fulsome enquiries, I have taken up the cudgels, as I think you say, and have made enquiries myself.
The car in question is a hire car, available to anyone with a driving licence. It has been hired out regularly since it was delivered some seven months ago. The car hire firm are able to say, with some precision, that they have rented out that car fourteen times for varying periods. Obviously, at any one of these junctures my client could have lost her contact lens. However, in an effort to assist the police, and to defray any accusations that her silence may be the equivalent to guilt, my client asked her former company to search their database to see if she had ever travelled in the said car.”
“Are you saying that she can’t remember travelling in an armoured car? Come on!” Scott interjected impatiently. The lawyer looked at Scott with an equally impatient glare.
“No, son, my client is saying she does not know if she had travelled in this particular car. She has travelled in many protected vehicles. Now, if I may proceed without further interruption.”
Dee and Steve were deeply unhappy. The interview was swinging in the suspect’s favour, and they were concerned that worse was to come. The lawyer hadn’t finished yet.
“Here we have a print out of the Celebrato accounts database. It shows that they hired a specialist vehicle from Exotic Cars of Longford for a business awards dinner. The tags – sorry, the licence plate - read X14 ECL, the very same car in which you found my client’s contact lens. Now, my client says she was a little the worse for wear the night of the awards dinner, and so she cannot swear that she lost her contact lens that night, but it does seem likely.” The lawyer pushed across the Celebrato Database record.
“Obviously as an attorney I am aware that a suspicious policeman might think that Celebrato have made this whole story up to allay suspicion, so I dug a little deeper.” He handed over three more pieces of paper.
“Sheet 1 shows a photograph of my client, on the night of the awards dinner, the same night the car was hired. Sheet 2 shows the Exotic Cars of Longford Hire Record Database for the period, clearly showing the hire to Celebrato. Sheet 3 is a sworn deposition from the manager of Exotic Cars that this is a proper extract from the said database, and a statement saying that, whilst the cars are thoroughly cleaned after each hirer, he cannot swear that a single contact lens would be discovered.”
DCI Coombes glared at DS Scott, whose mouth gaped open.
“Shit!” Pete shouted almost in Dee’s ear. Steve Post was already typing rapidly and accessing the CJIS database. After a moment the screen cleared and a pop up window appeared. The words, ‘This is Special Agent Connor Williams. May I help you?’ appeared in the dialogue box. Steve typed rapidly. The dialogue box flickered and Connor typed, ‘I will come back to you in a few minutes.’
Seeing the total disarray in the opposing ranks, Pat Monaghan suggested a short break, with the parties reconvening in an hour. He requested into the microphone the use of a quiet room, and some coffee and sandwiches. Gillian Davis and her counsel walked out of the interview room, to be met by the young FBI man who would lead them to their private room.
Chapter 59
FBI Field Office, Richmond, Virginia. Thursday 1pm.
Four glum faces sat around the table, ignoring the sandwiches that had been provided. Nobody had an appetite for them any more. DCI Coombes and DS Scott were not speaking and Pete was shaking his head slowly. He looked defeated. The thought passing through all of their minds was, ‘
How could we have missed that?’
Dee, however, was not as downhearted as the rest of the team. She had spoken to Steve Post before they broke for lunch, and he had suggested pursuing a sequence of enquiries that had crossed her mind, too. They were still sitting in silence when Steve Post returned with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“OK, listen up, everyone. It’s already 6pm in London and so not everything is buttoned down yet but here is what Dee and I think has happened. Steve sat at the head of the table and began his narrative.
“Gillian Davis has been a paid killer for ten years. Who knows how many people she might have killed in the service of Queen and country? Maybe she doesn’t even know the exact number. However, one thing is certain; she has never been caught. Gillian Davis is one clever girl. My guess is that, like most covert operatives, she is adept at misdirection, creating false alibis and manipulating evidence. If she wasn’t she wouldn’t be much of an assassin.
Psychologically we all know that witnesses are suggestible. They can often be manipulated into remembering things that did not actually happen. In the FBI manuals we have study after study that discusses witness behaviour. We regularly encounter witnesses who are sure they have seen something but, when it is put to them, by a clever attorney, that what they saw was not possible, their recollection suddenly changes and they revise their memories to incorporate the new facts. The truth is that once they have changed their story their testimony is useless. The profilers call this cognitive dissonance; if what we see doesn’t make sense, we create a new memory that does make sense. Psychologists say that if we humans behave that way, we would have continual internal conflicts and mental anguish.”
Chameleon - A City of London Thriller Page 27