Henry Silk cast a wary eye to the clouds scudding across the sky.
“I’d suggest sooner rather than later, Jonty. This weather doesn’t look like it’s going to hold. If we’re not careful, we’ll have to reshoot the whole lot in rain gear.”
The director slapped the palm of a hand to his forehead.
“I can’t bear to even think that might happen; I’ll sue the buggers. Don’t they know how much delays like this cost?”
He turned to look for his assistant.
“What’s taking Anthony so long? Oh, God, what are they doing?”
He could see that despite his assistant’s protestations, none of the police cars had moved and now three people — two men and a young woman — were marching towards him with Anthony half-running along behind them.
The director had had enough. He thrust his clipboard into the nearest pair of hands and stormed off towards the approaching group, booming at them from a distance of twenty yards.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are but I need those police cars and that other car out of here now. Not in a minute. Now!”
Jonty Peters was an imposing figure. At six foot four, with a shock of wild grey hair and matching bushy eyebrows, vivid blue eyes and a florid complexion from over-frequent sampling of his extensive collection of single malts, he was used to getting his own way. At five foot six but built like a bulldog, McPherson was having none of it. He pulled his warrant card from his pocket and held it up.
“Detective Inspector Robert McPherson of Nottingham City and County Serious Crime Formation. These are my colleagues Detective Sergeant Neil Bottomley and Detective Constable Jennifer Cotton.”
“And that interests me because …”
McPherson narrowed his eyes, but bit his tongue.
“We need to talk urgently to a Mr Henry Silk of Lambton Court Gardens, Hampstead. We have reason to believe that he is working on your set.”
“Working on my set!” yelled Peters. “He’s more than working on my bloody set. He’s the lead actor in today’s filming. Filming that costs a lot of money and which you are interrupting. Tell me, Inspector, to whom do I send the bill for this unacceptable delay?”
“If you’d calm down, sir, we can probably get this sorted out very quickly,” lied McPherson, knowing full well that it would be anything but quick. “Now, perhaps you could point out Mr Silk.”
“God! What planet do you live on, Inspector? I can only assume from that request you’re not one of the legions, millions should I say, of fans who are riveted nightly to this programme. Fans who will be extremely unimpressed by police harassment on the set of their favourite show.”
McPherson had had enough. “If you want to make a complaint sir, I suggest you go through the normal channels. Now—”
He stopped as Jennifer tapped him on the shoulder.
“He’s over there, guv, the one dressed in the black uniform trousers and white shirt.”
“Fetch him, Cotton, will you?”
“Now look here!” protested the director as Jennifer walked off. He reached out to stop her but McPherson blocked him.
“I didn’t get your name, sir.”
“Jonty Peters. I’m the director and I shall indeed be making a formal complaint.”
“Well, Mr Peters, I should advise you that obstructing the police in the commission of their duty is a serious offence, as is assaulting a police officer, which you just came very close to doing. I’d also advise you to back off or this might well take all day.”
Peters had met his match. “Look, I’m sorry, Inspector,” he said, wilting. “You must understand that I’m under a lot of pressure here. If we don’t move forward with the filming, the whole schedule is stuffed. Already the weather is not playing ball and now …”
Arsehole, thought McPherson.
“We’ll be as quick as we can, sir,” he said, walking away, followed closely by Bottomley.
Jennifer walked over to the group of actors. The women glanced at her, logging in microseconds her trim, well-toned figure, her pretty, open features, her short but stylish dark brown hair and her no-nonsense, well-cut pants suit. The men merely registered a good-looking twenty-five-year-old as their eyes roamed her figure.
Henry Silk was talking quietly to one of the younger actresses and had his back to her as she approached.
Jennifer coughed. “Mr Silk?”
Henry turned and let his eyes stay on hers, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile. She was an attractive young woman, to be sure, but there was something else about her, something vaguely familiar. But then again, he’d met so many women of that age, and the older he got, the more they seemed to come out of a mould.
Jennifer felt rather intimidated to be face to face with not only Henry Silk, but also with a number of other familiar faces from the soap she regularly watched. She took a breath and held up her warrant card.
“Detective Constable Jennifer Cotton of the Nottingham City and County Serious Crime Formation. Would you mind coming with me, sir? My colleague, Detective Inspector McPherson, would like a word.”
Henry shrugged his shoulders and grinned at the rest of the bemused cast. “Lead on, Detective Constable, lead on.”
Meanwhile, Jonty Peters had recovered his equilibrium and was now pacing after McPherson. Bottomley heard him and leaned forward to the DI.
“Rob,” he said, nodding his head in Peters’ direction.
McPherson growled and turned to the director. “I’ll give you a shout if I need you, Mr Peters. In the meantime, we must talk to Mr Silk on his own.”
Peters started to protest but then thought better of it. He stopped and stood where he was, looking like a lost child.
Henry Silk walked up to McPherson and held out his hand.
“Henry Silk, Inspector. How may I help you?”
The DI ignored the outstretched hand and got straight to the point.
“Could you please confirm, sir, that you are Henry Silk of number thirteen Lambton Court Gardens, Hampstead?”
“I am, Inspector, yes.”
“And are you the owner of a dark green Nissan X-Trail registration number LJ11TTV?”
“Yes.”
“Could you also confirm that you were in Nottingham last week from Sunday until Saturday?”
“I was, yes. I was appearing in a production of ‘The Ripper Returns’ at the Theatre Royal. Perhaps you saw it.”
“No, sir, I didn’t. And where—”
He was interrupted by a pointed cough from Jennifer, to whom the line of questioning sounded like an interview, and under the rules, all interviews had to be recorded using audio and video. Also, if the questions were deemed to be an interview, the clock would immediately start ticking on how long they could hold Silk. It would be better to take him to Nottingham and start the whole process there.
McPherson got the message and scowled.
“Actually, sir, it’s your car we’re interested in at the moment. Do you have it with you today, the Nissan X-Trail?”
Henry frowned. “I do, yes. Why?”
“We have reason to believe that your car was used in the commission of a crime in the early hours of last Saturday morning. Could you show us where it’s parked?”
“That’s crazy, Inspector. My car was parked at my hotel the whole of Friday night and Saturday. It can’t possibly have been used in a crime. If it had been stolen, I should have known. After all, car thieves don’t normally return cars to where they stole them from, do they? Especially a secure car park. What sort of crime do you think it was used in?”
“A murder.”
“A murder? Inspector, you can’t think … look, there’s obviously been some enormous mistake. I was asleep in my room on Friday night. All night. And my car keys were in the room with me.”
He tried to picture being in his room on Friday night, but all he could remember after leaving the theatre was waking up late the next morning with what felt like a giant hangover. There was a vague
, fleeting fragment of memory, way in the back of his mind, of raising a glass and toasting ‘cin cin!’ with someone, but he also remembered that when he put away his Belvedere vodka bottle on Saturday morning, a more seriously depleted bottle than he expected, there was only one glass next to it.
McPherson was watching Henry intently, trying to read his reaction.
“Your car, sir?” he said.
Henry sighed in frustration. “Follow me, it’s over there.”
They reached the cars and Henry pointed. “There, Inspector, that’s the one.”
“Thank you, sir. Could you please stay here for a moment with Sergeant Bottomley?”
Without waiting for a response, McPherson moved to the rear of the car. Jennifer followed, pulling a file from her bag. Inside were several images from the CCTV showing the front and rear of the Nissan together with the registration plates. She handed them to him and looked over his shoulder as he compared the shot of the car’s rear end with the car itself. He gave a non-committal grunt and walked to the front. He grunted again.
“No outstanding features, but nothing that’s obviously different.”
Jennifer reached into her bag for her notebook and pen, as ever wanting to log everything.
“You’re thinking that perhaps the car shown in the CCTV footage had false plates, guv?”
“Got to be considered, Cotton.”
“Yes, guv. Well, the vehicle licence disc’s in the same place on the car and in the photo, and there’s a vignette for Switzerland below it. Look, you can just see it in the photo too. I hadn’t noticed it before.”
“A what?”
“This sticker,” she said, pointing to the place on the photo. “It’s called a vignette. It shows the road tax for using the motorways in Switzerland has been paid for this year. He’s obviously driven in or through the country in the last few months. It’s a one-off payment you make at the border.”
“Well spotted, Cotton. Of course, you’d know about driving in Europe, being Italian. I’d forgotten that.”
“I’m not Italian, guv, I just grew up in Italy.”
“Same thing. OK, let’s get his keys. I want you to have a look inside, without touching anything, of course. This is looking more promising by the minute.”
Jennifer took a pair of disposable gloves from her bag and pulled them on as she walked back over to Henry.
“Mr Silk, may I have the keys to your vehicle, please? I need to take a look inside. When I do, I’d be grateful if you could stand a few feet behind me so you can see clearly what I’m doing.”
Henry fished in a pocket. “Here we are, Constable, fill your boots,” he said, tossing the keys to Jennifer. “They’d normally be in my jacket in the trailer, but I needed to fetch my newspaper from the car — I like to do the crossword in between takes. It can get quite boring being on set, you know. I popped them in my trouser pocket rather than go back to the trailer. Jonty wouldn’t like it, but what the hell.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jennifer as she caught them. “I’ll open the driver’s door first.”
She pressed a button on the fob and after carefully opening the door, she scanned the driver’s seat and footwell but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
She pointed to a newspaper in the door pocket. “Not that paper, then?”
“No, that’s yesterday’s,” replied Henry. “I forgot to throw it away.”
“Let’s take a look at the passenger side,” said Jennifer. The three men followed her around the car.
Opening the front passenger door, she glanced around before bending down to peer under the seat, taking care not to touch anything. Suddenly she let out a gasp. “Guv, I think you should see this.”
McPherson moved forward and bent down to look where she was pointing.
“Christ!” he said. “Got your phone, Cotton, we’ll record it as it is. Can you see any size markings?”
Jennifer peered closer. Looks like thirty-seven.”
“In English, Cotton.”
“A UK size four, guv. I’ll get a shot and contact Derek.”
She took several photos and then moved out of earshot to make the call.
“What is it, Inspector?” asked Henry starting to walk towards the car.
McPherson turned round and stopped him with an upturned hand.
“There’s a high-heeled shoe under the passenger seat, Mr Silk. Could you tell me anything about it?”
“A what!” cried Henry as he peered over the inspector’s shoulder. “That’s ridiculous. May I take a look?”
McPherson studied the look of incredulity on Henry’s face for a few moments, his own jaw set. Then he pointed to a spot on the tarmac. “If you squat down here, sir, clear of the car, you should be able to see what I’m talking about. Please don’t touch anything.”
Henry went down on his haunches and, supporting himself further with his hands on the ground, he looked under the seat. He turned to McPherson, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’ve never seen it before in my life, Inspector.”
McPherson scanned the parking area, suddenly worried that Henry might claim the shoe had been planted.
“Could anyone have taken your keys this morning, or at any other time, and accessed your car?”
“As you saw, Inspector, I had the keys with me. So, no, they couldn’t.”
Jennifer finished the call and walked over to McPherson.
“Guv,” she said, drawing him away from Henry.
“I’ve checked with DC Thyme and the shoe is the same size. I also sent the images and he reckons that the style is the same. The girl was still wearing a right shoe — scarlet, high-heeled, pointed toe with a worn leather sole — and this is its partner. DNA testing of sweat on the insole should confirm it.”
McPherson smiled. “I think we’ve got enough to arrest him now, Cotton, don’t you?”
Jennifer wasn’t certain. “It’s still circumstantial, guv. Despite what he says, if Silk suddenly remembers that he lent his car to a friend after all, we’d be in trouble. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Thyme’s finished looking through the CCTV from the hotel? If Silk’s shown on that, we’ll have more to throw at him.”
“How’s Thyme getting on with that?”
“He’s only just started. There was some problem with the compatibility of the files. The techies have it sorted now.”
“OK, let’s get Silk back to the station.”
They walked over to Henry and the sergeant.
“Mr Silk. In the early hours of Saturday morning, a young woman was murdered and her body dumped in a wood north of Nottingham.”
Henry nodded. “I know, Inspector, it made the late editions of the Sunday papers.”
“Exactly, sir. We have reason to believe that your car, the Nissan here, was involved in transporting the girl and the presence in your car of a shoe matching one found on the dead girl reinforces that belief. We’d like you to accompany us back to Nottingham where we can interview you using the proper procedures.”
“What, now? Are you arresting me?”
“No, sir, not at the moment. Although if you refuse to come voluntarily I am of the opinion that I have enough to do so.”
Henry ran a hand through his hair.
“Inspector, I’ve got an incredibly hectic schedule over the next three days. If we lose a day’s filming, it will not only cause chaos, it’ll cost the production company a fortune.”
“We’re investigating a murder, sir, I’m afraid that must come first.”
Henry gave a resigned sigh. “Whatever you say, Inspector. Are you going to break it to Jonty or shall I?”
He pointed towards the director who had been quietly inching his way towards them in the hope of finding out what was going on. At the raising of McPherson’s arm to beckon him, he came rushing over.
“All sorted out, Inspector?” he beamed, although his eyes were full of doubt.
“Jonty, I’ve got to go with these police officers,�
�� said Henry, before McPherson had a chance to answer. “Perhaps you can rearrange the schedule to do the shots that don’t involve me today. It’s all one huge mistake, which I’m sure we’ll sort out in no time. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“What! Are you arresting him, Inspector? What’s Henry supposed to have done?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case, sir.”
Peters launched back into ballistic missile mode.
“Not at liberty? This is totally outrageous, Inspector. Well, I am at liberty to discuss the case and I’ll tell you with whom I’ll discuss it. I’ll have you know that the chief constable is a personal friend. He has visited the set on a number of occasions.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, sir. Now, I’ll get these police cars shifted out of your way, although one of them will remain here in the car park until the loader arrives to take Mr Silk’s car back to Nottingham.”
Henry pointed to his clothing.
“May I change, Inspector? These are not my clothes and they really should remain here.”
“I’d rather you kept them on for now, sir. Perhaps you could go with Sergeant Bottomley to get the clothing you wore to come here this morning. Oh, and we’d like to look at your phone.”
Jonty Peters pulled out his own phone, threw his arms in the air in frustration and turned to walk away.
“You haven’t heard the last of this, Inspector, I can assure you.”
Chapter Eleven
There was no conversation in the car on the drive to Nottingham. Henry Silk was sitting in the back alongside Rob McPherson, who was staring pointedly out of the window, while in the front passenger seat Jennifer was tapping furiously on her phone. Neil Bottomley was driving.
Henry’s head was reeling with the events that had unfolded at Luton Airport, but he was trying to retain an outward appearance of calm. After two failed attempts at asking for more information, he gave up, realising that he would get nothing until they reached Nottingham — the police officers were all studiously ignoring him. However, when, half an hour into the journey, he asked McPherson if he could call his solicitor, the response was immediate.
Irrefutable Evidence Page 7