by Tim Sullivan
'Exactly,' he replied, secretly pleased that some of what he was saying was actually going in. 'It's also an avenue of denial that could cost us a good couple of hours of our window.'
'Okay, you've lost me now,' she said, offering him some crisps, which he refused. She wasn't to know that he never shared things like bags of crisps or nuts. He had to have his own packet.
'The window between arrest and charge. As you know, we only have twenty-four hours before we have to apply for an extension. So every hour counts. The more prepared we are, the less time they can waste. His arguing that Alex had left it there could cost us valuable time.'
It was just after two in the morning when Cross shook her awake.
'Alice, Alice, wake up.' She woke up, not knowing where she was for an instant.
'What's happening?' she asked.
'Over there. Look,' said Cross. The lights had come on in the hall of the Swintons' house. Then a light shone down the alley running alongside the house. Part of Andy's security system, Cross thought. The gate opened and Andy appeared, carrying something wrapped in a builders' dust sheet. It had to be the bike. He put it in the back of his van and got into the driver's seat. Mackenzie looked at Cross, who hadn't moved.
'Aren't you going to arrest him?' she asked.
'No. Follow him.'
She started the car and drove after the van.
'Can I ask you a question?' she said.
'I want to see him dispose of the bike. I want everything. That's the whole point of being cold and uncomfortable in your car for half a night,' he explained.
'That's not what I was going to ask,' she said.
'Oh all right,' he said.
'Was I snoring? When I was asleep. Did I snore?' she asked.
He looked at her, trying to judge something, but he still didn't know her well enough to make a judgement. So he asked,
'Is this a question to which you'd like an honest answer, or would you like me to reassure you?'
'So I was. I knew it.'
'Like a foghorn, actually,' he said matter-of-factly.
They drove on for a while, and then it happened. The car suddenly started shuddering and came to a halt. 'Fuck,' said Mackenzie, as the van disappeared into the distance. 'Shit.' She got out and saw that the back tyre had a flat. 'I'm really, really sorry,' she said, but Cross wasn't listening; he was studying a map on his phone. He then made a note of the time and got out of the car and inspected the tyre.
'Do you have a spare?'
'I think so,' she said.
'You "think so"?' he repeated. 'Is this your car?'
'Yes, of course it is.'
She opened the boot and they found the spare.
'Here, let me,' he said and, taking off his coat, he lifted the spare wheel and jack out of the boot.
'I thought you couldn't drive?' she said.
'Why would an inability to drive preclude my knowing how to change a flat tyre?' he asked. 'Anyway, I can drive. I just choose not to. Do you know where the wheel lock is?' he asked.
'The "wheel lock"?' she said. They found it, eventually, in the glove compartment, hidden amongst various debris. A well-read paperback, hair clips and ties, a few sweets stuck to the side, a couple of CDs and finally, an open packet of condoms. They both saw the condoms and immediately made the decision to pretend they hadn’t. Cross set about changing the wheel. As he was about to lift the punctured tyre off the car, the black transit came back down the road towards them. It slowed to a halt. Cross turned away so he couldn't be seen. Mackenzie panicked for a split second, then remembered that Andy had never seen her. He had no idea who she was.
'Are you guys okay?' he asked.
'Yeah, just a flat. Don't worry. My dad’s sorting it out,' she said.
'You sure?' he asked.
'Yeah, thanks for stopping though,' she said.
'No problem,' he said, winding his window back up and driving off.
'Blimey, that gave me a scare,' she said, as she took the punctured tyre off Cross. 'Good look for you, though.'
'What?' said Cross, as he looked at his watch and made a note of the time.
'Being my undercover dad,' she said.
Ten minutes later they were driving again, with Cross giving directions from the map on his phone. He'd worked out the speed of the van, the time between their losing it and its return, and calculated where it was most likely their suspect had disposed of Alex's bike. This was at the back of an industrial estate, a couple of miles away, which backed onto a canal. Mackenzie pulled up and they got out. They examined the area, but it was dry. There was no clue, as far as she could see, as to where, or even whether, the van had been here at all. But Cross checked his calculations again and decided this was it. He turned to Mackenzie.
'Do you have an underwater torch?' he asked.
'What? No, why?'
'Well, you'll need it to go in,' he said, indicating the canal, 'and visibility won't be very good. Particularly at this time of night,' he said. She looked at him in disbelief.
'You're joking,' she said, unsure but hopeful.
'I am,' he replied, and walked away quite pleased with himself. She was so used to him always being literal that she still couldn't latch onto his attempts at humour.
Later that morning an irritable DCI Carson arrived at the location. He'd been woken up at five by Cross asking for a diver team, who were now scouring the bed of the canal. Tantalisingly, they had already brought up two bikes, neither of them being the right one.
'Any luck?' Carson asked, as he approached.
'We don't need luck,' replied Cross.
'It would've been a damn sight cheaper to have got a warrant and just pulled this out of his shed,' Carson went on.
'Cheaper, but less clear. This way he gets to pass "Go" and move straight to jail,' replied Cross.
'Do you have any idea how difficult it was to arrange a dive team at this short notice?' Carson asked.
'No,' replied Cross.
'They've had to come from bloody Wiltshire,' Carson went on.
'Another cost-cutting efficiency, no doubt,' said Cross.
'Well, they're here now,' ventured Mackenzie, as if she was trying to make the best of the situation.
'Shouldn't you be in the office?' Carson asked.
'She was here all night, so it seemed only fair that she stayed to see how it all panned out,' Cross replied.
'So why the hell would he kill him?' asked Carson.
'We don't know yet that he did.'
'Yes, but all the evidence is beginning to point very much in his direction,' replied Carson.
'Which is both something and nothing,' said Cross.
Carson decided against pursuing this any further. Ottey then pulled up in her car with a tray of three coffees. She offered one to Cross and Mackenzie, leaving one on the cardboard tray. She saw Carson eyeing it covetously.
'I didn't know you were here,' she said, but he just kept looking at the coffee imploringly. 'No,' she said. 'Absolutely not.' She walked over to a wheelie bin set against the building and threw the tray away. When she turned round, the divers had brought up another bike. This time it was the right one.
'Right, bring him in, and let these boys go home,' said Carson, walking away towards his car as if his work here was done.
'We will. Just as soon as they've found the phone,' replied Cross.
'What? What phone?' said Carson.
'Alex's mobile. The one the text was sent from,' Ottey replied.
'Seriously? What makes you think it's in there? It could be in the house.'
'We don't know. But we might as well check, now that we're here,' she said.
'Okay, well get it done and then bring him in,' he said, getting into his car.
'What else, exactly, did he think we were going to do?' said Ottey. 'He states the obvious then instructs us to do exactly what we're doing, as if it's a brilliantly inspirational piece of leadership,' she moaned. She then sent Mackenzie home to get some sle
ep, telling her she didn't want to see her in the office till at least two that afternoon.
The search was difficult. Visibility at the bottom of the canal, once the divers had disturbed the silt, was virtually nil, so they had to feel around with their hands. This was not made any easier by the fact that they were wearing thick, protective gloves. But, a couple of hours later, they came up with a smartphone. It was the latest model, which made Cross think it was Alex's for a few reasons. Its location, obviously. The fact that it was the latest model – Alex liked his tech – and why would someone throw an expensive, practically brand-new phone into a canal unless they didn't want it to be found?
They decided against arresting Andy that afternoon. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere, and Cross needed some sleep. He was fairly sure their suspicion was focused in the right place now. But he wanted to think about his interview strategy and needed to be fresh. Some police thought of an arrest like this as the end of it. That the thing just needed wrapping up. Not so for Cross. This was the vital part of the investigation. The interview was the crucial piece for him. It was just the beginning.
Chapter 25
Next morning, having ascertained that Andy was still at home, Cross and Ottey arrived at the house in Eastville with a search warrant. Cross could tell that Andy was perturbed by the warrant. He'd had a full day, yesterday, to think that he'd got away with it. That the disposal of the bike early that morning had solved the problem. But the fact that they were back alarmed him, initially, until Cross asked if they could see inside the shed. The man couldn't disguise his momentary relief.
'Sure, of course,' he said, as he got the key and they walked out into the back garden. Mackenzie had asked earlier why they needed to search the shed, when they already had the bike. Ottey explained that it was all part of Cross' strategy. He wanted to build a narrative. Just a couple of days ago Andy wouldn't show them the shed. Cross would relate this narrative in court. It was a small thing, but just another layer of guilt for the jury. More importantly, he was softening Andy up for the interview.
'What do you mean?' Mackenzie asked.
'He wants Andy to think we don't have the bike. He wants him to think he's won this little battle. Build his confidence, so that he can destroy it when he reveals it, at a time of his choosing, and pull the rug from underneath him. Right now, Andy's sure we have nothing and that's exactly what George wants him to think.'
They walked into the back garden. Jean watched from inside the house. They had caught her off guard, Cross thought, as she looked like she wasn't dressed yet. Andy opened the door of the shed and stepped aside so they could look in. It was well organised. Tools hanging off nails on the walls. Everything in its rightful place. Cross turned to Andy, as if he was looking for some explanation.
'Like I told you. My tools,' Andy said.
'Indeed, like you told me,' said Cross. 'One question. Why would you want us to go to the trouble of getting a warrant? Why didn't you just let us have a look? Like you say. It's just your tools.'
'It's a point of principle,' said Andy, locking up. 'There's a line. It's privacy, isn't it?'
Cross thought about this for a minute and then they followed Andy back into the house. Cross looked genuinely thrown. As if he was trying to work something out. 'Did you not like Alex?' he asked.
'Of course. He was fine. Why d'you ask?' said Andy.
'He was murdered. His body wrapped in polythene sheeting and dumped in a row of disused garages,' Cross went on.
'I know. It's terrible.'
'So where do you think privacy and points of principle fit in with a scenario like that? Do you think they're as important as finding his killer?'
'I never said that.'
'No, but your behaviour's rather indicative of it, wouldn't you think?'
'Okay, fine. I should've let you see the shed and I'm sorry. Was there anything else?' Andy asked.
'Yes. DS Ottey?' Cross said, turning to his partner.
‘Andy Swinton, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Alex Paphides,' she said.
'What?' exclaimed Andy, his confidence quickly evaporating.
'What's going on?' said Jean.
'You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given in evidence. Could you turn round please?' she said. He did so, and she cuffed him. Cross turned to Jean.
'Mrs Swinton, we need you to come down to the station as well,' he said.
'What, you arresting me too?' she said, close to tears.
'No, we just want to ask you a few questions and take a statement,' he replied. 'Perhaps you'd like to get dressed.'
'I am fucking dressed, you moron,' she spat.
‘If you say so,’ he replied.
They had been followed by two police units, so that Jean and Andy could be taken down to the station separately. The presence of two cars outside their house had attracted a certain amount of interest from the neighbours, who were looking out of their windows. Others had been brave enough to venture outside. As they were led to the cars Jean yelled to no-one in particular, 'What are you looking at?' A kid in the street started filming on his phone. 'Oi you! Stop it, you little shit!'
Cross and Ottey got into Ottey's car. 'Last night with Mackenzie, I made a joke. A good one,' he said to her.
'Did she get it?' Ottey asked.
'I'm not sure. I think so. But I didn't check for certain. She should've done. As I said, it was a good one.'
'How did she react?'
'She said "you're joking".'
'And what had you said prior to that?'
'I asked her if she had an underwater torch, because visibility in the canal wouldn't be good at that time of night,' he replied confidently.
'And she said "you're joking"?'
'Yes. She thought I meant she had to go into the canal and find the bike.'
'Okay, so we might need to do a little more work on that. But full marks for trying,' she said.
‘Thank you. I thought so too,' he said.
'Thought what?'
'Full marks.'
Mackenzie was looking at Andy, sitting in the interview room, on the monitor in the next-door office. Ottey stopped as she walked by.
'What is it?' she asked.
'He looks so ordinary,' Mackenzie replied.
'They all look ordinary,' said Ottey, 'and, for the most part, they always look vulnerable in there. Except for the career criminals. Don't be taken in by it. You should watch for a bit. This is when George is at his best.'
'How?'
'Quite often, when everyone thinks a case is a slam dunk, and in many situations it is, George just makes the result non-negotiable, inevitable. He makes it watertight, airtight and whatever other tight there is. Most people don't have the patience or the skill. Everyone knows about his conviction rate, but you know what really pleases him?'
'No.'
'The speed of a jury reaching a verdict and speed of conviction. He's days ahead of the rest of us.'
'How do you know that?'
'Oh, because he does his stats, does George. He loves his stats. Be nice to him and he might show you his spreadsheets,' said Ottey, and left. Mackenzie realised that Ottey not only had a seemingly healthy respect for her partner, but also a fair amount of affection.
Even though Jean was not under arrest, Cross interviewed her in much the same way he would have done had she been a suspect. He wanted to interview them both contemporaneously, as he thought any inconsistencies between them would help him steer the investigation, and be more revealing. He began, as he often did, with a dogged, repetitive analysis of the night of the murder. This often softened an interviewee up – frustrated them. Cross was also trying to get them to build up a picture in their minds of the detective in front of them. He wanted them to think they were ahead of him. Were cleverer than him. He wanted them to underestimate him. He basically held one killer
question in reserve which, when deployed, generally made their story unravel.
'So let's go over the events of May eighth,' said Cross to Andy, as if he'd never said this before. He had. Several times.
'Haven't we done that already?
'I just want to make sure I've got everything. Where were you?' Cross repeated.
'Like I said before. At home with Jean.' He sighed.
'So you were at home. Who were you with?' Cross asked. Andy looked at Cross and then at his solicitor. Was this man taking the piss? He'd just told him who he was with not five seconds before. His lawyer had experience of Cross and had told Andy, prior to the interview, to be careful and just answer what he was asked, when he was asked it, however many times he was asked it.
'Answer the question,' the lawyer said quietly.
'With Jean,' he said, sighing audibly.
'And what were you doing?' Cross asked.
'Watching a DVD,' answered Jean in the VA room. She was drinking tea with Cross and Ottey. The atmosphere was more relaxed.
'Which film?'
'That one with Colin Firth,' she said, trying to remember the name.
'Kingsman,' said Andy.
'I quite liked that one,' said Cross. 'I saw it in the cinema. I only see films in the cinema. I don't have a television.'
'You've already told me that,' said Andy wearily. This was torture and it had only been going on for an hour.
'I did?' said Cross, quite surprised. He thought for a moment. Played the conversation back in his head, as if to check. 'So I did. I'm sorry. I forget. What did you eat?'
'Chinese takeaway.'
'That's peculiar. You didn't have to think about that. You knew straight away,' he said.
'Good memory.'
'Where did you get the food from?'
'Deliveroo.'
'Which restaurant?'
'You'd have to ask Jean. She ordered it.'
'The Golden Wok,' she said.
'Did Andy leave the house at all that night? After you'd eaten?' Cross asked. She was struggling with these simple questions. He thought part of it was because of the inevitable hangover she was enduring. That would make remembering the events of a couple of nights ago problematic, let alone a couple of weeks ago. But he suspected it was a little more than that. She was having trouble sticking to their script. Their agreed version of what happened that night. Or to be more precise, Andy's version of the events of that night. It would, undoubtedly, have been him who'd come up with it.