‘Common sense? So you’re saying that was a mistake on my part?’
‘Of course I bloody am. And it’s bound to come out.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says, pulling through his beard with his fingers. ‘I don’t bloody know.’
Silence, the two of us not looking at each other until -
Until the telephone rings -
Smith picks it up: ‘Yes?’
He listens, closes his eyes and says: ‘I’ll be down.’
He hangs up, eyes still shut.
I say: ‘His wife?’
He nods.
‘She was there on Sunday, when I went round.’
He doesn’t move.
‘I’ve met her. Do you want me there?’
He opens his eyes and picks up the phone: ‘Detective Chief Inspector Hook please.’
He waits, eyes still avoiding mine -
‘Roger,’ he says. ‘Mrs Douglas is here. Meet us downstairs will you?’
He listens to Hook on the other end, then looks up at me as he tells him: ‘Let him stew. We’ll get to Richard bloody Dawson in due course.’
Then, just before he hangs up, he says: ‘And Roger? Don’t tell Dawson about Douglas. And make bloody sure he doesn’t find out.’
He slams the phone down -
It rings again -
‘What is it?’
He looks across at me and says: ‘Tell him Mr Hunter is unavailable.’
He hangs up again.
I say: ‘Who was it?’
‘Chief Constable Angus,’ he says, standing up.
The telephone starts to ring again -
‘Fucking hell,’ shouts Smith, sending the phone flying off the hook and across the desk, storming out of the room.
We knock once, softly, Smith, Hook, and I -
The policewoman opens the door -
Mrs Douglas, puffed and bloated with tea and sympathy, looks up: ‘He said he was just going into town, do some Christmas shopping. She said she wanted to come. I could tell he didn’t want her with him, because of the crowds I thought. But she cried and he gave in. Like he always does. Too bloody soft with her, he is.’
Silence -
Mrs Douglas, about to be gutted by questions and grief, looking at me.
Silence until -
Until Clement Smith begins, extending our official condolences and the like.
‘I don’t understand,’ Mrs Douglas says.
‘We’re all very, very sorry,’ says the Chief Constable.
Mrs Douglas looks across at me: ‘Can I see them?’
I shake my head: ‘No.’
‘Please?’
‘They’re not here.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Somewhere else,’ I say.
‘They’re not at home?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘They’re not at home.’
‘Yes, I thought it was strange they weren’t at home,’ she says, blinking, – looking from me to Smith, from Smith to Hook, from Hook to me, to the policewoman and back to me.
‘I don’t understand,’ she says again, sucking in her lips, -squeezing her hands together, whispering to herself, – pinching herself, wide awake and dying -
‘I just don’t understand.’
I push away the sandwich and stand up.
‘I’m going to ring Joan,’ I say.
Clement Smith nods.
‘What time do you want to do Dawson?’ Hook asks him.
Smith looks at his watch and then up at me: ‘Three?’
‘Fine,’ I say and leave them under the bright, bright lights.
‘Where are you?’ she says.
‘Here. Manchester.’
You could cut it with a knife, the silence -
‘What’s going on?’
‘A man who worked for Richard, he’s been murdered. And his daughter.’
I’d been to sleep and I had this nightmare -
‘His daughter?’
‘Yes.’
There was a girl in a bath -
‘How old was she?’
‘Six.’
You could cut it with a knife, the silence -
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘I don’t know.’
I’d been to sleep and I had this nightmare -
‘I love you, Peter,’ she says. ‘I love you so much.’
‘Me too,’ Then: ‘Thanks, love. I’ll see you later.’
There was a girl in a bath.
Outside the interview suite I say: ‘Do you think this is a good idea?’
Smith hisses: ‘I think we’re past good and bad ideas, don’t you?’
Roger Hook comes out of the room: ‘He’s happy to talk to us without a lawyer if Pete’s there.’
‘Well that’s his decision,’ says Smith. ‘If it was me, I’d want all the bloody lawyers present I could afford.’
‘Do you want me to advise him to get his lawyer here?’
‘No. Let’s just do it.’
Smith opens the door and we follow him in -
Richard Dawson stands up behind the table, worried.
‘Mr Dawson,’ says Smith, cutting him off. ‘I think you know everyone?’
Dawson is looking at me, nodding his head up and down.
A young uniform closes the door and sits down behind us.
We pull up chairs around the table, facing Dawson.
Hook puts a cassette into the tape recorder on the table and presses record:
‘Wednesday 17 December 1980. Three-fifteen p.m. Preliminary interview with Mr Richard Dawson in room one at the interview suite at Manchester Police Headquarters. Present Chief Constable Smith, Assistant Chief Constable Hunter, myself, Chief Inspector Hook, and Detective Constable Stainthorpe.’
Clement Smith lowers his head towards the tape recorder and says: ‘Mr Dawson, you’ve been advised that you may have your lawyer present, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘But at this stage you have chosen to proceed without legal representation?’
‘Yes. I am not being charged, am I?’
‘No, and you are aware that you can request a lawyer at anytime during the course of this interview?’
‘That’s fine. Thank you.’
‘OK. You’ve been asked here to discuss matters pertaining to allegations of financial irregularities in your company accounts. Specifically regarding tax and insurance payments, expenses.’
Richard Dawson is still looking at me, nodding his head up and down.
‘However,’ says Smith. ‘I’d like to begin by asking you some questions about a Robert Douglas, who I believe you recently hired as a security advisor?’
‘Yes,’ says Dawson, puzzled, still looking at me.
‘Would you mind telling us how you came to meet Mr Douglas and in what capacity he is employed by you?’
‘I was introduced to Bob Douglas at a local charity event organised for my son’s school. Mr Douglas’s daughter attends the same school and my wife and his wife are both on the PTA.’
‘And which school would this be?’
‘St Bernard’s in Burnage.’
‘Catholic?’
‘My wife is.’
‘OK. So…’
‘So I’ve known of Bob Douglas for a while and spoken to him on a number of occasions at school functions. My wife said he was a former police officer and I remember being vaguely aware that he had been involved in catching that Michael Myshkin and then he’d had to retire after being shot during some kind of robbery in Wakefield. Anyway, couple of months back there was a spate of burglaries in the Didsbury area and I decided it was as good a time as any to tighten up the security at home. I called Bob Douglas and he came out and did a very thorough but reasonably priced job for us. During the course of this we got on very well and since then he’s done other bits of work for me.’
‘Like?’
Still nodding, Richard Dawson says: ‘Security at the office, insurance estimates.’
‘Do you pay him a wage, Mr Dawson?’
‘A retainer, plus a fee for specific work.’
‘When did you last see or speak to him?’
To be honest, I can’t remember when I last saw him without looking at my diary. I have spoken to him though. Last Friday night he called to tell me he’d heard I was under investigation,’ he says, waving a hand at the assembled company.