Further enquiries have shown that no-one at the company has Celebrato on their customer contact list, which is very odd for a business that thrives on repeat business.
Finally, according to the book-keeper, no payment has ever been received by Exotic Cars for the Celebrato hire. The lady we spoke to appeared very professional and she also noted that the invoice did not appear on the VAT records, whatever they are. My contact at CJIS tells me that VAT comes with an onerous tax recording system that is strictly enforced. Conclusions?”
The gathering considered the new information, and slowly the frigid stares passing between the two policemen began to thaw.
“Someone hacked into the database and altered it. They created a fake invoice electronically, which never existed in reality, and then they directed the investigator to enquire about the non-existent hire,” DCI Coombes responded, clear admiration in his voice.
“Then the manager, confused by the conflict between his own imperfect recollection and a convincing paper trail that showed a hire had taken place, he subconsciously chose to accept the fake paper trail. Clever bastards!” DS Scott swore.
Steve Post looked at Dee.
“Dee and I both had the same thought and so a colleague of mine, who must remain anonymous, tried hacking into the databases of both Celebrato and Exotic Cars. He was able to obtain administrator’s access in less than a minute. Administrators can edit or alter records.
Dee, gentlemen, we have destroyed their rebuttal evidence but at the same time we have clouded the issue. In their favour, they have made a valid argument that undermines our key piece of evidence. A court is likely to accept, at least in principle, that one way or another the contact lens could have been in the hire car when Vastrick hired it. Unless you have anything else to offer, there is no prospect at all that the US Courts will grant an extradition warrant. The case is way too fragile at present, and that is before she wheels out the big guns who owe her father a favour or two.”
***
The interview reconvened, and DCI Coombes outlined their findings and suggested that the manager at Exotic Cars vacillated to such a degree that Davis’ reliance on his depositions was unwise.
“Bravo, DCI Coombes,” Pat Monaghan enthused, “you have confirmed exactly what we have been saying. No-one can have any confidence that the contact lens was dropped on the day of the murder. Now, I am quite certain that if we check carefully enough we will find that Ms Davis has an alibi for the time of the crime. After all, she is a busy woman, running a multimillion dollar business. My guess is that when we check her records back in London, those will also give rise to some argument.”
“You mean you’ll construct an alibi, whatever it takes,” Coombes snapped.
“DCI Coombes, we are here voluntarily. We were hoping to keep everything amicable, but you are becoming antagonistic. Please let me calm matters down a little.
Off the record, I believe we all know that you have no case against my client. An extradition warrant based on your alleged evidence will not even reach the court. It will be sent back for ‘want of cause’. The purpose of this meeting has been to confirm this reality to you and the persons sitting behind the glass.
Now, I am in the happy position of being able to assist you in the resolution of this terrible crime. I can confirm that my client knows who did kill the Hokobus.”
If Steve Post hadn’t given up swearing along with alcohol and coffee when he found religion, this would have been an occasion when he would have let rip a stream of profanity. Instead, his words were measured.
“Here we go. The SODDIT defence.”
“Sorry?” Pete asked, puzzled.
“Some Other Dude Did it,” Steve answered without humour.
***
“I am reliably informed that you will be receiving an encrypted email from the UK, specifically from the Home Office, which will contain a redacted version of a statement my client has made and which has been accepted by your superiors,” Monaghan stated. “Her statement will clearly say that another person committed the murders and that your own security services are aware of the killer’s past murderous history. Fortunately for us all, and perhaps by way of justice for the murdered couple, the murderer is himself dead and conclusive evidence of his demise has kindly been furnished by my cooperative client.
When you see the statement, you will see that my client is not attempting to hide her shameful involvement. On the contrary, she is shoring up your rather woeful case. No, my client is placing herself in the hands of the US authorities, who will consider the degree of her culpability, and she trusts that they and their UK counterparts will give her credit for her honesty and cooperation.”
When the lawyer stopped talking, DCI Coombs was almost speechless, but he soon found his voice.
“Why stop there? You lot can give her a medal, and on our side of the Atlantic we’ll see if we can rustle up an OBE. Hell’s teeth, your client is a hero.” He slammed his closed fist down on the metal table.
“Come on, Gillian, we’ve done all we can here,” the attorney said as he rose to leave, and on that note Gillian Davis and her counsel left the room and the building.
Chapter 60
MI5 HQ, Thames House, London. Thursday 7pm.
The conference room was already buzzing when the Director walked in. Dame Monica Stewart-Smith sat down and the room fell silent.
“Gentlemen, this has been the worst day for MI5 for a generation, and by God we have seen some bad ones before. So, I want to get this out of the way, and quickly.
Andy, has the redacted Affidavit gone back to the States?”
“Yes Ma’am, almost two hours ago. I blanked out anything that might remotely have caused concern,” the Security Services Director nodded before firing off another question.
“Good. Jeremy, are you lawyers happy with the situation? Are we squeaky clean?”
“Well, Ma’am, happy is not the word,” Jeremy replied. “The Commissioner, and the Metropolitan Police generally, are hopping mad that the Home Secretary has cut them off at the knees, but they won’t be pursuing the case any further. The murderer is dead, and we have shared the evidence with them.”
“She had no choice, Jeremy. This confounded Davis woman has taken on the establishment and has given us a sound whipping.” Dame Monica turned to a distinguished looking man of indeterminate years with a shiny bald head.
“Lawrence, she listed several funds that we have used to pay her in the past. Are they closed, and have the funds been secured?”
“Yes, Ma’am, but there was one account under the name of Britannic Investment Group, in the Isle of Man, that did not belong to us. Miss Davis appears to have inadvertently given us the account details, password and pass number for an account of her own. There was close to a million pounds in deposits in the account.”
“What did you do with it, Lawrie?” the lady asked, using Lawrence’s familiar name.
“We emptied it, Ma’am.” There was laughter all around.
“OK, everyone, let’s put this all behind us and move on; we have a country to keep safe.” Dame Monica intended the meeting to end there.
“And Barry Mitchinson, Ma’am, what should I do there?” the new Director of Special Operations asked.
“Oh, you can leave him to me,” his boss said with menace in her voice.
***
Barry Mitchinson was sitting in the apartment watching Countdown on Channel 4, thinking to himself, ‘So it’s all come down to this; watching daytime TV,” when the phone rang. It was Maureen Lassiter.