‘Maybe it’ll come back to you. Do you remember anyone else nearby, anyone who might have seen what happened?’
She shook her head.
When they reached the house that Pip shared, she said, ‘I’ll just get changed and come back with you.’
‘Not today, Pip. You have a long weekend. Take it easy.’
‘I’m not suspended, am I?’
‘Nobody’s suggested that,’ Kathy said. Not yet.
Brock was already at the Ealing police station when she arrived. He was reading through a file, a mug of coffee and a bacon sandwich at his elbow. ‘Ah, Kathy. Feel a bit better for a good night’s sleep?’
‘Great. How are we doing?’
‘We start interviewing at 8.30.’ He checked his watch.
‘I’ve got something on their military service.’ She showed him Nicole’s email.
‘Good.’ He read. ‘All part of a pattern, isn’t it?’
‘Any luck with the prints?’
‘Yes, he certainly handled those pills. But that’s all we have. We haven’t found any witnesses, and Pip can’t remember anything useful.’
‘Then there’s me.’
‘Yes, there’s you.’ He patted the report in front of him. ‘I’ve been reading your statement to the duty inspector last night.’
‘And?’
‘You won’t be taking part in the interviews this morning.’
‘But I think-’
He shook his head. ‘Bren’s coming in. He’ll do it with a sergeant from this station.’
There was a rap on the door and a uniformed inspector stepped in. She introduced herself and shook hands, then said, ‘We are honoured this morning.’
For a moment Kathy thought she was making a sarcastic remark about them, but the woman added, ‘Julian Fenwick has arrived.’
Julian Fenwick was well known as a high-profile criminal defence lawyer, often seen on TV news bites at the shoulders of notorious crooks, whose guilt and simultaneous release seemed to be guaranteed by his presence.
‘He’s representing Rafferty?’
‘Both of them, apparently. He’s with them now.’
‘How did they manage that, I wonder?’
After briefing Bren, Brock took his place beside Kathy to watch the interviews on closed-circuit TV.
They took Rafferty first, slumped beside his lawyer opposite the two detectives. Bren opened the interview, inviting Rafferty to describe the events of the previous evening. Rafferty replied in a careless monotone. He and his friend had been having a quiet drink together when a young, attractive woman approached them, acting flirtatiously, and wondering if they could get her a drink through the scrum of people at the bar. Soon she had begun to act in a way that suggested she was drunk. When her behaviour became more erratic they agreed to her request to give her a lift home. She collapsed as they got to their van, at which point another woman appeared, claiming she was a police officer, and attacking Rafferty’s friend.
Bren and the other detective picked away at the details of this account without making much headway, until Bren suddenly produced the plastic packet of Klonopin pills. Without telling Rafferty that his prints had been found on it, he invited him to agree that he’d been seen trying to dispose of it at the scene in the lane.
Rafferty stared at the packet, then at his lawyer, then at Bren. ‘Can I have a closer look?’ he asked, and Kathy was aware of Brock at her side stirring and murmuring, ‘Oh dear.’
Bren passed over the packet inside its transparent plastic evidence pouch.
‘Yes, you’re right. I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Do you know what the pills are?’ Bren asked.
Unruffled, Rafferty said, ‘E? I’m just guessing.’
‘You think those are ecstasy tablets?’
‘That’s what I assumed.’
‘Where did you obtain them?’
‘She gave them to me, the girl, in the pub.’
‘But her fingerprints aren’t on the packet. Yours are.’
‘Well it’s true. When she started acting pissed she pressed them into my hand and asked me to look after them for her.’
Bren made him repeat this several times.
‘So when the other woman said she was a copper, I remembered them and threw them away.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Brock grumbled.
When it came to his turn, Crouch had less to say. He had witnessed the girl approaching Rafferty, and had given his friend a hand, just trying to help, but he hadn’t seen any pills. He was the one who had bought her drink, and he could guarantee it hadn’t been tampered with when he put it in her hand.
When Bren finally brought the second interview to an end, Julian Fenwick, who had said almost nothing up to this point, spoke. ‘Now that we’re off the record, Inspector, I wonder if I might have a quiet word with you? Just the two of us.’ He didn’t quite wink up at the camera, but Kathy sensed that he might have.
‘What can I do for you?’ Bren said as they sat down again at the table.
‘There are some disturbing features about this case that I feel I should bring to your attention, DI Gurney, in the interests of avoiding wasting police time and resources.’
‘Go on.’
‘The arresting officer was DI Kathy Kolla, yes? She isn’t with you today?’
‘What of it?’
‘Are you aware that she engineered that absurd little cameo in the Three Bells?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She sent DC Gallagher in to approach my clients, while she waited outside in her car; she then appeared miraculously in the lane at the critical moment. Obviously she arranged the whole thing. It is the most blatant attempt at entrapment I’ve ever encountered.’
‘If you have any criticism…’
Fenwick raised his hands. ‘This is completely off the record, yes? For the moment, at any rate. Do you also know that she met Mr Rafferty two days ago, at his home, in the course of investigating the tragic death of his stepdaughter, Marion Summers-who was poisoned, so I understand, possibly by someone interfering with her drink?’
‘Yes?’
‘It is a cliche, is it not, that murders are committed by close relatives of the deceased? Close family are the first suspects, yes? Stepfathers of beautiful young women most of all. Ergo, Mr Rafferty is guilty as sin. Sadly, though, there is no evidence to support this. Therefore an enthusiastic officer-an over- enthusiastic officer-might be tempted to create some.’
Bren started to say something angrily, but Fenwick waved his hand at him. ‘No, no, please, I’m making no accusations. At this stage. I’ve met DI Kolla. She has an interesting record. Impressive, but not really a team player-that was my impression. Bit of a chip on the shoulder? And newly made up to inspector, and no doubt anxious to justify…’
Bren was getting to his feet.
‘Please don’t take offence, Inspector Gurney,’ Fenwick said smoothly, rising also. ‘I’m trying to do us both a favour. I suspect the Crown Prosecution Service will be looking very hard at this one.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good morning to you.’
Bren ignored the hand, opened the door and stood aside.
‘What do you think, Kathy?’ Brock said.
‘I think he has a point,’ she said heavily.
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s right about the CPS. Come on.’ He got stiffly to his feet. ‘You’ve got a murder to solve.’ seven
K athy sat at her desk, furious with herself. Across the way, Pip’s empty chair was a vivid accusation. You screwed up, it said. You let Pip down. The worst of it was that Rafferty would now be so much harder to touch. How had he got Julian Fenwick to come out at the crack of dawn? It was just one of many mysteries. What did she really know about Marion Summers, after all?
She stared at the pile of paper on her desk, lacking the stomach to begin. On the top was a printout of calls to and from Marion’s mobile. Pip had been working on it, marking it with coloured marker pens and careful notes in girlish handwriting, like a school assignment. Yellow meant the university, it seemed-calls to the departmental office, to the university library, to her supervisor Dr da Silva. Green meant other work-related, Kathy guessed-the British Library, the Family Records Centre at Finsbury, the National Archives at Kew. Then there was blue for various services-a minicab service, a restaurant, a hair salon in NW3. Why there?