He smiled at Fry as he sat down, trying to establish a friendly relationship perhaps, the way salesmen did. She was determined it wasn’t going to work.
‘DS Fry,’ he said, ‘you’re aware that you’re entitled to be accompanied at these interviews by a representative of your staff association or a colleague to act as your “friend”?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘And you’ve decided not to take up that opportunity today.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘So is it all right with you if we make a start, then?’
‘I can’t wait.’
His smile was slightly crooked, she noticed, the left side of his mouth barely moving as if he might have suffered a mild stroke at some time. It undermined his demeanour, made his affability look like a disguise, a persona adopted by an actor. But then, all good interviewers were actors in one way or another.
‘I take it you’re familiar with the College of Policing’s Code of Ethics, dated July 2014,’ said Jackson. ‘I have a spare copy here for you, if you’re not.’
He tossed a booklet down on the table between them. The natural instinct would be to pick it up, or at least to pull it towards her side of the table. But Fry resisted the impulse. She didn’t touch it, or even look at it, deliberately ignoring his gesture.
Jackson met her stare with that slightly crooked smile.
‘The Code of Ethics sets out the Principles and Standards of Professional Behaviour for the Policing Profession of England and Wales,’ he said.
‘I’m familiar with it, of course.’
‘Excellent. Well, might I draw your attention first of all to Section Three — the ten Standards of Professional Behaviour.’
‘Do you want to know what they are?’ said Fry. She began to count on her fingers. ‘Number one, “Honesty and Integrity”. Number two, “Authority, Respect and Courtesy”. Number three, “Equality and Diversity”. Number four—’
He held up a hand. ‘We’ll get to number four in due course,’ he said. ‘But let’s take things a little more slowly. We have other matters to deal with first.’
Fry clenched her jaw to control her expression as a surge of unease ran up her spine. Number four in the Standards of Professional Behaviour was ‘Use of Force’. He was deliberately making her think back over all the possible incidents in her career that might fall under that heading.
Jackson was watching her carefully. ‘For your reference, DS Fry, we’ll be dealing with issues under standards one, two, four, seven and nine.’
‘Very well.’
She’d been thinking so hard about number four that now she couldn’t remember what seven and nine were. The copy of the Code of Ethics still lay on the table between them. But having ignored it when he tossed it there, she couldn’t pick it up now to check.
‘Remind us of number one again,’ he said.
‘“Honesty and Integrity,”’ she repeated. ‘And you shouldn’t need reminding.’
‘Indeed.’ Jackson looked down at his notes. ‘The code offers several examples under this section for assessing your honesty and integrity. Shall we just run through a few, with regard to your personal choices?’
‘If you like.’
‘Would you agree with these statements, then, DS Fry? Please answer as directly as you can. Do you ensure your decisions are not influenced by improper considerations of personal gain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you knowingly made false, misleading or inaccurate statements in any professional context?’
‘No.’
‘Have you either solicited or accepted the offer of any gift, gratuity or hospitality that could compromise your impartiality?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And finally, have you ever used your position to inappropriately coerce any person or to settle personal grievances?’
Fry opened her mouth but found she couldn’t answer. Jackson didn’t look at her but kept his eyes directed down at his notes, as if he was simply waiting for a cue to read the next question. He waited what felt like an uncomfortably long time before he glanced up. He twitched an eyebrow and made a mark with his pen.
‘Would you like some water, DS Fry?’ he said. ‘I have a feeling we might be in for quite a long session.’
Ben Cooper called his DS in Edendale and agreed that Sharma could cope without both Luke Irvine and Gavin Murfin for a while.
When Murfin came on the phone, Cooper allocated him and Irvine interviews with the Gould brothers and the Warburtons, as well as the students Millie Taylor and Karina Scott.
‘Take their statements, show them a map and try to get them to pinpoint their exact positions. Oh, and ask them for any photos they took on their phones while they were on Kinder,’ he said. ‘Everybody does that. Gavin, I want you to go first to take statements from the victim’s family. Her mother and her brother, Jonathan.’
‘No problem.’
‘Oh, and Gavin?’
‘Yes?’
‘See what you can find out about an individual called Robert Farnley and his connection to Jonathan Matthew.’
‘Right you are.’
Gavin Murfin put his jacket on, straightened his tie, then loosened it again. He was a civilian — he didn’t even have to wear a tie if he didn’t want to.
He looked around for Dev Sharma. Murfin had worked under scores of different supervisors during his thirty years with Derbyshire Constabulary. When he was a young probationer, the older bobbies taught him a lot about the real world out there on the streets. As a PC, his shift sergeants had ranged from tough disciplinarians to insecure drunks who could barely hold down the job. One or two had managed to be both at the same time.
His CID career had been no different. Murfin had stayed a detective constable right up until the moment he could claim his full pension. Ben Cooper had been his DS for a while, and so had Diane Fry. He didn’t really mind either of them. At least he knew where he stood, even if it was far down the scale of estimation in Fry’s case. But with Dev Sharma, he just wasn’t sure.
It was a feeling Murfin wasn’t familiar with. He’d always prided himself on being able to sum people up pretty quickly, whether they were colleagues or suspects or members of the public. He’d have their number, get them pegged accurately before they’d even noticed him hanging around in the background. It was his talent, a skill he’d learned from his decades on the force. Yet DS Sharma evaded his assessment.
Murfin patted his jacket pockets and made sure he had supplies for the trip. If he was going to Manchester, he needed something to comfort him.
Dev Sharma nodded briskly when Murfin told him where he would be.
‘Don’t hang around,’ said Sharma. ‘There’s a lot of work for you to do here.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve got a little list.’
Sharma frowned. ‘We’re really busy, Gavin.’
Murfin sighed. He couldn’t fault the way Sharma did the job. He was always efficient and fair, helped him when he needed guidance, praised him if he did something well. But it was the man behind the façade that Murfin couldn’t reach. He had no idea what sort of person Sharma was on the inside. All he knew was that this DS was someone you wouldn’t go down the pub for a drink with, wouldn’t dare to try a risqué joke on. Murfin’s wrists still stung from the number of times they’d been slapped for being politically incorrect. He was feeling uneasy and unsettled, and he didn’t like it.
Ben Cooper was someone he could talk to. But Ben was a DI now, shut away in his own separate office like a proper boss. You had to knock on the door to speak to him these days. There might be others in the CID room who felt the same way, though.
Murfin looked around and caught Carol Villiers’s eye. Instinctively, he smiled and winked. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a puzzled glare. Murfin switched off the smile immediately. Was he being inappropriate? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t really know what the word meant, but he’d heard it used a lot recently.