SIXTEEN
The silence that followed Fiona’s conclusion had the quality of empty air after the shock wave of a bomb blast. Even though Kit had guessed where she was heading right at the start of her exposition, the certainly of her judgement chilled him into stillness. Steve closed his eyes and dropped his head on to one hand, massaging the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “That’s a bit of a leap,” he said softly.
“It makes sense of all the information in a way nothing else does,” she said, reaching for the bottle and refilling her glass, as if girding her loins for a challenge to her reasoning.
Steve raised his head and met her eyes. He wanted to believe her, not least because it might give him fresh avenues to explore. But he was aware that his own feelings for her had always made him willing to give her the benefit of any doubt. He’d stuck his neck out to defend her reports to his bosses, and it had paid off in the past. This time, though, his very future hung on what he did with the Susan Blanchard case. If he screwed it up even more than it already had been his career was effectively over. No one would criticize him if he let the case slide into the unsolved regions; the public assumption would remain that they’d got the right man but had wrecked the case against him. But if he took a chance and pursued the possibilities thrown up by Fiona’s theorizing, he’d better be damn sure he got it right. He cleared his throat. “Or maybe Blake is entirely innocent,” he said.
Fiona shook her head. “Too many coincidences.” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “We know he was on the Heath that day. We know he fantasizes about being a voyeur. And we know he knew things about the murder victim that were never in the public domain. It’s stretching credibility too far to suggest that the one man who happened to be on the Heath that morning was also the one man who happened to be told in a pub by an unidentifiable stranger precisely how Susan’s body was arranged. All the reasons why Blake was a suspect in the first place have another interpretation, and only one interpretation that he saw what happened.”
“If you’re right and it sounds reasonable to me the irony is that Francis Blake could genuinely have helped the police with their inquiries,” Kit said. “He knows more about this killer than anyone.”
“If you’d treated him as a witness instead of a prime suspect the very first time you interviewed him, the day after the murder, it’s possible that things might have turned out very differently. But…” Fiona shrugged. “Probably not.”
Steve sighed. “One way or another, we blew it. I have to say, I think you might be right. I’m not totally convinced, but I’m going to have to take it into account.”
Fiona gave him a long, considering stare. She was used to Steve grasping her ideas more firmly than this. His very caution made her realize how much pressure he was under in this case. She hadn’t wanted to become involved, but now she was glad she had done what little she could to help. “I hope it’s useful,” she said, with more humility than she usually felt when she had offered her professional opinion.
“What I don’t understand,” Kit said, “is why Blake didn’t come out with the truth when he was interrogated after you finally arrested him. I mean, it’s the obvious get-out for him, isn’t it? “It wasn’t me, guy, but I saw the bloke who did it.””
“Not if you were supremely confident that the court would throw out the case against you. Not if you knew there could be no forensic evidence tying you to a crime you didn’t commit,” Fiona said. “He had a solicitor with him, didn’t he, Steve?”
“Right from the off. The first interview he did after the arrest was a ‘no comment’. Then when we laid out the evidence, his brief asked for an adjournment. When they came back, all Blake would say was that he’d been on the Heath that morning, he’d lost track of time and realized he was going to be late for work, and that’s why he was running when the witnesses saw him. As for what he wrote and said during the undercover operation, he was adamant that it was total fantasy, nothing more.”
“So when they had their little chat, the brief will have told him you’d never make it stand up in court,” Kit said, understanding dawning. “And that little shit sat there smug as a bug knowing that he knew more than you would ever know about what happened to Susan Blanchard, and that you’d never find out what that was. What a total scumbag.”
Fiona nodded. “He probably thought the whole thing would be thrown out in the magistrates’ court. Instead of which, he ended up spending eight months on remand. And by that stage, he had no way out. He couldn’t recant at that point and admit what he’d seen, because you would have been so furious that he’d jerked you around, you’d have charged him with being an accessory. He must have so much festering rage inside him for the police now.”
Kit leaned back in his chair. “Not a bit of it. Didn’t you see him on the TV? He’s revelling in it. He’s been having the time of his life. Not only does he have these powerful memories to relive any time he wants to. He also has the supreme satisfaction of knowing he’s left the police and the CPS looking like idiots.”
“More than that, he’s going to be paid for it,” Steve growled. “Massive compensation from the Home Office for wrongful imprisonment, not to mention what he’s screwed out of the newspapers.” He let out a deep breath. “Sometimes this job would make you fucking weep.” In the soft lighting of the dining room, the planes of his face seemed even starker than usual following the bitter confirmation Fiona had brought him.
There was a long pause. Suddenly no one felt much like eating. Kit reached for the bottle and topped up everyone’s glass. “So where can you go from here?” he asked Steve.
“Back to square one? Since it wasn’t Francis Blake, someone else was on the Heath that morning killing Susan Blanchard. We’ll have to go back and look at every single witness statement and reinterview them all.”
Kit gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, right. It’s not like Blake’s going to be coming across with what he saw.”
“There is one thing you might like to consider,” Fiona said slowly.
Steve looked up, his eyes alert. “And that is?”
“It’s possible that Blake has managed to identify the killer. He may have recognized him, he may subsequently have seen him. He may even have seen the killer make his getaway in a car and managed to get the number. I’d say that given his moment of triumph, it’s conceivable that Blake has become confident enough to try blackmailing the real murderer. I don’t know if you’ve got the resources for this, since the investigation is officially dead, but when he comes back from his jolly to Spain, I’d watch him very carefully. Tap his phone, open his mail, carry out very discreet surveillance, monitor his bank account. It’s a slim chance, but Blake might just lead you straight to your man.”
Steve shook his head dubiously. “It’s reaching a bit, Besides, I’ll never get a warrant for a phone tap on the basis of this. The best I can manage is probably a loose surveillance.”
“It’s better than nothing. What else have you got?” Kit demanded. “Sure, you can go back and talk to all your witnesses again, like you suggested. But how much more are you realistically going to get out of them now so much time has passed? Plus, anything they have to say is going to be tainted by the media blitz surrounding the arrest and the trial. They’re going to lean even heavier on the idea that Blake’s your man. It’s only human. Seems to me a slim chance is better than no chance at all. You want to redeem yourselves on Susan Blanchard’s murder, I’d say you’ve got no choice.”