‘Yes. Marchdale.’
‘Working out how to get there?’
‘Something like that. What can I do you for?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem. Something I need to pass by you, if you’ve got the time.’
They settled in the two old leather chairs that Brock had long ago installed each side of the fireplace, and Bren spelled it out.
‘If Kathy got it right about the clerk and the Verge office records, then Oakley was lying through his teeth, no two ways about it.’
‘Yes, I see. You say you spoke to Oakley alone? I suppose Kathy was caught up in her committee.’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that. I think she’s worried that Oakley might have got Leon involved in this somehow.’
‘In what, exactly?’
‘Hard to say. I’ll let her put you in the picture, chief, but I gather she and Leon aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment, and she’d rather be kept out of it.’
‘Hm. Even if Oakley was responsible for the original slip-up, and has covered it up, it’s still hardly a matter for us.’
‘Kathy feels there’s more to it. She thinks that the original forensic evidence against Clarke may have been deliberately hidden.’ He saw Brock’s eyebrow go up and added quickly, ‘It’s just a theory, but she thought it needed checking out.’
Brock got to his feet and went over to the window, and stared out at the damp morning. The top floors of the main Scotland Yard building were visible over the rooftops against the sky, and he visualised Commander Sharpe at one of those windows staring back down at him.
‘I’ll have a word with the director at the lab, Bren,’ he said finally. ‘Then we’ll decide what to do.’
When the committee reconvened early that afternoon, after a shared lunch of sandwiches and orange juice provided by Robert’s assiduous staff, Kathy was handed a note requesting that she report to DCI Brock as soon as she was free. She managed to bring the session to a close within an hour, and hurried back to Queen Anne’s Gate, where she found Bren waiting with Brock in his office.
‘Didn’t think you’d get away so soon, Kathy,’ Brock said. ‘Come in, sit down. We’ve been talking about the Oakley business you asked Bren to follow up. He’s had an informal interview with Oakley, and I’ve spoken to the director at the lab, and both seem to raise more questions than they answer. I understand you don’t want to be involved in this for personal reasons, which is understand able, but I’d like to hear your comments all the same.’
Kathy, still a little out of breath, nodded. ‘Yes, fine.’
‘This is a copy of the statement that Debbie Langley signed when she was visited at home, ten days ago.’
He handed Kathy a single faxed sheet. The text stated that Debbie Langley freely admitted that it was possible, under the pressure of the workload during May of that year, that she was responsible for the error in transcription which had led to a piece of forensic evidence in the Verge investigation being overlooked. It was signed and dated by her, and as Kathy scanned past her signature to the familiar scrawl underneath, her heart gave a jolt. The statement had been witnessed by DS Leon Desai.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said softly. ‘I even asked Debbie if it might have been an Indian who came to speak to her, and she said no. She knew Oakley quite well from her days at the lab, she said. She was adamant that it was Oakley.’
‘But he could hardly be the one to witness her statement,’ Bren said. ‘He doesn’t work at the lab any more, and he was under suspicion himself. The question is, what’s Leon playing at?’
‘Well,’ Brock said, ‘we can check that easily enough. But then there’s Oakley’s conversation with Bren this morning. He denied knowing Debbie, and also said he’d never met Sandy Clarke.’
‘Clarke’s secretary was quite clear. Brock, I’m not imagining this …’
Brock raised a placatory hand. ‘Of course not. Bren spoke to her again, and we have a signed statement and a hard copy of their record of visitors that day. He was definitely there. So, what’s going on? Bren says you have a theory that Oakley may have deliberately hidden the evidence against Clarke.’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
‘In order to blackmail Clarke?’
Kathy said nothing, hearing the scepticism in Brock’s voice.
‘Well, how do we find out? He’s hardly going to admit it. Blackmail, perverting the course of justice on a major inquiry-he’d be looking at what, ten, fifteen?’
His question hung unanswered, until Kathy finally said, ‘That’s what bothers me. If he did do that, and then the evidence finally came out, and Clarke realised that he’d paid Oakley off for nothing, what would Clarke do?’
‘Speak to Oakley?’ Bren said. ‘Threaten to report him?’
‘It’s the timing again,’ Kathy said. ‘Clarke died so soon after you confronted him with the DNA evidence, before you really had time to question him in depth. And there’s the tidiness of the scene of Clarke’s suicide, the neat fingerprints in all the right places. You’d expect an LO to at least get that right.’
Bren looked troubled. ‘I think we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. Oakley wouldn’t have known enough to write Clarke’s confession, would he?’ He turned to appeal to Brock, who seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.
‘He might if he’d had help,’ Brock murmured eventually. ‘If he’d seen the record of Clarke’s interview with us, and spoken to someone who’d read the file. You’re worried that Leon might be involved somehow, I take it, Kathy?’
‘I think… I think he might want to help a former colleague, another LO. Innocently, I mean. I think Oakley could have used him, like with endorsing Debbie’s statement.’
‘Interesting.’ Brock roused himself, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve got another meeting now, and we’ve asked Mr Oakley to come in to speak to Bren and myself at four. I’d like you to watch it on the closed circuit, Kathy. Let’s talk again after that.’
As she and Bren made for the door, Brock called Kathy back. ‘Bren mentioned that you and Leon are going through a bad patch, Kathy. I’m sorry. You okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘A temporary hiccup, I hope?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Doesn’t look like it. But it has nothing to do with this. I don’t want to see him compromised by someone like Oakley, that’s all.’
Was that all? She found it hard to concentrate on anything in the hour before she went to the small monitoring room next to the interview room to await Oakley’s arrival.
He was clearly very pleased to be asked back so soon. He shook hands vigorously with Brock, who thanked him for coming in.
‘Very glad to, Chief Inspector. This is a follow-up to my meeting with DS Gurney, I take it?’
‘In a way.’
‘Excellent. As the lads at Quantico like to say, “Let’s go drill some data”.’
Kathy saw a scornful look cross Bren’s face, and almost felt sorry for Oakley as he gushed on. But there was something deeply egotistical beneath the enthusiasm, she thought, something a little too clearly self-serving.
‘Before we go any further, Mr Oakley,’ Brock was saying, ‘I want to make it clear that this is an official interview in connection with our investigations into the murder of Ms Miki Norinaga on the twelfth or thirteenth of May last. Just so there’s no confusion, I shall caution you in the usual way, and emphasise that you’re not obliged to answer our questions, though we will value your assistance.’
Oakley looked astonished, but recovered enough to give a puzzled smile and offer his full cooperation.
‘Good. We’re interested in a meeting you had with Sandy Clarke at the offices of the Verge Practice on the morning of May twenty-third, a couple of days after you took over as LO on the Verge inquiry.’
‘Sandy Clarke?’ The lines of perplexity on Oakley’s face deepened, and he suddenly wrapped his arms around himself, clapping one hand over his mouth in an attitude of deep thought, which looked to Kathy more as if he were imitating the monkey that wasn’t supposed to speak any evil. ‘Sandy Clarke… Are you sure?’