Blazing Obsession (19 page)

The following morning, a loud knocking on my front door around 7am made me start. I'd only just got up and made coffee whilst still wearing my boxers and T-shirt. I threw on my dressing gown and answered the door.

Two burly men were standing on the threshold. I immediately recognised one as DI Flood.

“Mr Hamilton. Remember me?”

“How could I forget? Yes, of course I do.”

“I've been transferred to the Met. I'm now a Detective Chief Inspector working for the Major Crime Team. This is Detective Sergeant Lyle.” They both flashed their warrant cards as a matter of course. “May we come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

RP's warning rang loudly in my ears.

I showed them into the sitting room. Drizzly rain patted against the windows. I waved an arm at two armchairs and offered them coffee. They both refused.

I recalled DCI Flood's gaunt and serious expression, exhibiting every inch the hard-bitten police officer. DS Lyle, younger, around thirtyish, wasn't in as good a shape as his boss, a slight paunch poking out of the top of his trousers as he sat down.

“Should I get dressed?”

The newly promoted Detective Chief Inspector replied in his usual brusque manner. A darkness shrouded him and he had an unerring knack of putting me on edge.

“That won't be necessary for now. We're investigating a possible link between two recent unexplained deaths in London with the arson attack on your family in August 1998. As you know, I was the SIO on that case. The powers-that-be decided I should follow up these developments. It's possible you may be able to help us with our enquiries.”

I wasn't overly excited that Flood was still on my case. But at last the police had made the connections we wanted.

“If I can be of any help, of course I'll give you any information I can.”

DCI Flood glanced down at his notebook and flicked back a few pages before saying, “Good. I suspect it's a bit painful, but can you tell me everything you know about the arson attack on your cottage in Lymington?”

Trying not to sound too defensive, I fought back the temptation to react strongly.

“I've been through all this with you before. As I recall, you implied then that, somehow, I might have been involved. You've never confirmed otherwise, incidentally.”

“Just answer my questions, Mr Hamilton. It's all new to DS Lyle.” He stared at me, forcing me to blink first, clearly laying down a challenge.

Trying to recall precisely what I'd said previously proved difficult. At the time, I couldn't function properly in the midst of disbelief, then grief and anger.

“And explain to us again why, for the first time ever, you didn't accompany your family down to the cottage on that Thursday evening?”

“How many times have you asked me that? Check the notes you made at the time.”

“Oh, I have. I want to hear your reason again. Maybe it's changed?”

I told him about the important business meeting, which, as I repeated it, now sounded like a lame excuse.

When I finished, Flood said, “When did you realise your wife was having an affair at the same time you were seeing her?”

The question took me completely by surprise. How the hell did he know about that? I assumed the police had found something when they searched Hartley's flat. Or maybe Hartley had confided in someone else other than Greenland.

“What? I don't know what you're talking about. I've never heard anything so crazy! We were very happy. Ask anyone.”

I didn't even convince myself. The back of my neck grew sticky with sweat.

Whilst DS Lyle scribbled something in his notebook, Flood pressed on.

Inspecting his notes again, he said, “How did you feel about Leroy Johnson's acquittal on a technicality despite the overwhelming DNA evidence against him?” He'd touched a raw nerve, no doubt intentionally. I found it impossible not to rise to the bait.

I yelled, “You know damn well how I felt. You were in the court when that dumb apology for a judge let him go. You'll recall that, apparently, Johnson's human rights trumped mine.”

“That was unfortunate, yes.”

“
Unfortunate?
Is that the best you can do? How the bloody hell would
you
feel? You've not been in that position. Nor, I suspect, has he!” I nodded aggressively in the direction of DS Lyle. “I wish to God I'd never been in that position either, but through no fault of mine, I was.”

As soon as I'd said it, I recollected Flood's wife being the victim of a fatal revenge hit and run a few years previously by a criminal gang. She'd died after spending months in a coma. They'd never found the perpetrators.

Flood's face showed not a shred of emotion as he replied, “It's not
our
feelings we're concerned about. I can see you're still incensed. I need to know where that anger would lead you.”

I recognised his now familiar interviewing techniques: asking intensely provocative questions designed to goad me into an emotional response and then changing the subject back and forth frequently.

I spat out the words, “That's the whole point. It hasn't led me
anywhere
. I'm just trying to get on with my life.”

“Did you know that Leroy Johnson was found, murdered, in the River Thames a few days ago?”

“Yes, I do read the papers, you know.”

“Can you tell me where you were between the hours of 10pm and 2am on Thursday 9th of October?”

“You're not
seriously
suggesting I had anything to do with that, are you?”

“Just tell me where you were.”

I gave him the alibi I'd rehearsed with Alisha. The DS carefully made a note.

Flood continued, “You may also have read recently that another person, Colin Greenland, was discovered in Victoria Park stabbed to death. He appears to have had connections with Johnson and your wife's lover, a certain John Hartley. Do you know Colin Greenland?”

“I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about. And no, I don't know a… whatever his name is… Greenland. And how dare you insinuate that my wife had an affair. I suggest that unless you have hard evidence, you shut up!”

For a fraction of a second, I'd caught him off-guard.

Eventually, he said, “I think you should calm down, Mr Hamilton. I'm simply attempting to put all the pieces together here.” Scanning his notebook once more, he said, “Ah, yes. There's another link between you and John Hartley, isn't there? He used to work for you. Is that correct?”

“Yes, he did. He left my business years ago. I've not seen him since.”

“Well, the way I see it, there appears to be a definite link between Johnson, Greenland, you and Hartley. Someone's murdered Johnson and Greenland. The only way to get to the bottom of this is to talk to you and John Hartley. Unfortunately, he's gone missing. Are we likely to find him murdered too?”

“What am I supposed to say to that? That's an outrageous thing to say. I'm not even going to answer you.”

Flood sat back in the sofa. Closing his notebook, he said, “OK. Let me tell you where we are. It appears to me that you undoubtedly have strong motives to cause harm to Johnson, Greenland…
and Hartley
.”

“Don't be ridiculous!”

“I don't think I'm being ridiculous. Your motives are especially strong in wanting to harm Leroy Johnson. I'd like you to get dressed and come down to the police station. We'll need to check out your alibis and pursue other lines of enquiry with you under caution.”

“This is crazy!”

“I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Leroy Johnson. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

As he finished the caution, Alisha walked into the room.

Glancing at the detectives, she said, “What's going on, James? I heard voices and – ”

“Do you believe this? They're arresting me on suspicion of murder! They want me to go down to the station for further interrogation.”

“What? That's ludicrous!”

“I know, I know.”

Flood frowned and stared at Alisha trying to work out our precise relationship. I'd just given her name as my alibi.

Before he could say anything, I said, “Alisha's a good friend of mine. She was a
very
good friend of my wife's too.”

*

DS Lyle drove through the early morning rush hour traffic with the windscreen wipers clearing the spitting rain. Flood occupied the passenger seat and I sat in the rear. I broke the silence and spoke to the back of Flood's head. “Can I phone someone?”

He half-turned to me and said, “You have the right to make one phone call and to have a solicitor present at the interview. You can make the call once we get to the station.”

The rest of the journey continued in silence.

I mentally went through the plan we'd hatched with RP. Most of it had worked, but Greenland's murder, Alisha's abduction and Hartley's disappearance were things we couldn't possibly have foreseen.

And I hadn't anticipated my arrest on suspicion of murder. Our plan had turned into a nightmare.

When we got to Southwark Police Station, the custody officer, a bulky veteran with greying hair and a square jaw, took over. He was ideally suited to the role of banging up offenders, positively enjoying the process.

DS Lyle gave him details of my arrest. Then a PC searched me, took my mobile phone, and placed it in a brown envelope. I signed a receipt thrust in front of me.

The custody officer said he needed to take a DNA swab, my fingerprints, a blood sample and a photo.

“Why the hell do you want all that? This is ridiculous.”

He sighed and said, “We can do this with or without your help. It's the law.”

I had no choice. “When I'm released without charge, make sure my DNA samples are destroyed.
It's the law
.”

He grunted and muttered, “Smart arse,” under his breath.

The constable said, “You have the right to consult a solicitor and to make one phone call to let someone know your whereabouts.”

I called RP. Alisha had already contacted him after I'd been taken away. He'd expected my call.

“Well I did warn you about the possibility. Be keen to know what evidence they have, though. Could be the search of Hartley's flat revealed something other than the obvious.”

Not the most helpful thing to say, I thought.

“Roger, look, how long can they keep me here?”

“Twenty-four hours. A police superintendant can authorise a further twelve, based on the evidence. They'll have to go to court to get an extension. After that, they'll have to charge you or release you. You need to sit tight for the next day and a half. You'll be fine.”

I mentioned Flood's view on my motive for wanting Johnson murdered.

“Christ, if they banged up everyone who had a motive we'd have to build thirty more prisons!”

He calmed down and said, “I'll get my lawyer, Simon Brotherton, down to you right away. He's bloody brilliant. Expensive, but the best in the business.”

When I'd finished, another uniformed constable led me down the corridor to a stark interview room with utilitarian grey-green painted walls. The only furniture was a wooden table with an audiocassette recorder on top of it and two chairs either side. Neon strip lighting reflected off every surface. A whiff of stale air caught in my throat.

The PC returned and I told him my solicitor would arrive shortly. He said, “When he arrives, we'll explain the circumstances of your arrest and then you'll be allowed time to brief him. After that, the detectives will want to get started.” He slammed the door shut.

Mulling over the day's events, I sensed someone observing me. Probably my paranoia kicking in again.

About an hour and a half later, the door opened again and Simon Brotherton entered. Aged sixtyish with balding grey hair and a large girth, he wore a pinstriped suit and stylish glasses shielding bright, darting eyes. He handed me his card and took out a large notebook from his black leather attaché case.

He said in a refined, measured tone, “I've spoken to RP and he's filled me in on the background to you ending up here. He's told me
everything
.” He stared at me for a moment. There could be no mistaking what he meant.

“OK, let's go over the details from
your
point of view.”

We spent half-an-hour together, with Simon asking question after question. He made copious notes, which he added to those he'd already made during his chat with RP.

When Simon was satisfied with my answers, he poked his head outside the room and said something to the PC standing outside. A few minutes later DCI Flood and DS Lyle entered the room and sat opposite us.

The detective sergeant unwrapped a pack of tapes. He loaded two of them into the cassette recorder. He switched it on and recorded our names, the date and time. Flood faced me and said, “I would remind you that you are being interviewed under caution.”

The interrogation begun with detailed questioning of my knowledge of Hartley. I repeated that he'd once worked for me. Flood mentioned the embezzlement but didn't say how they'd discovered it. We'd never made it public knowledge.

Flood said, “It's a lot of money he got away with. Why didn't you pursue a criminal case against him?”

“I thought that trying to trace Hartley, getting the evidence and going to court would be exhausting and frustrating. I considered my time would be better spent developing the business. So did my other shareholder, who is also my business partner.”

“You weren't tempted to take retribution then? Especially if you discovered his affair with your future wife?”