Daisy in Chains (13 page)

‘You saw her last night?’ Sunday is following close behind.

Pete lets him catch up. ‘Are we sure? How does Latimer know?’

‘Contact at Parkhurst. Lets him know everyone who visits Wolfe. So, you saw her last night?’

‘We had dinner. Followed by a walk around the Bishop’s Palace in the moonlight. Her suggestion.’ He looks down at Sunday’s expectant face. ‘She drove herself home at eleven.’

‘Goodnight kiss?’

‘What are we, twelve-year-old girls?’

Like he’d dare try to kiss Maggie Rose. If she didn’t slap him, his lips would freeze on her face. There had been something there, last night, though, he was sure of it. Not a melting, exactly. More like, a softening. The way snow loses some of its crispness when the sun shines on it.

Latimer is at his desk. When Pete opens the door without knocking he looks up, frowning. ‘Pete. Come in. Shut the door.’

Pete gives Sunday a tight-lipped smile of apology and slips inside the boss’s office.

Latimer sniffs. ‘You been smoking?’

‘You sound like Annabelle.’

Latimer sighs. ‘Save it, Pete, I’m not in the mood right now. Have you read this?’

Pete pulls out a chair and sits down, picking up the press cutting Latimer has just pushed in his direction. He sees the headline,
Love’s Labours Losing?

‘Yep,’ he says, shoving it back across the desk.

‘Maggie Rose doesn’t care about justice.’ Latimer stabs his forefinger down on a line of text. ‘Just in proving how fucking clever she is.’

‘I’m sure the
Independent on Sunday
didn’t say “fucking”.’

‘I want to know every single loophole in the Wolfe case,’ Latimer says.

‘Don’t you mean flaw? Shortcoming, perhaps? Chink, maybe?’

‘Don’t get clever, Pete, you’re on thin ice right now.’

‘There are no problems with the case against Wolfe. It’s solid.’

‘So why has Maggie Rose taken it on?’

‘Who says she has?’

‘She’s going to see him. Why else would she do that? She’s been spending time with his mother, with that pack of mad bastards who call themselves the Wool Pack or something. Why would she do that, if she wasn’t taking him on as a client?’

‘Maggie has told me repeatedly that she wants nothing to do with Wolfe. I spent the evening with her last night and she said nothing to make me think she’s changed her mind.’

Latimer’s expression changes, into that of a fox that has just caught the scent of a mouse. ‘You saw her last night?’

‘That’s right. Will that be all?’ He pushes himself up and notices the books piled on Latimer’s desk. Four of them, all written by Maggie. Latimer is watching him.

‘Have you read these, Pete?’

‘No. I get my fill of violent crime coming to this place every day.’

‘Maggie Rose has written seven books.’ Latimer reaches out and picks up the top of the pile. He looks at it curiously. ‘Two of her cases have had the guilty verdict overturned on appeal. Three more are pending review. If she wins those, that’ll make five out of seven.’

‘Thanks, I can do the maths.’

‘Five out of seven will make her fucking invincible.’

‘No offence, but how is that anything to do with us?’

‘Back to what I asked you at the outset. Where are the weaknesses? If I’m going to defend your work against the likes of Maggie Rose, I need to know what I’m up against. If I’m going to cover your fuck-ups, I have to know what they are.’

Would he just lose his job if he landed Latimer one right now, or face criminal charges? One would probably be worth it. The other . . .?

‘No fuck-ups,’ Pete says. ‘No weaknesses, chinks, flaws or loopholes. Wolfe did it. We have physical evidence, a technology trail and witness statements. Not to mention motive and opportunity.’

Latimer, too, gets to his feet. ‘Exactly. There’s only one way the physical evidence can be bogus, and that’s if it was planted.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, come on. You wouldn’t be the first. Noble cause corruption. We all know of coppers who’ve bent the evidence trail to convict someone they know to be guilty.’

Maybe a short spell in prison wouldn’t be too bad. He’d have a very nice memory to console him: that of Latimer, blood spurting from his broken nose, falling back against the partition wall and crumbling to the ground.

‘I think I’d like legal representation if this conversation is to continue.’

Latimer’s eyes narrow. ‘Got something to hide, Weston?’

‘Oh, use your fucking brain, Latimer. That’s if my wife hasn’t shagged it out of you.’

‘Hang on a—’

‘We found the dog hairs and the carpet fibres on Jessie
before
Hamish Wolfe was a suspect. No one had even mentioned him in connection with the case until he was spotted on the CCTV camera weeks later.’

‘His car was spotted. Not him.’

‘And at what point did I sneak into his house, guess the passwords for his computer and post on Jessie Tout’s Facebook page?’

Latimer is holding up both hands. ‘Keep your voice down, Pete. Half the department are poised to rush in here and stop you thumping me.’

Pete spins round to see several heads turn quickly away. ‘Trust me, they wouldn’t exactly rush.’

Latimer gives a quick, sharp exhale of breath. ‘Possibly not. But personal animosities aside, that’s the route Maggie Rose will go if she takes this case on. The evidence is strong. She can only discredit it by claiming it was planted. That someone framed Wolfe.’

‘Wolfe had no enemies that we found.’

‘From what I know of that woman, she’ll find one. And we know she’s already working on the case. She’s been phoning around, asking questions. And now this visiting order request.’

‘It’s what she does. She told me last night while we were walking round the Bishop’s Palace beneath the stars. Cases spark an interest and she learns more about them. She has umpteen books that never got more than a third of the way written. I’m sure the one she’s started on Wolfe, if she’s even started it, will end up the same way.’

‘I need to know if there’s anything you wouldn’t want to see held up to scrutiny.’

‘Nothing. And the killings stopped, remember? No women have been killed in even remotely similar circumstances since Wolfe was put away.’

‘Won’t be enough. She doesn’t have to find the real killer, she just has to throw enough doubt on your investigation for his conviction to be overturned. If she gets Wolfe out, she ruins you.’

Latimer is right. He’s a git, but he’s right.

‘Has it occurred to you that this personal interest she’s showing might be a ruse to get closer to the investigation?’

‘Yes, that has occurred to me.’

‘And?’

There is a knock on the door.

‘Sorry, sir, Sarge.’ Liz’s voice. ‘I thought you’d want to know there was a disturbance reported at Maggie Rose’s house last night.’

Pete watches Latimer think for a second or two, before nodding at Liz to go on.

‘She didn’t report it herself,’ Liz says. ‘It was a neighbour, by all accounts, who saw someone hanging round in the garden and called the police. Uniform attended, looked round a bit, spoke to Miss Rose and went away again.’

‘What do you think?’ Latimer says to Pete.

Still Pete doesn’t turn round to look at Liz. ‘I think I’d better go and find out what’s going on,’ he says.

They wait until the door closes behind Liz.

‘Will that be all?’

Latimer, distracted, nods briefly. Pete turns to leave.

‘Pete.’ Latimer calls him back just as he is about to step out. ‘Something I’ve been meaning to mention. Have you considered taking your inspector’s exam?’

‘Not sure I’ve done the time.’

‘If you were successful, I’d be happy to recommend you for promotion. As long as Wolfe stays safely inside, I can’t see any reason why it couldn’t happen.’

And a promotion to Detective Inspector will almost inevitably mean a transfer away from Portishead station. He and Latimer will no longer have to see each other every day. It has to be worth thinking about.

It can also be seen as a veiled threat. If anything goes wrong with the case that made him, promotion might be beyond his reach for ever.

PSYCHIATRIC REPORT INTO HAMISH WOLFE

PREPARED BY SONIA OKONJO

NB: As is my normal practice, I recorded my interview with Hamish Wolfe and, subsequently, arranged for the tape to be transcribed. The reader can therefore be confident that where I quote snippets of conversation, they accurately reflect the exchange that took place between us.

I was briefed about the case against Hamish Wolfe in March 2014 and the interview took place nearly five weeks later. By the time I met Hamish Wolfe, I’d had the opportunity to read the formal charge documents, the witness statements, the interview transcripts, the accused’s statement, his school, university and medical reports, the summary of the investigation prepared by Detective Constable Weston and the post-mortem reports, and view the crime scene photographs. I was as well prepared as it is possible to be.

Upon being shown into the interview room where Hamish Wolfe was waiting, alone, I introduced myself and explained that I’d been appointed by the Crown Court to carry out an interview with him. The purpose, I went on to say, was to enable me to form a view of the state of his mental health, both at the present time and at the time of the alleged offences, and to prepare a report for the Court. In particular,
I would be considering whether or not, in my view, he was fit to stand trial.

I then went on to say that I would use his preferred mode of address, whether it be his Christian name, Hamish, the more formal Mr Wolfe or even Dr Wolfe. I asked him how he would prefer to be addressed. He made no response. I repeated the question. Again, no response.

Erring on the side of caution, I stated that I would call him Mr Wolfe and asked if he understood the basis and purpose of the interview. Mr Wolfe made no response. He made no response when I repeated the question. (At this point, I had a sense that the interview was going to prove a difficult one.)

Nevertheless, I commenced in the customary fashion. I asked Mr Wolfe how he was feeling, how he was coping with being remanded in custody and whether he was worried about the upcoming trial. I asked if he was missing his family, his friends, his fiancée. Mr Wolfe gave no indication of having heard any of my questions.

I then went on to attempt to form a picture of his early life. I asked about his childhood, relationships with parents, siblings, even family pets. I continued the interview along these customary lines, as the attached transcript will show, but at no point did Mr Wolfe make any response.

For the first few minutes of the interview, Mr Wolfe kept his eyes fixed on an A4-sized sheet of black paper on the table in between us. (More about this later.) When I started asking him direct questions, he lifted the sheet and began to fold it. Of course I asked him what he was doing. He didn’t reply.

I explained that it was very much in his interest to cooperate with me; that a court needed a professional opinion about his mental capacity in order to ensure him a fair trial.

I might as well not have spoken. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the interview was wasting both of our times.

At this point, I think it useful to insert an extract from the attached transcript, as it will indicate, better than any summary of mine could, the nature of the interaction between us.

DR OKONJO: Mr Wolfe, unless you’re going to engage with me, there doesn’t seem any point in continuing. Please say so now if you have any objections to our bringing the interview to a close.

HAMISH WOLFE: (No response.)

DR OKONJO: From your lack of response, I’m assuming you agree to closing the interview now. Thank you for your time, Mr Wolfe.

HAMISH WOLFE: I made this for you.

(I was already at the door by this point. I turned round. Hamish Wolfe was holding out the black paper he’d been fiddling with.)

HAMISH WOLFE: I’d say about a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Body mass index of around twenty-nine – would that be right?

DR OKONJO: Excuse me?

HAMISH WOLFE: Why would the CPS send a woman of your size to interview a man whom they believe has abducted and murdered four fat women? Was I supposed to get an immediate hard-on and tell you everything?

DR OKONJO: Personal attacks on me will have no impact, I promise you. I’m sorry you didn’t feel able to talk to me before now when it might have done you some good. Good luck with the trial.

HAMISH WOLFE: I’m getting very bored with this mindset that I’m turned on by fat women. I promise you, I’m not in the slightest.

DR OKONJO: Good for you. Goodbye.

HAMISH WOLFE: Lose forty pounds, Sonia. You know better than anyone the risk of diabetes, heart disease, stroke, cancer. That’s before we get on to the strain on the NHS of people who can’t control what they put in their mouths. Set a bit of an example.

DR OKONJO: An example? Like you did?

HAMISH WOLFE: You forgot your present.

(The folded paper shape was on his outstretched hand and I could see it perfectly now. It was a farm animal. A pig.)

This is a thorough and accurate representation of the only meeting I had with Hamish Wolfe.

The particular circumstances of this interview lead me to do something that I would normally avoid, namely to speculate. I have never been a fanciful woman. I deal in facts and demonstrable conclusions, not gut-reaction opinions. I have had cause to interview many people accused of many crimes and can say, with some confidence, that I have met people whose moral compass seems entirely absent. I have never, though, met anyone so completely lacking in human empathy as was Hamish Wolfe. I do not use the term ‘evil’ lightly, but when I looked into Hamish Wolfe’s eyes I felt something essentially human was missing.