Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller (8 page)

McPherson was watching Henry intently, trying to read his reaction.

“Your car, sir?” he said.

Henry sighed in frustration. “Follow me, it’s over there.”

They reached the cars and Henry pointed. “There, Inspector, that’s the one.”

“Thank you, sir. Could you please stay here for a moment with Sergeant Bottomley?”

Without waiting for a response, McPherson moved to the rear of the car. Jennifer followed, pulling a file from her bag. Inside were several images from the CCTV showing the front and rear of the Nissan together with the registration plates. She handed them to him and looked over his shoulder as he compared the shot of the car’s rear end with the car itself. He gave a non-committal grunt and walked to the front. He grunted again.

“No outstanding features, but nothing that’s obviously different.”

Jennifer reached into her bag for her notebook and pen, as ever wanting to log everything.

“You’re thinking that perhaps the car shown in the CCTV footage had false plates, guv?”

“Got to be considered, Cotton.”

“Yes, guv. Well, the vehicle licence disc’s in the same place on the car and in the photo, and there’s a vignette for Switzerland below it. Look, you can just see it in the photo too. I hadn’t noticed it before.”

“A what?”

“This sticker,” she said, pointing to the place on the photo. “It’s called a vignette. It shows the road tax for using the motorways in Switzerland has been paid for this year. He’s obviously driven in or through the country in the last few months. It’s a one-off payment you make at the border.”

“Well spotted, Cotton. Of course, you’d know about driving in Europe, being Italian. I’d forgotten that.”

“I’m not Italian, guv, I just grew up in Italy.”

“Same thing. OK, let’s get his keys. I want you to have a look inside, without touching anything, of course. This is looking more promising by the minute.”

Jennifer took a pair of disposable gloves from her bag and pulled them on as she walked back over to Henry.

“Mr Silk, may I have the keys to your vehicle please? I need to take a look inside. When I do, I’d be grateful if you could stand a few feet behind me so you can see clearly what I’m doing.”

Henry fished in a pocket. “Here we are, constable, fill your boots,” he said, tossing the keys to Jennifer. “They’d normally be in my jacket in the trailer, but I needed to fetch my newspaper from the car – I like to do the crossword in between takes. It can get quite boring being on set, you know. I popped them in my trouser pocket rather than go back to the trailer. Jonty wouldn’t like it, but what the hell.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jennifer as she caught them. “I’ll open the driver’s door first.”

She pressed a button on the fob and after carefully opening the door, she scanned the driver’s seat and footwell but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

She pointed to a newspaper in the door pocket. “Not that paper, then?”

“No, that’s yesterday’s,” replied Henry. “I forgot to throw it away.”

“Let’s take a look at the passenger side,” said Jennifer. The three men followed her around the car.

Opening the front passenger door, she glanced around before bending down to peer under the seat, taking care not to touch anything. Suddenly she let out a gasp. “Guv, I think you should see this.”

McPherson moved forward and bent down to look where she was pointing.

“Christ!” he said. “Got your phone, Cotton, we’ll record it as it is. Can you see any size markings?”

Jennifer peered closer. Looks like thirty-seven.”

“In English, Cotton.”

“A UK size four, guv. I’ll get a shot and contact Derek.”

She took several photos and then moved out of earshot to make the call.

“What is it, Inspector?” asked Henry starting to walk towards the car.

McPherson turned round and stopped him with an upturned hand.

“There’s a high-heeled shoe under the passenger seat, Mr Silk. Could you tell me anything about it?”

“A what!” cried Henry as he peered over the inspector’s shoulder. “That’s ridiculous. May I take a look?”

McPherson studied the look of incredulity on Henry’s face for a few moments, his own jaw set. Then he pointed to a spot on the tarmac. “If you squat down here, sir, clear of the car, you should be able to see what I’m talking about. Please don’t touch anything.”

Henry went down on his haunches and, supporting himself further with his hands on the ground, he looked under the seat. He turned to McPherson, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life, Inspector.”

McPherson scanned the parking area, suddenly worried that Henry might claim the shoe had been planted.

“Could anyone have taken your keys this morning, or at any other time, and accessed your car?”

“As you saw, Inspector, I had the keys with me. So, no, they couldn’t.”

Jennifer finished the call and walked over to McPherson.

“Guv,” she said, drawing him away from Henry.

“I’ve checked with DC Thyme and the shoe is the same size. I also sent the images and he reckons that the style is the same. The girl was still wearing a right shoe — scarlet, high-heeled, pointed toe with a worn leather sole — and this is its partner. DNA testing of sweat on the insole should confirm it.”

McPherson smiled. “I think we’ve got enough to arrest him now, Cotton, don’t you?”

Jennifer wasn’t certain. “It’s still circumstantial, guv. Despite what he says, if Silk suddenly remembers that he lent his car to a friend after all, we’d be in trouble. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Thyme’s finished looking through the CCTV from the hotel? If Silk’s shown on that, we’ll have more to throw at him.”

“How’s Thyme getting on with that?”

“He’s only just started. There was some problem with the compatibility of the files. The techies have it sorted now.”

“OK, let’s get Silk back to the station.”

They walked over to Henry and the sergeant.

“Mr Silk. In the early hours of Saturday morning, a young woman was murdered and her body dumped in a wood north of Nottingham.”

Henry nodded. “I know, Inspector, it made the late editions of the Sunday papers.”

“Exactly, sir. We have reason to believe that your car, the Nissan here, was involved in transporting the girl and the presence in your car of a shoe matching one found on the dead girl reinforces that belief. We’d like you to accompany us back to Nottingham where we can interview you using the proper procedures.”

“What, now? Are you arresting me?”

“No, sir, not at the moment. Although if you refuse to come voluntarily I am of the opinion that I have enough to do so.”

Henry ran a hand through his hair.

“Inspector, I’ve got an incredibly hectic schedule over the next three days. If we lose a day’s filming, it will not only cause chaos, it’ll cost the production company a fortune.”

“We’re investigating a murder, sir, I’m afraid that must come first.”

Henry gave a resigned sigh. “Whatever you say, Inspector. Are you going to break it to Jonty or shall I?”

He pointed towards the director who had been quietly inching his way towards them in the hope of finding out what was going on. At the raising of McPherson’s arm to beckon him, he came rushing over.

“All sorted out, Inspector?” he beamed, although his eyes were full of doubt.

“Jonty, I’ve got to go with these police officers,” said Henry, before McPherson had a chance to answer. “Perhaps you can rearrange the schedule to do the shots that don’t involve me today. It’s all one huge mistake, which I’m sure we’ll sort out in no time. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“What! Are you arresting him, Inspector? What’s Henry supposed to have done?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case, sir.”

Peters launched back into ballistic missile mode.

“Not at liberty? This is totally outrageous, Inspector. Well, I
am
at liberty to discuss the case and I’ll tell you with whom I’ll discuss it. I’ll have you know that the chief constable is a personal friend. He has visited the set on a number of occasions.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, sir. Now, I’ll get these police cars shifted out of your way, although one of them will remain here in the car park until the loader arrives to take Mr Silk’s car back to Nottingham.”

Henry pointed to his clothing.

“May I change, Inspector? These are not my clothes and they really should remain here.”

“I’d rather you kept them on for now, sir. Perhaps you could go with Sergeant Bottomley to get the clothing you wore to come here this morning. Oh, and we’d like to look at your phone.”

Jonty Peters pulled out his own phone, threw his arms in the air in frustration and turned to walk away.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, Inspector, I can assure you.”

C
hapter 11

T
here was no conversation in the car on the drive to Nottingham. Henry Silk was sitting in the back alongside Rob McPherson, who was staring pointedly out of the window, while in the front passenger seat Jennifer was tapping furiously on her phone. Neil Bottomley was driving.

Henry’s head was reeling with the events that had unfolded at Luton Airport, but he was trying to retain an outward appearance of calm. After two failed attempts at asking for more information, he gave up, realising that he would get nothing until they reached Nottingham — the police officers were all studiously ignoring him. However, when, half an hour into the journey, he asked McPherson if he could call his solicitor, the response was immediate.

“As I said at the airport, Mr Silk, you are not under arrest so you are free to call whoever you please.”

“Thank you, Inspector. I think in view of what you’ve told me so far, it would be prudent if my solicitor were present from the outset. He’s got to drive up from London, so I apologise that there will be something of a delay.”

“Then I suggest you call him straightaway, sir.”

Five minutes later, Henry informed them that his solicitor would be leaving late afternoon and that he had told Henry not to answer any questions until he arrived.

“As I expected, sir,” sighed McPherson, not even trying to hide his irritation.

Henry sat back and passed the time by staring at the back of Jennifer’s not unattractive head and, when he could see it, her even more attractive profile. He was trying desperately to recall the events of Friday evening, but there were only fragments, a blur of disconnected half images from the time he left the theatre until he woke up feeling dreadful late on Saturday morning.

Whatever had caused the loss of memory had affected his performance on Saturday evening. He had forgotten his lines on three occasions — something he prided himself on never doing — and jumped a passage in act two. His cast were professional enough to handle it and it was unlikely anyone in the audience noticed a thing, but he had to fend off some serious ribbing after the performance. Contrary to his normal practice, he treated the whole cast to drinks in their local to thank them, although since he was driving down to London afterwards, he stuck to sparkling water.

Henry’s solicitor, Charles Keithley, arrived at six thirty p.m. and, having established that Henry hadn’t eaten, insisted that he be allowed to fetch some sandwiches and a drink before they got started.

A few minutes before seven, McPherson left his office to head for the interview room. He called out to Jennifer, who was busy at her computer.

“Cotton, the boss wants you to sit in on the initial chat with Silk. We both reckon that given the man’s reputation with women, a female officer might distract him and keep him off his guard. You’ve been with him for over three hours today and in the car he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, so it’s down to you. Sorry to spring it on you and sorry if it offends any sexist sensibilities, but we’ve got to play our cards right, especially since his solicitor’s present.”

“Not a problem, guv,” said Jennifer, as she closed her computer and grabbed a notepad.

She hurried after the DI, pleased to be sitting in on the interview, although she knew her bosses’ reasoning was unsound: from her background reading on Silk in the more responsible magazines, his reputation as a lady’s man was unfounded.

McPherson entered the interview room followed by Jennifer. He started by systematically going through the initial formalities for interviewing a suspect as required by PACE: the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. Once he had set up the tape recorder and video camera and announced who was in the room, he asked Henry to state his name, address and date of birth.

Satisfied that everything was being done by the book, McPherson proceeded with his interview plan.

“I should like to remind you, Mr Silk, that you are not under arrest and that you are free to leave at any time. Do you agree that you have come voluntarily to the Nottingham City and County Serious Crime Formation to answer questions?”

“You hardly gave me much option, Inspector, but yes, I agree.”

McPherson nodded. “Now, before we go any further, I should like to ask you to give a buccal swab for DNA profiling and your fingerprints. Since we are examining your car, we will need both for elimination purposes.”

Henry turned to Charles Keithley who signalled his agreement.

The DI continued. “As you may be aware, if we are later satisfied that you have nothing to do with the case under investigation, both your DNA profile and your fingerprints will be removed from the databases and destroyed.”

“I wasn’t aware of that, Inspector, but thank you for pointing it out.”

Jennifer stood and picked up a bag from a table behind her. She put on a pair of disposable gloves, swabbed Henry’s mouth and took his prints.

Although he wasn’t trying to unnerve her, Henry found himself staring into her eyes, carefully watching every expression, every flicker of her eyelids. He was impressed that she ignored him until she had finished, when she thanked him and gave him a brief smile before leaving the room to hand the samples to Derek Thyme, who was waiting for her in the corridor outside.

Once Jennifer had settled back in her chair, McPherson continued by explaining once again to Henry about the discovery of Miruna Peptanariu’s body.

“What can you tell us about that, Henry?”

Henry immediately bristled. “Inspector, you have a first name, I seem to remember?”

McPherson frowned. “Yes.”

“Do you expect me to use it? Are we going to be chummy-chummy? Shall I also call the detective constable here Jennifer?”

“I expect you to address us by our ranks.”

“Then I expect the same level of respect, Inspector. It’s Mr Silk.”

McPherson’s expression darkened.

“I’ll repeat the question, Mr Silk. What can you tell us about Miruna Peptanariu and the fact that her body was discovered in Harlow Wood?”

“I can tell you nothing, Inspector. I’ve never heard that name before today and I’ve never been to Harlow Wood. I don’t even know where it is.”

McPherson checked his list of points.

“Mr Silk, could you tell us where you were last Friday evening, the 30th of May?”

Henry outlined his movements from early Friday afternoon, his leaving the Old Nottingham Hotel, his performance in the play at the Theatre Royal and his return to the hotel. At this point he faltered.

“Inspector, I’m not trying to be evasive, but I’m afraid I’m having a hard time remembering much between leaving the theatre and waking up rather late on Saturday morning. My usual practice, both last week and always when I’m in rep, is that when I return to my hotel after a performance, I have a drink at the bar to unwind, normally a brief chat with the barman and then I go to my room where I have another drink, a vodka on the rocks, before showering and going to bed.”

“Are you saying that you did or did not do this on Friday night, Mr Silk?”

“I’m saying that I don’t remember. I suppose you could ask the barman at the Old Nottingham. His name’s Michael; he should be able to tell you.”

“Do you remember adopting this procedure on other nights last week?”

“Very clearly, yes.”

“Then can you give any reason why you can’t remember what you did on Friday evening?”

“No, Inspector, I can’t.”

McPherson checked his list again.

“Mr Silk. What would your reaction be to my telling you that we have CCTV footage of your car in various locations in the city and on roads north of the city between the hours of about one and three o’clock last Saturday morning, the thirty-first of May? By your car, I mean a Nissan X-Trail registration number LJ11TTV. Do you agree that you are the registered owner of that car?”

“I am, Inspector, yes. As to my reaction, as you describe it, to its being in those locations at that time, I should say you are somehow mistaken. To my knowledge, my car was parked in the car park of the Old Nottingham from when I parked it there after using it last Wednesday until I drove down to London in it late on Saturday night after the final performance of the play.”

“Did you lend your car keys to anyone or give permission to anyone to use your car on Friday night?”

“No, to both questions, Inspector. I left my car keys on the desk in my room, and that’s where they were on Saturday before I checked out.”

McPherson opened a file in front of him and pulled out three photos. He placed them on the desk in front of Henry.

“For the recording, I am now showing Mr Silk three prints taken from the Nottingham Traffic Office’s CCTV cameras. The date and time of the photos is shown on the prints. Mr Silk, I’d like you to look at these photographs. Do you agree that they are of your car?”

Henry studied each one closely and showed them to Charles Keithley.

“They show a Nissan X-Trail with the same registration number as my vehicle. Whether it is actually my vehicle, I can’t say.”

“What were you wearing on Friday evening, Mr Silk?”

Henry scratched his head. “As I recall, jeans, a brownish pullover, cream linen jacket and a woollen scarf. Oh, and a dark blue baseball cap.”

“Could you describe what the person shown in the photo timed at zero two thirty-three is wearing?”

Henry peered at the photo. “I can’t see clearly, but I should say it’s a pale jacket, there might be a scarf and under a dark T-shirt or … pullover.” He faltered. “Are you trying to say that that’s me?”

“I’m asking you if it is you, Mr Silk.”

“It can’t possibly be.”

“Please look closely at the windscreen of the vehicle in the same photograph. Could you please describe what is visible immediately below the vehicle licence disc?”

“It looks like a motorway sticker for Switzerland. I can see the number fourteen on it, so it’s for this year.”

McPherson pulled another photograph from the folder.

“For the tape, I am now showing Mr Silk a photograph of his car taken this afternoon at the Nottingham Police Traffic Pound. Could you please describe what is shown on the windscreen of the vehicle in this photograph, Mr Silk? Your vehicle, as you’ve already agreed.”

Henry nodded. “It’s a Swiss tax disc for motorways. I had to buy it when I drove through Switzerland on my way to Rome two months ago.”

“So, getting back to the vehicle shown in the CCTV footage, would you now agree that it appears to be your vehicle?”

Henry’s reply was barely audible. “It would seem so, yes.”

“Could you speak more loudly please, Mr Silk?”

“I said that it would seem so.”

“And do you agree that the person shown driving the vehicle appears to be you?”

Charles Keithley made to interrupt but Henry stopped him.

“I would agree only that the person driving the car seems to be wearing clothing that is similar to mine, Inspector.”

A knock on the door broke the tension in the room. Derek Thyme walked in, which McPherson announced for the recording. Derek leaned over and spoke quietly into the DI’s ear and handed him a printed sheet of notes. McPherson scanned them before saying anything else.

He looked up.

“DC Thyme is now leaving the room. Mr Silk, despite what you’ve told us about having no memory of events on Friday night after your performance, I should like you to explain the following. We have now examined CCTV recordings from various cameras positioned around the Old Nottingham Hotel which show you leaving the hotel at twelve fifty-five a.m. — and by leaving I mean standing by the lift on the second floor, entering the lift, leaving the lift at the car park level, getting into your car and driving away — following which we now have enhanced shots from the traffic cameras that show your car picking up Miruna Peptanariu on Forest Road West at one ten a.m. and shots of her in your car with you at various locations in and beyond the city. Further, at various times between two ten and two forty a.m. there are images of you driving your car alone back in the direction of Nottingham. At two forty-two a.m., the hotel’s cameras again show you parking your car in the hotel car park and walking through the car park towards the stairs. You are then shown briefly passing the lift door on the second floor, so presumably you took the stairs all the way to the second floor. What would your reaction be to this sequence of events I have just described?”

Henry was silent. His eyes wandered in disbelief from the photographs in front of him to McPherson and then to Jennifer, who was scribbling notes. He sighed. “My reaction, Inspector, is one of incredulity. I simply cannot explain it.”

“OK, Mr Silk, further to everything I’ve described, as you know from the preliminary examination of your car by DC Cotton this morning, a red, high-heeled left shoe was found under the front passenger seat. That shoe has been compared with a right shoe worn by Miruna Peptanariu when her body was found and the two make a perfect pair in brand, style, size, colour, wear pattern and general condition. We shall be conducting DNA tests on the shoe insoles, but there seems little doubt that the shoe found in your car belonged to the victim. Can you tell us anything about the shoes, Mr Silk?”