Death's Privilege (28 page)

‘She does?’

‘I struggled to keep her on topic in consultation. Sarah this; Sarah that.’

‘Really? I can assure you Mr Bell, there is no fondness of any kind between the two of us.’

‘Odd.’ Mr Bell flicked through his notes, pushed his bottom lip up causing his mouth to frown and let out a
Hmm.

‘Mr Bell, just to be upfront, Mark Gladstone, one of the victims we will be talking to your client about, is DC Gladstone’s husband.’ Bosden looked pensive. Sarah wondered if he wanted Mr Bell to cause a fuss so he could go in with his partner from MCT, rather than have a rookie tagging along for the ride.

The veteran solicitor looked at them both. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’

‘It’s unusual, but the Senior Investigating Officer signed off on it. Do you have any representations?’

Mr Bell thought for a minute, rubbing his hand on his bristled grey stubble. ‘Let’s start and see how we go. If it all starts to get too personal and goes off track, I’ll make my representations on the tape and explain my reasons. I can’t guarantee defence counsel won’t have a problem at trial. In fact, I’m confident they’ll make a song and dance about it. Ready to start?’

‘Yes.’ Sarah followed Bosden and Mr Bell into the interview room and closed the door behind her.

‘The time by my watch is 14:25 on Friday the nineteenth of September 2010. We are in an interview room at Mavenswood Police Station. This interview is being recorded on tape and video. My name is DC Gladstone—’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re not a detective. You’re a fraud.’ The response officers who’d transported her back to the station had seized Leilani’s clothes. She sat across from Sarah wearing a blue disposable one-piece paper suit and black plimsolls. Her hair clips had been removed and her jewellery taken.

‘My name is DC Gladstone, collar number 310105, and I am based here at Mavenswood CID. Also present is...’

‘DS Mike Bosden, 311213, MCT.’

‘And…’

‘Mr Bell of Bell and Foster Solicitors.’

‘Please give your name and date of birth for the tape.’

‘Leilani Hayes. None of your business.’

Sarah glanced at Mr Bell. He scratched his head and looked apologetically exasperated. Solicitors’ discussions with their clients were never disclosed, but Sarah got the impression Leilani had tested his patience. She’d decided to let the name issue slide at this stage. It’d only lead to a back and forth argument that she wouldn’t win.

‘You have the right to free and independent legal advice and your solicitor is here to assist with this interview. This is an ongoing right and if at any time you feel the need to consult with your solicitor, let me know and I’ll stop the tape and allow you to do so in private.

‘You were cautioned when you were arrested and I will caution you again. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court, and anything you do say, may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘No. Explain it.’ Leilani folded her arms. Mr Bell sighed.

‘The caution comes in three parts. The first refers to your right to silence and it means what it says. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. The second part explains a caveat to that. If you do fail or refuse to answer my questions today, and this matter goes to court where you’re asked the same or similar questions and provide a different account, the jury may be directed to question your honesty. And lastly, this interview is being recorded and may be given in evidence.’

Leilani tapped her nails on the desk. Sarah saw red lines around her wrists where in her rage just hours before, she’d strapped the cuffs on a little too tight. She swallowed, thinking about how disruptive emotions and the power to remove another’s liberty were a dangerous combination, and how she had to, not suppress, but remain in charge of her feelings towards her suspect until the interview was over.

‘So, let me get this straight. If I cheated on my husband and someone asked me about it, and I lied, saying I didn’t do it. Then, a little later, I try lying about it again. But this time my story is a little different, maybe because I lie so much and to everyone that I simply can’t keep track of my own bullshit. That person can then say: Can I trust anything this person says because she’s lied about the same thing twice? I think I get it.’ Leilani’s gleeful expression explained why she wanted Sarah to interview her. Leilani knew her secret, and having Sarah close allowed her to exploit it.

‘That and whatever you say is being recorded.’
Hold it together.

‘Gotcha.’

Sarah looked at the plan. What had appeared to be a well-organised, detailed system designed to allow the interviewing officer to flow seamlessly from topic to topic now looked like a series of incomprehensible boxes and meaningless colours. Leilani looked a little smug and the men sitting to their right were none the wiser about the conversation they were having. Mr Bell sat crossed-legged writing something on his pad. Sarah hadn’t fully briefed DS Bosden on the twisted triangle involving her, Leilani and her husband. He knew about the poisoning, but not the full range of pins Leilani had slid under her skin.

Sarah held the plan tight. She had two simple tasks. Stick to the questions on the sheet and get to the end of the interview without leaping over the table and being arrested for assault herself. She scanned the top few lines and began reading her script.

‘You have been arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to murder, blackmail and threats to kill. You were arrested outside 12 Tower Road, where I heard you making threats to kill the occupant. When you were searched, you had a flick knife secreted in your waistband. Tell me what you were doing at 12 Tower Road?’

‘I woke up, went to Tower Road and then was arrested by you for no reason.’

Mr Bells whispered something in Leilani’s ear. She didn’t react.

‘Who were you going to see?’

‘I don’t need to tell you that.’

‘Whilst you were outside 12 Tower Road, you shouted, “Let me in. Let me in or I’ll fucking kill you.” Who was that directed at?’

‘I’m not saying anything about any of this.’

Mr Bell interjected. ‘As DC Gladstone correctly said, you do not have to tell her anything. I advise you use your right to silence during this interview. Answering no comment to questions posed is the standard method and the one I advise to use.’ He rubbed his forehead. Leilani was wilfully ignoring the advice he would have given her during their consultation.

‘Were you at the Oxlaine Hotel today?’

‘The cameras will tell you that.’ Leilani was right, of course. The cameras would tell them that. The Oxlaine was covered in cameras and they would have picked up Leilani’s movements as soon as Gareth was dragged out of bed to operate them. This was the account phase of the interview, the purpose of which was to obtain as much detail from the suspect as possible. Challenging her account would come later, when the investigation was a little further on. Leilani smiled from the side of her mouth, rolled her eyes at Bosden and mouthed the word
amateur.

Sarah could never conceal a blush. Her skin was too pale and her emotions ran too high, especially right there in that room. Within seconds she felt her cheeks redden. Leilani spotted it too and gave her that smug, content look Sarah was second by second growing to hate. It was far from the look she’d given her when they’d met, the look of the vulnerable victim. Part of Sarah still believed something had happened to her. Dales would say it was naivety, a reflection of her short service. Sarah thought otherwise. Despite all that had happened, Sarah still believed there was a vulnerable little girl deep within the woman sitting across from her, someone who’d been mistreated somewhere along the line. That was the Leilani Hayes she needed to speak to.

‘What did you do when you arrived?’

‘That’s personal.’

Mr Bell gave up. He pushed his pen firmly to the page of his notebook. Sarah could just read the first part of the sentence
Silence advised—Client wilfully
... He folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling when he finished writing. Leilani glanced sideways and her eyes lit up a little, seeming to enjoy frustrating the man who was trying his best to help her.

Sarah looked to her left and was disappointed to see Bosden smiling at Leilani with a look more suited for a bar room than an interview room. Sticking to the plan wasn’t going to work. Leilani was answering the questions, but saying nothing. Leilani couldn’t hide her smiles, and Sarah wanted to see whether she could cause her darker emotions to spread across her face. Anything for a way inside.

‘Who’s Scott Enderson?’ Nothing. Not even a flicker. Or maybe she was so far gone, any connection to her victims simply didn’t show. Moretti hadn’t been sure who’d killed Enderson. Either of them would have needed help to hang him. Valerie had Semples, who did Leilani have? ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

‘Sheila Hargreaves.’

There it was. A little blink of recognition and a pause, slightly longer than her usual quick retort. Almost imperceptible, but Sarah saw it.

‘Who? I don’t know these people.’

‘Sheila Hargreaves was Sally-Anne Moretti’s girlfriend. She was given poison which resulted in her death.’

There it was again. Leilani’s mouth, sometimes conceited, sometimes seductive, shrivelled as if gnawing on bitter fruit when hearing Hargreaves’ name. Or was it Moretti that turned her stomach.
Just where is your weakness?

‘Has my client been directly implicated in Sheila Hargreaves’ death, Officers?’ Mr Bell spoke up, representing his client to the professional standards he was known for, despite her ignoring his advice.

‘Yeah, have I? Good point, Mr Bell. I think she’s trying to be clever.’ From ignoring him to being side by side as soon as he became useful again. It seemed to be her way.

DS Bosden answered before Sarah could. ‘No, she hasn’t.’ He gave Sarah a look and tapped the plan she was still holding on to, despite no longer following. If it’d been too much of a deviation, she was certain Bosden would have simply taken over. Leilani’s change of tone told her she was getting somewhere. She needed to dig a little deeper and, as long as Bosden wasn’t ripping the interview plan out of her hands and switching off the tape, she was going to do just that.

‘She hasn’t strictly been implicated in the murder of Sheila Hargreaves, no. Someone else, Sally-Anne Moretti...’
careful how you phrase this
‘...is facing charges in connection with that.’

‘What? Sally-Anne charged with murder?’ Leilani slammed her hands on the table. ‘You’ve stitched her up.’ Mr Bell repeated his request for her to remain silent, but she continued. ‘She’d never do that.’

‘You didn’t know? She’s your friend, right? Why didn’t she tell you?’

‘Officer, that is a leading question. At no point has my client—’

‘She’s nobody’s friend but her own. Not mine, that’s for sure. Either way, she’s no murderer.’

‘We’ll have to see about that.’

Leilani opened her mouth to respond; Sarah cut her off. Letting the suspect talk was the entry-level tactic. They’d make a mistake. They’d provide the rope to hang themselves with. That wouldn’t work with Leilani Hayes. She’d played the victim, the down-and-out, the seducer, and the big-shot investor, and had strung everyone along the whole time. Sarah had no doubt she could spin a story so well Sergeant Smith would release her without charge, giving her a lollipop and a pat on the bum as she left. Sarah needed to unnerve her. She had to reach underneath the surface and find something to throttle. ‘On to Valerie Goddard, the owner of the Oxlaine.’

‘Well, let me tell you all about her. You think I’m crazy? Let's just say you’re lucky she’s dead.’ Leilani took a deep breath and settled down, as if she’d caught herself in a mirror and decided unrestrained rage wasn’t a good look.

Twenty-Seven

Dales brought Semples another cup of tea and pulled up a chair across the desk. Semples had calmed. He was still a long way from coming to terms with it, but Dales didn’t need him in the later stages of grieving, he just needed him to talk. He needed him to say enough for Dales to decide whether he was a witness or a co-suspect.

‘Mr Semples, what do you know about today’s events at the Oxlaine?’

‘Valerie was a troubled woman. Anyone meeting her would think she lived a life of privilege, which of course in many ways she did. Her coffers were full, but her heart empty. She had very little joy in her life. I like to think I contributed to some of it, but we never really know and by the time we think to ask, it’s too late.’

‘I’m sure she appreciated your friendship over the years.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. Kind words, but this is the trouble, you see. It was impossible to know what she appreciated and what she didn’t. What she wanted and what she couldn’t stand. Who she loved and who was a persistent inconvenience. Before her divorce, she was an entirely different woman. When he left—and he was no prince, what she ever saw in him is a mystery to me—she broke down. Not all at once, but over time. She took me on to run the Oxlaine. We became close after the divorce.’

‘Close?’

‘Not like that.’ A smile spread across his face as if reminiscing about a time that never was. ‘No, none of that kind of carry on. We cared about each other, or so I’d like to think. But nothing more...more physical.’

‘Mr Semples, a few hours ago, your friend poisoned herself and four others. What do you know about that?’ The questions had to be asked. Keeping witnesses on topic was important, especially grieving ones that wanted to reminisce. Dales was capable of being patient when the task required it, but all-you-can-talk counselling wasn’t a service he offered regularly.

‘This is what I’m saying, she was a troubled woman. She wasn’t always aware of what she was doing and incredibly stubborn when given good advice. You’ve got to understand that. You do understand that, don’t you?’

‘I understand that you haven’t been entirely honest with us so far and that has to change. Sheila was Valerie’s niece, wasn’t she?’