Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective (7 page)

“Don’t worry.” She looked at him closely, trying to judge his reaction. “That’s precisely what my computer programme is designed to do. As long as I can construct the right bridges between your records and the inquest data it will lead me to any links of information in seconds.”

“What? - without having to read the documents?”

“Yes. The information is already there. The programme simply does what your brain would be doing if you waded through the paperwork but it does it about one hundred thousand times faster than you could. And it doesn’t get tired and fall asleep.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly.” She didn’t tell him how long it had taken to perfect the data handling capabilities or the huge storage capacity needed. “Of course the computer will throw up hundreds of anomalies which will have to be waded through but I can normally clear those in an hour or two with the help of the local knowledge of you guys. Then there will be a few that can’t be easily resolved. Those are the ones that will need investigation.”

“Wow.” Paulson was silent for a long time, presumably absorbing the import of what she had told him. At last he said, “I’m afraid I’m no great shakes at computers. I didn’t even study IT at school.”

“You don’t need to be an expert. I can lead you through that part. Your value is in two things - firstly, what is stored away in your head and not logged on the computer; secondly, in your ability to go out and interview people in their own environment where they will be relaxed and are more likely to open up to you.”

“But then I’ll have to come back and enter it all on the computer.”

“Not any more, you won’t. I’ll give you a new type of mobile which is permanently wifi-linked to the computer. The speech recognition software is now so good that the computer can convert it instantly to readable data. All you have to do is read through what is recorded when you get back to check it for correctness.”

“Is that legal? It all sounds like big brother’s taken over.” The very thought seemed to silence him.

“The complete system has been checked by our lawyers and it’s all perfectly legal as long as the data is kept confidential.” She gazed at him, trying to get his support. “After all it’s no more than you having perfect recall of your earlier conversation with the witness.”

She saw that he was trying to foresee the changes that this new system was likely to bring to his method of operating.

However Charlotte wanted more information about the existing setup. “Lasham’s the controlling type of boss, is he?” She corrected herself. “I mean - he likes to be the one to make the decisions. Do you need to run everything in front of him before you decide what to do?”

Paulson shook his head. “Not entirely. But, as I said, we’re only a little section. Torbay is not a great big division like you’ve been used to. We’ve always got too many cases to cover them all properly. If we’re going to spend several weeks investigating four old deaths which aren’t even suspicious, then I think that Lasham’s got to tell me what other cases are to be put on a back burner while that’s going on.” He flashed a brief grin at her. “Do you see my problem?”

“It seems to have been taken away from you.”

He gave a short, sardonic laugh. “On the contrary - with your arrival he’s been able to duck the responsibility.”

“What does that mean?”

“Surely it’s clear,” Paulson said. “If you take my staff away, my clear-up rate will drop. When the top brass put a question mark against my figures, he’ll respond with my bleat that I’ve only had sixty percent (for example) of my usual manpower for the last three months. They may blame you, if you’ve got nowhere, or me, if you’ve cleared it up. Either way he won’t get the blame. Lasham’s good at that.”

Charlotte noticed the bitterness in his voice. She wondered if it was going to be difficult to get enthusiastic support from this man. Would every bit of co-operation have to be forced out of him? She said, “Well, I’ll only ask for help when I need it. But I hope you’ll find the computer will help you clear things up faster.”

She noticed that he spoke very little as he drove. The car was moving fast along the dual carriageway through the forest over the top of Haldon. The road was clear and the early evening sunshine sparkled as it spattered down through the trees. She thought how delightfully different it was to the grimy back-streets she had left that morning. But she didn’t have any time to waste on enjoying the lovely setting.

“Let’s talk about the Cynthia Adams case,” she suggested. “You dealt with her murder yourself?”

“Yes.” Just a monosyllable.

“You talked to the hotel staff?”

“Of course - all the ones who might have seen anything relevant.”

“I take it nobody saw the man. He didn’t book the room or anything?” Even as she asked, she was sure he wouldn’t have missed such elementary points.

If he resented her questions, he was careful not to show it. “The room was booked by Cynthia Adams by telephone and paid for by credit card. The room number was given to her over the phone. She drove to the hotel on her own in her own car, parked it in the hotel car park, and collected the key to the room from reception on her own - that’s as far as they can remember.”

“I’m surprised they could remember so much.”

He looked at her sideways. “It was the third time she’d done it in a fortnight.”

“Really?” That took her breath away. “Same man?”

“We assume so. There’s no reason to suggest Cynthia was on the game or anything like that. In fact I’m sure she wasn’t. She had been the mayor the previous year.” He changed the topic. “Where am I to deliver you?”

“Seymour Road. It’s in an area called Knowles Hill.”

“I know it.” He nodded. “Very pleasant area. Good views.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Aunt Harriet’s from the posh end of the family - widowed now, but still comfortably off.” She paused before continuing, but she wasn’t going to let him avoid her questions. “So, it sounds as though Cynthia was carrying on a fairly serious affair for a lady of mature years.”

He glanced at her again. There was a wisp of a smile about his features. “Careful,” he said. “The lady in question was only a few years older than me. I see no reason to assume her sexual urges had atrophied. Quite the reverse, in fact.”

“Nevertheless,” said Charlotte, aware that she had better tread carefully, “you would assume that Cynthia and her murderer had known each other for some time. Weren’t her family aware that she was having a relationship with someone?”

“Nothing’s come to light.” He concentrated on his driving as he slowed down for the roundabout at the end of the dual-carriageway, pulling into the right hand lane. “In fact her son was quite prickly about it when he was interviewed. Cynthia had only been a widow for about six months. Giles - the son - claimed that she and her husband had been a very happy couple. He was obviously shocked to think that his mother had found another man so soon after her husband’s death. I think we were both aware, when I was interviewing him, that the affair could have started before the old man’s death and Giles didn’t like that idea very much.”

Charlotte thought some more about it. “So nobody knows who this man is? Nobody saw him entering or leaving the room where the murder was committed and nobody noticed anyone unusual around the hotel at the time of the murder?”

“It’s a big hotel.” Paulson seemed defensive. “One of the biggest in Torbay. Nearly all the staff are foreign - mainly Italian or Portuguese. The manager himself is Italian - a Mr Montessori.”

“What time did the murder take place?”

“About six to six-thirty in the evening.”

Her brow furrowed. “And what time was the body discovered?”

“Just before seven. A maid went into the room and found her.” He smiled. “They called the local station.. Luckily I was still in the office and went straight over.”

“It seems a bit odd that they decided to go into the bedroom at that time.”

“Precisely,” said Paulson. “I asked the manager about that but he was rather evasive. He admits that nobody heard any noise or made any complaint. In fact the room showed no sign of anything more violent than love-making. There were no reports of any suspicious occurrences. Montessori said that the chamber-maid (who could hardly speak a word of English and needed him with her all the time to translate) - he said she went into the room to turn down the sheets, assuming the guests were at dinner. Frankly I think that was rubbish. I believe he was on the fiddle. I’m sure he was aware that the room had been let for an afternoon’s sexual liaison and that the couple wouldn’t be staying the night. He was planning to relet the room to some evening arrivals for cash, which of course would have gone into his pocket. So he sent the chamber-maid in to check whether they had left yet and whether Cynthia had forgotten to hand in the key.”

He paused for a second before he shrugged. “Not that it makes any difference to us. Nothing was easier than entering and leaving that hotel without being noticed. In has an enormous reception area and there are two other entrances, five staircases and three sets of lifts. Installation of CTV cameras is rudimentary and a permanent record of what they were showing wasn’t kept at the time of the murder. The hotel has seven floors and three wings. With two hundred and ninety rooms, people are coming and going all the time.” He shook his head. “It’s impossible to keep any sort of a check under those conditions.”

Charlotte agreed with him. She could tell that Paulson had done his job thoroughly. There seemed very little chance of finding out any more from an interrogation of the hotel staff - although it had to be done, of course. It seemed to her that tackling the family connections provided the best prospects for progress.

She watched him as he drove. They were creeping along now in the town-centre traffic. He was driving carefully, with consummate patience. Perhaps he was a man without a lot of imagination or intuition. But everything he did would be done efficiently and correctly. She could at least be thankful for that. Now she had to try and persuade him to be on her side.

“Can you let me have all the reports tomorrow when I’m in the office?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I want to get all the stuff that you’ve collected over the last twelve months onto my computer before I start asking new questions.” She paused, looking for a diplomatic way of raising her next point, and failing. “The only thing I would like to do tomorrow, is see this journalist (Julian Brace - is it?) and ask about his sources.”

He looked at her speculatively for a second. However he obviously decided not to argue. “OK, I’ll have him brought in as soon as convenient.”

“No.” She looked out of the side window so that he shouldn’t see her expression. “I’d like to go to his office at the newspaper. He’ll probably talk more freely there and he’ll have all his records close to hand. I’d also like you to come with me, Stafford.” She smiled at him now. “Can I call you Stafford?”

“Of course you can.” He paused, possibly checking her comments for implied criticism. Obviously he found none so he just asked, “Why do you want me to come?”

“Well, for a start I need someone to drive me until my promised car turns up.” She hurried on, “But much more important than that is the fact that you’ve been with this investigation for a whole year. You’ll be able to ask more searching questions than I can. I want to put this chap’s ideas through the mincing machine in a nice sort of way. I think we’ll be able to do that much better if you’re there.”

He said nothing to that. They were pulling up the hill out of the town centre. Soon they turned off right into the Knowles Hill area. They found the house and he unloaded her battered suitcase while she was welcomed by her statuesque aunt. He refused an invitation to tea and promised to collect her at eight-thirty the next morning without hesitation, even though it would mean leaving home earlier than usual.

* * * * * * * *

Stafford smiled a little grimly to himself as he drove home. He had to admit that this new woman was trying to start off on the right foot. He wondered how she would cope with Sergeant Mallinson, who was distinctly less well-intentioned towards women policemen than he was.

-
3. Tuesday
-

“So I said to this bird, if you don’t get your bloody ass out of this bed you’re going to be a murder suspect.”

Greg collapsed with laughter at his own joke but the rest of the office was silent.

From the door Stafford Paulson said, “I missed the start of that one.”

Sergeant Mallinson pulled himself upright. “Sorry, guv. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Too busy researching the string of deaths over the last five years, I suppose.”

Mallinson was silenced by the perceived injustice of the remark. But he said nothing. The tone of Paulson’s comment didn’t suggest discussion.

“Well, now’s the time to introduce you to your new boss.” Stafford stepped to one side and ushered in the tall woman. “This is DCI Faraday.”

There was an utter silence that lasted for at least half a minute.

“Well, Charlotte, this is the Torbay team. DS Mallinson’s the joker.” Paulson regarded him with a flicker of distaste. “Greg’s the one who did the report on Mariella Prince.”

“Hello.” Said Charlotte. “I’ll want to have a look at that.”