Irrefutable Evidence: A Crime Thriller (13 page)

McPherson pulled a face. “I’m sorry, you have to believe me that we, the DCI and I, we argued for you, but the Ice Queen is adamant.”

Jennifer pushed her mouth and chin into her hands.

“Since it’s confidential, what excuse will she give?”

“Probably stress. She’ll say you were finding the job too upsetting.”

Jennifer banged her fist on the arm of her chair, jumped to her feet and started to pace the room.

“That’s complete bollocks and she knows it!” she shouted, waving her arms. Her Italian background was coming to the fore. “If she does that, it’ll follow me forever. I’ll spend my career giving Highway Code instruction at schools. You surely don’t think the team will swallow that, do you?”

McPherson started to look sheepish; Jennifer’s future had clearly been discussed in detail.

“No, of course they won’t. They’ll be told that you’ve blotted your copybook big time. Viewed some confidential documents or something, documents that are way above your authority. I’m afraid it won’t help your reputation with them.”

“They won’t believe a word of it.”

“There are ways of making things sound very plausible, Jennifer.”

Jennifer ran a hand through her hair. “Damn it!” she yelled. “I’m being completely stitched up. That’s so unfair. Why is Freneton so against me?”

“Her reputation is formidable, I’m afraid. You’re not the only one, believe me. When she takes a dislike to someone, they’re history. Wherever she’s been posted, there’s a trail of ruined reputations.”

“Bitch. What about Henry Silk?”

“What about him?”

“Doesn’t he have a right to know about me? I am his daughter, after all. And isn’t there a chance he’d find out?”

“How? We’re certainly not going to tell him.”

“Suppose his defence calls for all the forensic reports to be reviewed by their own experts. Wouldn’t they spot it?”

McPherson rubbed his forehead as if it were suddenly paining him.

“Christ, Cotton, you have a way of ruining someone’s day.”

“And you don’t? Anyway, it’s better to anticipate problems and think of damage limitation in advance, wouldn’t you say?”

“Now you sound like her. She’s done nothing since she arrived except bend our ears about contingency planning, worst case scenarios, backups, lateral thinking, plan Bs, Cs, Ds, all the way to Z and back.”

“Pity she’s such a cow, we could get on,” muttered Jennifer.

She stopped pacing and sat down again, her voice now quiet.

“Look, guv, I’ve been thinking a lot in the past twenty-four hours. I knew there was a possibility of my being sent back into uniform and if that’s the decision, then I’ve made up my mind.”

McPherson’s eyes widened. He really didn’t want to hear this.

“Jennifer, I—”

She held up a hand as she bit on the inside of her lip, trying to keep some control in her voice.

“I’ll resign. If I can’t be a detective, I’ll leave. I’m not trying to blackmail you or give you an ultimatum; that’s just the way it is. It’ll break my heart because I’ve always wanted to be a detective ever since I was a kid and I know I’d be good at it. Shit, I am good at it. But I’m not going to be the victim of the whims of some vindictive bitch who’s hell bent on buggering up my career. I’ll do something else.”

“Jennifer, that’s ridiculous, such a waste. Let me talk to Mike Hurst. He’s got Hawkins’ ear, I’m sure they can do something.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but I don’t believe you. I think their minds are made up too. I’m a problem, an embarrassment, and the best way to deal with it is to lose me in the system.”

McPherson looked at his shoes.

“You realise that even if you do resign,” he said quietly, “you won’t be able to tell Silk, that it’s privileged information.”

“Only until after the trial, surely?”

“No, even after the trial, you’d be on sticky ground.”

“I don’t see why,” she snapped petulantly. “There’s nothing to stop me paying to have my own profile done, and nothing to stop him doing the same, and since I’d no longer be a police officer, there’d be nothing you could do to stop me visiting him in prison. I’m his daughter, after all; I’d have every right.”

“Be careful, DC Cotton, you’ll be treading an extremely dangerous line.”

“I’ll take that risk, guv.”

She gave him a grim, mirthless smile.

“Know what, I’m only going to be calling you ‘guv’ for the next ten minutes, well, couple of days. After that, you’ll have to call me ‘ms’ or ‘madam’ and I won’t give a shit about any lines you or the big bosses care to draw, dangerous or otherwise. There’s something about this case that stinks. You know that as well as I do.”

McPherson stood. He’d had enough.

“No, Jennifer, I don’t. Your being related to Henry Silk has no bearing on the case as far as I’m concerned. It’s a side issue that doesn’t detract in any way from the man’s guilt or the strength and quality of evidence against him.”

C
hapter 17

One month later

Skipshed High Security Prison,

Derbyshire

C
harles Keithley followed the unsmiling prison officer as he unlocked and relocked a succession of doors in the confusing maze of corridors that led from the visitors reception area to the legal interview room. As always, Keithley had been required to leave everything except his file with the case papers in a locker at reception. No phone, no iPad. He’d even left his car keys rather than set off alarms.

As a visiting solicitor, he was allowed to see his client away from the prying ears of other prisoners. And the one guard sitting at the far end of the room was out of earshot if they kept their voices down.

Henry Silk was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, waiting for him. As Keithley approached, he stood and held out his hand.

“Good to see you, Charles.”

Keithley noticed immediately that Henry’s greeting wasn’t accompanied by his normal half-smile, a creasing of the eyes.

“You too, Henry. Sorry that it’s been nearly three weeks; there’s been a lot of admin stuff with the case that needed going through before I came back to you.”

He paused as they sat.

“You’re looking rather sallow, Henry; you don’t seem your usual self.”

Henry looked up, the ghost of a rueful smile at the corners of his mouth.

“You should try being in one of these places, Charles. It’s dehumanising. Everything is regimented, controlled. And among the inmates, there’s an undercurrent of anger, violence. Many of the actual prisoners, as opposed to those on remand like me, don’t see any reason why they shouldn’t give in to their violent tendencies. It will make little difference. They’re already locked up in a cell for many hours a day. What’s going to change if they satisfy a blood lust?”

Keithley’s face showed his concern. “Have you been threatened, Henry? I can probably get you moved. It’s ridiculous that prisoners on remand are kept with convicts. It’s not supposed to be like that.”

Henry shrugged. “They always cite overcrowding and ignore any protest. But no, Charles, I haven’t been threatened, and even if I had, moving wouldn’t be likely to achieve much. One of these places is much like another. It would just be more inconvenient for you if they located me hundreds of miles away.

“As it happens, I’m passing the time playing little games. I’m using my acting skills to keep the cons and the guards guessing as to what I’m really like. I change my character regularly. It’s a diversion and I’ve found that it keeps them at arm’s length. They seem to have decided that I’m nuts because my moods are so inconsistent. There’s also a reputation that precedes me of being a tough guy. I suppose I’ve got something to thank that soap for.”

“You heard that they killed you off, your character in Runway, I mean.”

Henry snorted his disgust. “That bastard Jonty Peters couldn’t wait. Jumped at the chance to offload me. So now, even if by some miracle my case is dropped or I’m found not guilty, I can’t go back.”

“There was quite an uproar in the glossies; it wasn’t a popular move.”

“It’s done, Charles, and it will take an exceptional scriptwriter to undo it.”

He paused and sat back wearily in his chair.

“I think what’s probably wearing me down is that my head is still reeling with the whole case. It’s well over a month since my arrest and I keep thinking that I’m suddenly going to wake up from this nightmare.

“I have no idea about anything that happened that night and it’s driving me crazy. I can’t get my head around it. The only thing that’s really keeping me going at the moment is the thought that something will turn up, some clarity of thought will hit me, or something will happen to cast doubt on the evidence.”

His eyes shifted to Keithley. That Henry hadn’t been looking directly at him had worried the solicitor — Henry normally held the eyes of whomever he was talking to, and there would have been far more animation to whatever he said.

“To that end,” continued Henry, “how are you getting on, Charles? Any breakthroughs?”

Keithley sighed as he shook his head.

“I’m still exploring a number of avenues, but it’s not looking good. The prosecution has a strong case with all the forensic evidence and the CCTV footage. It looks sound and no doubt they are scrutinising it to close any possible loopholes.”

“What about your forensic people?”

“They’ve come up with nothing. I’m afraid that after reviewing all the evidence, they agree with the conclusions. The procedures have all been followed to the letter and there’s no indication that anyone has screwed anything up — contamination and so on.

“The thing is, Henry, we’re not dealing with traces here, you know, one or two fibres, a partial DNA profile on a smear somewhere. There’s loads of good, solid material.”

Henry nodded. “Did they have anything to say about that, given that my position is that it must have been planted?”

“Both our experts say that although there seems to be an abundance of forensic evidence, it’s not so much that they would be suspicious. And since no one can come up with any explanation as to how or why it might have been planted, they are struggling to fault it.”

“So the prosecution will have plenty of means, but no motive.”

“Exactly, and that’s going to have to be the thrust of our barrister’s argument. The old car crash is bound to raise its head, but he’ll be ready for that. Fortunately, you’ve never publicly taken a strong position on anything controversial, no daft right or left wing comments in the press, so character witnesses and lack of motive will be what we’ll use.”

Henry nodded his agreement. “I don’t tend to mouth off privately either, so I doubt they’ll dig up some old soak to pour boiling oil on me.” He paused, sighing. “I should have tried hypnotherapy.”

“What?”

“You know, get someone to release my unconscious mind. Find out what happened to me that night, because I’ve no bloody idea. But I doubt it’s on offer from the counselling services here.”

Keithley pulled a face. “I can make enquiries if you think it would help.”

Henry shook his head, radiating his dejection. “No, it would be a waste of money.”

Keithley glanced down at the file he’d brought with him.

“There is one thing that cropped up, bit strange, but I don’t think it’s really likely to help.”

“What?”

“Well, we’ve known each other a long time, since the early nineties, in fact, and I don’t recall you ever mentioning that you had a daughter.”

“A daughter?” Henry snorted derisively. “I haven’t mentioned it because I don’t have one. Why, is someone claiming she’s my daughter? It wouldn’t be the first time, it kind of goes with the territory, although it’s usually some star-struck loser claiming that I’m the father of her child. Easy to deny, of course, especially these days with DNA. I’ve already had a letter from some idiot who says she wants to marry me. Even suggested conjugal visits. Tell her to get lost, Charles.”

“It’s not quite as easy as that, Henry. You see the young lady in question came to my office and cut straight to the chase — quite a forthright young woman. She told me that I should have your DNA profiled independently of the police lab profile.”

Henry frowned. “I thought that had been done.”

“It has, which rather surprised her. So she asked if our DNA expert could have a look at something and comment. Then she handed me a file containing several sheets of the scientific mumbo jumbo that the DNA people put out. I asked her what it was and she said it was her and her mother’s DNA profiles that she’d paid a private lab to produce.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “And she wanted them compared with mine?”

“Exactly. She seemed perfectly sensible, if rather ardent, but clearly not playing a game to waste my time and your money.”

“You mean you didn’t think she was some gutter journalist trying to set me up for a sleazy headline.”

“Oh, she’s certainly not that. You see, I recognised her as soon as she came through the door, and you will too.”

“Really? Who the hell is this mystery woman, Charles?”

“DC Jennifer Cotton.”

“What! You’re kidding me. You’re saying that DC Cotton is claiming to be my daughter? She’s off her head.”

“I can’t comment on the state of her mind, Henry, but I’ve had the profiles all checked by our expert Dr Merriton and she says that Jennifer Cotton’s claim is correct. She is your daughter.”

Henry sat back in his chair, his face fixed in shock. Then, as his mind started processing the information, a smile slowly formed at the corners of his mouth. For the first time that morning he became animated, his introspection gone.

“That, Charles … that …” He stopped and let out a bark of amazement. “That is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard!”

He paused as another point hit him.

“But she was in on the interviews, came with those other plods to pick me up. Christ, she was the one who found the shoe in my car
and
she spotted the scratches on my neck. Are you saying that all along she knew she was my daughter?”

Keithley smiled, encouraged by seeing the real Henry back in the room.

“That’s exactly what her bosses thought as they unceremoniously dumped her from the case. No, she had no idea at the time. One of the lab scientists noticed the similarity of your profile to hers, carried out a paternity test and blew the whistle.”

“Wow! I’ll bet that ruffled some feathers.”

Henry’s eyes were roaming the room, piecing together events.

“You know, I wondered why she disappeared. I mean, she seemed to be the girl of choice and then suddenly she wasn’t in on the interviews any more. Her replacement wasn’t nearly as good looking or as bright.”

“Yes,” agreed Keithley, “they played it very subtly, if you recall. They basically repeated all the interviews that she’d been involved in, and a few more so as not to make me smell a rat. They asked the same questions but in a different way using a different officer alongside Inspector McPherson. They made an excuse about the recordings being damaged, said the sound was distorted and that they needed to redo them. I’m sorry, Henry, I fell for it; I should have questioned it more.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Henry, “they would have kept plugging away. But I’ll bet they were sweating.”

He sat forward, now drumming his fingers on the table.

“I wonder who her mother is? I’ve never met anyone called Cotton, not that I can remember. Is she married, this girl? What was her maiden name?”

“No, she’s single.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-five.”

Henry did the sums. “So, she was born in 1989. I—”

“No,” interrupted Keithley. “Nineteen eighty-eight. November 1988.”

Henry frowned through more sums.

“That means she was conceived in, what, February or March of that year. I was still married to Antonia at the time. Just. Our marriage was well on the rocks and she’d told me she wanted out. But she never let that sort of detail get in the way of her basic urges. Any port in a storm with our Antonia. Of course, it wasn’t long before the accident. Well, a couple of months.”

The memories of that time came flooding back. He and Dirk Sanderley had been best mates. Dirk was round at their apartment so much that he almost lived with them. Antonia revelled in it all, encouraging Dirk to stay, encouraging everyone to stay. Henry had complained occasionally that Victoria Station had fewer people passing through it. Actors, directors, people from Antonia’s fashion world; it was never ending. He and Dirk would take off from time to time; sometimes Antonia would come, sometimes not, more not towards the end. He remembered that Antonia had been unwell during the month leading up to the accident. Now he knew why: she had been pregnant. Why hadn’t she told him? Yes, of course, she didn’t think it was his and anyway, they were going their separate ways. That was the reason she hadn’t gone to France with them, to the film festival. He shook his head. More drug festival than film. Dirk was well into everything by then, and starting to get argumentative and aggressive whenever Henry tried to steer him back on course.

He snapped back to the present.

“Did she tell you anything else about herself?”

“No,” replied Keithley, “She refused. Said she’d been forbidden to reveal the information about the DNA profiles that were produced as part of the police investigation, so she arranged for her own.”

Henry smiled. “Sounds like a chip off the old block. I like this girl already.”

“She wants to see you. She said she’ll discuss things with you, but no one else, for the present.”

“Well, I can hardly pop over to her place for a cup of tea and a chat, so she’ll have to come here. And if she’s my daughter, the authorities can’t object.”

“I can arrange it, Henry. But, you know, you don’t seem over-surprised to find you have a daughter.”

Henry laughed. “Hey, I’m surprised all right. It hasn’t quite sunk in, that’s all. Antonia must be her mother, mustn’t she?”