Rob Johnson - Lifting the Lid (15 page)

‘Ah yes,’ said Logan with a grin. ‘I’d forgotten.’

Swann pressed a couple of buttons on the recorder and a red light came on. ‘Preliminary interview with Trevor Hawkins. Sunday 26th August, commencing at…’ She checked her watch. ‘… Zero eight fifty-eight. Officers present, DS Logan and DC Swann.’

Trevor stared at the lights on the front of the recorder and felt the colour drain from his face.

Logan indicated the recording machine with a nod of his head. ‘That’s just a formality. All we want is to clear up one or two loose ends about your wife’s… disappearance.’

Trevor almost choked. He’d been mentally preparing himself for a grilling about envelopes, toilet cisterns and lockers, but
this
? He also didn’t like the way Logan had hesitated at the end of the sentence.

‘I’m sorry to have to rake up the past as I know it must be painful for you, but…’ The detective tapped the folder three times with his index finger. ‘…We’ve received certain new information which—’

‘New information? What sort of new information? You don’t mean you’ve found her?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘What then?

‘Perhaps you could begin by telling me precisely where you were when your wife… disappeared.’

Again the hesitation. It was as if they didn’t believe Imelda had gone missing at all. As if they suspected instead that she’d been– Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Trevor sat back in his chair and looked up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling with the faintest of smiles. ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with my mother, would it?’

He diverted his gaze from the ceiling just in time to catch the look that went between the two detectives.

‘Well, er…’ Logan faltered. ‘We have in fact spoken to Mrs… er… your mother, and she expressed her concern that—’

Trevor’s smile widened. He was starting to relax now he had begun to understand the real reason for the police’s interest in him.

‘You find something amusing about all this, do you?’ said Logan.

‘Of course not. It’s just that my mother got it into her head after Imelda vanished that she’d been murdered and that it was me who killed her. She’s not exactly been firing on all four cylinders for years.’

Logan coughed to clear his throat. ‘Well that’s as may be, but an accusation has been made, and we have a duty to investigate.’

‘Even though the accusation comes from a batty old woman who thinks Princess Di was abducted by aliens and the London Eye is some kind of massive surveillance system?’

‘It’s not for me to judge the state of your mother’s mind. It’s my job to find out the truth.’

‘But surely that amounts to the same thing.’

There was a lengthy pause while Trevor and Logan locked eyes, and Swann glanced back and forth between the two of them.

It was Logan who broke the silence. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned anything which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Long before the detective got to the end of the caution, the increasingly familiar marching band in Trevor’s chest had been joined by the group of Japanese taiko drummers he’d seen at the festival. ‘Am I… under arrest?’

‘Not yet,’ said Logan. ‘But I think you should be aware of your rights before we go any further – before you start to incriminate yourself.’

‘You
are
kidding, aren’t you? I mean, how can I incriminate myself when there hasn’t even been a crime?’

‘So you say.’ Logan picked up the folder. ‘Unfortunately for you, though, there appear to be one or two grey areas about this case, so I’ll ask you again. Where were you when your wife went missing?’

‘Look, I went through all this at the time,’ said Trevor and pointed at the folder. ‘It’s all in there, isn’t it?’

He thought he spotted another exchange of looks between the two detectives but had no idea whether this had any significance.

‘We’d like to hear it again if it’s all the same to you,’ said Logan.

Trevor’s mind leapt back to the caution and particularly the bit about not having to say anything. But there was also the part about harming his defence. ‘They don’t even know
when
she disappeared, so how can I say—’

‘They?’

‘The police. The hotel. Anybody.’

‘Okay, so where were you during the four days she was away in Birmingham?’

‘At home and at work.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘You mean do I have an alibi?’

‘That’s the one,’ said Logan with a sardonic grin.

‘At work, yes. At home, no,’ said Trevor. ‘And don’t you think I’d have made damn sure I did have an alibi if I was planning to murder my wife?’

‘Might not have been planned. Might have been a… crime of passion.’

Trevor threw his head back. ‘Oh for—’

‘Heat of the moment and all that. You know the sort of thing. You find out she’s having an affair, the red mist comes up, and bang… So was she having an affair?’

‘Imelda?’ Trevor wondered if the guy was being deliberately offensive to try and trap him into saying something he’d regret.

‘Well she was quite an attractive woman,’ said Logan, pulling out the wedding photograph from the file and waving it in front of him.

‘Yeah yeah, that’s right. I found out she was screwing my best friend… and… and… and the entire string section of the Birmingham Philharmonic Orchestra – women included.’

‘I really don’t think sarcasm is going to help your case one little bit, Trevor… D’you mind if I call you Trevor, by the way?’

Trevor responded with a snort and folded his arms across his chest. He’d been married to Imelda for four and a half years, and never once in all that time had it occurred to him that there might be someone else. Not that she hadn’t had plenty of opportunity. All those business trips away, and then of course there was the non-existent company she was supposed to have worked for. But that had only come out after she’d disappeared, and—

‘So what was his name?’ said Logan.

‘Who?’

‘This best friend of yours. The one she was having an affair with.’

Oh for goodness’ sake. This was getting more absurd by the minute, and he was beginning to feel light-headed again from lack of food. He darted a glance from side to side and then behind him before looking back at Logan. ‘Sorry, I was just checking for the hidden camera. I mean, this has got to be
Trigger Happy TV
or something, right?’

Logan was about to respond when there was a knock on the door. Whatever words he was about to utter before the interruption, they now came out as ‘Damn it’ and then, rather louder, ‘Come.’

The door opened, and a uniformed female officer came into the room.

‘I
am
trying to conduct an interview here, you know,’ said Logan.

‘Sorry, sir. There’s an urgent message for you.’

‘Oh? Who from?’

The officer hesitated, her eyes drifting towards Trevor, who had turned in his seat to face her. ‘Er… I think it might be better if I told you in er… private, sir.’

‘Christ,’ said Logan, getting to his feet. ‘This better had be urgent, constable.’

‘Interview suspended at zero nine zero five,’ said Swann and switched off the recorder as Logan followed the uniform out of the room. Then she opened the folder and began to read.

Trevor tried to make out what was written on the upside-down page but failed. ‘So what does it say in there?’

Swann looked up at him and smiled. ‘Sorry, sir. Confidential I’m afraid.’

‘You do realise that this whole thing is totally ridiculous, don’t you?’

‘Sorry, sir, but I can’t discuss your case until the interview restarts formally.’

She went back to reading the file – or pretending to. As far as Trevor could tell, there were no more than two or three pages. He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Not only did he seem to be in serious trouble over the package-in-the-locker business, but now he was being accused of murdering Imelda. At least this lot didn’t seem to know anything about the Jiffy bag. So who was the Patterson guy that had stopped him when he was leaving the festival? What was it he’d said when he’d asked if he was the police? – ‘Something like that.’ What the hell did that mean? Either you’re police or you’re not. Simple as that.

He suddenly became aware of the dryness in his mouth. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting a coffee is there? I haven’t even had breakfast yet. Come to that, all I’ve had since Friday lunchtime is a handful of biscuits.’

Swann raised her eyes from the folder. ‘I’ll see what I can do when DS Logan gets back. I’m not sure I can promise bacon and eggs, but I expect we can—’

She broke off as the door to the interview room was flung back on its hinges and Logan stormed in with a face that looked like it could launch a thousand nuclear missiles. ‘You can go,’ he said.

Trevor’s head swivelled to face him. ‘What?’ he and Swann said in almost perfect unison.

‘You heard me. Go.’ Logan was holding the door open, his gaze fixed on the lino covered floor at his feet.

Trevor stood up and walked towards the doorway. He had no intention of jeopardising this unexpected offer of freedom by asking any of the questions that had flashed into his mind.

‘Go with him and get him a lift back to the campsite,’ said Logan as Trevor went past him into the corridor.

Swann paused when she got to within a couple of feet of the sergeant and opened her mouth to speak.

‘Just do as you’re told for once, will you?’ Logan yelled.

Not a happy bunny, thought Trevor, as Swann led the way along the corridor and he heard the door of the interview room slam shut behind them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘In… one… hundred… yards… turn… right,’ said the robotic staccato voice of the satellite navigation system.

Sandra did as she was instructed, but when she reached the entrance of the Riverside Farm Campsite, she was almost certain she recognised the dark blue Ford Mondeo that was parked a little further up the road. Instead of turning into the campsite as she’d intended, she drove past the Mondeo, noticing the two men in the front seats. One was reading a newspaper, and the other seemed to be asleep. She carried on until she came to a dirt track on the left, which ran alongside the six-foot chainlink fence of the campsite. She took the turning and drove slowly, partly because of the rough surface and partly because she was trying to spot Trevor’s camper van through the fence.

She still hadn’t seen it by the time the track opened up into a parking area and ended next to a river. She stopped the car and got out. There was a narrow footpath between the river and the bottom fence of the campsite, and she walked along it until she reached a small wooden jetty that jutted out at right-angles to the riverbank. Half a dozen rowing boats were tethered to it, pitching and bobbing in the water, and a faded metal sign indicated the hourly hire rate.

Opposite the near end of the jetty there was a steel framed gate set into the fence with another, less faded, sign fixed to it, announcing that the gate was FOR THE USE OF CAMPSITE RESIDENTS ONLY. Sandra slid back the bolt and stepped inside. Almost immediately, she saw the object of her quest. The white VW van was parked near to the fence and about fifty or sixty yards to her right.

Lazy bugger must still be asleep, she thought when she noticed the camper’s curtains were all closed. So much the better. The element of surprise is always a bonus.

She strode across the grass and banged the palm of her hand several times against the side of the van. When there was no response, she repeated the action and called out, ‘Come on. I know you’re in there. Open up.’

Still there was silence, so she went around the van trying to find the slightest gap in the curtains but without success.

‘He’s not in, duck.’

Sandra spun round to see a middle-aged woman with plaited hair, who was carrying a red plastic washing-up bowl piled high with plates and pans.

‘Police took him away first thing this morning.’

‘Police?’

‘Well, they was plain clothes of course, but I can always spot ‘em.’

‘Right,’ said Sandra distractedly as her brain struggled to work out the most logical reason for the police’s interest in Trevor, but there were too many possibilities. More importantly, had they taken the Jiffy bag?

‘He didn’t look much like a criminal though, I must say. And believe you me, I’ve known quite a few in my time, I can tell you.’

‘Right,’ Sandra said again and smiled at the woman, wishing she would clear off and let her get on with finding out if the Jiffy bag was still in the van.

‘Friend of his, are you?’

‘Kind of,’ said Sandra and started to rummage through the contents of her shoulder bag.

‘What’s he supposed to have done then?’

‘No idea.’

‘Here, he’s not a murderer, is he?’