The Dying Light (25 page)
He ran the footage from the moment when the camera dodged from a bell tower to a balcony to settle on the three tourists drinking beer. Eyam and Detective Bautista were in the background. The whole sequence was much faster than Kilmartin remembered, but then he recollected that the coroner’s clerk had kept on starting and stopping the film. The edit point, as Link put it, came after Eyam’s exchange with the policeman and his phone call. He paid for his drink and walked across the street into the alleyway. There was a moment of stillness and then a jolt, indicating that the camera angle had been slightly altered, or the camera had dropped fractionally on its stand. Kilmartin thought that the clerk must have stopped the film at that moment, otherwise he would have seen it. The position of the detective lounging in the chair remained the same, but the people in the foreground had shifted slightly.
‘So this is where they cut a whole slice of time out of the film,’ said Link. ‘How long is anyone’s guess. I did some work on the watch that the man in the foreground is wearing - I’d say we’re looking at ninety seconds to two minutes. There is no other internal evidence to give an exact time and all the hidden data is missing from this section.’
‘So Eyam potentially had time to get clear of the gas bomb?’
‘Exactly - only it wasn’t a gas bomb. If you place footage of this bomb alongside a video recording of a bomb from Iraq seven or eight years ago, the two just don’t compare. A bomb using pressurised gas containers with gas leaking into a large area set off by a core of explosive is a powerful weapon, which would have killed everyone in that street, a little like the fuel-air bombs used by the American military. The blast wave is spectacular. But this explosion was something much less devastating.’ He pulled up a still of the white van as it entered the alley and activated a graphic that lifted the van and spun it around. ‘The main explosive pod was probably laid in the middle of the back of the van in plastic bags. Around this would be a mixture of petrol, viscous oil and diesel, probably contained in drums. The petrol causes a spectacular fireball, which is followed by clouds of black smoke created by the oil and diesel. I’d guess that small charges were rigged to the doors, to the right-hand side of the chassis to flip the vehicle over and maybe even to the engine block.’ A grubby finger touched the screen at different points. ‘These were the pyrotechnics of an action movie, Peter. In fact I think the whole thing is a kind of movie set up. It looks real because most people’s experience of explosions is limited to Hollywood pyrotechnics. They don’t have access to footage of real explosions.’ He showed Kilmartin a clip of an experiment involving a pick-up vehicle and an improvised fuel-air explosion performed by the US military, in which the shock wave could be seen moving out over a very large area. There was no comparison between the two explosions.
Kilmartin moved his chair back and stared at the wall.
‘David Eyam wasn’t killed in Colombia that day,’ said Link.
‘Oh, I’m not sure we can go that far,’ said Kilmartin.
‘We can,’ said Link. ‘He wasn’t trying to disappear for ever. There are too many inconsistencies in the metadata. If someone knows enough to alter the EXIF, they do it properly, but here they’ve made a complete Horlicks of it. I guess this fellow was trying to tell anyone who looked at the film properly that it was all phoney. Maybe he knew you would be that person.’
Kilmartin shrugged. ‘Too risky - our former employers were just as likely to get hold of the film and run the tests you did.’
‘Not if DNA evidence established that Mr Eyam’s remains were found at the scene of this explosion. I looked up the inquest reports. DNA samples underpinned the coroner’s verdict. No one had any reason to doubt that your man had died. With DNA everyone rolls over and suspends their critical faculties.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I’ll tell you one thing - this had to be an inside job. Someone in the coroner’s investigation fixed that DNA evidence. That’s the only way all this could have worked.’
‘You’re running ahead of yourself, Murray.’
‘No, I’m not.’ He turned back to the computer and clicked on another icon. ‘I was looking at the metadata in the final seconds of the film and this is what I found in the very last image.’ The letters
EYAMALIVE
appeared on the screen. ‘Eyam Alive, or I am alive. Take your pick, but either way it means the same.’
EYAMALIVE
appeared on the screen. ‘Eyam Alive, or I am alive. Take your pick, but either way it means the same.’
At that moment the cell phone rang in Kilmartin’s pocket. Without surprise he answered to Kate Lockhart’s voice. As he agreed to a meeting in the country the following day, he wondered how much she knew. But now his problem was the man sitting beside him. Link wasn’t stupid: he would realise he was in possession of information with a very high market value. Kilmartin regretted asking him if he or any of his colleagues had heard of SPINDRIFT because that told Link why Eyam’s faked death would matter so much to the government, or to anyone else he might try to sell it to - Eden White’s intelligence outfit, for example. His request about SPINDRIFT might contextualise what was discovered in the film and although Murray Link might not yet have reached the point in his own mind when he’d be willing to sell Kilmartin out, sooner or later he would.
‘And the other thing you mentioned - SPINDRIFT?’
‘Oh, I think we’ll leave that for now. It isn’t relevant to this and I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night,’ said Kilmartin and handed Link the outstanding part of his fee. ‘This is on the understanding that I have not only bought your technological genius, Murray, but your silence. I do not want this getting out. Do you hear?’
Link nodded.
‘I mean it, Murray. I don’t want any cause to feel angry with you.’
‘Understood. You’re the guv’nor. You paid for all this.’
16
Interrogation
Kate submitted to it all: to the media, which had been tipped off about the arrests and was waiting as the convoy of cars slowed at the rear entrance of High Castle police station, allowing cameras to be pressed to the window of the car she was in; to the humiliation of ‘the Cage’, where suspects were held; to being searched and having her clothes removed for forensic examination; to the replacement white forensic suit and black canvas shoes; the incompetence and woeful gaze of the custody officer who informed her of her rights but then did not seem to know how to fill in the computerised custody form; the universal cheerless-ness of the place with its unforgiving light and the minatory tone of the notices addressed to suspects; to the wilting heat and airlessness; to the whistling of constables in distant corridors; and to the astonishing fact that she was arrested and deprived of her liberty and was for a period of one and a half hours locked in a cell with a brushed steel lavatory that smelled of urine: to all this she submitted with a cold, silent fury.
It was in the early hours before the police doctor determined she was fit in body and mind to be interviewed and legal representation was assigned from the duty calls centre - Jim Wreston, a fresh-faced man in his late twenties with a loosened tie knot and scuffed shoes, who seemed hopelessly in awe of the police. She was taken to the interview room where Newsome was waiting with the officer she had seen overseeing the security operation in the square on the day of the funeral. His name was Tom Shap and he was a superintendent. Newsome recited a legal caution and for the tape recorder’s benefit gave their names and that of an officer of unspecified rank, referred to simply as Mr Halliday, who sat tipping the back of his chair against the wall.
They began with her relationship with Eyam. She told Newsome again how she learned of his death, about her attendance at the inquest and the funeral, the intervening weekend and being approached by Hugh Russell in the Green Parrot cafe. She described her astonishment at his news about the will and then went on to say how Russell had told her on the following day about the theft of documents and the attack on him. Her account was clear and poised, even though her mind was still racing with the possibility that Eyam might still be alive. She worried that this vast, unconfirmed secret would communicate itself as guilt, and the one thing she needed now was for the police to let her go. But it was clear Newsome and Shap were laying the foundations for a long interrogation. Wreston sat mute beside her, occasionally glancing in her direction as if he understood the drift of the police questions, which she knew he didn’t.
Shap, whose manner had not improved since her first encounter with him, asked about ‘the lost hours’ between Russell’s departure from Dove Cottage and the discovery of the car with his body inside at the end of the track. She was getting to know the property, she replied, thinking about what she would do with all Eyam’s possessions. She recalled phoning the office in New York and then she mentioned using the computer, which she instantly regretted.
‘I’ll to come to that later,’ said Shap.
‘In the meantime,’ said Newsome, ‘perhaps you would explain these.’ He drew some still photographs from an envelope but held them towards his chest.
‘You haven’t disclosed this material,’ said Wreston.
‘I am doing so now,’ said Newsome.
‘Let’s get on with it. I have no objections,’ Kate said.
He handed the photographs to Wreston.
‘You told us,’ said Shap, ‘that Hugh Russell informed you of the break-in at his office and the attack he suffered and that all the time you had been in the hotel.’ He laid down the four CCTV images of her standing outside Russell’s office and one of her pushing the door open. Newsome described the images for the tape recorder.
‘These place you at the scene of at least one crime,’ said Shap. ‘We conclude that Mr Russell didn’t see who hit him because he was struck from behind. We know you were in the building at the time of the attack, though you omitted this important fact from your story and this leads us to believe that having failed to kill him on that occasion you lured him to the cottage where your accomplice, Sean Nock, finished off the job for you.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said.
‘Then how do you explain your behaviour over the weekend and on the evening of the attack? One resident whose garden backs onto the alleyway known as the Cut recently installed CCTV to deal with the problem of burglars. He has film of you making your way along that alley once over the weekend and then early on Tuesday evening.’
‘I did go to see Mr Russell at his request,’ she said after a while.
‘At last we’re getting somewhere,’ said Shap unpleasantly. ‘What were you doing there?’
‘Mr Russell asked me to take delivery of the documents.’
‘Why didn’t he mention this to the investigating officers when they took his statement?
‘Because I asked him not to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he said the documents were sensitive. He came to Mr Eyam’s wake at the Bailey Hotel. He was flustered and said he wanted to give them to me immediately. I didn’t know what was in them of course, but I thought I should take delivery as discreetly as possible. When I got to the offices the door was open and after a few minutes I went upstairs. I was halfway up when two men attacked me. I saw very little because of the light. I was hit several times and fought back. When they left the building I continued upstairs and found Mr Russell unconscious. The safe was open. When he came round he confirmed that the documents were missing.’
Shap sniffed. ‘Come on, Miss Lockhart, do you really expect us to believe this? The story about the two men is pure fantasy, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ she said quietly as an idea struck her. ‘Do you want to see the injury I received?’ She lifted up the trouser leg and showed them the cut on her ankle. They were unimpressed.
‘There was no other reason to explore that alley two days before the break-in,’ continued Shap. ‘You were finding a way of getting to his office unnoticed, weren’t you?’
She met his eyes. ‘What possible motive could I have to attack a man I had not met until that morning?’
‘You tell us. Maybe it was Mr Eyam’s will,’ said Newsome.
‘I am the main beneficiary of Mr Eyam’s will. That is true, but the will’s authenticity can be established by simply looking into Mr Russell’s records and consulting his partner. It was witnessed by Mrs Spring, whom I’ve never met. As I told you, I have no need of money, inspector. I am not the kind of person who goes round forging wills. I still have a very well-paid job and considerable savings.’
‘The will is being examined now,’ said Shap.
‘You took it from my purse?’
‘Together with the letter that purports to be from your friend David Eyam. Tell us a little about that. It seems a strange document. Not the sort of letter you would want a friend to read after your death. It seems, well, so vague and . . .’
‘And whimsical? Yes, David was like that sometimes. To tell the truth I only read it once because it made me so sad to think of him gone. We had been friends for a very long time. Maybe he was a little drunk when he wrote it. I believe he was ill. There is a lot that is painful to me and still unexplained.’ Halliday had stopped rocking his chair and let his hands drop to his knees.
‘Quite so, Miss Lockhart,’ said Newsome. ‘What do you think he was trying to convey in that letter? It’s almost as if there was a coded message in it.’
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