The Reckless Engineer (2 page)

CHAPTER 3

Friday, October 15 — The Day Of Arrest

Jeremy filled Harry in on the history of the relationships as he knew it as Harry negotiated the two-hour drive from the Barrett Stavers offices at 127 Fleet Street to the Guildford police station through London’s Friday evening traffic. Harry had chosen the company BMW for the long distance drive out of the City, leaving his Mercedes parked in the underground garage.

‘I lost touch with Jack shortly after I moved to London from Portsmouth,’ Jeremy concluded. ‘And I hardly knew Michelle at all.’

‘How does he know about our firm?’

‘Well, Jack helped me move. He’s a superb engineer and I asked for his help, in particular to move my workshop from my Portsmouth garage. He helped me pick out some new equipment for the lab and set up my lab with me.’

It had been a misty Saturday morning in late autumn when the movers had arrived at Jeremy’s apartment at 19 Moore Street in Kensington, South-West London. He had bought the two bedroom ground floor property, raised above the street level by a flight of seven stairs, twelve years ago with a deposit borrowed from Dad and had just reclaimed it from the tenants he had been renting it to. Jeremy had packed up his workshop in Portsmouth with Jack’s help the weekend before. They had loaded the equipment straight into the self-drive van from the movers’ lorry, alongside the new equipment that he had bought, as a dense fog descended upon them like thick grey wet blankets thrown off rooftops. They had driven over and set up the equipment in the new lab in Jeremy’s wing of the 4
th
floor offices of Barratt, Stavers & Associates.

Afterwards they had burst open a bottle of champagne in the office, Jeremy exultant with pride at the company and the laboratory he now owned. He had felt the light weight of responsibility on his shoulder even back then, but the chilled champagne had hit palate and drenched his skin, intoxicating him with optimism and confidence. Luck had been with him thus far for Harry had given him a leg up by letting him have the office space for a fraction of its real worth. That evening Jeremy had taken Jack out to dinner and invited his friend to join the company as his partner.

‘We will make the perfect team together,’ he had urged.

‘Ah, man, you know I would if I could. But I hardly have enough time in the day to catch some sleep as it is,’ Jack had declined with a smile and a pat on his back.

A year and two months later that weighty hand on his shoulder was a ton heavier and had the grip of an ever tightening vice. Radio Silicon’s last contract had long been finished. He had to find a client soon, in this economy, before his saving and his credit line ran out, or he was going to have to let young Sean go. Thank God for Harry who was now covering Jeremy’s part of the rent and keeping him distracted from his often empty workdays. He knew, however, it could not go on like this for much longer.

‘So Jack’s been up in our offices?’ Harry mused, crinkling his nose, trying to remember.

Jeremy rose out of his thoughts. ‘It was a weekend, Harry. No one else was in.’

‘Ah.’ Harry nodded.

They drove on. The grey asphalt cityscape was being replaced by the greenery of the approaching countryside. Jeremy rolled down a window and breathed in the fresh autumn air.

‘Did Jack ever confide in you about how he felt about the two women? Clearly he has continued the relationship with Michelle. But what’s happened to Sally?’

‘The weekend I moved to London Jack said he was “hooked” on Michelle. He mentioned she was a bit of a wild-cat in bed.’

Harry raised an eyebrow and gave him an amused, sideways glance.

‘Michelle was pressuring him to cut off all contact with Sally at the time,’ Jeremy continued. ‘But he was in a quandary about what to do. Sally was a close colleague whom he still had feelings of affection and friendship for, but maybe not much more. Jack said Sally was “not part of the equation anymore.” Sally asked me to find out how Jack felt about her before my move. I urged him to sort things out with her so that at least her work was not made difficult, but I never got back to her with the bad news. I guess we shall find out from Jack what happened.’

They were nearing the Guildford police station and Harry outlined the events that were likely to follow.

‘I have already advised Jack to say nothing until we meet and speak. I’ve also spoken to the Inspector on duty and have gone on record as Jack’s solicitors. From what I’ve gathered so far, Michelle has been found dead in her house yesterday afternoon. The police have arrested Jack on suspicion for her murder. He’s going to be interviewed under caution and I’m going to be present at the interview with him.’

Jeremy nodded. He had been in a police station just like this one before, and that time it had been Jack coming to save him from the cage and possible drunk driving charges.

‘You will not be allowed to come in for the interview,’ Harry continued, ‘but you can come in with me to see him before it starts. I shall present you as my associate. I’m going to speak to the officer in charge before we see Jack. The Police would have searched his house and I want to see what evidence they have found against him that they will reveal to us.’

Harry pulled his BMW up to a parking space next to three marked police cars. Devoid of all traces of the warmth of daylight, the night air was cool and kept the fatigue from the working week at bay. They walked up to the closed and locked but well lit entrance where Harry picked up and spoke into the entry phone, identifying both of them.

Shortly a female officer appeared from around the corner of the building and escorted them through a side entrance to a reception where two other officers were busy behind the counter. A rough-looking man with craters covering his face stood in handcuffs by the counter next to a third officer, the prisoner’s face clenched and holding in some indignant rage. The stench of urine and vomit stubbornly clung to the air under the smell of industrial strength disinfectant.

‘I’m Harry Stavers from Barrett Stavers & Associates.’ Harry presented his card to the officer to whom the WPC had presented them. ‘This is my associate, Jeremy Stone. We’re representing Jack Connor.’

After some preliminary exchanges the WPC led them into a small oppressive room dedicated for meetings and informal interviews.

‘The detective in charge of the investigation will be with you shortly. He is sifting through the evidence collected from our search of Mr. Connor’s property,’ she spoke through her chewing gum. Jeremy figured she was in her 40s. She had short straight hair and, despite her 5’ 7” tall thin figure that was hunched an inch or so down, he got the sense that she could jolly well wrestle him to the ground and cuff him at a moment’s provocation.

The officer in charge was a well-built man–dark with partly greying hair, a little over six feet tall, and somewhat overweight.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Edwards, John Edwards.’ He extended a weighty hand. ‘This is Constable Dorothy Hansen.’

‘Harry Stavers. And this is my associate Jeremy Stone.’

They took their seats across the wooden table heavily scribbled on and carved with knives and other sharp objects.

‘Michelle Williams was found dead in her house yesterday afternoon,’ Edwards got straight down to business. ‘She was pregnant at the time of her death, and the foetus was . . . well . . . er . . . dead also, for the want of a better word. Her friend who does some housekeeping for her found her dead on her couch. The post mortem will reveal further details on the time and cause of her death, but the initial assessment is that she died of multiple organ failure from poisoning.’

Harry and Jeremy glanced at each other. Michelle’s pregnancy was news to them. Harry nodded and made some brief notes on his pad.

‘It is apparent that Ms. Williams was in a relationship with Jack Connor and we believe he is the last person who saw her alive. He has been arrested on suspicion for her murder and we need to interview him.’

‘What evidence leads you to believe that my client may have played a part in the deaths, Chief Inspector?’

‘That will be presented to you in due course, Mr. Stavers. This is all that we can reveal to you at the moment. Jack Connor’s house and property has been searched and some items have been taken in as evidence. As you know, a list of the items being held will be provided to you in due course.’

The Inspector’s voice had a hint of dismissive condescension and finality of judgement that sent a chill through Jeremy’s bones. Harry, however, was nodding with calm assurance.

‘WPC Hansen will escort Jack Connor in here in a moment. Let us know when your client is ready for the interview please.’

The officers exited the room.

‘He’s not giving anything away,’ Harry muttered. ‘I shall learn more from the questions they put to Jack during the interview. They will put some of the confiscated items before him during the questioning. If it is a death by poisoning I doubt they can charge him today. Likely not until they have the full post mortem and toxicology reports.’

The Jack who walked in, his face drawn and ashen, his eyes heavy and drowning in exhaustion and fear, was half the man Jeremy knew him to be.

‘Jeremy,’ he gushed, holding onto his right hand with both of his own, clutching on for dear life.

His heart went out to his friend. ‘Jack, this is Harry. Harry Stavers. How are you, man?’

Jeremy put his left hand on Jack’s shrunken shoulder and pulled him in for a hug of support. Jack clung on for seconds longer as if trying to charge himself with some strength and life that had drained out of him.

‘Thank you so much for getting here so fast. I’m, well, I’m a wreck,’ Jack said, shaking Harry’s hand and then wiping beads of sweat off his face.

‘Harry’s one of the best criminal defence attorneys in London. You are in good hands with him.’ Jeremy guided him to a seat and sat next to him, facing Harry across the table. ‘You got Michelle pregnant?!’

‘Ah, yes, she was pregnant with my son, a tiny little boy. I didn’t have time to tell you on the phone.’

Jack buried his face in both hands.

‘Jack, the police are going to interview you in a short time,’ Harry took charge in a confident and reassuring tone. ‘We have already discussed this on the phone, but just to make sure, they read you your rights when you were arrested, and you haven’t said anything to the police, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. I asked to call Jeremy, well, your firm.’

‘Good. You will be going in with me for the interview soon. They’ve got something on you, I don’t know what. I don’t want you to say anything until I know exactly what they’ve got and we’ve had time to discuss it. So you’re not going to answer anything today. For every question they ask I want you to say “no comment” and nothing else, understand?’

Jack seemed to pull in strength from Harry and seemed relieved and reassured by his confident tone and instruction. He nodded as Harry drew in his eyes and locked them into place.

‘If they ask if your name is Jack Connor, you say “no comment.” If they ask if your name is Michelle Williams, you say “no comment.” If they ask if you knew Michelle, you say “no comment.” Don’t nod; don’t shake your head; don’t reveal any facial expressions. No pauses or anything they can draw inferences from. Just a monotone “no comment.”’

Jack nodded slightly, looking a little lost.

‘Jack, we don’t want to say anything until we know what’s in that post mortem report and what other evidence they’ve got,’ Harry explained.

‘I didn’t kill her.’ Jack shook his head in despair. ‘Jeremy, I didn’t. I was in love with her, but, oh God, it was such a mess!’

Harry seemed to relax visibly. It was good to hear a client say that with such vehemence. Harry always said that whether the client was innocent or guilty did not matter; he was entitled to the best defence he could buy or beg for anyway. Nevertheless they knew that when a client was truly innocent whatever the police had that pointed to him was circumstantial or a set-up, and that there was a good chance they could break through to the truth, or at least to a reasonable doubt.

Jeremy noted however that Jack had said he “
was
in love with her” and that “it
was
such a mess.” For Jack the mess was in the past. It was normal for a person who was within hours of having received the news of the death of a loved one to be speaking of them in the present tense. Jack had subconsciously adjusted remarkably fast to the news of Michelle’s death, or he had had some knowledge for some time that had given him much longer to adjust to the idea, or Michelle’s death was not psychologically a ‘loss’ to him. Unfortunately, being in love with someone and wanting to kill her had not been mutually exclusive feelings in human affairs . . .

Wait
, Jack was his friend. What was he thinking? Jeremy shivered and forced this line of reasoning out of his head.

‘Okay, you may say that you didn’t kill her.’ Harry’s voice drew back his attention. ‘But my advice is, do not get dragged in to answering questions now that you could regret later. Your answers will lead to more questions, and under this strain you could unwittingly say something which they could use against you. I need some time with you and whatever evidence they’ve got first. A lot more time than we have right now.’

Jack nodded.

‘With a death by poisoning they are unlikely to be able to charge you without the toxicology report unless they get an admission out of you,’ Harry continued. ‘Saying nothing right now is the best strategy. The post mortem is likely to take a few more days and that will give us the time we need.’

Harry paused for emphasis, then broke his gaze and stood up.

‘Jeremy, this could take a while. You might need to use the car.’ He tossed the keys of the BMW to him. ‘Keep your mobile handy. I shall call you when I need you.’

‘Okay, we’re ready.’ Harry walked around and opened the door.

‘Mr. Connor, come this way please. We are ready to start the interview.’ The WPC stepped into the room. ‘Mr., er, Stone, you may stay in this room if you wish.’

Jeremy remained in the room for about another ten minutes, running the afternoon’s events through his mind. The time was 8:12 p.m. Jack’s contact details were still on his phone, he remembered. He typed Jack’s postcode into the phone’s GPS map. The police station was no more than a fifteen-minute drive from his house.