Simon Tolkien - The King of Diamonds

‘So you won’t mind us taking a look in your bank account then? You’re quite sure we won’t find any large deposits round these dates?’ asked Creswell, pointing at the ledger.

‘You can do what you bloody well like,’ shouted Macrae, getting up, but Creswell sensed a burgeoning anxiety beneath his subordinate’s outward bravado.

‘All right, Inspector. We’ll do just that, and in the meantime you’re suspended on full pay. I suggest you enjoy the money while you can,’ said Creswell, nodding a curt dismissal.

Macrae stood his ground for a moment, but in the end thought better of giving vent to his rage. He opened the door to leave, but then, just as he was about to go out, Creswell called him back.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about the new evidence that Bill Trave has dug up, but it appears that David Swain may well be an innocent man. And I warn you: if I find out that you or Wale laid a finger on that boy to extort his confession it won’t just be your job I’ll be after. You may have got away with using the thumbscrews in your last job, but you won’t get away with it down here. You understand that, don’t you, Mr Macrae?’ asked Creswell, emphasizing every word.

Macrae shot a venomous look at the superintendent and then turned away, almost colliding with Clayton in the doorway. Macrae stared at his erstwhile junior with undisguised hatred for a moment and then suddenly put out his hand and shoved Clayton out of his way. And after that, without a backward look, he hurried away down the corridor and disappeared around the corner.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Creswell, coming out from behind his desk and helping Clayton to his feet.

‘I’m fine,’ said Clayton, brushing himself down. ‘I was just taken by surprise, sir. That’s all.’

‘Well, Macrae won’t be working here again if I’ve got anything to do with it,’ said Creswell angrily. ‘He can go and join Wale down at Land’s End Police Station if he ever gets his job back.’

‘Will he?’ asked Clayton. ‘Get his job back, I mean?’

‘I don’t know. Depends what’s in his bank statements — the entries in Osman’s accounts book aren’t enough on their own, but I expect you’ve already worked that out for yourself. We can’t prove there’s not someone else called Macrae who did business with Osman, even though I’m sure it’s him. And of course we’ll never know if he was in on Osman’s plot to frame Swain for killing his niece. What do you think?’ asked Creswell. ‘You were there for Swain’s interview.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Clayton, frowning. ‘Macrae and Wale definitely did stuff to Swain, just like Swain said at his trial — not that we can prove it, but that doesn’t mean Macrae knew Swain was innocent. If I had to guess, I’d say Macrae thought he was guilty and Osman paid him for doing a good job making Swain confess. But I could be wrong. It’s difficult to get a clear handle on a lot of what’s gone on, sir, to be honest with you.’

Creswell nodded and then sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair. ‘It was damn brave what you did yesterday, Adam. I’m going to make sure you get a commendation from the commissioner for it. That Mendel boy owes you his life.’

‘I think he knows that. He told me how grateful he is when I went to see him in his cell last night. It’s funny — it’s like what happened with Osman yesterday has knocked the wind out of him, at least for a bit. He couldn’t stop talking when Inspector Trave and I saw him in his flat. He was really obnoxious actually. But now he seems to be finding it hard to string two sentences together.’

‘Well, seeing death changes people — even the deaths of people we hate,’ said Creswell with a sigh. ‘And Osman’s death is going to catch up with you too, you know, sooner or later. You did what you had to do, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one who fired the bullet. That’s what I wanted to see you about actually. Don’t you think you should take some time off? Maybe talk through what happened with someone qualified to help. There are good people I can recommend you to if you’re willing. You can have as long as you need.’

‘Thanks, but I’d prefer not to, sir, if you don’t mind, at least for now,’ said Clayton, biting his lip. ‘It’s work that’s keeping me going at the minute.’

Creswell drummed his fingers on his desk, trying to make a decision. ‘Well, maybe you know best,’ he said eventually. ‘God knows, I’m going to need all the help I can get if we’re going to save Mr Swain from his appointment with the hereafter. Thinking he’s innocent is one thing; convincing those old judges up in London is quite another. If there’s one thing they don’t like doing, it’s interfering with a jury verdict.’

‘But surely there’s the new evidence for them to look at,’ said Clayton, looking surprised. ‘We’ve got Katya’s diary now, and then Osman pretty well admitted her murder to Jacob in the bedroom before I got there. Haven’t you seen Jacob’s statement?’

‘Yes. And it’s not enough. Like it or not, Jacob’s not a credible witness. You can’t get away from the fact that he had an oversized grudge against Osman — he broke into the man’s house three times; he threatened Osman and Claes’s sister with a gun; and he’s also got no corroboration. In fact, as far as I can make out, the only thing you and the rest of the people in the courtyard heard was Osman shouting at the top of his voice that he was an innocent man when Jacob had a gun to his head. And as for Katya’s diary, well maybe it exonerates Swain of the first murder, assuming you accept what a dead girl with a drug history has said about a note that no longer exists. And it certainly shows Claes and Osman had a motive to get rid of Katya, but it doesn’t do anything to change the fact that Swain had a strong motive too and that he was there in the girl’s room with a gun at right around the time she died.

‘It’s a pity that ballistics can’t do any better with Claes’s gun. “It might be the one that killed Katya; it might not be” — it’s exactly what they said about the gun Swain had. I just wish Osman’s safe had contained something to incriminate its owner with the murders. We need more than a dead man’s whisper, Detective. That’s the truth. Is Claes’s sister still saying nothing?’

‘Yes; it’s like she’s had her tongue cut out,’ said Clayton, sounding exasperated. ‘I’ve tried everything — shouting at her, appealing to her conscience — but all she does is finger her bloody crucifix and look at the floor.’

‘Do you think Macrae could have interfered with her? I told him to stay out of it yesterday.’

‘No, I don’t think so. She’s doing it herself; she doesn’t need any help,’ said Clayton, shaking his head.

‘Well, we can’t hold her indefinitely. Try and think of something to get her to talk. Like I said, we need something more.’

Clayton nodded, trying to look hopeful when he felt nothing of the kind. The superintendent’s incisive analysis of the state of play had left him feeling dismally deflated.

‘Have you heard from Trave?’ asked Creswell as Clayton turned to go.

‘No — nothing since yesterday.’

‘Well, ask him if he’s got any ideas when you get the chance. He’s more likely than anyone to think of something. Swain getting a pardon is the only way he’s going to get his job back.’

‘I don’t really think that that’s what’s motivating him,’ said Clayton, but Creswell had already gone back to his correspondence and was no longer listening.

Despite numerous phone calls and two abortive visits to the house on Hill Road, Clayton heard nothing from Trave for the next two days except for a cryptic telephone message left at the front desk of the police station on the Saturday morning telling Clayton to hold on to Jana Claes at all costs. Clayton complied, even though Jana continued to resist all his attempts to make her talk, instead remaining entirely mute, with the same faraway expression in her eyes that she had worn ever since she’d been told about her brother’s death.