Simon Kernick - The Business of Dying

What can you say to that?

'That's not to say that you're in any way a bad copper, Dennis. Because you're not. You're an extremely valued member of the team. I want you to understand that.'

'I understand, sir,' I said, hoping that we could bring this bout of making me feel better to a swift end.

'You've done a great job over the years.'

'Thanks.'

'I know you're disappointed.'

'I'm all right, sir.'

'That's understandable, but try to take some positives from it.'

'I will, sir.'

'Now, to wrap this Miriam Fox case up we have a task that requires experience and tact.'

'I'm all ears.'

'I want you to go down to see her mother and father and talk them through the progress we've made on the case. The local liaison officer's off sick, so it'll be good public relations and it'll give them an opportunity to bring themselves up to date with what's been happening. They've been told by local police that charges have been laid against the man in custody, but that's all.'

'What else do they need to know?'

'It's felt both by the Chief Super and myself that they'd benefit from a personal visit by one of our more senior officers. I'd like you to go down there tomorrow morning and take DC Malik with you.' I think I must have made a face because Knox fixed me with a stern look. 'Look, Dennis, the Metropolitan Police has one hell of a lot of critics, as you know. Miriam Fox's father is an influential man and a local Labour councillor. We need to get people like him on our side.'

There was no point arguing. The decision had been made, so nothing was going to change it. I nodded to show that I understood. 'Is that all, sir?'

'Yes, that's it. Thanks for your understanding, Dennis. I knew you wouldn't let us down.'

I stood up. 'I'm sorry about the DI. I'd like to visit him, if it's possible. When does he begin his treatment?'

'Monday. I'll let you have the hospital details when I get them.'

'Yeah, that would be good. Thanks.' I took a last drag on the cigarette and looked about for an ashtray. There wasn't one, so Knox passed me a three-quarters-empty coffee cup with the legend World's Best Dad scrawled on the side. Better parent than man manager, then. I chucked the butt in and he put the cup back on his desk. 'It's good news about Wells, anyway.'

Knox nodded. 'Yes it is. It's always good to get a result this quickly.'

'Did we locate the car he was driving when he picked her up?'

'Forensics are doing tests on his car at the moment.'

'And is it a dark-coloured saloon?'

'It's a maroon BMW, so I think that counts. It would look dark-coloured at night on a dimly lit street. Why? Do you think there's a problem?'

I shrugged. 'Not necessarily. It's just that when Malik and I ran into him at Miriam Fox's flat he looked totally shocked to see us, and it was instinctive shock too, not put on. If he'd killed her he'd expect to see coppers at her place. Also, what would he be doing going back there?'

'Maybe there was some incriminating evidence he wanted to recover.'

'There wasn't. We checked the place thoroughly, remember.'

Knox sighed. 'Dennis, just what do you want us to do? We've got a violent pimp with plenty of convictions for assaults against women who's known to have attacked the victim within the last few weeks and whose shirt was found covered in her blood less than a hundred yards from where she was killed, and who's so far failed to provide us with any sort of alibi. We can hardly let him go, can we?'

'But it doesn't necessarily mean he's the one, does it? You only found the shirt because of a tip-off. And that's the only thing that really connects him to the murder, isn't it?'

'Well, it's a pretty big thing, don't you agree? It's definitely his shirt, it's got his hair fibres all over it, for Christ's sake.' He was beginning to get annoyed now. Knox was a man who liked to feel he was in control; he didn't like it when people started knocking holes in his theories.

I nodded slowly. 'True, but it's still the only connection, and there's still the little problem of motive. I mean, why did he kill her?'

'Dennis, what's your fucking problem? Have you got some alternative theory you'd like to share with us all? Because if not, stop trying to undermine all the work we've done.'

I thought about telling him about Molly Hagger's disappearance and the possibility that there was something more to all this than a simple dispute between a pimp and his whore, but I held back. In a way I was too embarrassed to say something. I had nothing concrete at all, just a few flimsy ideas and that old classic: the instinctive feeling that something wasn't quite right.

'No, I don't have anything else, I'm just concerned we get the right man. The last thing we need is an acquittal and allegations of a frame-up.'

'I'm glad you're concerned. It shows you care. But believe me, Mark Wells is our man. If I wasn't damned sure, I wouldn't be charging him. OK?'

'OK.'

'And, Dennis, bear this in mind.'

'What, sir?'

'There hasn't been a single killing of a prostitute in the whole of the south-east with an MO like Miriam Fox's, so it's almost certain it was a one-off. Do you see what I'm saying?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Don't complicate matters, because a lot of the time they don't need complicating. Now, can you do me a favour and send DS Capper in?'

And that was that. I left the room without saying another word, wondering just how much worse things could get.

I found Capper over at the photocopier talking to Hunsdon. I told him Knox wanted to see him, and he went off with a sly smile. When he'd gone, I turned to Hunsdon.

'Have you got those phone records yet?' I asked him.

'Yeah, they faxed them through this morning. I've got them here somewhere.' He picked up a pile of papers from the in-tray and went through them quickly.

'Were they any use?' I asked him as he searched.

'Not really,' he said, handing me two sheets of A4 paper.

I took them off him and glanced down the first page, which detailed outgoing calls. There was a total of ninety-seven listed, all made in the twenty-eight days up until the date of the murder. The left-hand column gave the date and time of each one, the right-hand column identified the numbers called. The second sheet detailed the incoming ones, of which there were fifty-six.

'These numbers have got no names with them,' I said, looking up at him.

'That's right. That's why they're not much use.'

'Can't they identify the person each number's registered to?'

'Yeah, but apparently that takes a lot longer because it involves more than one company. There's a lot of cross-checking databases, that sort of thing, but they're on the case at the moment. I should be getting a list any time now.'

I put the sheets in the copier and ran a copy, giving the originals back to him. 'Look, can you give me the names of the people you're dealing with? I don't mind chasing it.'

He looked at me uncertainly. 'What's the point?

They're not going to tell us anything. So she made calls to Wells and he made calls to her. That stands to reason.'

'Humour me.'

'The bloke I've been dealing with is called John Claire. I've got his number back at my desk.'

'Well, let's go back and get it, then.'

Reluctantly he returned to his desk with me in tow and dug out the number. I got the feeling he hadn't exactly been pushing himself to get the information on Miriam's records, but that was Hunsdon for you. He wasn't a bad copper in many ways, but he was a lazy bastard, and not the best at performing routine tasks, especially when he thought the tasks themselves were a bit pointless.

I wrote the number down and he asked me again what the point of chasing it up was.

It was, I suppose, a good question. I think at that precise moment my interest stemmed from a real desire to put one over on Knox and Capper and wipe the smiles off their faces. Maybe Wells was the man responsible for Miriam's murder, but it just didn't seem to me to be as cut and dried as they all thought. For the sake of a couple of phone calls, I was more than happy to be the one who proved them wrong.