Castle Killings: A DCI Keane Scottish Crime Thriller (Deadly Highlands Book 4)

by Oliver Davies

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “We can check that with the girls later? Anything else?” Darren shifted a little hesitantly before speaking.

  “Watching and listening to Anthony just now, he didn’t strike me as the reserved, quiet type the girls described. If he managed to get Nick chatting at Top Joe’s, he must have shown him a different side of his personality when it was just the two of them. I mean, whatever they talked about first that Sunday afternoon in Thurso, he made a good enough impression to walk away with Nick’s number.”

  “Given his admitted line of work, that’s not surprising,” Caitlin said. “He’d be well practised at lying his head off to everyone he met, and plenty of outgoing guys get a bit shy when they find themselves in the company of a group of new people. I doubt Nick would have found it at all odd.”

  “Nick thought Anthony was up here on a job that was going to keep him in Caithness for a while, whatever tale he told him about that,” Collins contributed. “And he obviously liked him enough to suggest meeting up for a drink sometime. New guy in town, no friends, why not introduce him to some people? What I don’t get is what made Anthony go out of his way to buddy up to Nick in the first place.”

  “We don’t know how many people he may have struck up conversations with before settling on Nicholas Albert. Maybe he’d even seen him with the girls in Wick before that? People in groups tend to be far less memorable than individual loners hanging around in a busy pub. Plus, he needed to be introduced to some likely girls to lure Visser in with. He wouldn’t just approach his target directly.”

  “But how would he know where and when to find Visser that Friday?” Mills argued cautiously.

  “Good point,” I interjected. “And that brings us to the second group of recordings. I think you should all hear those before we discuss things any further.” I gave Shay the nod and watched my team’s faces carefully as they listened and read along. As I’d hoped, both Caitlin and Philips reacted visibly to the sound of the voice of the man Anthony was speaking to, although neither Mills nor Collins did.

  “Those calls were all made to, or by, a number that is now unreachable, most likely a burner phone that’s been tossed,” I told them once they’d heard all there was to hear. “The conversations are all between Anthony and an unknown man who we believe must have been the client’s go-between. No names are used during any of the calls, but the recordings tell us that the go-between had eyes and ears in The Old Smiddy when Visser, Morris, and Buchanan were there on Friday the fifth. In fact, he called Anthony to let him know they were planning to move on to Harper’s later, shortly before Anthony called Nick to arrange to meet there.”

  “We also now know that once Anthony had Visser in his car, he drove him out to the castle. Remote spot, no witnesses, no cameras. Who he met there, we don’t yet know, but at least one other person had to have been there to help him. Possibly the same person, or people, who met him at Nybster Broch last Thursday night.” I looked at Philips and then Caitlin. “Did either of you recognise the other voice on those calls?”

  “I couldn’t swear to it, but it did sound an awful lot like Andrew Michaelson,” Philips said cautiously, and Caitlin nodded her agreement.

  “And we know that Michaelson works for Charlie Soames, the husband of the woman in the photos we found on Visser’s memory card,” I reminded them all. “That paints a conveniently neat picture for us but doesn’t provide enough solid evidence to bring Charlie in with. I’m hopeful that Anthony’s phone service provider will respond promptly to the urgent notice that I submitted last night requesting communications data, but, in the meantime, I have some little errands I’d like you all to run.”

  Someone needed to visit Phyliss, Visser’s downstairs neighbour, and see if she could identify Charlie Soames as the man she’d seen ringing the doorbell and, if she could, try to remember what day and time that had been. Also, the girls now needed to be asked where Anthony and Nick had been when Visser first approached the three of them. Then there was the Old Smiddy to be revisited. It was a slim hope that anyone would be able to remember seeing any of our current persons of interest there on the night of the murder, but it was worth a shot. Mills and Collins nodded cheerfully when I assigned those tasks to them.

  “What about Michaelson?” Philips asked, and I smiled.

  “I’d like you and Caitlin to go and arrest him on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder. Shay bagged up the standalone GPS unit from Anthony’s Nissan yesterday, and he checked last night to see where it went on Tuesday the ninth. It didn’t go near the letting agency or Staxigoe. Anthony was staying in a place near Braal Castle at the time and didn’t come near Wick that day.” Why people kept insisting on lying to us, I didn’t know, but it certainly nearly always worked in our favour when they did. “Once we have him on tape, Shay can run a voice comparison analysis. Presenting him with the results of that might shake him enough to encourage him to try to cut a deal. Have him processed in but let him sit for a while. I’d really like the phone data in and analysed before I interview him.”

  Five minutes later, we were all on our way into town.

  Twenty-Seven

  I had Michaelson brought to our interview room a little before eleven. The requested data files had just come in from the phone company, and Shay would need a little time to collate the information I wanted from them, so it seemed like a good time to get started. Plus, Michaelson’s solicitor had arrived half an hour before that and had had ample opportunity to confer with his client by then.

  Andrew Michaelson was a tall, well-built man, but his suit couldn’t hide the fact that at forty-four, he’d begun to let himself go a little. There was a definite bulge to his abdomen and some extra flesh filling out his already heavy-set features. The beginnings of an incipient double chin were already showing beneath his jawline.

  As Caitlin and I sat down across the table from him, I could see why she hadn’t liked him. Without the mask of a friendly letting agent in place, his gaze was cold, calculating and downright mean-looking. Black haired, hazel-eyed, neither ugly nor particularly handsome. A very ordinary-looking man, apart from the hardness of the stare he was directing at me.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Keane?” the solicitor, Norman Donaldson, asked, eyeing me disapprovingly. Donaldson was a grey-haired, extremely neat little fellow with a brisk, businesslike air to him. He tsked at my confirming nod. “Well, that probably explains things. You do look rather young to be given so much responsibility. Suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder? I’d like to know what grounds you can possibly have to justify arresting my client on such a charge. I don’t know what on earth they’re teaching you boys these days, I really don’t. Well, let’s not waste any more time on this nonsense than we need to.”

  I didn’t allow my own bland expression to alter as Caitlin started the recording and went through the obligatory process of stating the time, date, people present and which case the interview concerned.

  “You are currently the manager of Caithness Property, a local letting agency with an office on Bridge Street in Wick, Mr Michaelson? Is that correct?” I began as soon as that formality had been dealt with.

  “It is. I am.”

  “How long have you held that position for?”

  “A little over twelve years.”

  “And your employer is Mr Charles Soames? He owns the agency?”

  “Is this relevant, Inspector?” Donaldson interrupted, “My client and I would both appreciate it if you got to the point, please. Mr Michaelson has already been held here for well over an hour without any explanation for his arrest being offered.”

  “I’m establishing some necessary facts, for the record. If you wish to instruct your client not to answer my questions, please, feel free to do so.” A displeased hand wave invited Michaelson to go ahead and answer.

  “Yes, I’m employed by the owner, Charlie Soames.”

  “You were visited at your office a little before five p.m. y
esterday by D.I. Philips and D.S. Murray. Would you state, in your own words, what they asked you and how you responded, please?”

  “My client is not willing to do so,” Donaldson quickly interjected. “It is unreasonable to expect him to accurately remember the details of that conversation.”

  I nodded agreeably. I hadn’t expected Donaldson to let that one go. It was far too easy for people to contradict themselves when asked to recount their earlier statements. I opened my folder and extracted a few sheets of typed up notes.

  “These are the notes taken by D.S. Murray during that visit.” I slid them across the table. “Would you please read them and state whether or not you believe they accurately relate the substance of the questions you were asked and the replies that you gave?”

  Both men bent their heads over the sheets and did so carefully.

  “As far as I can recall, that seems to be accurate,” Michaelson allowed after a whispered consultation with his solicitor.

  “You stated yesterday that on Tuesday the ninth of this month, Mr Anthony Tait drove you, in his own car, to a property in Staxigoe that he was interested in renting. What sort of car was that? Make? Model?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t remember the make or the model.”

  “Can you remember its colour?”

  “Not with any certainty, no. I’ve shown a lot of properties to a lot of people since then. Details like that tend to blur together.”

  I pulled a photograph out and slid that over too. “Is that the man you took to the property?”

  He stared at it for a good while before answering.

  “It could be. As I said, details tend to blur.”

  “It was only a week ago today, Mr Michaelson,” I prompted, but he just glared back at me stubbornly.

  “Like I said, I can’t be certain.”

  “How many property viewings have you personally conducted since then?” I asked.

  “I’d have to check my records.”

  “Of course. A rough estimate, then. Ten? Twenty? Thirty? More?”

  He shrugged. “Less than thirty.”

  We had enough, by then, for our initial voice sample, and Shay worked quickly. He’d probably already finished collating the phone data for me by now.

  “I’m pausing this interview at eleven-o-seven,” I said clearly and signalled for Caitlin to stop the recording. Once she’d done so, I stood up. “My apologies, gentlemen, but I need to step out for a few minutes now. If either of you would like a drink to be provided, or to visit the toilet facilities, then please let Sergeant Murray know.”

  Collins was waiting outside the door, as instructed, and slipped into the room to replace me as I let myself out. The printer was spitting out sheets as I walked back into my own office. Shay glanced up at me with a smile.

  “The communications data you wanted from Anthony’s and Michaelson’s phones just went through the printer if you want to see if you have everything you want there for now.”

  “Great, I’ll look through it now, thanks.”

  “I had my voice analysis programme running whilst you were busy with Michaelson,” he told me cheerfully as I picked the sheets from the tray. “You can never claim one hundred per cent certainty with a voice match because of DyVis - Dynamic Variability in Speech - but the format frequency dynamics I’ve registered are looking really good. Those vary, depending on the physical dimensions of a speaker’s vocal tract and the way each speaker configures their vocal organs. Come and look at these voiceprints showing the frequencies of the acoustic speech signals.”

  I checked them over. Each one displayed a snipped sound segment, the result for a different, individual word. He’d already paired up some of the samples from the recorded calls with those we’d just obtained.

  “They look like excellent matches to me. Would they be admissible in court?”

  “Sure. The reliability of the scientific basis for using format frequencies in voice matching is established solidly enough. The vowel sounds are especially telling. Call in a well-reputed forensic voice analyst to testify, and they’d be able to convince any jury how slim the likelihood of this being a false match was. Imitating someone’s voice accurately can fool the ear, but it can’t fool the science. I’ll paste a few readings onto a page and print that out for you now.”

  I took a few minutes to look through the phone data while he did that. One sheet even had all the call lengths, times and dates, together with the location of each phone at the time of the call, helpfully laid out so that a quick glance was enough to show anyone looking at it everything they needed to know. I couldn’t have asked for better ammunition to go back in with.

  Everyone was still sitting where I’d left them when I walked back into the interview room with my freshly restocked folder and a tablet. Collins gave up his position guarding the wall to slip out again, closing the door behind him. I put the tablet down in front of Caitlin before seating myself. Donaldson waited until we’d restarted the recording before protesting the additional delay. I might have known he’d want that on the record.

  “We’d like to play you some audio recordings made by a Mr Anthony Tait now, Mr Michaelson,” I said, ignoring the solicitor and pulling that handy list of calls from the top of my folder. “The times, dates and locations of the phone calls we have recordings of are all listed here for you.” Donaldson sent him a questioning look as they both examined the list but refrained from saying anything. “Play the first call from the fifth of April, please, Sergeant Murray. The one at five twenty p.m. from Anthony Tait to his local contact.” The folder of audio files was already opened, ready for her, and it only took her a couple of seconds to find the one I’d asked for.

  “Is the selected model going to be available to pose for the portrait tonight?” we all heard Anthony ask.

  “We have every confidence that he will be, but we won’t be able to confirm that until later this evening. I’ll contact you later when we’re sure.”

  “Short and sweet,” I commented as the call terminated. “I’m afraid they all are. No words wasted on the usually expected greetings. Second call, same day, eight thirty-four p.m., from the local contact to Anthony, please.

  “You can meet the model at Harpers. We expect him to be there within the hour. Have you decided the setting you wish for the painting?”

  “We have. Everything’s arranged.” Andrew Michaelson wasn’t looking at all happy by then.

  “And the call from twelve fifty-four, later that same night please, from Anthony to the contact.”

  “I’m driving up to the location with the model now. We’ll be there shortly.”

  “Is he likely to be difficult?”

  “Not at all. He’ll be a fully compliant subject. He’s ready to be painted however we like.”

  “Was that you speaking to Anthony Tait on those calls, Mr Michaelson?” I asked.

  “My client chooses not to respond to that question,” Donaldson said hastily, and Michaelson closed his mouth again without speaking. It was obvious that the solicitor was satisfied that it was his client’s voice on those recordings.

  “Well, as you can see from that list, we’ve still got several more calls we could play for you but, as you’ve made it clear that you’d like us to get this interview over with as quickly as possible, I think we can defer that for now. Are you familiar with the subject of forensic voice analysis Mr Donaldson?” I asked, pulling out the sheet of neatly labelled spectrogram comparisons and leaning across the table to lay it in front of him. “Because, according to our analysis, that was almost certainly your client you just heard speaking, and we can call in experts to testify to that effect.”

  I took back my list of phone calls. “Now, perhaps he’d like to tell us where he was when each of the calls on this list took place. Shall we start with Sunday the twenty-fourth of March? Where were you at ten thirty-two that morning, Mr Michaelson?”

  “I don’t know. Do you know where you were at precisely that time that day?”r />
  “I’m sure I could recall it if I thought about it for a moment. In fact, yes, I was at home all morning that day. I couldn’t say if I was indoors or out in the garden at that precise time, but I was definitely at my house. Still, if details from a week ago ‘tend to blur’ for you, it’s not surprising that you can’t remember.” I sighed quietly.

  “How about Friday the fifth of April then? The night that Kaj Visser was murdered. We already know that Mr Tait delivered Mr Visser to his killers that night and that he’d drugged him before doing so. We also know what his movements were from nine o’clock onwards that night and who he was with. We have three witness statements testifying to all of that. I think we’ve all realised, by now, that the exchanges we just heard had nothing to do with arranging for a portrait to be painted. Where were you during the times they were made?” I leaned back casually and waited for him to respond.

  “I couldn’t say. I’ll have to think about it, see if anything comes back to me.”

  “Let’s look at the most recent calls then,” I suggested, examining the list. “The ones made last Thursday, between seven-thirty and ten-thirty in the evening? Because, according to our information, the call made at ten-thirty was made from the house of your boss, Charlie Soames. Where were you at half-past ten that night, Mr Michaelson? Were you at the Soames’ house?”

  “My client is not willing to answer any further questions at this time.” Donaldson intervened hastily. “However, after we’ve had a chance to consult again, in private, we may be open to the idea of a second interview taking place.” I think his breezily dismissive attitude to what he’d thought to be no more than a groundless fishing expedition on our part had changed drastically during the last few minutes.

  “We’d like to take a DNA sample from your client at this point,” I told him before turning my stare on Michaelson himself. “We don’t need your permission to do so, and we are authorised to use reasonable force if you refuse to be cooperative, so I suggest you behave yourself. This interview is being filmed. I’d caution you to remember that.”