Your Deepest Fear

by David Jackson

‘Right,’ says Footlong, patently unconvinced. ‘Well, you’d best get some matchsticks under those eyelids of yours. The boss said to send you her way when you got in.’

  Cody looks towards Blunt’s office. It’s already on his to-do list to have a head-to-head with her, but he was planning to wait until he was a bit more composed. Now it looks as though his hand has been forced.

  He nods at Footlong, then heads towards Blunt’s office. He raps on her door and then pushes it open. He’s surprised to see that Webley is in there too.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he says. ‘Shall I . . .?’ He jerks his thumb into the space behind him.

  ‘No, Cody. Come in.’

  He takes the long walk across her carpet. It feels like the ‘green mile’: the condemned man’s journey to the electric chair. The brows of both Blunt and Webley are furrowed as they study his approach.

  ‘Are you okay, Cody?’ Blunt asks.

  He pretends to be surprised by the question. ‘Fine.’

  She stares at him for a while longer, then says, ‘Right. Take a seat.’

  He wants to be petulant about it and say, No thanks, I’ll stand. But he doesn’t. Instead he lowers himself onto the proffered chair and wonders what this is all about.

  Blunt turns to Webley. ‘Tell him what you’ve just told me.’

  Webley clears her throat. ‘This morning I made a phone call to Ann Staples. You remember, the woman who—’

  ‘Yes, I know who Ann Staples is,’ he interrupts, but then realises how sharp he has just sounded.

  ‘Good. That’s . . . good. So then you might be interested to hear that I asked her a few things about her boss.’

  ‘Lewis Fulham,’ says Cody.

  ‘Fulton. Lewis Fulton.’

  ‘Yes. Him.’

  Webley glances at Blunt, then looks at Cody again. ‘One of the things I asked her about was Fulton’s clothing.’

  ‘His clothing?’

  ‘Specifically, whether she ever remembers seeing him in a maroon woollen sweater. Her answer was a very definite yes. She saw him wearing one just before Christmas.’

  ‘She remembers that?’

  ‘Women notice things like that, Cody. She remembers it in particular because it was exactly the same colour as a collar she’d bought as a Christmas present for her cat.’

  Cody mulls this over – no mean feat given the chaos in his head right now.

  ‘Fulton told us he never owned a sweater like that. Said it wasn’t his colour.’

  ‘Uh-huh. And that’s not all that Ann Staples told me.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I asked her whether Matthew Prior had ever said anything about Fulton coming to his home. According to her, Matthew said it had happened a couple of times. Once when he was still living with his wife, and then to his new place when he moved out.’

  ‘Did she know what the visits were about?’

  ‘Apparently, the first visit was when Matthew wasn’t at home. Only Sara was there. Matthew was away on work business, and Fulton would have known that.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘On the second occasion, Fulton dropped off some work documents at Matthew’s place. According to Ann, Matthew complained to her that it could easily have waited until after the weekend.’

  Cody nods. He knows this is an important development, but he’s finding it difficult to summon up the appropriate level of enthusiasm.

  Blunt says, ‘Good work on Megan’s part, don’t you think, Cody?’

  Cody realises she is supplying the words he should have uttered. His nodding becomes more vigorous.

  ‘Yes, definitely. Nice one, Megan. We should . . . we need to talk to Fulton again.’

  He sees how Megan frowns when he stumbles over his words. Then her gaze drops to his hands, and he realises she has noticed the grazes on his knuckles. He quickly covers them up with his other hand.

  ‘Bring him in this time,’ says Blunt. ‘Put him in unfamiliar territory. I want him to know we mean business now. No more pissing about.’

  Webley stands, ready to leave. She looks down at Cody, expecting him to do the same.

  Cody turns to Blunt. ‘I’d like to discuss something else, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Does it involve Megan?’

  ‘No.’

  He glances at Webley as he says this and sees her irritation at being left out. When she exits the room, she closes the door a little more firmly than is necessary.

  ‘You sure you’re all right, Nathan?’ says Blunt.

  He hates it when she calls him Nathan. He believes she does it when she wants to disarm him.

  ‘Actually, no. I’m not.’

  ‘Thought as much. What’s up?’

  ‘I had another session with the psychologist this morning.’

  ‘Oh, yes. How did it go?’

  ‘It could have been easier. I could have done without your contribution.’

  ‘Explain, please.’

  Cody sits up straight in his chair. He’s just getting started.

  ‘I don’t like having to see a shrink, especially when I don’t think it’s necessary. They ask all sorts of personal, ridiculous questions that have no bearing on anything whatsoever, and all because they have this compulsion to slot us into one of their neat little pigeonholes. But you know what? I’m willing to go along with the whole charade. If it helps to convince you and the force that I can do my job, even though I’ve never presented you with any evidence to the contrary, then I can put up with the stupid mind games.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem . . . the problem is when my superior officer goes out of her way to make things difficult for me. The problem is you doing your best to sabotage my career. That’s what the problem is.’

  Cody can hear his own voice rising in both tone and volume. He knows he should contain his anger. He should reach out, gather it in and push it back inside. But it’s too big a force to embrace, and it seems to be growing in strength.

  ‘Nathan, you know as well as I do that the sessions with the psychologist were unavoidable. After all you’d been through—’

  ‘I’m not talking about the sessions. I’m talking about your personal input. Your little anecdote about the time I carried out the search of that building at the docks.’

  A light seems to switch on in Blunt’s eyes. ‘Ah, that.’

  ‘Yes, that. What was that all about? I mean, why did you think it necessary to even mention it?’

  Blunt sits back, as if to provide a distance that will allow some calm to intervene.

  She says, ‘As your commanding officer, I made the referral to Falstaff. As part of that referral, I was asked to comment on any aspects of your behaviour that have given me cause for concern in the past. To be perfectly honest, Nathan, I was spoilt for choice. There were others I could have mentioned, but that’s the one I settled on.’

  ‘But I explained my actions to you at the time. I told you what I thought I saw and heard.’

  ‘Yes, you did. But the cameras and microphones told a different story. Either you made a simple mistake, or else it was symptomatic of something more serious going on – something I couldn’t ignore.’

  ‘And you chose the latter? Why? Why not just go with my explanation? Why bother to mention it to Falstaff at all?’

  ‘Lie, you mean? Pretend I have no concerns about you? I’m sorry, but that’s not how this works. The whole point of your sessions with Falstaff is to get you properly checked out. We’re not going to do that by working with falsehoods.’

  ‘But what you told her is a falsehood. I’m perfectly fine, but all you’ve done is put doubt in her mind about me. You’ve put my job on the line, and for what? What the fuck does that achieve?’

  Blunt leans forward again. Closes the gap to achieve an intimacy.

  ‘Listen to me, Nathan. If you were anyone else in front of me right now, I’d chuck you out of my office and have you on a disciplinary charge. You are skating o
n very thin ice. You want me to be honest? Then here it is. Here’s what I think. You have problems. It has been clear to me for a long time that you have issues. What I don’t know – what I’m not qualified to assess – is how serious those issues are. That’s where Falstaff comes in. I have used her before and I trust her professionalism and ability. She will tell me – she will tell both of us – if you need help. And if that’s the case, I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you get that help. This isn’t about trying to end your career. You are without doubt one of the best coppers I have ever worked with. It’s about looking after you. It’s about caring.’

  She stops then, not least because it seems to Cody that her voice is choking. That was a heartfelt speech, and it has robbed Cody’s fury of much of its venom. He wonders not only how she manages to accomplish such bomb disposal, but why. What is it about their relationship that causes her to make such allowances for him?

  But, in the end, what does it matter? Falstaff’s report is going to be so damning that he’ll be out of here seconds after Blunt reads it. There’ll be no ‘helping’ from Blunt then, none of her ‘caring’, because in that instant he’ll be seen as too much of a liability to be allowed within a hundred yards of any criminal investigation.

  He gets up from his chair. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got crimes to solve.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ says Blunt. ‘And long may it continue.’

  51

  Lewis Fulton isn’t happy about being subjected to more questions. He’s even less happy about being brought in to the police station to answer them.

  ‘This isn’t ideal, you know,’ he tells Cody and Webley. ‘We’re getting towards the end of the tax year. It’s a busy time for us.’

  ‘We understand,’ Cody says. ‘And we’ll keep it brief. Just to be clear: you’re not in custody. We’re not charging you with anything. That means you’re free to leave at any time. Right now, you’re just helping us with our enquiries.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, I don’t want to give any DNA samples or whatever. I can still say that, right?’

  ‘Yes, you can still refuse. All we want to do for now is clear a few things up.’

  ‘Couldn’t we have done this back at my office?’

  ‘It’s better that we do it here. The investigation into the death of Matthew Prior has reached a critical phase, and we need to make sure we do everything by the book.’

  Pure bullshit, of course, but it seems to have the desired effect of putting a red-hot poker up Fulton’s arse.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Oh. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Yeah, so if you’ll bear with us . . .’

  ‘Sure. Okay.’

  Webley fires the first salvo. ‘The last time we spoke, I asked you about a maroon woollen sweater, and you told us that you’d never owned one.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I said it wasn’t my colour.’

  ‘You have a good memory. That’s exactly what you said. Do you still stand by that answer?’

  ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that we are in receipt of a report that suggests otherwise.’

  ‘Suggests . . . I’m sorry, what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean there’s a claim you have been seen wearing a sweater matching precisely that description.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Do you deny it?’

  ‘Damn right I deny it.’

  ‘This would have been not long before Christmas. Maybe you thought you’d wear something more colourful to get in the Christmas spirit?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I don’t own a red sweater. Never have and never will. Who the hell told you this?’

  Webley ignores the question, and puts another of her own. ‘You told us you sometimes shop at Marston’s. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, but only sometimes.’

  ‘Could you have bought such a sweater there?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. And the reason I know that is because I haven’t bought such a sweater anywhere.’

  ‘So if we were to go with you to your house right now, we wouldn’t find a sweater like that hanging up in your wardrobe?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve planted it there, no.’

  The intentional slur does nothing to help Cody’s mood. He says, ‘Or any fibres?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A woollen garment like that will shed fibres, especially onto the clothes next to it in a closet or a drawer. Are you saying we wouldn’t find any fibres like that?’

  Fulton hesitates for a fraction of a second. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  ‘Because forensic technology is so advanced now, if there’s a fibre to find – on the carpet, in the washing machine, between the floorboards – then our guys will find it.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t recall ever wearing anything of that colour. I mean, maybe I’ve got something with a bit of that colour in it. Do you know what I’m saying? Not the whole jumper, but maybe there’s a bit of red in there somewhere.’

  ‘Sure. I get you. But we don’t just consider colour. Our technicians will compare fibre length, thickness, cross-section, the chemical composition of the dye – all that. We can match fibres precisely.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes. But you’ve never had a sweater like that?’

  ‘No.’

  Cody stares at him. Leaves him in no doubt he’s under the microscope.

  Webley breaks into the awkward silence. ‘Something else I asked you about was whether you ever went into Matthew Prior’s home. You told us you never did. Again, do you want to stick with that answer?’

  The hesitation is longer this time. ‘I . . . yes. I don’t recall ever going into Matthew’s house.’

  ‘Which house?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The one in Halewood, where he used to live with his wife Sara? Or the one he moved to in Aintree?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in either of them.’

  ‘You think that, or you know that?’

  ‘I . . . I’m pretty sure of it.’

  ‘Okay. Because again the information we’ve been given recently conflicts with your answer.’

  ‘Then my advice would be that you need to start getting your information from a more reliable source.’

  Cody decides to take a gamble. ‘I think Sara Prior is a pretty reliable source.’

  Fulton blinks as he switches his gaze from Webley to Cody. ‘What?’

  ‘I think I would trust her to remember whether you ever set foot in her house.’

  ‘Is . . . is that what she told you?’

  ‘Is it the truth?’

  ‘It . . . it might be.’

  Bingo.

  ‘So you have been to the Priors’ house?’

  ‘Yes. Just once.’

  ‘What was the reason for your visit?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wanted . . . Look, has Sara already told you about this?’

  ‘We want to hear your version.’

  There’s a long pause. And then: ‘I wanted to see Sara. Alone. I mean, without Matthew.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . . because I liked her. I thought I could get to know her better.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘You were hoping to have an affair with her?’

  ‘Well, maybe not an affair. I suppose I wanted to check out their relationship, see if it was on the rocks.’

  ‘And was it?’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No. If anything, they seemed like the perfect couple. I never went back after that.’

  ‘How blatant were you with Sara? Did you come out and tell her you were interested in her?’

  ‘God, no. I’m not stupid. I just acted like a friend.’

  ‘Did she see it that way?’

  ‘I hope so. I mean, she didn’t throw m
e out or anything.’

  ‘Didn’t she wonder why you’d turned up when Matthew was away on business?’

  ‘I made something up. I told her I was just passing, and thought I’d drop in. I said I’d forgotten about Matthew’s work trip.’

  ‘So she wasn’t upset by your visit?’

  ‘No. Did she say she was?’

  ‘Any idea what she said to Matthew about it?’

  ‘Not in detail. He mentioned it to me the next time I saw him, but he didn’t seem bothered by it.’

  ‘Are you sure? No animosity?’

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘So why did you lie to us? Why did you tell us you’d never been to Matthew’s house?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? Matthew was murdered. Telling you that I was doing my best to chat up his wife some time before that doesn’t exactly look good for me, does it?’

  Webley takes the reins again. ‘And what about Matthew’s new place? When did you go there?’

  Fulton looks puzzled. ‘I never did. I already told you that.’

  ‘Once again, we’ve heard otherwise.’

  ‘And once again, your information is completely inaccurate. As I said to you when we first met, I didn’t even know Matthew and Sara had separated.’

  ‘Do you know where he was living when he was murdered?’

  ‘I do now, but only because it’s been in all the news reports. I had no idea before that. Matthew certainly didn’t file a change of address with me.’

  ‘So you didn’t drop in on him to hand over urgent work documents?’

  ‘No. I’ve never done that with anyone who works for me.’

  ‘Why would Matthew say you did?’

  ‘Did he? When? Who did he tell— Oh, hang on! Have you been talking to Ann Staples again? You have, haven’t you? The sneaky bitch. The sneaky little—’

  ‘We’re not at liberty to divulge our sources, Mr Fulton. We just need to know if it’s true that you visited Matthew at his Aintree address.’

  ‘Categorically no. I never went to that house. I was never aware that Matthew was living there. Anyone who says different is a liar.’

  ‘It was you who told us you’d never been to Matthew’s previous address.’

  ‘Well, yes. But I’ve owned up to that now. I’ve come clean. I’m not lying about Matthew’s new address, and I wasn’t lying about the sweater.’