The Girl Who Walked Away

by David Adkins

  I was in shock as the two constables led me into the reception area. I noticed that Lester Bruitt was looking both pleased and worried all at the same time. No further words were said and though I had not been formally arrested it was obvious I had no choice but to go with them.

  “You will help us with our investigation,” added Styles.

  It seemed that Jenna had administered justice, but how was it going to affect me? I was a worried man as they led me out of the building and into New Oxford Street. They packed me inside a black van and I was on the way to the station.

  I spent about ten minutes in the back of the van and then when we had reached our destination the doors at the rear of the vehicle were opened. I was marched inside the police station and taken immediately to an interview room. “I am not saying anything until I have phoned my lawyer,” I warned Raymond Styles.

  “There is a telephone over there,” he indicated.

  The telephone was mounted on the wall and I quickly dialled my office number. “Butler and Robinson,” a female voice answered.

  “Is James there, Jenny?” I asked.

  “Yes, I will put you through, Steve.”

  “Hi Steve.” I felt a little happier when I heard James Butler’s familiar voice. “You just caught me. I only arrived back from Pentonville a few minutes ago. Are you coming into the office now for we need to speak?”

  “I am afraid not, James. I am being held at Charing Cross Police Station in connection with a murder.”

  “What you mean Nesterman?” he gasped.

  “No, in connection with the murder of Clive Deepdale last night,” I replied. “I have a feeling they might be going to try to frame me just as they are framing Max Lucas.”

  “I am on my way. Do not answer any questions until I arrive.” The phone went dead.

  “Into the interview room if you please, Mr Coulson,” said Martin Solcombe.

  I went in and sat at a bare table in the centre of the room. Styles and Solcombe entered and sat opposite me. “This is a waste of time because I have been advised by my lawyer not to answer any questions until he gets here.”

  Styles ignored my words. “Did you check into the Mayfair Hotel at 3.15 on Monday 19th February?”

  His question did not shock me but I chose to ignore it and turned to Solcombe. “Do you really believe Max Lucas murdered Rupert Nesterman?” I asked him.

  My question took Solcombe by surprise but Styles answered. “We ask the questions.”

  “I have told you I will not answer questions until my lawyer arrives.” Once again I turned to Solcombe. “Do you really believe a man with my background would have murdered Clive Deepdale? They are both fabrications by your boss.”

  Solcombe shuffled uneasily on his seat. I was now sure that he was not entirely happy with the way his superior had handled things. Styles banged his fist on the table. “The interview is terminated until the lawyer arrives. I warn you Coulson that it will be us that ask the questions and not you and I assure you that, for your own good, you should answer them.”

  I was escorted down the corridor and deposited in a small, simple cell with just a chair and table. I thought about my situation and what I would tell James when he arrived. It was a difficult situation for they were well aware of my night at the Mayfair Hotel though I had not been there when the murder of Deepdale was committed. Jenna had obviously got her man and another ex-Nazi had paid for his vile crimes. I was glad for his crimes had been sickening and his attitude arrogant and obnoxious. However, there was my situation to now be considered.

  I waited about an hour and the cell door was opened. “Your lawyer has arrived,” a constable informed me. I was marched down the corridor back to the interview room. I was surprised to see that Styles and Solcombe were waiting for me and sitting opposite them was James Butler. I had no way of knowing what had been said before my arrival.

  “Sit down, Coulson,” invited Chief Inspector Styles. I sat down next to James who gave me a reassuring smile. “Let the interview commence,” continued Styles.

  “Wait a minute,” interrupted James. “I need to speak with my client privately before the interview begins.”

  “That is too bad,” replied Styles.

  “This is most unorthodox,” protested James.

  “Brutal murders are also a little unorthodox,” responded Styles.

  “My client has not been charged with anything.”

  “We’re not wasting time on this. Answer the questions.”

  James took out a pad. “I am noting that a basic right has been denied my client.”

  Styles turned to me. “Did you check into the Mayfair Hotel at 3.15 on Monday 19th February?”

  I thought this time it might be wise to answer his questions. “Yes I did.”

  “Can you remember your room number?”

  “I was in room 424.”

  “Did you request that room number?”

  “No, I asked to go on the 4th floor. You need to get that high to get away from traffic noise.” I noticed James was starting to look really puzzled.

  “Deepdale was also on the 4th floor.”

  “Was he?” I expressed surprise.

  “Were you joined in your room by your wife at about 9 pm?”

  “I was joined by a young lady but not by my wife. I am not married. Let us say I wanted some entertainment. Of course, I had to be discreet, so she said she was my wife when she arrived.”

  “So you hired a prostitute?”

  “No, I got to speaking with a young lady in a bar earlier in the evening and invited her to my room for a night cap. We discreetly did not enter the hotel together.”

  “You are very discreet,” he said sarcastically. “Who was she?”

  “In such circumstances I did not ask for her name.”

  “So you have no idea who she is or where she is or how we can find her.”

  “I am afraid that sums it up.”

  “You are playing games, Mr Coulson.”

  “And so are you Chief Inspector Styles.”

  He ignored my jibe. “Let us move on. The Mayfair Hotel is a very expensive establishment for an office clerk.”

  “I am an officer manager who likes to treat himself to a little luxury every so often. If I am to entertain I like to do so in an upmarket and agreeable environment. Everybody should treat themselves once in a while. You should try it.”

  “Clive Deepdale, who is an acquaintance of yours, was murdered last night, in the middle of the night in Room 413. Where were you yesterday?”

  “Yesterday I left the hotel early in the morning and went to my office. James can vouch for that. In the afternoon I went to Pentonville Prison to interview Max Lucas. In the evening I accompanied a young lady to see a film at the Lewisham Hippodrome. I collected her from her Lewisham hotel and had a chat with the landlady who would no doubt remember me. I returned her to the hotel just before midnight. It was a long programme. I then went home and I was soon tucked up in bed.”

  “So you have no witness to collaborate where you were in the middle of the night.”

  “My point is Inspector that it would have been almost impossible for me to have got to the Mayfair Hotel to perpetrate the crime. No trains run after midnight and I do not own a car.”

  “Taxis can still be hired.”

  “I am a poor office clerk you said and taxis covering that sort of distance at that time of night would be exceedingly expensive. If I intended to murder someone I would hardly have gone to see The African Queen all evening, miles away from where I intended to commit the crime.”

  James interjected. “Where is all this leading Inspector Styles?”

  “Bear with me, Mr Butler.” He turned back to me. “Let us continue. After you left the hotel yesterday morning your room continued to be occupied by Mrs Coulson.”

  “I left very early and the young lady was still asleep in bed. I did not wish to disturb her.”

  “You are such a gentleman.”

  “Th
at is what everyone says.”

  “That morning the woman in question went to reception and booked the room for another night and paid in advance and in cash so she did not have to check out the following morning.”

  “Really,” I acted surprised. “She must have liked the surroundings.”

  “Where would a prostitute get that sort of money?”

  “I told you she was not a prostitute as far as I know. As for where she got the money, I am afraid I cannot help you on that. You would have to ask her.”

  “And that I cannot do because you claim to have no idea who she might be or where I might find her.”

  Styles showed signs of getting angry again and I could not help goading him a little. “She said her surname was Smith if that is of any help.”

  “I put it to you that your piece of entertainment murdered Deepdale in his room and then left the hotel before daybreak. The body was later discovered by a chamber maid.”

  “I cannot comment on that for I was fast asleep in my bed at my Lewisham home.”

  Styles turned to James Butler. “Would you please instruct your client to be more cooperative?”

  “He is helping your inquiries as best he can. He cannot tell you what he does not know.”

  Styles grunted. “So Mr Coulson, do you not think it is a coincidence that an acquaintance of yours was murdered in his room a few doors down the corridor from the room you happened to be staying in?”

  “I suppose it is but tell me Chief Inspector Styles do you really want to talk about where I met Clive Deepdale?”

  “You were making inquiries about him because he was a neighbour to Rupert Nesterman at his Russell Square apartment and you are defending the man who murdered Nesterman.”

  “Yes, but you have forgotten to mention where I met Clive Deepdale. It was a small village near Leamington Spa that I met him. Do you really want to go there Chief Inspector Styles?” My words had had quite an impact. Raymond Styles was now in an agitated state and shuffling uneasily on his chair. James Butler and Inspector Solcombe were looking at me in amazement for they had both noticed the impact of my words.

  He recovered a little. “You are here to answer questions relating to the murder of Clive Deepdale. This has nothing to do with where you met Deepdale.”

  I decided to go for the jugular. “Don’t you mean Dengler?”

  His face fell. I wondered what he knew. He was obviously frightened of what I knew. A silence descended on the interview room and I found three people staring at me. While everyone was in a state of shock I stood up. “If that is all Inspector Styles I will be going now. Let us go James.”

  James also stood up. “That seems like a good idea.”

  Styles had recovered once again. “You are going nowhere, Coulson.”

  “You have not charged him and so you cannot hold him,” said James.

  “That is what you think. Solcombe take the prisoner to an overnight cell.”

  “You are heaping trouble on yourselves,” suggested James.

  “You are certainly doing that,” I agreed.

  “I suggest that it is very much the opposite. You will be interviewed again tomorrow morning.”

  “I will need to be there and I wish to speak to my client,” insisted James.

  “In the morning,” replied Styles. “Take him away Martin.”

  I was marched down the corridor once again and Martin Solcombe remained silent, obviously bemused by the unexpected turn the interview had taken and the abrupt way it had been terminated by his boss. We reached another cell and the door was opened. I looked inside at a larger cell which had a table, a chair and a bunk.

  “In you go,” said Solcombe.

  “You know your boss is bent,” I said as I entered the cell. Solcombe made no comment and the door was then quickly shut behind me and I stretched out on the hard bed. All that was left for me was to stare at the bare grey walls of my jail and ponder on my current fate.

  A few hours later I had a surprise visitor. Solcombe had personally brought me my dinner. “It is not up to Mayfair Hotel standards,” he joked.

  “I will make the most of it,” I smiled.

  “Why did you say my boss is bent?”

  “He is and I think you know that anyway.”

  “He is a little irregular occasionally in the way he conducts investigations,” he mused. “That does not mean he is bent. You should be careful with such accusations.”

  “The fact we are having this conversation suggests to me that you have your suspicions about him.”

  “I have been told that it is possible I will not be required when he interviews you tomorrow.”

  “Please do me a favour Inspector Solcombe. Please make sure that I do not meet with an accident in this cell.”

  His eyes opened wide. “There will be no accident.” He left me to my unappealing dinner and to my thoughts. The meal was most unappetising but I managed to force most of it down. The evening passed slowly and the only thing that eased my solitary confinement was thoughts of Cassie. The bed was uncomfortable especially in one part where there was a spring protruding from the thin mattress. I sighed and tried to settle back and relax. It was a long night of fitful sleep but eventually the light of morning shone through the small, high window to my cell.

  It was early when Martin Solcombe brought me breakfast which looked slightly more edible than the previous night’s dinner. “I seem to be getting your personnel attention,” I observed.

  He smiled. “I was just making sure you were alright. Your lawyer is already here. He arrived very early and has been in our waiting room for some time. I think he wanted to make sure proceedings did not start without him.”

  “Like me he lacks trust in your Chief Inspector.”

  “Inspector Styles is a very good policeman…” He trailed off uncertainly.

  “Usually.”

  “Usually,” he confirmed.

  “And you don’t know what he is up to?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “He is my superior officer.”

  “I understand that. Can I make a quick phone call, please? I need to let my girlfriend know where I am. I was meant to see her last night and she will be worried that I did not turn up.”

  He nodded. “Make it quick for they will want to interview you very soon.”

  He led me to the phone and I dialled The George Inn. I recognised the voice of the dragon. “Can I speak with Cassie please?”

  “This is very early,” she protested.

  “I know it is and you are quite right but it is rather urgent.”

  She relented. “I will let her know you are on the phone.”

  She had obviously recognized my voice. I waited for just a few minutes. “Steve is that you?”

  “Cassie, I am sorry about last night but I have to be quick. I have spent the night in a cell in Charing Cross Police Station and that is why I could not come.”

  “Why? What on earth has happened?”

  “It is nothing to worry about. They are holding me for questions relating to the murder. It is routine but they like to show off their power. They will have to let me go today, but first they want to ask me more questions. Hopefully I will see you tonight.” I could see Martin Solcombe was getting agitated. “I have to go now.” Perhaps he was going against his boss’s orders in letting me make this phone call.

  “Goodbye, Steve and look after yourself.” I heard Cassie still talking as I put the phone down.

  “Your breakfast will be getting cold,” said Solcombe as he led me back to my cell and incarcerated me again. He left me alone to consume my breakfast which was better than I expected. It was not long after I had finished that I was collected by a constable and taken back to the interview room.

  Once again it seemed that I was to be denied the chance to speak with my lawyer before the interview. James Butler was already sat in the same place as the previous day. Chief Inspector Raymond Styles also occupied the same seat as the previous day. The third person sitt
ing next to Styles was not Deputy Chief Inspector Martin Solcombe it was Mr Smith. This came as something of a shock though on reflection it should not have been entirely unexpected.

  James rose quickly from his chair to greet me. He shook my hand as I approached the table. “Steve! I’ve been worried about you. How are they treating you?”

  I took his hand gratefully and shook it warmly. “I am fine, but the accommodation and dining is not of a high standard.”

  “It’s good that you can still joke,” smiled James.

  “If you could both be seated,” said Styles impatiently.

  We sat down and Styles continued. “The interview today will be conducted by my colleague.”

  “For the record can you tell me exactly who your colleague is?” said James.

  “No, he can’t,” retorted Smith.

  “I can answer that. His name is Smith,” I said sarcastically.

  “I will once again enter in my record of proceedings that my client was unlawfully for the second time denied the right to talk with his lawyer before the beginning of said proceedings.”

  “We can forget about rules or niceties here. I work for the Secret Intelligence Service otherwise known as MI6. My authority gives me total jurisdiction over what happens here and normal rules do not apply.” Smith waited for his words to sink in and then he turned to me. “The first thing I wish to ascertain is whether you have confided what you know or what you think you know about Nesterman and Deepdale to any other person.”

  “Not as yet,” I replied, wondering if I was right in making this concession.

  “You are telling me that neither Cassandra Mitchell nor James Butler are aware of the full extent of your investigations.”

  “That is true,” I replied.

  “They do not know of your recent visit to a village near Leamington Spa?”

  “They do not.” Had I mentioned Tintree to Cassie? I think I had.

  “I believe you Mr Coulson. I can tell by the expression on your lawyer’s face that this is all a mystery to him.”

  “I reasoned that I should keep such matters to myself.”