The PC left to get me a cup of tea. I had seen countless video recordings of police interviews and, in my time, had listened to thousands of recordings of suspect interviews, but this was the first time I had experienced it from their side of the house and I didn’t like it.
There was a definite shift in the way I was being treated. The police were no doubt having to fend off unwanted scrutiny into the way the David Woodhouse case had been handled, and maybe they didn’t want me making any waves over the press article in yesterday’s paper.
The door opened and an officer entered the room.
‘Thanks for coming down, Dr McCready. Appreciate your time.’ He smiled and seemed pleasant enough, but my guard was up and I wasn’t inclined to lower it.
A knock came at the door and my tea arrived.
‘Station tea is never the best,’ he said, brightly. ‘But at least it’s warm and wet.’
He settled himself opposite me and made the introductions.
‘I’m DC Hanson, one of the investigating officers on the Martha Scott case. Sorry this seems so formal, but we need to record your statement for the official record as you’re a material witness to a murder inquiry.’
I simply nodded. He stated his name and mine for the record and confirmed the date and time. I was beginning to feel more like a criminal with each passing second.
‘We understand you were the last person to assess Martha and the interview was recorded.’ He twisted a ballpoint pen in between his fingers as he spoke, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘Doctor Lister tells us that the interview was… err… eventful and that as a result, Martha was scheduled to be moved to the secure unit.’
‘That’s right.’
I knew his disarming manner was designed to build rapport, but I was keeping my distance.
He flipped open a file. ‘What exactly happened?’
‘She suffered a severe abreaction and attempted to attack me. She was restrained by ward staff.’
‘Were you hurt?’ he asked, glancing up at me from beneath a blond fringe.
‘Only my pride. I was dumped on the floor – nothing serious.’
‘You weren’t angry about the attack?’
I looked at him with the surprise I genuinely felt.
‘That’s like me asking if you ever get cross when someone breaks the law.’
‘What caused her to attack you?’
His question was straying into dangerous waters.
‘I was regressing her back to events that frightened her.’
‘Which were what exactly?’ he pressed on.
‘She felt she had done things she’d rather not recall.’
‘What things?’ he pushed.
I sat back in my chair, looking at him over the top of my clasped fingers. A pose that subliminally indicated intellect and authority. I wondered if he’d been taught that in his interview technique courses.
‘What you’re asking me violates confidentiality. I’m not sure I can divulge that just yet.’
‘Your patient is dead, doctor! And in view of the circumstances, I’m sure she won’t mind if you help us out.’
‘I’m sure you’re aware that, until I get authorisation for the release of her records, they remain confidential.’
He sighed, looking exasperated. ‘She was cared for by Doctor Lister, not you. So confidentiality isn’t an issue, surely.’
I sighed, mirroring his exasperation. ‘Detective, I’m sure you already know, but I’ll tell you anyway. Although I was advising Lister’s team, my session with Martha is still confidential as are any transcripts or recordings. And if they’re going to become evidence in a murder trial, I’m going to do this by the book. So I want the relevant releases signed first.’
Hanson sat back, looking at me curiously.
‘Surely you want to help us, doctor? You have the discretion to divulge what was said in that room without the relevant paperwork.’
I sat back in my chair, mirroring his use of space.
‘But I’m choosing not to, for all the reasons I’ve explained. As Martha has no living relative, you can apply to the NHS Trust for the release of her records. Once they’ve done that, you can have all my notes.’
‘Doctor, this is a murder investigation,’ he said, tightly. ‘I can get a court order to force you to release them if I have to.’
‘Yes you can. Or you can have release forms signed by Martha’s GP and Westwood Park. All of which will take far less time than getting a court order.’ I leaned forward in my chair and looked him in the eye. ‘I’ve been there before, detective, I know how it works.’
He stared at me for a moment and I could read the emotions in his eyes swing from annoyance to frustration before he abruptly stood, the chair scraping back as he reached for the recorder.
‘Interview suspended,’ he said, tightly, then turned on his heel and left.
I sat listening to the silence in the room, imagining the expletives as he complained to his boss that I was being a hard-arsed bitch.
I was still bitter about the way I’d been treated over the weekend. Left swinging in the harsh wind of press annihilation. One word from the police press office could have cut me down in an instant. But they’d left me hanging.
I was so deep in thought I almost jumped when the door swung abruptly open and DC Hanson walked in, followed by another man I didn’t recognise.
‘This is DS Heslopp.’
Heslopp had a large belly that hung over the waistband of his shiny black trousers. His tie was pulled down and his top shirt button was undone. He slung his jacket across the back of the chair and took the seat opposite. Hanson sat on the edge of the table, one leg swinging like a pendulum.
I looked steadily at Heslopp. ‘So, we’ve gone up a rank. Am I supposed to be flattered or intimidated?’
Heslopp pressed the record button on the machine before launching straight into it.
‘Where were you last night, Doctor McCready?’
‘At home.’
‘Alone?’
‘I am old enough to be home alone.’
I couldn’t ignore the churning in my stomach and the feeling that something nasty was coming.
‘What time did you get back home?’
I didn’t miss the word ‘back’, which implied I had been out. As interview techniques went, it was pretty blunt.
‘I hadn’t been out to come back from anywhere,’ I said, pointedly. Finally my patience came to an end. ‘It’s beginning to sound like I’m a suspect!’
My stomach fell into my boots as he simply stared back at me.
‘We have to follow every line of enquiry, doctor. One of your patients has been murdered. You were the last person to interview her and she tried to attack you. We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t ask you where you were at the time she was killed.’
I dealt with violent offenders every day of my working life. To think they even considered this a legitimate line of enquiry was ludicrous. I told him so.
He sat back in his chair and regarded me silently for a moment, before leaning forward again, assaulting me with tobacco-tainted breath.
‘Are you refusing to answer the question, doctor?’
‘Am I being charged with anything?’
‘Not yet. We simply want to eliminate the possibility that you could have seen Martha after she left Westwood Park and before she was murdered.’
My mind was racing a million miles an hour.
Both men sat silently, waiting for me to say something. I decided to pull down the shutters. If I had to play the game, I’d be clinical about it.
‘You had police officers stationed outside my house Friday night and into Saturday morning. I’m sure if you check, they’ll tell you I didn’t leave.’
‘We will.’
‘I walked my dog across the fields during Saturday and spoke to my neighbour, George Theakston. I worked in my office and took calls from family and my secretary telling me that the news on David Woodhouse was bre
aking. I watched that for most of the day and went to bed.’
‘That was Saturday night?’ Heslopp asked.
‘Yes. Then Sunday I was alone at the farm. Some office work then walked the dog. I got back around four o’clock. I had calls from various people telling me about the press article, so I went to the newsagent to get a paper–’
‘Which newsagent?’ Hanson asked.
‘Kingsberry main street.’
‘Then what?’
‘I took the paper back to the farm, read it and took a call from my secretary.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Around five–’
‘What was the call about?’
‘Suing the editor of the newspaper and possibly the West Yorkshire Police for libel!’ I let the sentence hang for a moment before continuing. ‘Because of their inference that my profile cost Julie Lamont her life.’
I stared pointedly at Heslopp, who had no trouble meeting my eyes. ‘When we all know it was Lizzie Taylor-Caine’s profile that was at fault. That’s why the SIO asked me to produce a profile he could actually work with!’
‘Isn’t it true you have a relationship with that SIO, doctor, and he was just doing you a favour by bringing you into the investigation?’
‘What favour would that be?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Getting me out of bed to see a mutilated corpse? Or perhaps working for free?’
‘Doctor, I–’
‘Or the favour of not coming to my defence when I got hung out to dry at the press conference? Maybe Hoyle’s relationship with Taylor-Caine explains why he’s covering her arse by exposing mine?’
Heslopp had finally heard enough. His breath left him in an explosive sigh. ‘Okay, doctor. Let’s leave that for now and move on to Sunday night–’
‘Yes, let’s.’ I was determined not to be rattled. ‘After arranging with my secretary to instruct our legal team, I had an early night. I was woken at 5.30 this morning by you and…’ I stretched my arms to encompass our surroundings, ‘here we are.’
‘We couldn’t reach you on any of your numbers. Perhaps because you weren’t there at all?’
‘No. It’s because I unplugged my office line and turned off my mobile – the press were ringing them off the hook and I wanted some peace. If you’d tried my home number, you would have reached me.’
He flicked through the file. ‘We don’t have your home number listed.’
‘I know,’ I smiled, tightly. ‘I only give it to friends and family.’
‘What about DCI Ferguson?’ he said, sarcastically. ‘Does he have it?’
‘Yes. Did you think to ask him for it?’
Heslopp looked back at his notes rather than at me and I could see the muscles bunching in his jaw.
‘So at approximately 3am you were in bed – alone?’
‘Correct. Is that when Martha was murdered?’
‘The pathologist estimates her time of death at approximately 3am, yes.’
I tried to look bored by the whole thing, but my pulse was racing.
‘Before you ask, I couldn’t have met up with Martha earlier. By my reckoning, when she absconded from Westwood, I was with DCI Ferguson in Shipley telling him about the boatyard. After that I had police stationed outside my house who can vouch for my whereabouts–’
‘But you were alone all day Sunday?’
‘What exactly are you implying?’ My tone was as tight as my nerves were becoming. ‘That I arranged for Martha to abscond? Then met her on Sunday and stabbed her to death? Do you mind telling me why I would want to do any of that?’
‘She did attack you.’ It was Hanson who spoke.
I turned my most withering glare towards him, gratified to see him look down at his notes.
‘If I murdered every sick patient who attacked me in my career, there would be a trail of bodies that would clog up the M62! If you haven’t got anything better than that, I suggest we end this farce and I’ll be on my way.’
Heslopp opened his mouth to say something else, when the door opened and a PC stuck his head around the door. ‘Boss, need a word.’
‘Interview suspended as Heslopp and Hanson leave the room.’
7 August
Fordley Police Station
I had often sat in the observation room across the corridor, advising interviewing officers on the type of questioning to use. I never imagined I would ever be on this side of the glass.
I jumped suddenly as the door opened and the constable who had brought me to the station appeared again.
‘Your brief’s here to see you, doctor.’
Brief? I waited for a second, expecting a duty solicitor.
I’ve never been so relieved in my life to see Jen walk in with a man I took to be the solicitor. I must have looked shell-shocked because Jen took charge.
‘Jo.’ She brushed past Hanson and Heslopp. ‘This is James Turner from Fosters. I called them as soon as I knew you’d been brought in here.’
I accepted his outstretched hand. His gold cufflinks flashed as he delivered a firm handshake. The sharp, dark suit and crisp shirt oozed success. The whole image of affluence carried on a subtle waft of expensive cologne. His smile was confident and his piercing blue eyes met mine easily.
‘I’m from the criminal law division based in Manchester.’
‘Highest paid bloody defence lawyer in the country,’ Heslopp half muttered under his breath. Hanson looked more uncomfortable by the minute.
‘Only because I’m the best.’ Turner grinned broadly. ‘And now, if it’s all the same to you, gentlemen, I’ll speak to my client in private.’
He ushered Jen to a chair and pushed the door closed with the back of his heel, hefting his briefcase onto the table.
‘Jen, how did you know what was happening, and to call Mr Turner?’
‘James, please.’ Those disarming blue eyes almost made me forget my train of thought.
‘I couldn’t get hold of you so I called Callum. Couldn’t get him either so I called the station. Thought maybe Callum had brought you down here. The duty sergeant told me you’d been brought in for questioning regarding the Martha Scott murder!’
She watched as James arranged his legal pad and Montblanc pen on the table.
‘I’d just finished transcribing that spooky recording of your interview with her on Thursday. To hear she was dead and that they’d dragged you in as a material witness… I was going to call Fosters anyway about the press conference and the Sunday papers, so it made sense to tell them about all this as well. James took my call.’
‘Just lucky I was on call. I’m normally based in London, but I’m here temporarily to recruit for the new Manchester office. So I picked up the case.’
He twisted the top off his pen and scribbled some notes onto the bright yellow legal pad.
‘The duty sergeant gave me the details when I arrived. I’ve also had a brief chat with Handsome and Gristle out there.’
He made me laugh, despite everything.
‘This theory has no foundation that I can see. Their supposition that you might have met with Martha is flawed and you’re alibied by their own officers. I don’t think for one minute that’s what this is about.’
He paused to take a sip of coffee. I opened my mouth, but he silenced me with a commanding wave of his hand and I glimpsed the tough persona that lurked beneath the polished charm. I bet he could be a complete bastard to face in court. Suddenly, I was more than glad he was on my side.
The heat rising from my cup felt comforting on my face. ‘Then what do you think this is about?’
James looked at me with those piercing eyes again. ‘I take it you can prove yours was the correct profile in the towpath killings?’
‘Of course we can,’ Jen bristled. ‘We have an electronic trail of it being uploaded to the server in Fordley after it was written.’
‘They haven’t brought me in about the towpath killings,’ I said. ‘This is about Martha.’
‘You think so?’
He looked at me steadily. ‘Because whoever authored the incorrect profile, has far more motive to discredit you and distract the press away from how the police handled the Woodhouse case.’
The theory rattled around the room as we all absorbed it.
Finally I shook my head. ‘Lizzie Taylor-Caine authored the other profile and, much as I despise the woman, I can’t believe for one moment that she’d play these games.’
He smiled. ‘But she’s certainly capable of constructing a scenario around Martha’s death to rattle you. And at the same time demonstrate to the press and the public that you are definitely not part of the investigation team – and not getting any special treatment.’
Jen and I looked at each other in shocked silence.
‘You can’t be serious!’ Jen was incredulous.
James grinned. ‘Maybe I’m just cynical? Shocking, I know, but I have been accused of it before – makes for a good defence counsel.’
He sipped his coffee before continuing.
‘This weekend the press got out of hand. Hoyle would have kept quiet about the two conflicting profiles, but you’d been photographed at the scene and the picture splashed all over the papers. The police are being criticised for overspending on the budget whilst not achieving their targets. How bad would it look if it came out that not only did they use an external psychologist over their own, but that you produced an accurate profile while theirs didn’t? Hoyle had to do some damage limitation.’
‘It might even be asked whether they could justify keeping Taylor-Caine on the payroll,’ Jen murmured, almost to herself.
‘So,’ James continued. ‘Maybe they could pressure you enough into not kicking up a stink about being blamed in the media – and not handing your profile to the papers.’
‘And they dragged me down here to achieve that!’ I was still struggling to grasp that it could be a possibility.
‘Well it is reasonable for them to question you about Martha as you were one of the last people to see her alive,’ James pointed out, with annoying logic. ‘But no harm in freaking you out at the same time as painting you as a witness rather than an advisor for the benefit of the press. Plus, once they’d kept you here long enough over this line of questioning, Hoyle may have hoped you’d be rattled enough that you’d just agree to suppress your original profile. Which I’m sure would have come up at some point later today. That would solve Hoyle’s problem.’ He raised an eyebrow with the same handsome precision with which he seemed to do everything else. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
The Murder Mile Page 10
