Time and Tide

by Peter Grainger

  The two of them picked up Wilson on the way back to DI Terek’s private office. As soon as the door was closed, Terek said, ‘DCI Reeve is on her way back but she called in before she left. Pauline Beavan is involved with Mark Williams. DCI Reeve said that she cannot quite see how this happened but the woman did not deny it.’

  ‘It happens to the best of us, sir.’

  ‘What does, DC?’

  ‘Getting involved with someone and then wondering how it happened, sir.’

  ‘Yes… I suppose so.’

  Smith and Wilson very rarely shared a moment as we well know, but they managed to exchange a glance without hostility then, as the detective inspector perhaps re-examined his own personal history.

  ‘But anyway, Pauline Beavan admits that Williams did come to see her’ – and now Wilson’s stare had become a small grin – ‘on Saturday the 10th. This is one of her – their arrangements – that when she is alone for the night, he will visit her. He did so-’

  Wilson said, ‘He did what, sir?’

  ‘Visited her.’

  ‘Oh, I see, sir.’

  ‘And he usually stays for between one and two hours.’

  Smith made a point of looking away from Wilson, who was close to laughing aloud; the plan to ingratiate himself had clearly been abandoned.

  ‘However, even though Mrs Beavan has corroborated Williams’ story, something a little unusual did occur on this occasion.’

  Smith closed his eyes briefly and focused on his breathing.

  ‘Mrs Beavan told DCI Reeve that Mark Williams left unexpectedly. She found him looking at his phone-’

  Wilson said, ‘Very ungentlemanly, if I may say so, sir.’

  ‘- and then he dressed and left. He did not explain why, but she thinks that he received a text message. She asked if he was alright but apparently he wasn’t very forthcoming. As I am sure he will not be if we question him about this now.’

  Smith said, ‘Any idea what time that might have been, when he received the message – or when Mrs Beavan thought he did?’

  Yes – Alison Reeve would not have failed to ask that; around one thirty in the morning. Three hours after the last evidence they had that Bernard Sokoloff was still alive and waiting for the RAC patrolman to arrive. Was he still alive at 01.30? Suddenly, lots of questions. What was in the message? Who sent it? Why did Williams leave in a hurry? Where did he go and did he meet someone? What time did Williams get back to The Queens Arms, and did anyone see him do so?

  Smith said then, ‘A pity we can’t get a look at his phone before we send him home, sir.’

  ‘Yes, agreed, but it’s out of the question. We’ve nothing to arrest him on, and if we did there’s still the question of the warrant to search the phone. We can’t go to the phone company, even if we knew which one it was, without the same warrant. Any evidence found without the authorisation would be worthless.’

  Both sergeants were silent. They had fifty years’ experience between them, which was about twenty more than Terek had been alive on this earth, but this was not the moment to point out that whilst evidence obtained outside the rules is indeed worthless in a courtroom, intelligence thus obtained is rarely so.

  Closing The Queens Arms for the day had given Marjorie Harris time to deep-clean the kitchen, but as she completed the job, she wondered whether they would ever re-open. There was hardly a pub on the coast in a better position geographically but Mark Williams wasn’t the sort to liven things up, not the sort to bring some entrepreneurial imagination to the place. They did alright in the summer months but even though she never saw the accounts, it was clear that averaged over the year, the place was making a loss. It was Miss Shapiro’s money that kept it afloat.

  She stared out of the kitchen window at the back yard. It was untidy and dispiriting, especially as two of the guest rooms overlooked it. That’s not how you get them to come back. Given the chance, Marjorie Harris knew that she could have done a better job, but life isn’t fair, and life doesn’t give everyone the chances they deserve.

  When the telephone in the bar began to ring, it was a relief, a reason to leave those thoughts where they were for the moment. At the sound of the detective sergeant’s name, she thought the worst; he was about to tell her that Mark had been arrested or something, but no, Mr Williams was on his way back, should be there in half an hour or so, but they needed a quick word with him. The detective sergeant apologised for his lack of organisation but they had lost the mobile number that Mark had given them; could he trouble her for it now, so that they could ring him?

  When she had given the number, the sergeant asked if she was alright, which was thoughtful of him. You don’t find that often in a man, or at least she hadn’t over the years. He wore a wedding ring, and she thought about his wife and envied her a little – a lucky woman.

  Mark arrived only a few minutes afterwards, and she told him about the phone call. He went to say something, and then brought himself up short. She asked if they were going to open for the rest of the afternoon, and he said yes, why not, what with the lovely weather outside. Marjorie looked out of the window, certain that the forecast had been right and that it was going to rain soon.

  Then Mr Williams went to see his aunt, and he stayed up there for a long time.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Checking, cross-checking and corroboration – there is a simple logic to any investigation, and it involves sitting in an office and doing those things for eighty per cent of the time. For the next two hours, ten detectives at Kings Lake Central checked and cross-checked the names of everyone whom they now believed had had contact with Bernard Sokoloff during his two visits to Norfolk. A technical fault occurred just after midday which meant that the interactive whiteboard had become an inactive whiteboard; the technician required was in Market Harborough, and so there was a cheer when Smith reappeared with an old-fashioned whiteboard, a relic from the Paleolithic era of police procedures. Detective Chief Inspector Reeve was probably not the only officer present who smiled and thought that it was strangely appropriate.

  Every single name went onto the board, even people like Gina Clark and Mr D’Olivera from the Royal Victoria Hotel, and the name of the RAC patrolman, but two were highlighted by Smith drawing a rectangular box around them with a bright red marker. Peter Vince and Johnny Fuller had both been involved in the confrontation with Sokoloff on the 17th of July, according to Mark Williams, and yet both had denied ever seeing him before when interviewed in the week following his death.

  ‘Now,’ said Smith, ‘they will say that this was at Mark’s or even at Julie Shapiro’s request. I’m not quite clear on just how much media attention Miss Shapiro expects to get these days but I am clear that agreeing not to talk about the incident on their part should not extend to concealing it from us.’

  Detective Inspector Terek put up a hand and waited for Smith to take his observation, which some found amusing.

  ‘Looked at another way, DC, it could be seen as conspiracy.’

  ‘I think so – especially if they turn out to have been more involved than Mark Williams has let on. The question is, have they?’

  Both were ‘known to the authorities’, according to the search of records that John Wilson’s team had completed. Fuller had failed to declare earnings and capital gains during the business transactions that led to him becoming the owner of the chandlery business in Wells – for some reason, HMRC had not been content with the usual fine and had pursued it to a conviction. For Smith, there might be lines to read between here – had there been too much intentional deception for the tax authorities to ignore? If so, what did that tell us about Mr Fuller?

  Peter Vince had a conviction for threatening behaviour six years ago, of the sort that most of us have some sympathy with, in that a customer at his garage had run up an enormous bill for repairs and then flatly refused to pay a penny. Rather than write the matter off or go through the intricacies of civil court justice, Peter Vince had driven to the miscrea
nt’s house and waved a substantial monkey wrench in his face until some of the money was forthcoming. The magistrate’s sentence was only a caution and a trivial fine but the episode told one something about the man who had been given them.

  DCI Reeve had decided that simultaneous interviews were the way to go again, but this time it would all be handled by detectives from Kings Lake. If they were co-conspirators, of course, then Mark Williams might already have alerted them, but one cannot cater for every eventuality, and Smith always thought that when someone obviously had been warned in advance, it was a sure sign that they had something to hide.

  The mileage bill for this one was adding up by now, so it was worth checking whether the two men would be at home, without alerting them, naturally. Experienced officers know ways to do this – a ring on the landline, having concealed one’s own number, and you are the gas or electricity supplier, or an administrative assistant from the district council checking the electoral roll or the post office with a mis-labelled parcel. Most people will tell you who they are, or confirm it, once they are sure you don’t want to sell them a payment protection claim or solar panels.

  Smith was to meet with Peter Vince, and he asked that Murray go with him – after all, Murray had found the link to the Hilux, which might be nothing or something. Murray would also come in useful if there was any likelihood of wrench-waving. Detective Inspector Terek and Detective Sergeant Wilson would find Johnny Fuller at his boatyard in the harbour, or at least that’s what the young woman at Drake Marine told them on the telephone when his new bank manager rang up.

  Lines of questioning had been agreed, as well as back-up communications that would go through Kings Lake if they were unable to contact each other. These were not to be softly, softly interviews; both men had lied to the police when first questioned, and, therefore, both had some explaining to do. Other members of the teams were put on standby at Kings Lake; the stories told by Vince and Fisher might lead to further interviews at short notice. Be funny, thought Smith, as he sat waiting in his car for John Murray, if we had to go back to Overy to fetch in Mark Williams again.

  In terms of the evidence, little had changed since yesterday but there was a sense in the detectives’ offices that the pace had increased, that these interviews were going to lead somewhere. All save Ford were experienced people, even Waters now, and with the experience comes intuition.

  Smith also had intuitions about his phone. It was remarkable how often he got the feeling that he might have missed something, only to find when he checked that there was indeed a little red dot here or an unread message symbol over there. Here was one from Jo, a text that must have vibrated in his jacket pocket as well as making the dinging noise but he had noticed neither.

  He read first I have done the deed, and thought that receiving a message from Lady Macbeth was not the most obvious way of moving the relationship forward… Still, keeping an open mind, he read on – I have a date. I fly back for the last time on the 15th of December.

  Just under three months. Is that not long at all or an eternity?

  Still no sign of Murray, who had been on the phone to Olive Markham, in the usual absence of Dr Robinson. If they measured up from the heel bone to the breaks in the legs, allowing no more than two inches for the heel of the shoe and insoles, could she say how high the vehicle’s bumper might have been? Olive loved that sort of question in the middle of the afternoon, which was why Smith had given Murray the opportunity to widen his professional horizons. It might take a few more minutes yet.

  He texted When shall we two meet again?, and pressed send without the usual hesitation. Sometimes, Smith, life just has to be lived. And if not now, then when?

  Murray had climbed into the Peugeot and said not a word for three minutes as Smith negotiated the heavy post-lunch traffic in the back streets of Lake, streets that had evolved for horses and carriages and which had never really come to terms with modern life. And then, still staring straight ahead, John Murray said, ‘Is she always like that?’

  ‘Olive? Yes.’

  After perhaps another minute or so, Murray said, ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘A remarkable woman, our Olive.’

  ‘Yep.’

  They had reached the outskirts of Lake before another word was spoken. Murray never said a great deal but Olive Markham had obviously inspired him to new heights of taciturnity. It was Smith who broke the silence again.

  ‘So, any luck? What light can forensic science throw on the matter of bumper height variation?’

  ‘I got a long lecture on impact zone assessment and relative speeds; I think that was the punishment for phoning up in the first place. She asked why you hadn’t called yourself, by the way – I could think of a couple of reasons by then but I didn’t mention them.’

  ‘John, I have to think of the future of the team. I’m putting things in place so that when I go, you’ll hardly even notice. Not speaking to Olive directly is just the first of many sacrifices that I am prepared to make. Tell me about the bumpers.’

  Murray explained that the typical height of the mid-point of a front bumper on a family saloon is about eighteen inches, but the point about impact zones and relative speed is significant, in that the faster the vehicle is travelling when it collides with you, the wider and deeper the area of contact will be. So, a small car moving quickly will create a zone of damage wider than a slow-moving one, and if it’s travelling quickly enough, the apparent height of the damage can resemble that produced by a slow-moving vehicle with a higher bumper.

  After three or four minutes of having this relayed to him, Smith said, ‘Right. That’s nice and straightforward. So, Olive is telling us that there is nothing they can tell us.’

  ‘No. The impact was definitely made by a much higher bumper than on a family saloon.’

  ‘Really? Why go through all that bloody rigmarole just now?’

  ‘I had to suffer it…’

  Murray didn’t smile very often either but he allowed himself one just then.

  ‘Very good. I don’t suppose Olive was able to give you the registration number of the not-a-family-saloon that ran down Bernard Sokoloff?’

  Murray shook his head and said, ‘No, but the numbers she gave me fit in with a Hilux – there are lots of models but the bumper height has hardly changed over the years. Took me hours to find that out yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Alright, then. I’ll put in another request for another letter of commendation from the chief constable. Anything else?’

  ‘Other SUVs are available, and some of them will have similar bumper heights.’

  ‘Yes… Good work, though, as usual. We know he owns one but it would be nice to see it for ourselves, wouldn’t it?’

  They were out of Kings Lake and on the Hunston road. A light rain was falling, the first for weeks, and when Smith pushed the switch for the window wipers they jerked and squeaked into life before settling into the familiar rhythm. He glanced at his watch. Terek and Wilson would have left a while ago, and the way the detective inspector drove, their interview with Johnny Fisher might have begun already. On reflection, it might have made more sense to bring the two men in and to interview them in adjacent rooms. Once he would have phoned at this moment and changed the plan, but it wasn’t his call any more and Alison Reeve was no longer his DI.

  Murray looked out of the passenger window for a while, watching the rain slant across it as the Peugeot climbed steadily up to its familiar fifty five miles an hour. Then he pushed his big frame back into the seat, folded his arms and said, ‘Summer’s well and truly over.’

  Vince’s garage was a larger business than they might have expected. Parked outside it on the road, they could see three repair bays facing onto the forecourt, each with a vehicle in it and an attendant mechanic. The mechanics had matching overalls and they looked serious about the work – no-one was standing and watching or smoking a cigarette under the awning that was still dripping from the passing rain.

  Smith and Mu
rray sat and watched for ten minutes – even though they had yet to see Peter Vince, the interview had in effect already begun. There was no sign of a Hilux either, but the building that housed the business was substantial, with an extensive yard behind it; a number of vehicles were parked there and no doubt more were out of sight from the road.

  At the end of the ten minutes, Smith said, ‘What do you reckon about these two?’

  ‘Vince and Fisher?’

  Smith nodded - he had concluded that there was time for a Polo mint before they went into action, and Murray took one to be sociable.

  ‘We know they were at The Queens Arms both times when Sokoloff was about. We know that they helped to escort him from the building on at least one occasion, which isn’t something they could have forgotten, so we also know that they lied to us about that. Between them they have access to local vehicles and boats, and they’re tight with Williams, but it’s a hell of a jump from all that to killing someone. Motive?’

  Smith was making moves that suggested they were about to leave the vehicle and begin asking the questions that might uncover some of the answers.

  ‘Defending a lady’s honour? They wouldn’t be the first blokes to do someone in for that. It depends on what actually happened in The Queens Arms the Saturday before last. We don’t know the truth about that. I’m not buying the idea that Sokoloff was outside feeling deflated and no-one inside knew that he was there. There has to have been another confrontation, and maybe that’s where your missing motive is. Anyway, we can’t sit here all day. These interviews are supposed to be simultaneous, John.’

  Murray had known Smith too long to take that as criticism. He had also known him long enough to guess why there had been all the little delays that began before they left Kings Lake. Smith wanted the other interview to be ahead of his own. If Fisher said anything useful to the DI and Wilson, and if the phones were working, Smith might be able to use it in his own interview with Peter Vince. It’s all in the timing.