The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  As Ash waltzed off with the card in his pocket and the promise of its return the next day, Liam smiled and shook his head. Davy would get his card back all right, but not before a perfect copy had been made, allowing Ash Rahman, new PhD student, to enjoy Queen’s common-room entry and chat-up privileges until twenty-eighteen.

  ****

  High Street Station.

  Tom Fitzhenry gazed around him in curiosity, while Annette and Reggie considered him equally curiously through the mirror in the room next door. More modern interview rooms had video screens, where interviews could be taped for playback later and sometimes used as evidence in court. But High Street’s facilities were strictly circa nineteen-eighty, with buzzing neon strip lighting and paintwork that every criminal they’d ever interviewed had offered to re-do for cash, so bad were the drips. They were just grateful the heating and tape machine worked, never mind getting all highfaluting in video land!

  But the décor wasn’t what Tom Fitzhenry was looking at; rather he was drinking in the experience of being interviewed by the police to tell his mates about over a pint. Everything from Annette’s warrant card to the caution he’d received on arrival fascinated him. Part of him was secretly hoping for a spot of police brutality, to make the experience authentic, except that brutality only happened in the movies nowadays and it was more than a cop’s job was worth to harm a gelled hair on a prisoner’s head.

  As the investigators watched their prisoner their shoulders dropped almost simultaneously, as they reached the same conclusion. Fitzhenry was showing none of the signs of guilt that they knew and loved. There were no twitches, sweat droplets or nervous licks of the lips. In their place was wide-eyed gazing around the room, punctuated at intervals by stopping to stare at something in particular, like the tape machine or the hard-backed chairs, as if he was photographing them for future recall. The actuary was acting like it was Law and Order Disneyland!

  Annette said what they were both thinking.

  “So much for him being a suspect.”

  Reggie gave a short shrug. “Witness then. He might prove to be a useful one of those.”

  She nodded and summoned Jack to his place then she closed one door and opened another into the interview room. Fitzhenry rose politely as they entered, making it seem more like afternoon tea than an official exchange. Annette waved him down with one hand, turning on the tape with the other and nodded Reggie to refresh the tea before she spoke. She liked to pamper her witnesses; it stopped them doing a runner before things got to court.

  “So, Mr Fitzhenry-”

  “Tom. Mister seems so formal.”

  She carried on. “Let me remind you that you’re under caution-”

  Fitzhenry rubbed his hands gleefully. “I know. Isn’t it brilliant.”

  Disneyland obviously hadn’t been far from the truth.

  She continued, trying not to smile. “So, when we met I read you a description of a man who was murdered in the Titanic Quarter on Friday night.”

  “Yes.”

  Fitzhenry’s tone became solemn and he folded his hands in front of him on the desk. It felt like he was playing a part in a play and Reggie suddenly realised what it was. Fitzhenry was playing the perp in a police drama and he was going to ham it up for all that he was worth. Annette ignored the businessman’s faux solemnity and removed a flyer from her bag, spreading it out in front of him and encouraging him to take a look.

  “This is a sketch of the victim. For the tape, does this resemble the man that you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that you thought you knew the man. Can you tell me who he was and in what context you knew him, please?”

  “His name is, was, Dominic Guthrie. He’s an accountant with a firm we do business with. Guthrie and Son.”

  “You’re certain that Mr Guthrie was the man you saw on Friday evening?”

  A solemn nod.

  “Please speak for the tape, Mr Fitzhenry.”

  Fitzhenry looked so excited that she thought he was going to burst. “That’s what they say on TV! God, this is brilliant. The lads will never believe it-”

  Annette didn’t know whether to admonish him or laugh. Instead she repeated the question and this time Fitzhenry’s nod was accompanied by another “yes”.

  “All right, Mr Fitzhenry. I would like you to describe exactly where you saw this man. Please include where you were and where he was in relation to you.”

  Fitzhenry obliged, outlining how he’d been standing at the second floor window in the corridor outside his office, when he’d seen Guthrie walking in the direction of the Odyssey.

  “What were you doing in the corridor?”

  “Stretching my legs. I was working late on a project. The deadline was ten p.m. and I’d been working for four hours solid, so I went to the loo then decided to walk round the floor to wake myself up.”

  “Round the floor?”

  He smiled, realising how funny it must have sounded.

  “The building’s laid out with a perimeter corridor on each level, and the offices in the middle. It means you can literally walk right around each floor without stopping.” As Reggie squinted, trying to picture how it must look, Fitzhenry leaned in confidingly. “It makes the offices hellish dark to work in, but there’s a great view across the docks from the windows, especially from the top two floors.”

  Annette nodded. “What time was this?”

  The actuary squinted as well, remembering. “I guess...” He paused for a moment before starting again. “I started work on the papers just before five, after everyone else had gone home.” He sat back and rolled his eyes. “Bloody open-plan offices. I can never get any work done during the day with all the noise, so I often only start working when the place is empty.”

  “Was it? Empty I mean.”

  He laughed loudly. “God, yes. It’s deserted after four on a Friday. They can’t get out of there quickly enough.”

  She waved him on.

  “Anyway, I’d been working for nearly four hours, so by the time I got to the corridor it was almost nine. To tell you the truth I was dying for a pint, so I was just about to go back and tidy-up when I noticed Dom.”

  He looked at Reggie as if he would understand. The Friday night pint held a special significance for men. An end of the week reward and bonding ritual all in one. Reggie’s smile urged him to continue.

  “He was walking towards the Odyssey end of the road, like I said-”

  Annette cut in. “Was he alone?”

  “Yes. At least…” Fitzhenry’s voice tailed off and he gave a frown. “It was a bit odd actually. When I saw him I went to rap the glass to say hello, but something stopped me.”

  Annette leaned forward. “You saw someone else?”

  The frown was joined by a puzzled look. “Another man. At least I thought I had for a moment. That’s why I hesitated. But when I looked again there was no-one there.” He laughed at his mistake. “Must have been seeing things. I was pretty tired.”

  Annette wanted more detail. “Did you rap?”

  “What?”

  “The window. Did you actually rap the window to say hello?”

  Fitzhenry shook his head. “No. By the time I went to, Dom had walked too far ahead. He wouldn’t have heard me.” He shrugged. “I forgot about him after that and went back to my desk to finish up. By the time I got my car from the basement it was nine-forty.”

  “Can you describe the other man you saw?”

  The actuary frowned, trying to recall. “Tall, taller than Dom, definitely. And I think…”

  “Yes?”

  “He may have had something on his head. Not a hat as such, but maybe a cap or beanie.” He thought for a moment longer then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember anything else. He had his back to me and it was very dark.”

  Now they had the timings they could check for camera footage. Time to change tack.

  “Did you look for Mr Guthrie when you drove out?”

&nb
sp; Her tone was heavy with blame. It didn’t miss Fitzhenry and he pulled himself upright in indignation.

  “Yes, I did actually and I would have offered him a lift if I’d seen him walking; Queens Road is pretty long.”

  Reggie cut in, knowing that the interview would deteriorate if Annette hit back.

  “That was kind of you, Mr Fitzhenry. Did you expect him still to be walking after forty minutes?”

  The financier shook his head hesitantly.

  “Not really. But if he had been…” He looked puzzled suddenly. “To be honest I wondered what he was doing walking at all. The last time I saw Dom he was driving a Porsche, and most people drive around the area, or use Segways; it can be miles from one building to the next.” He gave a reluctant shrug, his earlier ebullience dampened by Annette’s implication. “I didn’t really think about it… thought maybe he was meeting someone in the Odyssey. It has a cinema and some decent restaurants, and it was a Friday night…”

  As his voice tailed away Reggie continued diplomatically.

  “You weren’t to know, Mr Fitzhenry. Probably lots of people passed him.” He glanced pointedly at Annette until she joined in, nodding her head.

  “Sergeant Boyd’s right, Mr Fitzhenry. You couldn’t have known what would happen to Mr Guthrie.” She rose and turned off the tape. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful in aiding us in piecing together his whereabouts.”

  She meant it. Now they could start the search for Dominic Guthrie’s car and hopefully wherever it was parked would tell them where the accountant had been before his death.

  ****

  The C.C.U. 6.30 p.m.

  Craig set his chair in front of Davy’s desk, forcing the others to form a semicircle between there and Liam’s domain. It was geographically disconcerting and Liam knew he’d done it deliberately to shake things up, but the first thing Craig had shaken was his deputy’s good mood. Liam didn’t like people encroaching on his territory so he gave Andy’s back a hard shove and dislodged him from his desk then proceeded to erect a fence around it with three chairs. The second thing that was shaken was Ash’s orientation. The change in direction made him feel seasick. When Craig saw they were all suitably discomforted he got to work.

  “OK. Quick summary. We have an I.D. for our victim. He’s Dominic Guthrie, partner in the accountancy firm of Guthrie and Son. His father established the firm -”

  Davy interrupted. “Has someone I.D.ed the body, chief?”

  “Des from photographs and then Guthrie’s wife, about five minutes ago. OK, we know that the cause of death was a blow to the head, so, Davy, anything more on the weapon?”

  “Des has come back with two possibilities. A very large s…stone, or a large piece of breezeblock. He’s veering towards breezeblock but he’s waiting for electron microscopy to confirm.”

  Craig nodded then rose and dragged the white board down the room as Liam remonstrated under his breath.

  “If you’d just sat where you normally sit you wouldn’t have had to move it.”

  Craig turned and smiled. “How boring would it be if we always did everything the same way?”

  “I like boring.”

  He ignored his moaning deputy and wrote ‘WEAPON’ in capitals on the board. “OK, what does the weapon tell us?”

  Liam was the first to reply. “Improvised. No-one brings a breezeblock to a murder.”

  Craig nodded. “I agree. So…does that mean he didn’t plan to kill Guthrie?”

  Liam shrugged. “Maybe…or maybe he did but didn’t want to bring a proper weapon, like a gun or a knife that could be traced back to him.”

  “Yes. Good.” Craig scribbled ‘improvised’ and ‘untraceable?’ on the board and then asked another question. “What else does that tell us? Anyone?”

  ‘Anyone?’ was shorthand for ‘don’t answer, Liam, and let’s see who else is awake’. Surprisingly it was Andy, the sleepiest detective in the West, who answered.

  “The killer’s strong. A breezeblock is heavy, especially if you’re lifting it up high, which you’d have to do to hit someone right on the top of the skull.”

  Craig nodded emphatically. “Yes again. So he’s strong; good. We also need to look at this man’s height.” He turned to the analysts. “How tall was Guthrie?”

  Ash glanced at his screen. “Five-eight.”

  “OK, and the blow was directly on the top of his skull, so we’re looking at someone tall enough to bring that force down hard on a five-feet-eight man.” He scanned the room and his gaze fell on Andy.

  “How tall are you, Andy?”

  The D.C.I. drew himself up in his seat. “Six feet.”

  He was almost knocked off his chair by Liam’s immediate shove.

  “Get away with you! You’re never six-feet tall. I’m six-six and I’m a head and a half above you. The boss is six-two and Davy’s six dead, so let’s line everyone up and see.”

  Andy blushed bright red. “Oh, all right. I’m five-eight. Are you happy now?”

  Liam grinned smugly. “Ecstatic.” He pushed him again. “Go on then. Stand up.”

  Craig beckoned Davy and Liam to join him and then walked across to where Andy was standing by his desk.

  “OK, Liam. Lift that file off Nicky’s desk.”

  “No way. She’d eat me alive.”

  He grabbed one from his own desk instead.

  “Fine. Now stand behind Andy and make as if to bring it down on the top of his skull.”

  Andy turned to Liam warily. “As if, remember. No clouting me on the head.”

  “Like I would.” Liam brought the file down so fast it made a whoosh, halting barely an inch from Andy’s hair as everyone winced.

  Craig checked the inevitable contact point and nodded. “Good position. Thanks, Liam.” He turned to Davy. “Now you.”

  The experiment was repeated by Davy and then Craig did it himself. Davy’s blow landed slightly posterior despite three goes, including one where he stood on his toes, but his and Liam’s were spot on. Craig retook his seat.

  “OK, thanks everyone. That shows that for the blow to match, our man had to be taller than six-one; Davy’s height when he was on his toes. He could be anywhere between my height, six-two and Liam’s height, six-six, but on the balance of probability I’d say he was at the lower end of that range. There aren’t many men of Liam’s height, even in the force.”

  Just as he said it Reggie entered the room, giving a lie to his words and making everyone laugh.

  “OK, except for Reggie.”

  Reggie scanned the circle of faces, puzzled. “What’s the joke?”

  “Liam will tell you later.” Just then Annette joined them. “You’re both just in time. We’re talking about Dominic Guthrie. We think he was killed by a man between six-two and six-four, using a breezeblock. Annette, was anything found at the scene that would fit that description?”

  She took the seat Liam had pushed forward, too tired to object to his chivalry today. “Not as far as I know, sir, but forensics are still sorting through the evidence. We’ve just interviewed Tom Fitzhenry; the man who saw Guthrie on Friday night. He said the man he saw was tall, so that would fit.”

  Craig nodded. “We’ll get to that in a moment, thanks. OK, now that Guthrie’s wife has I.D.ed him, Davy and Ash can start to dig into his life. We also have an idea of the weapon and the fact that the killer was smart enough to use something that couldn’t be traced back, and that he’s six-two to six-four.”

  Davy cut in. “It’s definitely a man w…we’re looking for?”

  Craig was surprised. “Do you know many women who could lift a breezeblock?”

  “Well no, but it’s not scientifically ruled out. There are some s…strong women around.”

  Craig conceded the point. “OK, we could be looking for a woman of the same height, but focus your energies on the men, please.” He nodded Annette on and poured himself a fresh coffee as she reported on their interview with the actuary, picking it up as she closed.
r />   “OK, thanks for that, Annette. So we’re looking for Guthrie’s car. Davy, check if he was still driving the Porsche Fitzhenry mentioned, or if not what he was driving now. Then Annette, you and Reggie follow up on that. I want uniforms to search every garage and piece of wasteland in the Titanic Quarter and Liam, you and Rhonda go and interview Guthrie’s wife. She might know where her husband was Friday evening. Andy, check out his business, especially his diary for Friday. We’ll get a warrant for his files and computers if we need one. Let’s see where Dominic Guthrie was supposed to be that day and if he turned up.”

  “We’ll need another warrant, chief.”

  “OK. I’ll sort that out.” He sipped his coffee long enough for Liam to interject. “I think Andy should go with Rhonda, boss. You and I have Jamison to interview again.”

  “OK, good point. Andy, you and Rhonda take the wife and the business-”

  Annette was the next to cut in. “But if Reggie and I are following up Guthrie’s car, it makes sense that we should speak to his wife as well.”

  Craig counted to ten. He really didn’t give a damn who did what, as long as it got done. “OK. Annette, you take the car and Guthrie’s wife, and Andy, you and Rhonda check out both Jamison’s and Guthrie’s businesses.” He swung round to find Ash before someone else interrupted, only to see him ducking beneath his desk. “We can still see you, Ash.”

  His blue head popped up again. “I wasn’t hiding, chief, honest. Just retrieving my pen.” No-one believed him. “You were about to ask me to look for CCTV at the time of the murder.”

  Craig was surprised for a moment and tagged on another task to hide it. “And the four hours either side, please. Let’s see who Fitzhenry thought he saw.”

  Ash bowed extravagantly. “Whatever you wish, master.”

  It gave Liam had an idea. “Genie! That’s your new nickname. I’m tired of Smurf.”