‘Presumably.’
‘If he has, it would be great if you could get him to send me copies. D’you think you could?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll ring him. I don’t suppose…’ For the first time Lutterworth looked embarrassed enough to give Emma the upper hand. She tried not to enjoy it.
‘Would you like a Phonecard?’ She had learned a certain amount about life in prison during her researches and knew that Phonecards were highly prized and often used as currency by the inmates.
‘It’s humiliating to have to ask, but yes, that would be very helpful. One does become rather like an incarcerated child in here. Or a performing animal. Did you know the screws don’t talk about “meals”, at least not for us. They call it “feeding” as though we were a bunch of sealions at the zoo.’
Emma thought it best not to comment as she scuffled in her bag and took out a twenty-unit card. ‘I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t think of this before I came and I have used a couple of units off this. I am so sorry. If I need to come again, I’ll bring you a stock.’
‘No need. This will be very helpful.’ He stood up and shook hands again, looking almost as though he were terminating an interview with a favoured client of Hill, Snow, Parkes. ‘Goodbye for now. I’ll find it hard to wait until next time.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Smooth bugger, isn’t he?’ said the officer when he returned to unlock the various gates to let Emma out of the grim building.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, still not sure what she thought of him. ‘Thank you.’
She humped her equipment to the telephone box that stood on the pavement just beyond the outer gates of the prison and called a minicab. Expensive though it was going to be, there was no other way of getting herself and all her stuff to the nearest station. The cab came within five minutes.
Back in her room in St Albans, with a good supply of coffee and ginger biscuits at her side, Emma spread out the test sheets and her parallel list of questions to set about proving whether or not Andrew Lutterworth could be innocent of smashing into the young mother and her child at sixty miles per hour in the middle of a filthily wet night in February just over three years earlier.
She quickly realised that she was not going to get any proof of anything. There were some extremely strong reactions recorded in the graphs, but, as she matched them against her questions, she saw that they had nothing to do with the night of the accident. Lutterworth’s responses to some of the control questions were infinitely stronger than any of those caused by his talking about the crime. Emma double-checked them all.
‘Oh, that bloody man!’ she said aloud as she realised what he must have been doing.
One of the first things she had learned was that it was very hard indeed for someone to beat a polygraph test by controlling his reactions to questions that made him feel guilty. The only reliable way to cheat the machines was to provoke even stronger responses to control questions. Some people were known to have done that by having a drawingpin, point upwards, in their shoes. When a question that did not worry them at all was asked, they would press down hard on the pin so that their bodies would provide misleadingly violent reactions as they answered.
The questions about Lutterworth’s life in prison had provoked small reactions, but they were consistent with understandable anger. Questions about the police, his alibi, and the crashed car provoked reactions too, bigger than those about his prison life, but not nearly as big as his responses to some of her most boring questions about his interest in gardening, and about whether he routinely carried passengers in the car. She matched her questions against the peaks and troughs in the chart with increasing anger.
But when she reached the moment at which she had asked him about the death of the child, she began to wonder whether she had been doing him an injustice. The fluctuations recorded as he answered those questions were the biggest of all.
In the light of what Willow had told her about Pipp Lutterworth, Emma had tried to phrase her questions about the crash victims in such a way that they would not remind Andrew of his son. Looking at the graphs of his heart rate, blood pressure and breathing as he talked about the child who had been killed by his car, she realised she could not have been careful enough.
Angry with herself, she had to admit that the test she had been sure would be the key to her thesis had in fact told her very little. The telephone began to ring.
‘Emma Gnatche.’
‘Emma! It’s Jane here. How did the polygraph go? And what did you think of Lutterworth?’
Emma gave Jane a carefully expurgated account of her meeting, stressing that she had reached only preliminary conclusions and still had plenty of work to do on the test results before she could write a definitive report.
‘Have you had any more contact with his wife?’ Emma asked when she had reached the end of the little that she was prepared to say to Jane. ‘Since he was refused parole, I mean?’
‘No. But Willow told me that she’d been to see her and she liked her, too.’
‘I know she did.’
‘You’re sounding a bit defeated,’ said Jane. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Not exactly. It’s just that I’m beginning to think I might not be able to give you any of the certainty you want.’
‘Damn! Well, I don’t suppose it’s your fault. There may not be any to be had. I only hope I haven’t sent you on a wild-goose chase.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t. This test may not tell us anything very much, but I’m not ready to give up yet. I’ll just have to find some more about what went on in that police station. Has Hal ever told you about his theory that Lutterworth must have had a girlfriend with him in the car that night?’
‘He’s trailed the idea past me once or twice, yes,’ said Jane. ‘I can’t say I’m convinced.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘It just doesn’t square with the way his wife behaved or talked about him. I don’t want to sound like a judge who can’t imagine that a man married to an attractive and intelligent woman might stray, but I honestly cannot see Lutterworth going to such lengths to conceal an affair. Forty years ago, perhaps, but nowadays? I don’t buy it, Emma.’
‘Nor do I. But…’
‘What?’
‘There was just something about him today that led me to think he might be fairly susceptible to women; and that made me wonder whether Hal could have been right.’
‘Oh, come on, Emma.’ Jane’s voice was positively caustic.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Lutterworth’s in prison, banged up with a whole lot of men and dykey wardresses. Of course he’s going to “undress you with his eyes” or whatever it was you thought he was doing. You or any other reasonably attractive woman.’
Emma laughed. ‘That wasn’t quite what I meant. But in a way—’
‘You’re sounding like the sweet naive little blonde again. You want to watch that.’
‘Yes, I probably should. Sorry, Jane. By the way, has Mrs Lutterworth got money of her own? D’you know?’
‘No, I don’t. That house of theirs must have cost a fortune to build, but accountancy partners, even outside the Big Six firms, were earning a fortune in the late eighties. He might not have needed any help from her. Why?’
‘I just thought that if he were relying on her money, he might have had quite an incentive to keep an affair secret.’
‘If he was having one at all. Yes, I suppose he might. Although plenty of blokes are getting alimony these days from rich wives. In any case, risking prison in order to keep his pocket money? Surely not.’
‘I know it seems weird. But there has to be some explanation.’
‘Emma, are you trying to tell me here that your polygraphs did suggest he was guilty?’
‘No, I’m not telling you anything for sure yet. But there is a possibility, a faint possibility, that he’s read one of those American books about the best ways to beat a lie-detector and manipulated the resu
lt.’
‘I see. That’s not a bad idea. Yes, I like it. Oh, you have encouraged me,’ said Jane.
‘Good,’ Emma said, as always pleased to have pleased people. ‘Well, if you find out anything about Mrs Lutterworth’s money or Andrew’s love life, will you let me know?’
‘Sure. I must go. ’ Bye for now.’
In need of some straightforward affection, Emma rang up Jag, who immediately asked if he could come over on the bike to see her. As soon as she had put down the telephone, she went to check that there was plenty of the strong beer he liked in the chillybin and then set about tidying up her room.
When he arrived he was carrying a large bunch of freesias.
‘Jag,’ she said, amazed that he should have made such a conventional gesture. ‘How beautiful! They’re easily my favourite flowers. They’ll make the room smell gorgeous.’
‘Then I wish I’d thought of buying them.’
‘What d’you mean?’ she asked, stepping back and not touching the offered flowers. ‘You can’t have stolen them.’
He laughed. ‘Baboon-brain! I found them propped up outside your door. Didn’t you see them when you came in?’
‘No,’ said Emma. ‘And I haven’t heard anyone knocking since I got back. How peculiar! Who could have sent them? Is there a card?’
‘Sure.’ He pulled it off the cellophane wrapping and handed it to her.
‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ She did take the flowers then and ran some water into the basin for them, before opening the small envelope. The note inside was written in an attractively firm hand in proper ink.
Emma, I saw these as I was passing a florist. They reminded me of you and our nice dinner together. We must do it again some time. When are you coming back to London? Give me a ring.
Love,
Hal.
‘They’re from that journalist I told you about. The one I had dinner with weeks ago. This is the first I’ve heard from him since,’ she said, handing Jag the note. ‘He must have a big expense account. There are millions of these.’
‘Or else he’s a better guesser than me and knew how much you’d like them,’ said Jag, scowling. Seeing her worried face, he added cheerfully, ‘Perhaps I’ll have to horsewhip him. Isn’t that what’s done to rivals in this benighted country of yours?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Emma, laughing. ‘But Hal’s no rival of yours, Jag, as you ought to know. You can safely ignore him and his flowers.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yup.’
‘Great. Then come here.’
Chapter Ten
‘And so you see, Willow, the results are so odd that I think he must have been deliberately manipulating them,’ Emma said down the telephone.
Willow, who had been keeping one eye on the screen of her computer, started to concentrate on what Emma was trying to explain.
‘Although,’ she was saying, ‘it could be possible that some of my questions upset him by reminding him of his son and that’s why his responses were so erratic.’
‘Hmm, I can see the problem. Odd. I’d always assumed lie-detection was more clear-cut than that.’
‘Unfortunately not. That’s why it’s never been admissible in court. There’s no one reaction that proves honesty or the opposite, just a collection of them that point towards a probability.’
‘Tell me again what the irrelevant questions were that caused the most powerful reactions in Lutterworth,’ said Willow, turning her screen away from her before pulling forward a piece of paper. She was amused to notice that she felt slightly uncomfortable at the thought that Emma was acquiring a skill of which she herself knew nothing.
‘Whether he regularly had passengers in his car and whether he enjoyed gardening.’
‘Odd,’ said Willow again as she wrote them down in an effort to ensure that she did not forget the precise wording Emma had used. ‘Have you talked to Jag about it? As a psychologist, I mean.’
‘Yes. He’s suggested that Lutterworth may still feel such guilt about his son’s death that he reacted violently to anything that reminded him of the boy. He must have driven him about in the car, and he made that garden in his memory. It sounds like a possible explanation, but I can’t make it fit the man I met. He just didn’t strike me as someone who would be tormented by that sort of guilt. After all, he hadn’t done anything to his son to make him die or prevent him being cured. I know lots of people do feel guilt when a close relation’s died, but isn’t it usually when they haven’t cared enough or done enough during the person’s life?’
‘Probably. But that could fit Lutterworth, you know, Emma. Everyone agrees that he worked amazingly hard. Perhaps some part of his subconscious mind believes that if he had spent more time with the boy he’d never have got necrotising fasciitis. I’d have thought that could explain a lot including incidentally whatever aura it was that made the police so sure he was guilty. It does add up, you know.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Emma, still doubtful and wishing that she had thought up some more effective questions to ask during the test.
‘I shouldn’t have thought that there could be much doubt after what his wife told me—you know, about how profoundly affected he was by the boy’s death. He probably still is. I’d have thought Jag’s analysis is quite reasonable.’ Willow felt absurdly pleased that Emma had come to her after Jag had given his views.
‘But I suppose another possible answer,’ she went on, thinking as she spoke, ‘is that Lutterworth did something else that night that he’s ashamed of. That would make sense of your test results, too. Or wouldn’t it?’
‘Not really, but—’
‘Did I tell you that Jemima believes he was haunting the hospital where Pipp died? Could that be it, d’you think? Or perhaps there was something nastier that he’s even more ashamed of. Maybe sexual?’
‘What: a strip joint or a prostitute or something? I did think of that myself,’ said Emma, laughing at Willow’s unnecessarily tactful phrasing. ‘But, you see, I asked him several times and in several different ways what he was doing that night, and he went into quite a lot of detail each time he told me about the knotty tax problem he’d been working on for the difficult client. Those responses are wholly calm and quite consistent with each other; as in fact are his reactions to questions about the reparking and going in and out of the office and finding the car stolen. Everything suggests that he was telling the truth at that point, even though not at some of the others. Unless he was faking the whole thing, in which case there’s no point even trying to work out what any of it means.’
‘Blast! Are you sure?’
‘Pretty much.’ Emma got rid of the last of her dog-in-the-manger feelings and added: ‘Look, would you like me to send you a copy of the test sheets? To see what you think?’
‘Would you?’ said Willow. ‘They probably won’t mean much to me, but I should like to have a look at them. On a slightly different subject, one thing that’s been bothering me about all this is the security men who were on duty that night.’
‘Me too. As Hal Marstall said, it’s easy to imagine them missing him once, but three times could be a bit much. I wouldn’t let Hal persuade me at the time, but I think that was probably because I was trying so hard not to be impressed by him or his certainty of Lutterworth’s guilt. I’m not so sure now.’
‘Me neither. Although we can’t be sure how closely the security men were questioned or how honestly they answered, can we?’
‘On the other hand, why would they lie?’ asked Emma, playing Devil’s Advocate. Then, realising that at some level she still wanted Lutterworth to be innocent she added, ‘On yet another hand—if one can have three—I haven’t seen any report of them seeing him leave at any other time that night. And if they didn’t say that they’d noticed him go before, why should their not having seen him later make any difference?’
‘Precisely,’ said Willow with increasing interest as she contemplated the alluring possibility of being more use to Emma tha
n Jag had been. ‘But they might have been asked a “num” question—you know, on the lines of: “you didn’t see Andrew Lutterworth coming back at half past eight, soaking wet and swearing, did you?”—and not been asked more generally about what they saw.’
‘I wonder.’ Emma thought of the experiments she had conducted on the ways in which the phrasing of questions affected the answers they evoked. ‘You could be right, I suppose.’
‘It has been known,’ said Willow with satisfaction, which made Emma laugh again. ‘Well, then, why don’t I go and see what I can get out of them? Wouldn’t that help?’
‘Oh no,’ Emma said at once. ‘I couldn’t ask that when you’ve got all your own work to do. And Lucinda and everything. Honestly I’m perfectly able to do it myself.’
‘Emma, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing’s the matter. Why?’
‘You sound most unlike yourself. Stiff and very nearly cross. You’re not insulted that I want to help, are you?’
‘No, no, of course not, How could I be?’
‘Good. I know perfectly well that you could do all of it just as well as me. I only want to save you trouble.’
‘I know. And I’m grateful. Honestly,’ said Emma quickly. ‘And of course I’m not insulted. I mean, good heavens, it was me who rang you this morning about the polygraph results. You see, I really do want your help, Willow.’
‘That’s all right then. My imagination must be working overtime. Good. I’ll get in touch with the security men as soon as I can. It’ll be a blessing as far as the book’s concerned. I’m hardly writing anything worth keeping at the moment and so it’d be great to do something useful for you instead.’
‘Oh, but it might not work.’
‘Why not?’ asked. Willow impatiently and then, when Emma did not answer, said even more sharply, ‘What might not work?’
‘Re-questioning the security guards. Their firm isn’t working for Hill, Snow any more. Someone—Hal, I think—told me that they have electronic gates now and their new employees monitoring them. At the time of the crash they used a security firm that provided the men on duty that night. They probably don’t even work for the firm any more. I don’t see how you’re going to get hold of them.’
Sour Grapes Page 14
