Faraday 01 The Gigabyte Detective

by Michael Hillier

  Charlotte agreed with him. She could tell that Paulson had done his job thoroughly. There seemed very little chance of finding out any more from an interrogation of the hotel staff - although it had to be done, of course. It seemed to her that tackling the family connections provided the best prospects for progress.

  She watched him as he drove. They were creeping along now in the town-centre traffic. He was driving carefully, with consummate patience. Perhaps he was a man without a lot of imagination or intuition. But everything he did would be done efficiently and correctly. She could at least be thankful for that. Now she had to try and persuade him to be on her side.

  “Can you let me have all the reports tomorrow when I’m in the office?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I want to get all the stuff that you’ve collected over the last twelve months onto my computer before I start asking new questions.” She paused, looking for a diplomatic way of raising her next point, and failing. “The only thing I would like to do tomorrow, is see this journalist (Julian Brace - is it?) and ask about his sources.”

  He looked at her speculatively for a second. However he obviously decided not to argue. “OK, I’ll have him brought in as soon as convenient.”

  “No.” She looked out of the side window so that he shouldn’t see her expression. “I’d like to go to his office at the newspaper. He’ll probably talk more freely there and he’ll have all his records close to hand. I’d also like you to come with me, Stafford.” She smiled at him now. “Can I call you Stafford?”

  “Of course you can.” He paused, possibly checking her comments for implied criticism. Obviously he found none so he just asked, “Why do you want me to come?”

  “Well, for a start I need someone to drive me until my promised car turns up.” She hurried on, “But much more important than that is the fact that you’ve been with this investigation for a whole year. You’ll be able to ask more searching questions than I can. I want to put this chap’s ideas through the mincing machine in a nice sort of way. I think we’ll be able to do that much better if you’re there.”

  He said nothing to that. They were pulling up the hill out of the town centre. Soon they turned off right into the Knowles Hill area. They found the house and he unloaded her battered suitcase while she was welcomed by her statuesque aunt. He refused an invitation to tea and promised to collect her at eight-thirty the next morning without hesitation, even though it would mean leaving home earlier than usual.

  * * * * * * * *

  Stafford smiled a little grimly to himself as he drove home. He had to admit that this new woman was trying to start off on the right foot. He wondered how she would cope with Sergeant Mallinson, who was distinctly less well-intentioned towards women policemen than he was.

  - 3. Tuesday -

  “So I said to this bird, if you don’t get your bloody ass out of this bed you’re going to be a murder suspect.”

  Greg collapsed with laughter at his own joke but the rest of the office was silent.

  From the door Stafford Paulson said, “I missed the start of that one.”

  Sergeant Mallinson pulled himself upright. “Sorry, guv. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “Too busy researching the string of deaths over the last five years, I suppose.”

  Mallinson was silenced by the perceived injustice of the remark. But he said nothing. The tone of Paulson’s comment didn’t suggest discussion.

  “Well, now’s the time to introduce you to your new boss.” Stafford stepped to one side and ushered in the tall woman. “This is DCI Faraday.”

  There was an utter silence that lasted for at least half a minute.

  “Well, Charlotte, this is the Torbay team. DS Mallinson’s the joker.” Paulson regarded him with a flicker of distaste. “Greg’s the one who did the report on Mariella Prince.”

  “Hello.” Said Charlotte. “I’ll want to have a look at that.”

  “Stafford’s got it on his desk,” he said shortly.

  She wasn’t impressed with the man. She noted the way his eyes wandered away from hers and slid down to inspect her breasts. She also took note of the overweight body which spoke of too little exercise, the prematurely thinning ginger hair, the smirk of ignorant superiority when he looked at her. She guessed he was a male chauvinist - the kind who groped women PC’s in dark corners when he had half a chance. It was likely he would strongly resent her presence and her rank. Mallinson had only reached sergeant in his mid thirties and was unlikely to rise any further. Charlotte decided she was going to have to keep an eye on Gregory Mallinson.

  Paulson continued the introductions. “DC John Prendergast. He’s been with us less than a year. He’s the baby of the outfit.”

  This one seemed to be a bright young chap as he came forward to shake her hand. He was tall and skinny, in his early twenties, with mop of tousled brown hair. He looked enthusiastic. How long would it be, she wondered, before he started looking for promotion away from this comfortable backwater?

  “And DC Roberta Howell - likes to be known as Bobbie,” concluded the inspector.

  Charlotte was struck by startling, light blue eyes in an otherwise plain face. She had a slim body made shapeless by the stiff trouser suit she was wearing. At least she would probably be safe from the wandering hands of Sergeant Mallinson.

  Then, with a shock, she realised that she and Bobbie Howell were probably of a similar age. It showed what a huge difference a good degree and the opportunities offered by being in the Met could make.

  “DCI Faraday,” said Paulson generally to the office, “has been sent to solve the Cynthia Adams case. She will be concentrating on that case only. Head office has decided that case has absolute priority. You will therefore give her every assistance she may ask for.” He nodded to Charlotte. “She has promised me that she will only take you away from your other duties when she considers it is essential. Otherwise you will continue to work to my instructions as before. Is that clear to everybody?”

  “What about the Carter and Smythe cases?” asked Mallinson. “They’re both suspicious deaths. Do they still have priority?”

  “After Adams, yes.” Paulson appeared impatient about discussing it. “But Adams is to have top priority over the next three months.”

  Mallinson persisted sullenly, “So we’re likely to be taken off other cases at a moment’s notice, no matter how important our enquiries are at the time?”

  “I’m the one who’ll decide if it’s important,” interrupted Charlotte. “However I promise you I’ll keep your involvement in the Adams case to a minimum.” Certainly as far as Mallinson’s concerned, she thought to herself.

  The sergeant turned away, making some mumbled comment to DC Howell which she couldn’t hear. She decided to ignore him.

  “What about desk space?” she asked Paulson.

  “You can have my office.” He led the way to a glass door at one side. “I’ll move into the general office while you’re here.”

  She followed him into a decent-sized room, although it seemed to be filled with the clutter of many years’ investigations. It was important, she thought, that she should try to get him to treat her as a colleague. Somehow she wanted to get the man on her side.

  “I don’t see why we can’t share your office,” she said. “I don’t want to disrupt the department’s other activities. If you get that table cleared over by the window it’ll be enough to set up my computer. I won’t need any more space than that.”

  He stopped and looked straight at her. For a second she thought he was going to thank her. Then he said, “OK, if that’s what you want,” and turned and shouted for Prendergast.

  “John,” he said when the young man came in “I’d like you to take everything from this table, including the stuff underneath and in the corner. Get it put in storage boxes, labelled and taken down to the basement storage area. They’re mainly old case-notes, so they should be put away. But make a list of everything with it’s a location so
that we can recover it if we need to. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, guv.”

  “This will be DCI Faraday’s desk when you’ve cleared it. See if you can find her a comfortable chair, will you. If you ring down to the front office you’ll probably be able to borrow a couple of uniformed constables to give you a hand. Say that I asked for them.”

  He turned back to Charlotte. “I’m afraid this is going to take a couple of hours. You’re welcome to use my desk until then.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you ring that journalist - Julian Brace? Let’s see if we can go over and meet him for an hour or so.” She flashed a smile at John Prendergast, “I’ve no doubt that everything will be ready for me when we return.”

  * * * * * * * *

  Susannah was at her seat in the harbourside cafe promptly at a quarter to eleven. She resolutely refused to question her motives for being there. She told herself that she often came to the cafe two or even three times a week. But she carefully ignored the fact that she had shampooed her hair that morning and added a conditioning rinse to make it soft and shiny, and she was wearing a fresh summer dress that revealed quite a lot of her shapely bosom.

  It was another beautiful morning and she kept her sunglasses on as she stretched like a cat in the warmth of the sun. But beneath the glasses her eyes were alert and she saw Richard the moment he limped into sight. He was dressed today in a short-sleeved, open neck shirt and light-weight slacks. She thought how young and athletic he looked, with his amber-coloured skin, even despite his limp. Susannah knew he had been looking for her by the way he suddenly crossed the road when he saw her and came into the cafe.

  He moved stiffly towards her table and eased himself into the chair opposite. “Mind if I sit here? All the other seats are taken,” he grinned.

  “Liar!” This morning there was no more than a handful of people in the cafe. She took off her sunglasses and leaned forward to dispute with him.

  “Wow,” he said, ignoring her challenge. “You look fantastic in that dress.”

  She contrived a small bow from her sitting position. She found she couldn’t be serious with him. “Thank you, sir. And how is your leg this morning?”

  “I’ve got a spectacular bruise. Do you want to see it?” He made as if to get up.

  She stretched out a restraining hand. “Not in here.”

  “Oh, later then.” He grinned. “I’ve had two very hot baths and those eased it a lot. My dear old landlady moaned about all her hot water disappearing so I agreed to pay her an extra pound. However it’s still quite stiff, so I’ve decided not to do too much walking until it feels better. It’ll have to be a car day today.”

  “The agony doesn’t prevent you from driving?”

  He affected a careless swagger. “One can do anything if they’re tough enough.” Then he turned serious. “I’ve decided to go to Berry Pomeroy Castle first, then I’ll carry on down the coast to enjoy the sea views.”

  “Berry Pomeroy?”

  “It’s a beautiful place. There’s a castle which juts out of a steep hillside above a narrow valley in the middle of thick woods.” He shook his head. “I’m amazed that so few people visit the place.”

  “It sounds lovely.” She smiled wistfully. “I admit I’ve never been there.”

  He stared at her. “But it’s less than ten miles from here. How long have you been in Torquay?”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I’ve lived here for more than ten years but there are all sorts of places that I’ve never visited. Stephen’s always too tired to go out when he is down here. And otherwise I’ve only got women friends. We tend to meet up and stay in town. None of them have ever suggested going out to explore.” She suddenly discovered that she very much wanted to see the castle.

  He leaned forward. “It sounds to me as though your education needs some improving. How would you like me to take you to look at Berry Pomeroy Castle?”

  She hesitated, not sure of herself. She had to admit would like to go with him. But she was also aware of how her friends would regard her behaviour and would be suspicious of her motives. Even she was slightly shocked at herself for leading him on to make the invitation.

  He seemed to misunderstand her silence. “I promise to return you to your home the moment you ask,” he vowed.“No matter where we are, we’ll turn back to Torquay whenever you decide you’ve had enough, and no matter what the reason is. How’s that for a promise?”

  “But how do I know you’ll keep it?” She couldn’t resist teasing him a little more.

  “Well, you’ll have to test me out. I’ll take you to Berry Pomeroy first. That’s only a few miles away. If I were to abandon you there, it would only cost you a fiver to get back by taxi. There’s a phone at the castle.” He sat back with a smile on his face. “Then, if I behave decently there, you can trust me to take you a bit further - and so on.”

  She laughed at his mixed-up logic. “All right. I suppose so.”

  “That’s great. Is your car all right where it’s parked?”

  She nodded, suddenly filled with the kind of excitement that she’d seldom experienced since she left the theatre.

  “Then we’ll finish our coffee and be on our way, shall we?”

  While they drank he told her about the castle. “You leave the road, go through a little sort of yard between two cottages and down a drive which must be the best part of a mile long. The woodland is very dense and there are great masses of rhododendron and laurel crowding in on both sides of the road. The driveway has only two or three passing places. Then suddenly you come round a bend and there it is, right in front of you.”

  “It sounds very isolated.” She suddenly felt a stab of uncertainty.

  “That’s what I like about it,” he enthused. “When you’re there you can imagine that you’re back in the middle ages. There’s a strip of rich green grass with a bank at the back, It’s the sort of place where they would have held tournaments and fairs in medieval times. On top of the bank is the castle wall. The gatehouse is to the left at one corner. What’s left of the main apartments show they were three stories high. On the far side of the courtyard are the ruins of the Great Hall with a terrace beyond it where the lords and ladies would have strolled. It’s on top of a cliff high above the valley which is choked with vegetation. If somebody fell off that terrace they might not be found for weeks.”

  She shivered. “I don’t like heights. I’ll need you to hold on to me.”

  “Oh, I will. You can be sure of that.” He covered her hand briefly with his. “I promise I’ll be very careful with you. The amazing thing is that there’s often nobody there, even in the height of summer when Torbay is heaving with visitors.”

  “I can’t wait to see it all,” she said. “Hurry up and finish your coffee. We don’t want to waste any more of this super day.”

  He swallowed the rest of his drink and waved to the waitress. “The car’s just up the road. Is there anybody you need to ring to tell them that you won’t be back until later?”

  She shook her head. I don’t think so. It’ll only confuse Mollie - she’s my cleaner - if I ring her and tell her I’m off into the wilds with some strange man. She finishes at twelve o’clock anyway and she knows how to set the alarms. There won’t be anybody at the house after that.” She wondered for a moment if it was wise to say so much to a man she hardly knew. But she shrugged - today was for fun. For once in her life she was throwing caution to the winds.

  * * * * * * * *

  Julian Brace met them at the door. Stafford Paulson already knew him and he did the introductions. Charlotte found the journalist an attractive personality. He was probably in his mid-thirties, a little taller than she was, with fair, close-cropped hair and a pleasant smile. He also seemed to have better manners than most of the journalists she had encountered in London.

  “A DI and a DCI,” he grinned. “This must be an important visit. So I’m sure the editor won’t mind if I borrow his office
. He’s away this morning.” He led them to a glass-fronted office just off the main news-room, ordered coffee and closed the door.

  “I expect you can guess what this is about, Julian,” said Paulson.

  “I suppose it’s my article.” Brace scratched the back of his head and looked straight at Charlotte. She found it disconcerting, the way his eyes bored straight into hers, as though he was foraging around in her private thoughts. “I must say that I’m pleasantly surprised to find that the police have actually read the piece. Then to have them come and ask about it - that is a new experience.” There was a slight smile on his face that robbed the comments of bitterness.

  Charlotte explained, “I’ve been loaned from London to see if I can help to clear this one up. I want to get as much background information as I can. Obviously most of this will come from Inspector Paulson and his team. But I want to spread my net as widely as I can.”

  “I see.” Brace’s grin broadened. “It’s not that you’re actually giving credence to my theory.”

  That made her smile as well. “I don’t know. I’ve an open mind at this stage. Nothing is ruled out.”

  The coffees came and they settled down. “OK,” said Brace. “I take it you’ve read the article.”

  “Yes I have and I’m interested in finding out what were your sources.”

  “It’s all come from back copies of the paper. I’ve taken photocopies of the ones I used which I’ll let you have. It all started when I suddenly remembered an incident just after I started working for the Herald nearly three years ago. The wife of one of the local bigwigs had committed suicide. When I checked my article I found it was almost exactly two years before Cynthia Adams was murdered.”

  “Which one in the series would this be - er - following your theory?”

  He thought for second. “That would be number three. Her name was Julia Hillman. The coincidence that interested me was that her husband was mayor at the time - the year before Cynthia Adams. The other strange aspect was the fact that the whole thing was hushed up - I suppose because he was the mayor. I was sent along to interview him but he wouldn’t even talk to me. In fact, at that early stage, nobody would admit that it had even happened. The information only became public about ten days later.”