by Olly Jarvis
She had to wait for him outside De Jure whilst he took a load of photos with his phone. She could see Bartlett in the lodge, who nodded hello as she approached.
‘Mr Bartlett,’ she asked, going over to the hatch, ‘Do you have CCTV cameras on the entrance?’
‘Of course, state-of-the-art here,’ he said, nodding at a monitor with a split screen on a chipped Formica table. ‘Records everything.’
Ella’s eyes widened. ‘How far back do they go?’
‘Two weeks,’ he replied, leaning on the hatch shelf. ‘After that it deletes, storage can’t handle more, I’m told.’
Her enthusiasm dipped. ‘Did a police officer ask to see the footage after Mr Shepherd went missing?’
He puffed out his cheeks and scratched his head. ‘Yeah, but it had been deleted,’ he replied, eyes wandering over to the spectacle of Broady coming up the steps.
‘A young guy, Officer McDonald?’ she asked, trying to regain his attention.
‘No,’ he said, still focused on the stranger. ‘It was a woman, ginger hair.’
‘I never saw buildings this old,’ Broady gushed as he joined Ella, still holding his phone. ‘So beautiful.’ His face was contorted in wonder. When he walked under the arch into De Jure and saw the immaculate, lawned courtyard, Ella thought he was going to have a coronary.
Bartlett came out of his lodge as if to make sure he was all right.
‘It’s fine,’ Ella explained. ‘He’s from Arizona.’
‘Ah,’ said Bartlett. ‘I don’t suppose you get anything like this in the desert?’
‘Only in Vegas, my friend,’ Broady replied. ‘Only in Vegas.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Bartlett as he led them to Desmond’s office. ‘I hear they even have pyramids, better than the real thing?’
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ Broady replied, winking at Ella.
She grinned. All the panic of last night suddenly seemed so far away. Had she been paranoid about the whole thing? Maybe those robbers were nothing to do with her? Then she remembered the hidden microphone. That was proof. Or was it? Her thoughts and fears churned over. Broady could easily have put it there, to make her trust him. She watched him joking with Bartlett. Had she been taken in by the green eyes, the appealing rolling contours of his dune-like, weathered face? Her head was ready to burst. Think like a lawyer, she told herself, be cool and detached, study the evidence.
Or was Lizzie right – that she had to learn to trust? It was hard, she’d always done everything alone, even when Tom was around.
One thing was for sure, she needed to keep her wits about her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘Master Desmond,’ Ella began, trying to sound as formal and as professional as possible. ‘The primary reason for coming to see you was to introduce Detective Hank Broady from the Phoenix Police Department.’
‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ said Broady stiffly. Ella could tell he was doing his best to keep his ebullient personality in check. More proof, she noted, that he knew how to play people.
‘He’s here investigating the death of Cameron Shepherd.’
‘We think it may be connected to Matthew’s disappearance,’ added Broady with hands clasped behind his back in a formal pose that Ella could tell was just for show.
‘I see,’ Desmond replied, as Ella and Broady sat down opposite him.
‘I’ve got some leads which I’m following up,’ said Ella, thinking carefully how to couch her request. ‘We feel it would be beneficial to all parties if Detective Broady and I worked together where there’s overlap.’
‘I see.’ Desmond repeated, studying Broady, who was preoccupied with the historic oils adorning the walls.
Ella could see the alarm bells were ringing, that Desmond was worried the whole thing was getting out of hand. Was he going to pull the plug, hand the whole thing back to the police? To her surprise, she realised for the first time that it was the last thing she wanted. She had to see it through.
Despite his apparent inattention, Broady threw in, ‘And of course, we’ve already had a meeting with DC McDonald and are sharing intelligence.’
Desmond gave an appreciative nod.
‘I hope that’s OK, but Miss Blake already told me you believe in co-operation and transparency?’
‘Absolutely, thank you, detective.’ He was persuaded. ‘Always a pleasure to work with our brothers across the pond.’
Broady smiled politely.
‘Anything else I should know?’ Desmond inquired.
‘I’ll be moving accommodation, at my own expense of course.’ She hesitated, but knew she had to tell him. ‘A listening device was found in my room, by Detective Broady in fact.’
‘What?’ He lost his composure. ‘You were being bugged?’
‘It looks like industrial espionage to me,’ explained Broady in a tone that conveyed it was no big deal.
‘We think Matthew was working on something of extreme economic value,’ added Ella.
Seemingly placated by the calmness of their responses, Desmond looked from one to the other, his expression now a picture of curiosity. ‘Economic value?’
‘Phoenix are only interested in any crimes that might have been committed in Arizona,’ Broady continued. ‘But where interests merge, we will assist Miss Blake in whatever way we can to try and find out what happened to Matthew Shepherd, and recover his work.’
Desmond nodded vigorously.
Broady added, ‘Before anybody else does.’
Ella was impressed. ‘We’ll let you get on, Master,’ she said, bringing the meeting to a close.
Desmond gave her his warmest smile. ‘It’s about time you called me John.’
‘John.’ She got up. ‘I know how busy you are.’
Broady did the same.
‘There’s nothing else I should know?’
She cursed herself inwardly for being too eager to leave. Desmond had sensed it. ‘One small matter,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘There was an attempted robbery at a flat in King’s Hedges, probably has nothing to do with the inquiry—’
Desmond pondered for a moment. ‘So why are you telling me?’
‘It’s a rather convoluted story…’ She was struggling. ‘Err, it’s probably best you don’t know the details, save to say, the homeowner is assisting me on the inquiry.’
Panic broke out on Desmond’s usually ordered face. ‘What? Who? Why didn’t you run this past me?’
Ella hadn’t seen him this emotional.
‘Were they injured? Is the college liable?’
She saw a way out, ‘Absolutely not. He has signed a contract of employment, as my employee. I pay for his services. He is in no way connected to De Jure.’ It was just enough to make Desmond settle down. ‘He has certain technological skills that are essential to the inquiry.’
Puzzled, Desmond opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Ella saw her opportunity. ‘Thank you, John. Keep you posted.’ She shot through the door.
Broady was right behind her. ‘Great to meet you, sir.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The police station was a hive of activity. Lizzie and Jay sat patiently at McDonald’s desk, watching him rushing around the open-plan office, answering calls and shouting orders at colleagues. He briefly left what he was doing to give Lizzie and Jay pro-forma documents on which to write out their witness statements.
‘The most important thing to remember,’ he said in a stern voice, ‘is those lines at the top.’ He put a finger on the page, then began reading: ‘This statement is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I shall be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated anything in it, which I know to be false, or do not believe to be true.’ He glowered at them, gave Jay a long hard look, then left them to it.
‘What was all that about?’ Lizzie whispered even though her voice was lost in the hum of other conversations and phones ri
nging.
‘Don’t know,’ Jay replied. ‘Just don’t lie, we’ve got nothing to hide.’
McDonald came back periodically to check on their progress. Then, once they were done, he sat down, put his feet on the desk, legs crossed, and read through what they had written. Jay’s statement seemed to give him more cause for concern. McDonald stopped reading and peered over the top of the document. ‘What do you think they were after?’
‘What do you mean?’ stuttered Jay.
‘One of these masked men said: “Where is it?”’ His eyes bore into Jay. ‘Where’s what?’
Lizzie looked at her friend.
McDonald noticed.
‘I don’t know, officer.’ Jay stared down at his shoes avoiding McDonald’s glare. ‘That’s why I didn’t give them anything.’
There was a painful silence, then, apparently satisfied, he waved them away. ‘Give your mother my regards.’
‘I will, officer,’ Lizzie replied in her most obsequious voice.
McDonald put his legs down. ‘One more thing.’
Almost out the door, they stopped and turned around.
He stood up. ‘Where can I reach you?’
‘On my mobile?’ Jay offered.
‘Address?’
‘Not sure yet,’ he said, patting the sports bag. ‘A bit reluctant to go home at the moment.’
‘And I’m finishing for Easter,’ said Lizzie, hoping to divert the conversation. ‘But we’ll both make sure my mother has contact details.’
McDonald grunted. Another plain clothes guy knocked and put his head around the door. ‘She’s ’ere, guv.’
Seizing the opportunity whilst McDonald was distracted, Lizzie made her way out through the gap, followed swiftly by Jay. They wasted no time exiting the building and then crossed over onto the Piece.
‘Does he know something?’ asked Lizzie. ‘That freaked me right out.’
They stopped in the middle of the Green.
‘He’s a copper,’ said Jay. ‘It’s their job to make you paranoid. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘So why do I feel guilty?’ Then, thinking out loud, she asked, ‘Is this a mistake?’
‘Is what a mistake?’
‘Getting involved in all this, with my mum?’ She ran her fingers through her hair. She waited for reassurance. ‘I mean, aren’t you scared?’
Jay took his time. ‘I think we’re already involved; besides, I owe her.’
‘You owe her nothing,’ she snapped. ‘You’re nineteen.’
He huffed. ‘All right, I like her.’
She tossed her head back in frustration. ‘People seem to, God knows why.’
‘The way I see it,’ he said. ‘Those people that came to my flat, you saw them, there’s money behind them, proper organisation.’
She knew he was right about that.
‘I reckon it’s the same people that hounded that polymath out of Cambridge.’ Jay became more animated. ‘I’m sick of huge corporations and governments doing what they want, blind to the consequences. Did you know there’s a garbage patch full of plastic waste in the Pacific Ocean?’
‘What?’ she said realigning her thoughts to the sudden change of topic. There was a fire behind Jay’s eyes that Lizzie hadn’t seen before.
He took hold of her arms. ‘It’s the size of France.’
‘But, Jay,’ she asked timidly, ‘what’s it got to do with my mum?’
He released his grip and exhaled. ‘People still buy plastic bags every day – just to hold a bottle a milk and some bread. I don’t want to be another zombie. I want to swim against the tide.’
She found his rant both endearing and alarming, in equal measure.
His eyes were still blazing. ‘Isn’t that why you came to Cambridge – to stand on the shoulders of those who came before?’
Now she understood.
‘The great historians, scientists and writers, they were never about the money or the power.’
Her phone rang. It was Greg. She answered it.
Jay kicked out at a couple of empty bottles of ale that had been left on the grass.
‘OK, Greg, yes, I will.’ She avoided looking at Jay. ‘OK… see you soon.’ The call ended. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
The break seemed to have given Jay time to reflect. ‘I’m sorry for going on.’
‘Don’t be, you’re entitled to your beliefs.’ She took the wad of cash out of her bag that she’d withdrawn on Ella’s card. ‘Here, take this.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Aren’t you going to come with me?’
‘I can’t, I’ve got to meet Greg back at mine.’
He gave her a disapproving look.
‘I’ll pack some things and meet you all later. You get the laptop and stuff.’
He put the money in his pocket.
‘See you in a bit,’ she said, setting off across the Green.
‘Hang on Lizzie,’ Jay shouted after her.
She turned. ‘What?’
He paused. ‘You know you can’t tell him anything.’
‘I know,’ she shouted back. ‘But you didn’t have to say it.’
Chapter Forty
McDonald and Harris strode down the white-washed corridor, two abreast. ‘If you’re conducting the interview in my station, don’t you think I should be allowed to sit in?’ whined McDonald.
‘I’m sorry but you don’t have that level of clearance, officer,’ Harris replied, holding open the file and giving her notes a once-over.
‘Can you tell me anything?’ he asked sulkily.
She tapped his arm with the folder. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She entered the room where the suspect was already sitting at the table, next to a young woman dressed like a lawyer in a two-piece, but without a briefcase.
Harris took a mini-recorder out of her pocket and pressed play. ‘This interview is being conducted at Cambridge Police Station, my name is Jane Harris and other persons present are?’ She held the recorder out towards the lawyer.
David Kline pushed it away from her mouth. ‘Shouldn’t you be using the machine that’s already here? He gave her a fox-like smile. ‘If you’re going to go to the trouble of doing it properly.’ He ran a hand over his beard.
Harris didn’t flinch. ‘There is someone calling herself a lawyer in the room who won’t give her name.’
The lawyer put a hand out over the table. ‘For the tape, please state your rank and what agency you’re from?’ She followed up with a squinting smile. ‘In accordance with the Codes of Practice under The Police and Criminal Evidence Act.’
Ignoring the hotshot, Harris ploughed on. ‘And the suspect is—’
‘Suspect?’ said the brief. ‘Mr Kline is here voluntarily. He is not under arrest. If there is evidence to suspect him of a crime you must caution him before asking any questions.’
David Kline winked then sat back in the chair with his arms folded and legs stretched out under the desk.
Harris huffed. Beaten, she turned off the recorder and put it down.
Kline laughed. ‘Your neck is very red, Jane? Has it done that since you were a kid? When you were embarrassed? Happens a lot to people with very white skin.’
Remaining impassive, Harris opened the file. ‘Your last tax return says you’re a pig farmer?’
Kline stared at her as if mildly entertained.
‘So how come when I got a production order for your bank accounts there was millions in there.’
‘Charitable donations,’ the lawyer replied.
Harris shot her a look. ‘I wasn’t asking you.’
Kline leaned forward. ‘People want to do something; can’t you understand that?’
Harris dithered for a split second then said: ‘I’ll ask the questions.’
Kline let his head drop down between his shoulders, then up again. ‘The world is dying out there, Jane.’ His eyes seemed to be imploring some kind of understanding. ‘And you’re asking me about pig farming.’
She rifled through her notes. ‘All right, then, why don’t you tell me about Genesis?’ Harris shifted in her seat as if getting comfortable in readiness for the story.
Kline scoffed ‘I really don’t think your mind is open to it Jane.’ He gave her a patronising smile. ‘And even if it was, I don’t think you have the intellect.’
This time Harris leaned forward into Kline’s face. ‘Humour me.’
He kept schtum.
Harris persisted: ‘So, you’re going to save it for all those kids you’re brainwashing?’
Kline got to his feet. ‘Interview’s over.’
Harris did the same but stood between Kline and the door. ‘Sit down.’
The lawyer got up too. ‘He’s not under arrest, you can’t keep—’
Harris stepped forward. Her face was inches from Kline’s. ‘I said, sit down.’
After a tense stand-off Kline sat down again, sitting sideways on and an arm draped over the back of the chair.
The women retook their seats. Harris shuffled her papers again. ‘What do you know about the disappearance of Matthew Shepherd?’
Kline sniggered. ‘I knew you’d get there in the end.’
Harris looked perplexed. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You people,’ said Kline, crossing his arms. ‘I despair.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ said Harris robotically.
‘I. Don’t. Know,’ Kline replied, stressing every word.
‘What do you know about a robbery at an address in King’s Hedges?’
Kline gave his lawyer a bemused look, then back at Harris. ‘News to me.’
Harris stared at Kline. ‘We know you’re planning something.’
An ambivalent shrug. ‘Can I go now?’ He didn’t wait for an answer.
Harris followed him out of the door.
McDonald and another officer were leaning against the wall just outside. They stood to attention on seeing the door open.
Kline and his lawyer swaggered off down the corridor without waiting for the escort.
‘One more thing, Mr Kline…’ Harris called after him.
