Internment

by Gill Mather

  “Did you know Miss Cadman had a girlfriend to stay with her on Wednesday night and during the day Wednesday and Thursday?”

  “No.”

  “Can you account for the fact that when we examined Angela’s bedroom, we found a coat, believed to be your coat on the bed?”

  Graham gasped. “I have no idea,” he said frowning.

  DI Hunter produced a bag.

  “Is this your coat?”

  “Well yes. It’s an old one. I haven't seen it for ages.”

  “Miss Cadman says it was you that entered the annexe, entered her bedroom and attacked her and tried to rape her. Why do you think she would accuse you of the attack?”

  “I haven't the least idea.”

  “If it wasn't you who attacked Anglela Mr. Spellings, then who do you think it was?”

  “I haven't any idea.”

  “Mr. Spellings, does the house have a CCTV system?”

  “Yes. Normally”

  “What areas does it cover?”

  “The drive at the road end. Then there’s two cameras at the front of the house and two at the rear. And movement sensitive lights as well.”

  “So why wasn't it working that Tuesday?”

  “Because of the weather. The power kept going off and I was having to use a generator.”

  That was true, Ali thought, at least on the Wednesday night she’d been there.

  “But the CCTV was turned off wasn't it.”

  “Yes. And the lights. In fact I turned them off that Tuesday night. The generator would only work so many appliances at once. So I turned the lights and CCTV off.”

  “Our tech guys say the generator was powerful enough to run the CCTV and the lights. So why did you turn them off?”

  “Well if I wanted to have lights on in the house, watch the TV or wash some clothes or dishes or use my PC, there wouldn't have been enough juice for the lights and CCTV as well. And I wanted to do the other things. I didn't think the surveillance cameras or security lights were that important.”

  “So if someone else turned up and got into Angela’s flat and assaulted her, there would usually have been a recording. But that night there wasn’t. Because you turned the outside lights and CCTV off. Is that right?”

  “I told you it was because of the weather.”

  “And if it was you who went to Angela’s flat and assaulted her, the CCTV would have recorded your movements wouldn't they? But you’d turned the CCTV and lights off. Did you turn them off to hide your movements that night?”

  “No.”

  “Isn't it the case that you’d been due to go out that evening but it was called off. Mrs. Allan your housekeeper was away. Your wife had left you. So you thought you’d liven up your evening by going next door and trying to have sex with your stable maid. And you turned off the lights and CCTV in case anything came of it later. Isn't that what really happened?”

  “No,” said Graham with emphasis.

  “Mr. Spellings. Did you attack Angela Cadman on Tuesday 24th November in the annexe to your house at approximately 10.45 pm?”

  “No I did not.”

  “Interview ends at 6.45 pm.”

  The recording equipment was turned off.

  “Thank you for your co-operation,” DI Hunter’s words seemed to extend to Hugh and Ali as well. He turned to Graham. “You’re free to leave.” Then again to all of them: “We’ll be in touch.”

  OUTSIDE AFTER GRAHAM had been processed they all stood shivering on the forecourt to the station.

  “Can I give you a lift?” Hugh offered Graham.

  “No that’s OK. I think I’ll go and stay at my sister’s this weekend. She only lives up there as you know.” He gestured towards Lexden Road then shook his head. “I can't stay there after what’s happened. I’ll get May to run Jake over and my things and put the cat in kennels and tell her she can have a few days off if she wants. You can get me on my mobile if you need me.”

  And with hunched shoulders and head down, he strode off forlornly towards the roundabout.

  CHAPTER 6

  AS IT WAS SATURDAY, Ali decided to have a lie in but it didn’t work. She couldn’t go back to sleep for thinking about Graham’s interview and wondering what would happen next. After trying to watch breakfast TV for half an hour she got up and made a cup of tea for herself and her parents who were stunned to see her about at such an hour at the weekend. Poxy Ed could make his own tea. She could hear him whining for a cup in his room.

  Normally she’d spend at least part of Saturday at home hoping for a call from Rob which usually didn’t materialise (either too much work or too bad a hangover were the usual excuses, the second of which always seemed the more plausible). However today, Ali felt too tense to sit about pining and decided if possible to go into the office and make a start on Darren Summers’s brief to counsel for his speeding hearing, though she hadn’t told him yet that Hugh wasn’t doing it.

  She knew Hugh sometimes went into the office on Saturdays and since she hadn’t got any office keys herself, with some trepidation she dialled Hugh’s mobile.

  He sounded surprised to hear from her though not too unhappy about it. Yeah come on in, he said, he was in the office already .

  Only 9.15 on a Saturday and he’s already in the office. Hasn’t he got a life? Oh shucks! I’m going in too. Better squash that thought.

  The buses were running again and Ali got there easily enough. Actually it turned out to be quite a hive of activity. Mr Watts was there and Baz Trimble, and Paul as well obviously wanting to impress, smarmy git. They were all dictating away furiously so Ali went off to The Privy and started her brief. She was typing it herself since she had no-one to dictate to, or at least the secretaries always found a way to avoid doing her typing. It seemed to be a matter of principle with them.

  Darren’s case was of course rivetting, but Ali would’ve liked to discuss Graham’s interview with Hugh however the only excuse she could think of visit his room was to go and offer to make him a cup of coffee. But she remembered the cardinal rule if you were a girl trying to get on. Don’t offer to make the tea and coffee or you’ll get lumbered with it and people won’t respect you. Typing your own stuff was different. A lot of fee earners did it these days.

  So she sauntered past Hugh’s open door in the direction of the kitchen hoping he’d see her and come out or call her in…but he didn’t even look up.

  Instead she found a sulky Mr Watts in the kitchen squeezing out a tea bag with unnecessary aggression.

  “Glad to see you can put in the hours for the criminal department,” he said.

  “Oh, but it’s for the general good of the firm,” Ali replied innocently.

  Harrumph, he went.

  “And,” Ali continued, “of course I’m not being paid and therefore it’s only fair that I get as wide a range of experience as possible.”

  He must know she was teasing but, oddly, Ali found it easier to employ a bit of back chat with old Watts than she would have with any of the other partners. She knew he had teenage children so perhaps he was used to it.

  “Actually I'm surprised that conveyancing in the way we do it now isn't on the way out as a legal process. The government is still trying to widen the types of organisations that can do legal work. It may yet lead to most of it being done from call centres in India or China.” She didn’t believe this for a moment but she warmed to her fabrication. After all it was necessary to have a bit of fun on a cold early December Saturday morning when she had nothing better to do than go into the office. “In fact…”

  Ali stopped because Mr Watts had turned purple and she was really seriously worried she’d gone too far.

  She hurried on, “But it doesn't seem very likely does it and anyway the editorials are saying that it’s very unlikely that big business would want to pile into mass conveyancing since it’s such a complicated process.” What she didn’t say was that one of the reason it wasn't unattractive was because the fees people were prepared to pay were f
ar too low relative to the amount of work involved and that the work could only be standardized up to a point. The risks of claims were high. Cyber fraud was becoming a big problem. Lots of reasons.

  Mr Watts seemed mollified however and stomped off to his room with his tea. Ali returned to hers with her coffee and a mental promise not to push Wattsy too far in future. She didn’t fancy having to perform CPR and mouth-to-mouth on him any time soon - or preferably ever. She hoped he’d wait to have his coronary when she’d left the firm.

  Finishing up and printing off the brief, Ali left the letter to counsel’s clerk until the Monday when she’d be able to fix up with the local chambers who would do the case. Hugh had said junior counsel but Ali felt that it would be somewhat disrespectful to send someone young and wet behind the ears. Anyway, Darren had plenty of dosh. Why not go for a middle ranking barrister at the very least. Hopefully the right person could put things over to the magistrates with style and panache so that they would deal with him as a concerned family man and pillar of the community.

  She was just getting her coat from the rack. She’d gone round and said goodbye to everyone who was in (Hugh had just grunted). Hugh suddenly came round the corner and unexpectedly offered her a lift home with maybe a stop off at the Pink Elephant on the way. She’d put in some decent hours this morning and deserved a reward. He was even smiling.

  Ali was so surprised she agreed straight away. It would be a way maybe of discussing the Spellings case. And Hugh’s fair hair was all tousled and in need of a trim.

  However by the time Hugh brought his car round, his mood seemed to have worn off and as usual he was entirely preoccupied. I’ll have to thaw him out at the pub, Ali thought.

  The Pink Elephant was quite near Ali's home but she hadn’t been in many times. She’d tried to get a job there during holidays but without success. It seemed like an older person’s pub, but the custom was mixed that lunchtime. Hugh seemed to know a lot of people…or more to the point, they seemed to know him. There were “Hello’s” and “Nice to see you’s” as they threaded their way through the drinkers to a table in the corner. People were looking at Ali curiously, their expressions clearly clocking whether Ali might be a possible romantic interest.

  As they sat down with their drinks, Ali was wondering whether to bring up Graham or talk about the firm or try to draw Hugh out about his private life but she guessed that the last of these probably wouldn’t be good.

  Anyway Hugh was already asking her what she thought about Graham. They didn’t know in any detail what the prosecution’s case was going to be yet, that is if he was charged. But if he was, what did Ali think about it?

  “You mean do I think he’s innocent or guilty?”

  Hugh looked pained. “We don’t talk about innocent or guilty. We don’t care about innocent or guilty though you know what I think already. We just care about whether we can get him off or not. OK? So given that we don’t know much yet about the prosecution case, what do you think about the thing so far?” He gazed at her intently oblivious to the interested stares of the other patrons.

  “Well he’s very convincing. He may well sway a jury. You would think though that the girl Angela would know whether it was Graham who attacked him or not. He may not have taken much notice of her, but you can be sure she would have taken a lot of notice of him. Rich entrepreneur often in the press, good looking, married to a celebrity wife. If she was a good girl like he says, why would she make something up. If the DNA shows up as his, I think it’ll be difficult for him to avoid a conviction. And it’s bound to really isn't it if his coat was there.”

  “I suppose so. But I’ve been wondering why he hasn’t been charged already. As you say Angela must have known him well. If she’s a credible witness, then why wait. I got the impression yesterday that the DI wasn’t sure of his ground. I think there’s something there that makes them unsure.” Hugh chewed his thumb nail thoughtfully.

  “Well,” Ali reflected. “If he was there in the annexe and Angela saw him, there couldn't be much doubt about it. Perhaps the lighting was pretty low in the annexe. Low enough for Angela not to be able to see properly who came in. Anyway she was in bed. Or at least the DI said he'd entered her bedroom. Perhaps it all happened in the dark. In which case…”

  Ali looked at Hugh.

  “Well if that’s the case,” she continued, “it’d only be what she could hear that would make her certain it was Graham. His voice. Presumably. Apart from the coat of course.”

  Hugh nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve come up with the same conclusion. I just wanted to know what you thought.”

  “It’d be a lot flimsier if it was just her impression that it was Graham’s voice. I think a jury would be a lot less likely to convict him with that. Unless the DNA stacks up against him. Like he said he must’ve been in the place before, but not on that bed and those sheets.” She sighed. “It doesn’t look that good for him. But I know you’ll do your best. I’ll do a bit of digging around if you want.”

  “Like what?” Hugh looked alarmed.

  “I don't know. His background. Her background. Something might turn up.”

  “I don't think that’s a good idea. We’re not private detectives. This isn't a TV legal drama. In fact actually I’d have to forbid it. It’s not at all professional. If we do do it, we’ll get a professional enquiry firm involved.”

  “No. All right. Of course I won't. It was a silly idea.”

  “Good.” Hugh looked relieved. “Anyway drink up. I’ll get you home.”

  Ali was disappointed. It felt as though they’d only just got there. The dolled up middle-aged women in the pub could hardly contain their interest as Hugh and Ali walked to the door.

  “I hope we’ll see you at the golf Christmas dinner,” one called out to Hugh as they passed with a meaningful look at Ali as well.

  “Yeah. I’ll definitely try to make it Trish.” Hugh quickened his pace.

  “God. They’re like vultures,” he said as soon as they were outside. It was the nearest she’d seen him to flustered and over something so pathetic. “They remind me of my mother. Always trying to worm their way into my brain. It’s horrible.” He shivered and frowned.

  Ali however laughed. “That’s what mother’s do. Mine certainly does. Still I’m sure with your tactical skills, you could outwit any over-enthusiastic parent. Not to mention a walking advert how to dress not to impress and how not to try and surgically improve one’s appearance.”

  Hugh laughed too and shook his head. “Yes well. Trish is very nice actually but a bit desperate. Come on.”

  CHAPTER 7

  ALI AND SAM HAD decided to have a girls’ night out and to start at six o' clock straight after work without going home. It was the middle of the week and Sam and her husband weren’t going out anywhere so he could hardly refuse to look after the children that evening. As usual they went to the Sod ‘n’ Shovel. It wasn’t very full when they arrived but it would liven up later. At that time a few business people went there to prop up the bar before going home.

  They got their drinks and sat fairly near the door.

  “So how’s it going with Rob?”

  “How isn’t it going,” sighed Ali.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, I can never get hold of him. Ever. He doesn’t reply to my emails or texts even. I mean, when I was at uni, I was like that with my mum. Now I know how she must’ve felt. I don’t even think I’ll see him over Christmas!”

  “Baz sometimes organises a bit off a bash later in the new year. Maybe you could persuade him to come up for that. There’ll be a lot of influential people there, businessmen who might be interested in someone with his qualifications or talents.”

  “Yeah maybe. Actually that’s a good idea. When is it? I’ll feed him a line about an entrepreneur who’s looking for a budding management accountant. Maybe he’ll take the bait.”

  A familiar voice butted in.

  “Well if you were the
bait, I’d be caught hook, line and sinker.” And Darren sat down at their table. He was his usual cocky self. The comment was addressed to Sam. Obviously not me, Ali thought.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Ali visibly wilted.

  “Hmm. This is Samantha. She works with Baz. Sam, this is Darren Summers. The…er…brains behind Summer Homes.”

  Sam seemed impressed. She’d heard about him of course, Sam said but it was a pleasure to meet him at last. Oh God no, thought Ali. She’d better do something.

  “We’re dealing with Darren’s speeding case. It’s coming up next week isn’t it Darren? How does Sharon feel about you possibly losing your licence? You won't be able to run her and the kids around then will you?”

  “So long as she gets her designer dress allowance, she’s not bothered,” said Darren airily, grinning at Sam.

  Sam was smiling back. Ali wondered if it was an act but it looked pretty genuine. Looking at Darren’s smiling face, she could see he was fairly attractive in a laddish sort of way. Not having met Sam’s husband yet, perhaps, she thought, Darren was Sam’s type. There was no accounting for tastes.

  “Actually if the worst happens, I might have to take a batchelor pad in Colchester. Very inconvenient and all that...but one has to make sacrifices for business.” Darren showed a set of gleaming white teeth Ali was sure couldn't be natural. Sam was unfortunately lapping it up. If eye contact was anything to go by, they were in bed with each other already.

  Ali rolled her eyes and muttered that she’d go and get another drink for them. Darren didn't want anything. He had to be off in a minute and didn't want to add being over the limit to his sins. What Ali had come to think of as his characteristic leer implied there was a long list of them.