A Private Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  It wasn’t clear why he had done that. They were not friends and never would have been, even if Smith hadn’t been on the point of resigning before the new detective inspector arrived. Not that he viewed Terek as incompetent – not at all, but he was competent in ways that Smith didn’t particularly value. That’s the old arrogance, of course, Smith, with perhaps a dash of resentment that in the end we are all pushed aside by the younger man as he passes us, his eyes fixed on the prize, whatever that is.

  But, for some reason – there had to be a reason – Terek was now inviting him back into the process. Had something happened or not happened in the interview? Something that required the thoughts of someone who had known Paul Harrison when he was Paolo Harris?

  He sat down beside Terek and they watched it live after Terek had summarised what had already been recorded. For the first thirty seconds, Smith didn’t register the words at all; he could see only the face, the mouth that spoke words and the eyes that looked directly at the two women who were asking the questions. Physically Harris was quite different. He had been a teenager when Smith had last interviewed him – now he had filled out, was bigger than one might have expected, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. The weights and fitness were not new things, then, not fads.

  But the eyes never change – once you have seen what lies behind the eyes, it stays seen, and once you have seen behind the eyes of someone like Andretti or Harris, you don’t forget what you saw there, and what you didn’t see. Just days ago he had asked Jo the question, and he could remember her answer, word for word: “They don’t empathise, they don’t share in other’s emotions, they don’t feel guilt or remorse. The rest of us would hardly recognise the world if we saw it through their eyes.”

  Within minutes of beginning that interview with Harris thirteen years ago, Smith had been convinced that he was confronting a primary psychopath – another one, of course, because by then he had already interviewed Andretti a number of times and charged him with four counts of murder. Two of them, senior officers had said, in the same family? The odds on that are incalculable. True, he had said in reply, but the fact that you cannot calculate the odds doesn’t mean it cannot be true.

  Smith became aware that Terek was glancing at him, looking for some reaction, and so he forced himself to listen to the words that were being exchanged in Interview Room One.

  Reeve said, ‘Mr Harrison, you’ve been quite open about how you changed your identity – thank you for that. Could you tell us why you felt the need to do so?’

  Terek had already told him that the boss had taken the lead so far. Smith could see Cara Freeman, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, keeping out of it but watching the man closely.

  Harrison said, ‘Because of the stigma. Even though I didn’t share my cousin’s surname, people knew who I was. It got worse when the police began harassing me, trying to involve me in what he had done. I waited a year to see if things would settle down but they didn’t, not really, so I changed my name, that’s all. I wanted some sort of a fresh start. And I would point out that I changed only my name. I did not change my identity.’

  Terek glanced at him again. How much had he been told? That comment about police harassment might have been directed personally at Smith, almost as if Harrison had guessed he might be watching.

  Reeve said, ‘You changed your name and you left Hunston. But you didn’t go very far away. The rest of Marco Andretti’s family – your family – seem to have left the area entirely.’

  Harrison’s body language gave nothing away. He appeared relaxed, upright against the back of the seat, his right hand covering the back of his left as they rested in his lap. Unconscious movements of the hands can reveal much but these were saying nothing. And, because he had not been asked a question, neither was Harrison. Smith remembered that as if it were yesterday.

  ‘The rest of the family went to south Wales, Mr Harrison. Why didn’t you go with them? You were only, what, eighteen or nineteen?’

  ‘Nineteen. I had started a college course.’

  Cara Freeman said, ‘You could have transferred. People do. They have colleges in Cardiff, don’t they?’

  The intervention and its tone were intended to be provocative. Harrison looked at Freeman but nothing else changed, not his expression, nothing in his own tone of voice.

  ‘I didn’t see why I should be driven away from what I wanted to do.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone was driving you away, were they? You were questioned by the police, that’s all. It happens all the time, Mr Harrison.’

  ‘Really? It happens all the time? Every day you accuse people of being an accessory to the killing of young women? I had no idea.’

  The smile was new. Directed at Cara Freeman, it was nerveless, and he seemed to stare at her for a long time before she said, ‘This is a second interview. Its purpose is to go into more detail about your background – there’s nothing sinister in that, and no-one has accused you of anything here.’

  ‘And I have been fully cooperative, but we seem to be a long way already from what you said you wanted to talk about which was what happened the night I met the girl who has since disappeared. I’m not stupid and I can see how some of you are adding two and two together. However, I have agreed to your suggestion that my business van be forensically examined. You have searched my home and questioned my neighbour. All of this feels rather familiar.’

  Now it was Freeman’s turn to smile – to let him know that if she had rattled him, that was what she had intended. Smith watched her and thought that he liked her style, and then he wondered how he might feel if she managed to accomplish something he had not – to put Harris away for a long time. The answer was simple and quick; he would feel nothing but gratitude.

  Alison Reeve said, ‘You went to college, Mr Harrison. What did you study?’

  ‘I completed an HND in Business Studies at the Norwich College of Arts and Technology.’

  ‘That’s like a lower level degree, isn’t it?’

  Another intervention from Freeman that Reeve hadn’t anticipated; Smith saw the twitch of irritation in the corner of his own DCI’s mouth, followed by the familiar biting of the inside of her cheek – how often he had been the cause of that. Cara Freeman was on a roll.

  Harrison said evenly, ‘It’s equivalent to the first two years of an honours degree. By achieving level 5 I could have transferred and completed the final year as a BA.’

  Reeve stepped in quickly.

  ‘But you didn’t? What did you do instead, Mr Harrison?’

  He gave her a look of mild exasperation, as if the question had no more relevance than inquiring which football team he supported. To a layperson, watching the recording of this interview, that’s exactly how it would seem.

  ‘I went to work – I couldn’t afford any more study. Before you ask, it was at MV Instruments as a workflow process technician. The starting salary was £14,500 per annum.’

  MV Instruments. Smith recognised it, another place on the Heathways Commercial Estate, the very next building to the Nordco head office where, as far as he knew, Donald McFarlane still sat behind his oversized desk and congratulated himself on getting away with the manslaughter of Jimmy Bell. Paolo Harris had worked for years in Kings Lake, a few minutes away from the station and Smith hadn’t known about it.

  Reeve said, ‘Did you work there for long?’

  ‘Until almost two years ago.’

  ‘Oh. So, that would be about the time you set up the burger business?’

  She looked through her notes, a simple demonstration to an interviewee that you know more about them than they might have imagined, but none of this would impress Harris. He answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘You left a job as a – what was it, a workflow process technician – to sell burgers?’

  ‘No – I left my job as Quality Assurance Manager for the production division.’

  ‘That seems like a rather odd career move, Mr Harrison.’

  Mr Harri
son was bored and showing it now. Smith recognised the look and knew what brought it about – the feeling that this was not worthy of him, Harris, Harrison, whoever he really was in his head. Was this the best the police could offer?

  ‘I wanted to experience self-employment and running my own business. The start-up costs in fast-food are minimal and the returns are immediate. There are also tax advantages. Financially I was better off within four months of setting up, and my own boss as well. Please explain what this has to do with the matter about which I agreed to be interviewed.’

  Terek looked at Smith and said, ‘He’s rather intelligent for a burger van man, isn’t he? A bit of an oddball, I’d say,’ and Smith thought, well, you should meet the rest of the family. To Terek, he said, ‘He isn’t intimidated by this, he’s enjoying it. He’ll run the interview himself given half a chance.’

  It was true – you could see Reeve wondering how to explain the direction of the interview to Harris. It was painful to admit it but Freeman’s approach was better – needle him, draw his contempt out into the open; he might not make a mistake but at least that way everyone would then appreciate exactly what they were dealing with here.

  Terek said, ‘Even so, I don’t see him as an abductor, or worse. He doesn’t fit the profile. How certain was it he helped Andretti?’

  Which profile? And how does one answer such a question? You know that he did it, and he knows that you know – but he also knows you have not a shred of evidence as the word is defined in law. He sits and watches you across the interview table, watches you struggling like a live insect on a pin, and the pin is the protocol that he knows you must follow, the rules of jurisprudence, the principles of justice in a free society. For people like Harris, this is a game. It is chess with consequences but the rules only apply to one side.

  In answer to Terek’s question, Smith said simply, ‘We never had the proof or he wouldn’t be sitting there now.’

  ‘Maybe because there wasn’t any to be found. As may be the case now. We’re going to examine the van. Obviously, if there is any blood-’

  ‘There won’t be.’

  Smith’s eyes were still on the screen but the words that Reeve was saying had become blurred – it didn’t matter, he didn’t need to hear any more. Didn’t want to. Terek said after another pause, ‘Well, obviously we’re taking a close look at Harrison but if there’s no-’

  ‘Look for another vehicle. Look for another set of premises. We knew that Andretti was keeping them alive for a long time, so she must be somewhere. There will be a place. He’ll be doing it the same way.’

  Terek’s body language signalled a change; he half stood up as he said, ‘OK… Fine. I just thought you would like to see some of this.’

  ‘He won’t give anything away by phone – there won’t be anyone else involved to phone. Put tails on him, experienced people like Murray and Mike Dunn.’

  Terek was standing.

  ‘So, if you head back to the office now, DC…’

  Right on cue, the door behind them opened, and it was John Murray. He nodded to Terek and said, ‘Sorry to interrupt. DC, could you have a word with Serena? She just got back and says it’s something important. Says she needs to tell you in person.’

  She was standing by his desk, waiting. Waters was back as well, at his own desk but plainly aware that something was happening. Murray followed and then he too was there, watching.

  Smith said to her, ‘Are you alright? What’s up?’

  It was the first time he had seen Serena Butler looking afraid.

  She said, ‘I’m alright, DC. I met Shona Benson. We talked outside in my car…’

  He bit back on the impatient “And?”, aware that his encounter with Terek had irritated him, but even more aware that there was something wrong with Serena. She was looking at him with an expression he could hardly fathom – afraid as he had already realised, but something with it, something resembling – pity?

  ‘OK. I’m assuming she gave you something interesting on life with Paul Harrison, then. We could use it. Fire away.’

  She was trying to signal something with her eyes, something like “Not here”? When he didn’t pick it up, she said, ‘It’s awkward. You should hear it first. Then you can decide if you want to…’

  ‘Awkward? Is it about their sex life? Don’t worry about that. John’s learned his lesson now, Waters could use a few new ideas and I’m past caring. Spill the beans!’

  Serena was silent again, and then Smith became aware that the hair on the backs of his arms was beginning to prickle under the white shirt. He saw Murray’s eyes move from Serena to himself.

  She said, ‘DC, it is personal. But it’s personal to you.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  And he did, he knew then what she had found, but how on earth…?

  ‘Well, if it be mine, let me have it. Don’t worry about these two. If it’s what I’m guessing it is, they’ll only be hearing it a few minutes before everyone else. And for Heaven’s sake sit down.’

  Serena said, ‘You knew?’ but he didn’t answer her.

  Shona Benson had said she would prefer to meet in the carpark and talk in the detective’s car. When Serena arrived, she could see the girl waiting inside, looking out for her, probably anxious not to have her announcing herself at reception. The first odd thing, Serena said, was that Shona didn’t seem surprised she was being asked about Paul Harrison. The second thing was that when Serena mentioned Terri Reed, the neighbour, Shona had asked, just as Terri had, whether she, Terri, was alright. Serena had said, yes she is, why wouldn’t she be, and Shona had backed off.

  But after that, the girl began to talk quite freely about the time she had spent living with Harrison. It was a familiar enough story to begin with – he was good-looking, fit, had his own business, his own house and being several years older than her he seemed to have the maturity so many young men lack nowadays. When he asked her to move in, she did so with few worries.

  The house was well-equipped and very tidy. At first she teased him about the fact that he cleaned the way he did, and then she realised it wasn’t a joking matter. He liked order – objects used would be returned to the precise spot where they had been found. There was routine and she noticed she could have reset her watch by the times at which Harrison ate a meal or exercised in the second reception room he had turned into a home gym. He expected her to follow similar routines, integrating hers with those he had already established. She began to understand for the first time what “controlling” actually meant. She said that if she annoyed him, he didn’t become angry, he just became colder and colder until she complied and that was, in the end, more frightening.

  John Murray had pulled across the spare chair from Chris Waters’ desk, and Waters himself was also watching and listening. Across the office, three of Wilson’s team were working including Mike Dunn, but not Wilson himself. Smith calculated who might be listening; he wanted some control over how this was going to break but he wasn’t prepared to leave Murray and Waters in the dark any longer. They deserved to know before anyone else.

  He said to Serena, ‘Go on.’

  ‘She moved in with him about a year ago. Earlier this year, in the spring, he started going off on Sunday afternoons. He told her he was visiting a friend of his who was in prison. She said to me she was relieved, sort of touched by that because it showed he had an emotional side after all. She thought it was a hopeful sign. Anyway, first it was once a month, and then it became once a fortnight. He’d get a visiting order, post it and get back the form for a visit. He’d go off on the Sunday morning and get back in the early evening.’

  Smith said, ‘So it was a fair way off. Did she say which prison?’

  ‘Yes. It was Long Hill. It’s in north Lincolnshi-’

  ‘I know where it is. Keep going.’

  He glanced at Murray who was following intently but who hadn’t got it yet – it was Waters who said, ‘Long Hill is Category A only. High security.’

&
nbsp; ‘Very good. This is your Mastermind specialist subject then – the correctional institutions of England, 1950 to the present, but Heaven help you and your generation when it comes to the general knowledge round. Serena, finish the story.’

  ‘I think she was too frightened of him by this time to ask much about it, but then, one day he told her that he wanted her to go with him. He wanted her to meet this friend in prison – he said this friend wanted to meet her after hearing so much about her. She was flattered, pleased that he, Harrison had been talking about her to a friend, so she said yes, she would, but she wanted to know who it was she was going to see, and why he was inside. I mean, you would, wouldn’t you?’

  Waters was staring into the middle distance, and this was always a bad sign. He said, ‘Category A, though. Must have been something pretty serious. I think there are only nine Category A prisons, so you’re talking no more than a few hundred inmates in the entire country. Most of those will be terrorists, murderers and rapists.’

  Smith looked at Murray and saw the moment when it happened – Murray had remembered Serena saying “It’s personal to you”, and put the pieces together. Murray shook his head slightly, which was a question, and Smith’s silence was the answer.

  Murray said then, ‘Jesus H Christ!’

  Waters had acquired a certain sense of humour along with investigative skills during his time at Kings Lake. He said thoughtfully, ‘I’m sure that if they’d had Category A prisons in first-century Palestine, that’s where he would have ended up…’ But when he looked around for a little appreciation he realised something significant had taken place.

  Serena said, ‘The thing that scared Shona the most was that Harrison, when he told her who it was – he wasn’t embarrassed. And that’s when he told her this wasn’t a friend. It was a relative. A cousin. He was proud of it, she said. He thought this would excite her, that she’d really want to meet him.’

  Waters said, ‘Who?’

  Smith said, ‘And did she go?’