“Not exactly. He thought that there was some sort of conceptual framework that is too big and too complex for us to understand, and that things, events even, could be grouped together by some sort of hidden meaning. Where detectives go wrong, I’m sure he would argue, is by being obsessed by cause and effect, rather than trying to tease out apparently random connections…I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.”
“Yes, you are, you are,” he encouraged her. “Go on.”
“Well, that’s about it, really. Except that elements of your own life, your own personality, interact with this shadowy conceptual framework, the world of ideas if you like, and that in some cases you may be able apparently—only apparently, mind you—be able to cause things to happen just by wishing for them strongly enough.”
“Well, then, let’s wish for a breakthrough,” said Metcalfe fervently. “Tell you what, if it works, I’ll even read the book.”
Chapter Eight
“You must have been wishing very hard indeed,” Karen said with a smile as Metcalfe arrived at work the next morning.
“What do you mean?” he asked, putting his coffee down on his desk and checking his mobile phone for messages.
“I’ve just had a forensic report in and handed it to the chief. They’ve identified that powder on the last victim.”
Before she could explain further Collison had swept in, and was standing at the front of the room. “Morning everyone! Quiet, please.” The room fell silent. Collison was smiling. Suddenly an air of expectancy settled on the team. “I have some news—very good news. Forensics may have taken their time, but they’ve come up trumps. They have identified the yellow powder that was found at our last crime scene.”
He stopped for effect and looked at the piece of paper in his hand.
“It’s fish food. But not just any old fish food like they sell in supermarkets or pet shops. This is very expensive food for tropical fish, and it’s only sold by a few specialist outlets. The only one around here is in Hendon Central. Ken, I’d like you to check that out this morning, please. See if they happen to keep a list of their customers, though it’s a bit of a forlorn hope.”
“So how does this help us, guv?” somebody asked.
“Maybe I’m just being foolishly optimistic,” Collison said, “but one of my neighbours is a tropical fish buff and he reckons that most people these days buy their stuff online. There are apparently only two main websites, and I have their details here. Priya, you take one and Karen the other. Contact them, make it clear this is a murder enquiry, and get all the names and addresses they have mailed stuff to over the last year and a half for starters. If they won’t play ball, get a court order.”
“Shall we stop what we’re doing, guv?” asked Metcalfe. “With the patient lists, I mean?”
Collison considered the situation. “Don’t stop the interview process. It’s still highly likely that our man is on one of those lists somewhere. But don’t let’s take the next step of starting to check their alibis until we know whether this fish food thing is going to take us anywhere.”
In the event it turned out that both online businesses were happy to turn over their customer lists though one, based in the Netherlands, only did so after stipulating that they would restrict their list to deliveries made to addresses in the UK.
By Tuesday afternoon Collison was in possession of both customer lists. Rather than inputting all the customer names and addresses, together with all the patient names and addresses into a database, a process which would have taken days, he hit upon the simple but old-fashioned expedient of giving each member of the team a patient list from a different clinic, while he read the names off each customer list in turn. He read through the entire list from the Dutch business without result. Without showing any disappointment, he picked up the second one and started reciting names. About a third of the way through, Ken cried “Bingo!” in a tone almost of disbelief. They had found their match.
An hour later they had gathered all the information they could find on their suspect.
“Our man’s name is Gary Clarke, as you know,” Collison announced. “According to what we have been able to pull off various sources he has no previous, nor does he appear on any police database in any capacity. However, he was treated for NSU at the Royal Free’s sexual health clinic about three years ago, and he lives smack in the area indicated by Peter Collins.”
“Are we going to bring him in, then?” asked Metcalfe.
“You bet we are,” Collison said warmly. “But I want to do this properly. I want Forensics to go in straight away when we arrest him so there can be no argument later about any contamination of evidence. So, let’s get a search warrant first and then pick him up first thing tomorrow morning. Early, in case he’s planning to head off anywhere.”
“How many of us, guv?”
“Two of us will be enough to arrest him. I’ll do that with Ken. Bob, you take charge of the rest of the team. Once Forensics have given you the all-clear, but only then mind, you take the place apart. I want anything and everything that may link him to the killings.”
“You think his flat could be a crime scene, guv?” asked Karen.
“It’s possible, isn’t it? We don’t know for sure that our victims were killed where they were found. It’s also possible there could be other bodies we don’t know about.”
“In that case, guv, Forensics are likely to take a day or two, maybe more, if you want them to check every inch of the place.”
“So be it.” Collison nodded. “I don’t want any slip-ups.”
Gary Clarke was arrested at six o’clock the following morning by Collison and Andrews and installed in the cells to await questioning. Meanwhile Metcalfe supervised uniform as they sealed off the property, and waited for SOCO to give him the all-clear to enter the flat.
As he was on his way back to the police station, his mobile rang.
“I hear you’ve got him, then,” said Tom Allen.
“I’m not going to talk to you,” he said curtly. “Don’t call again.”
SOCO were thorough, but disgruntled. Having taken over twenty-four hours to pore over every square inch of Clarke’s flat, they took pains to point out that their acronym stood for Scene of Crime Officers, and there was nothing to suggest that this was in fact a scene of any crime whatsoever. As it was a small flat, Metcalfe and the team then needed only about two hours to go through every drawer and cupboard. Their haul was disappointing.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, then?” said Collison.
“Nothing, guv,” Metcalfe confirmed, “and that’s about twenty-seven hours gone.”
Collison nodded. He had been able to secure an additional twenty-four hours in custody for Clarke on the grounds that forensic investigations were still taking place, but the clock was ticking. At the end of the extension period they would have to decide whether to charge or release him. “But there is a tropical fish tank?”
“There is indeed, guv, and a couple of containers of fish food which forensic are fairly sure are the same as the sample found on our last victim, but they’re checking.”
“Hm, well, he fits the profile right enough. He’s about five foot seven and lightly built, just as Peter predicted. He works as an IT contractor, so he’s always moving around travelling between clients, again as predicted. And he was infected with a sexual disease, though he’s not very forthcoming about how it happened. And of course he lives in the right area.”
“So he’s talking, then?” Metcalfe enquired.
“Up to a point. He wanted a lawyer as soon as we told him his rights, so he’s been fairly cagey. However, one thing he has said is that he has an alibi for the night of the last murder, so we need to check that right away. Says his girlfriend stayed the night at his place.”
Metcalfe felt disappointment flooding through him. Collison saw his face change and shrugged. “May be something, may be nothing. Only one way to find out. The lady’s name is Susan McCormick.”
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br /> “I’ll take it,” Metcalfe volunteered. “What’s her address?”
“There’s something a bit strange about that,” Collison replied. “He says he can’t remember off hand but he does have her mobile phone number. That’s probably better for our purposes anyway, as she’s not likely to be home in the middle of the day and we’re pushed for time. Here you are—see what you can do.”
When Metcalfe phoned Susan McCormick, what she told him prompted him to sit bolt upright and ask her if she could come in to make a statement right away. She agreed to be there by half past six that evening after she finished work, so when Collison and Metcalfe sat down in front of her they knew they now had less than twelve hours left.
“Can I just make sure we’ve got this right, Ms McCormick,” Collison said without further ado. “As you know, we have Gary Clarke in custody helping us with certain enquiries. He has given us your name as an alibi witness, in other words to confirm that he was somewhere at a certain time—”
“Yes, I understand that he’s said I stayed the night at his flat,” she cut in briskly, “and I didn’t. I can tell you that for a fact.”
“Perhaps we could just check the dates,” Collison began, looking down at his notes.
“The date is irrelevant,” she said. “You see, I’ve never stayed the night at his flat. I’m not his girlfriend; I’ve never even been properly out with him.”
Collison and Metcalfe looked at each other. She set her lips in a tight line and stared at them uncompromisingly, as though strongly disapproving of what they were suggesting.
“Perhaps we’d better start at the beginning, Ms McCormick,” Metcalfe said. “Could you explain to us how Gary Clarke is in possession of your mobile number?”
“Oh, I know him right enough. He does some IT stuff at the office where I work. He has my mobile number because I foolishly asked him if he could help me when my home computer crashed. There was some stuff on the hard drive that I wanted to rescue. He did, as well. He’s very good at what he does, actually.”
“Why ‘foolishly’?” asked Collison.
“Because then he asked me back to his place for a drink a few days later. I didn’t feel I could say ‘no’ just like that after what he’d done for me, so I agreed. I thought he was a bit creepy, but I wasn’t unduly worried. After all, it was only for a quick drink after work.”
“What happened?” asked Metcalfe.
She sat with her wrists pressed together in front of her, perfectly parallel with the handbag she had placed carefully on the table, and glanced quickly around the room, not uneasily but more as if trying to find the right words to frame what she wanted to say.
“I started feeling uncomfortable very quickly,” she said tightly. “He was behaving really weirdly, as if he was my boyfriend and had been for years. It was strange, very strange. I got frightened, to be honest. I finished my drink, made my excuses and left.”
“And that was that?”
“Yes, but there’s something I think I should tell you. I don’t know for certain, but I think he may have drugged my drink. I started feeling very drowsy on my way home, and when I got in I just collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without even taking my shoes off. I slept for about twelve hours, and woke up with a splitting headache.”
The two detectives digested this. A feeling of certainty was flooding through them, something almost tangible as though it were a mist slowly seeping into the room through an open window. She watched them steadily, nodding slightly as if somehow confirming what it was they were starting to sense.
“What else can you tell us about Mr Clarke?” Collison asked, careful not to let his excitement show.
“Well, I’m not sure if this helps you at all…”
“Everything is helpful,” Collison assured her. “We’re trying to build up a picture of him. Do you know anything about his past? Whether he has family? Anything at all.”
“I’ve never heard him mention any family,” she said. “As for his past, he’s full of all sorts of stories, but all the girls at work think he makes most of them up.”
“For example?”
“Well, he says he’s been in the army, for instance. Talks about having done all sorts of special training—parachutes and unarmed combat and all that sort of thing. But, I mean, it doesn’t seem very likely, does it? You’ve seen him. He’s pretty pathetic physically. I suppose that’s why I didn’t really stop and think before going back to his place. Like I said, he can be a bit creepy but I never felt there was anything, well, threatening about him.”
“Right, Ms McCormick,” Collison said briskly. “We’ll get this typed up for you to sign. Thank you very much indeed for your help.”
She picked up her handbag, stood up, nodded briskly, and waited very pointedly for one of them to open the door. Collison did so.
“You’ve got to hand it to Peter,” Metcalfe said admiringly after she left the room, “he got it bang on. Fantasy military service, fantasy girlfriend, the lot.”
“We don’t know yet that Clarke was lying about the army,” Collison pointed out. “Check that out, will you? But yes, I agree, he’s done a fantastic job.”
“What are you going to do with our suspect?”
“First I’m going to tell him the game’s up on his false alibi,” Collison said with relish, “and then I’m going to charge him. Why don’t you sit in?”
“Thanks, guv, I’d like to,” Metcalfe replied. “I can’t wait to see what he looks like.”
In fact, Gary Clarke turned out to look exactly as Metcalfe had imagined. He was short and slightly built, with a rather weaselly face which took on a distinctly frightened expression as he sat with his lawyer beside him and listened to Collison tell him that Susan McCormick had refused to confirm his alibi. After a pause he said, “No comment.”
“Further than that,” Collison pressed on, “she says that in fact she has never been your girlfriend at all, that’s it all just a figment of your imagination. What do you say to that?”
“No comment.”
“Tell a lot of lies do you, Gary?” Metcalfe asked.
“No comment.”
Collison could see that further questioning was pointless. “Right, Mr Clarke,” he said. “You will now be taken downstairs to the custody sergeant, who will charge you with the murder of Katherine Barker.”
He waited and thought he saw a flicker of emotion run across Clarke’s face.
“Your lawyer may accompany you. I’m sure he will explain to you exactly what all this means. You will then be remanded in custody. I should warn you that further charges may follow.”
“Interview terminated at 2033,” Metcalfe announced, and switched off the tape recorder. He nodded to the uniformed constable, who led Clarke and his lawyer from the room.
Collison sat back and rubbed his eyes. “Well, we’ve got him, Bob,” he said. “Now all we have to do is prove it.”
“Not difficult, surely, guv? He fits the profile and he’s given a false alibi.”
“Hm, I’m not so sure. Anyway, sufficient unto the day and all that. Let’s try to fix a meeting with someone from the DPP tomorrow and lay out what we’ve got.”
“Excuse me, guv,” said Metcalfe, suddenly remembering, “but I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Tom Allen called me. He knows about the arrest.”
“So our spy is still active,” Collison said sadly. “Well, I suppose it’s no more than I should have expected. I assume it’s the same person who’s leaking to the press, either directly or through Allen.”
He stood up and then paused for thought. “Which means,” he said ruminatively, “we’d better contact all the next of kin of the murdered women. I wouldn’t normally at this early stage, but if we don’t they’ll probably read all about it in the papers tomorrow morning.”
“I could do that if you like,” Metcalfe offered.
“You can go and see Doctor Barker, since you’ve met him recently,” Collison decided. “I’ll do the others by phon
e. You know the form, Bob, just a simple statement that we have a man in custody on suspicion of his wife’s murder. Better do it now, on your way home. Then first thing in the morning please check Clarke’s supposed military exploits.”
“Right you are, guv.”
“Actually,” Collison went on reflectively, “let’s check everything. We may as well find out everything we can about him. Check out his flat. I suspect he’s renting it, so see who the owner is and if he’s been any trouble as a tenant. Let’s talk to the companies he’s done contract work for, and see if we can find any friends or family.”
Metcalfe jotted notes down on a pad and nodded. “Tax? National Insurance? Medical records?”
“Everything,” Collison repeated, “and let’s set up the meeting with the DPP for the afternoon. I want to get an independent view on the evidence.”
He noticed Willis sitting at her desk, looking tired but happy. The same feeling was pervading the whole room, as if the team had just finished running a marathon and were recovering, but savouring their achievement at the same time.
“Go home everyone, and thank you,” Collison called. “We’ll reconvene in the morning.”
Then, to Willis, he added, “And please pass on my special thanks to Peter, Karen. I’m going to see if we can’t get him some sort of commendation for this. He’s done a great job.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’ll certainly tell him.”
Chapter Nine
“Right, everyone, great work,” Collison said next morning. “We’ve got our man. The challenge now is to be able to prove it so it stacks up in court. Bob and I will be discussing that with the DPP’s office this afternoon. Your job is to make sure absolutely everything is ship-shape and beyond reproach. I want everything properly filed, cross-referenced and tabulated. We have to sift all the material we have and turn it into a prosecution file.
“Ken,” he continued, “I’m going to put you in charge of that. You’ve done it before so I don’t need to tell you what’s required. Karen and Priya, you carry on with gathering background on Clarke. Bob, you check out his army claims with the Ministry of Defence, and then come with me to the meeting this afternoon. I have to go and report to the ACC now, but I’ll meet you back here about midday.”
What Would Wimsey Do? Page 10
