Don’t Trust Me

by Joss Stirling

  ‘That’s correct. We’ve confirmed what we could of Jacob’s research, of course, but it’s his work we are presenting here.’

  ‘So, what? He was stalking me and casting round for something to pin on me? What did he think I was? Some modern-day Pied Piper of Hamlin luring girls to the city?’

  ‘You tell us.’ Randall picks up the sheet of paper in front of him. I can tell a lot depends on my next answer.

  ‘I don’t know. I’d forgotten West existed until you mentioned him to me just now. I certainly wasn’t interested enough in him to keep tabs on him or his movements. He must’ve been obsessed with me, and as to what connection he dreamed I had with these women – girls – I’ve no idea.’

  ‘So you’ve never visited his house in John Ruskin Street?’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t.’

  ‘So how can you explain the fact that your fingerprints appear on the bottle from which he served, or was served, a glass of whisky laced with sedatives?’

  ‘What?’ Lloyd leans over my shoulder and places a photograph of a Glenfiddich single malt. It’s one of their fifteen-year-old classics, a personal favourite. ‘My prints are on that bottle?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My mind gallops ahead of my next words. If the police are to be believed, Jacob broke into my house. I hadn’t thought to check the drinks cabinet closely, thinking Jessica the culprit – she has no taste for the stuff, so why would she touch it? Jacob, by contrast, might have removed a bottle when he took the other things. A second possibility occurs. Had Jessica set it all up with him? What if she had been involved and tipped him off about the bottles? It was obviously a good place to harvest a set of my prints.

  ‘If my prints are on it, then it’s a bottle taken from my cabinet, as I’ve never been to West’s house. You won’t find my prints on anything else.’

  ‘Or you were careful what you touched when you went in and forgot to wipe down the bottle when you wiped the prints off other surfaces,’ suggests Lloyd.

  ‘That would make me a singularly inept killer, if I didn’t think about the murder weapon.’

  ‘The drug didn’t kill him. We believe death resulted from a blow to the head from an as yet unidentified object. But still, yes, it would. Alternatively, maybe you thought it would make others look guilty, like you’d been framed?’

  ‘That’s a convoluted double bluff, if that’s what I did – which I didn’t. It has every danger of backfiring and ending up with me sitting here.’ Panic is edging in. Everything does seem angled to make me look guilty. It is like being in some ghastly hall of mirrors where every reflection is the worst possible version of yourself. ‘You can’t be taking this seriously? These frail connections with the girls…’

  ‘We’re not looking into their disappearances, though we have passed the information on to our colleagues in Missing Persons,’ says Randall, taking over the lead again. ‘No, my concern here is the death of Mr West last Monday. The facts are that he drank a considerable dose of painkillers, hit his head, or was struck, and passed out on his way to the front door. Death followed not long after. Your prints appear on the bottle. You can see how it looks?’

  ‘Yes. But it’s another ridiculous tissue of lies and happenstance. I think I’d better refuse to say any more until I speak to my legal adviser.’

  ‘Fair enough. Sergeant Lloyd, make sure Dr Harrison has access to a phone to make the call. We’ll resume when his lawyer gets here.’ Randall gets up. ‘By the way, who is Kaitlin and where is she now?’

  The name comes as a slug to the guts. ‘I’m not answering any further questions.’

  ‘I see. Interview ended.’ Randall walks out.

  Chapter 27

  Contrary to what the police appear to expect, I don’t have a lawyer on speed dial. I phone a colleague in the law department and ask if she can recommend anyone.

  ‘Been a naughty boy, Michael?’ Celia jokes.

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ I reply tersely. My tone must have told her that something was seriously wrong and she gives a name with no further quips.

  Sally-Ann Brightwell from Farrell and Houghton, a city firm, is much more business-like than her name suggests. She marches on kitten heels into the interview room which has become far too familiar over the past few hours. Striking rather than beautiful, in a Cleopatra way, with a strong profile, I get the instant impression that I’m in good hands with her. I brush the croissant crumbs from my trousers and stand.

  ‘Dr Harrison? I’ve read your books.’ She shakes my hand.

  ‘Oh, er, thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t say I liked them.’ She gives me a dry smile, lets me hang for a moment, and then, ‘But I did.’

  I pat my chest. ‘Good. I’m not really up to my normal level of banter, I’m afraid.’

  She tucks one side of her sleek bobbed hair behind her ear, revealing a delicate diamond in the lobe. ‘Quite understandable. Now, tell me what’s going on here.’

  I explain as best I can. I don’t really understand it myself so I’m not sure how coherent I’m being.

  ‘Let me put this back to you, stripped down to the essentials. Jacob West is dead thanks to a combination of an overdose and a blow to the head. The police suspect the drugs weren’t taken intentionally. You have a history with the man. Your prints are on the bottle?’

  I nod.

  ‘But your case is that you hadn’t seen him for years, that he was clearly stalking you and inventing all sorts of imaginary crimes for which he claims you are responsible, that he even went so far as to target your ex-girlfriend to get back at you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s about the size of it. There’s one more possibility. Jessica and I didn’t part on good terms. They may have colluded to frame me.’

  ‘So are you suggesting that she killed him?’

  Sally-Ann is right. That doesn’t make much sense. I’d already described Jessica as not having the killer instinct – ironically the subject of my next book, so I suppose I should know what I’m talking about. ‘Maybe he blackmailed her into it? She’s got a serious blot on her record she’d want to hide at all costs. She might’ve panicked.’

  ‘Right. We’ll get to that later.’ Sally-Ann makes some notes on a legal pad. ‘Our priority is getting you out of here. How long have they held you?’

  ‘Since about eleven this morning. I came in voluntarily to help with their enquiries regarding Jessica. They gave me no warning they wished to question me.’

  ‘Then it’s high time they let you go if they aren’t going to make an arrest. We have to get you away from here.’

  My heart sinks. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Someone in the station has leaked that they are holding TV’s favourite criminologist in connection with a murder investigation. It’s not a very busy time in the press for news, unless it’s the Olympics sports desk, so the crime-beat people have latched on to what they think might be a juicy story.’

  ‘Shit.’ I have always enjoyed my television and radio appearances but now they are attracting unwelcome attention. I can see what she means: I’d be gamekeeper turned poacher if I were guilty of the crime, the murdering murder expert.

  ‘I had to barge through a crowd of story-hungry journalists on my way in.’ She didn’t seem too put out by the experience. It would no doubt burnish her professional image. ‘We’ll see if we can take you out the back.’

  ‘This is a nightmare.’

  She nods. ‘Always is when the press get involved. You’re telling me you’ve never been to West’s house but that he broke into yours and removed several items?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, that’s something for us to work with. The police are going to have to make a very good case that you were there on Monday. You have an alibi?’

  I swallow. I stayed over at Lizzy’s on Sunday night when I told Jessica I was going to a hotel. I didn’t fly to Berlin until the afternoon even though I pretended to Jessica that I was already there whe
n she sent her text. I’d actually been sitting a few doors away. I could hardly tell her I had just rolled out of the neighbour’s bed.

  ‘I was with someone.’

  ‘I thought you said you were at a conference in Berlin on Monday?’

  ‘Yes, I was there by the evening dinner. I went a little late, catching a flight in the afternoon from Heathrow. Our neighbour rang me while I was queuing up at immigration in Germany to tell me the alarm was going off – that must’ve been when Jacob broke in.’

  ‘The timeline isn’t as clean as I would like. I’m not sure how close they’ve got to a confirmed time of death. All they are saying is Monday. They might argue you had the opportunity to take him the whisky, hit him over the head when he was incapacitated, and then left him to die.’

  ‘My friend will vouch for the fact that we didn’t get out of bed till noon.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And her call to me about the alarm should be on my phone register. It must’ve been a few hours later, at the end of the afternoon. I got her message when I landed.’

  ‘So your alibi is the woman who lives a few doors down? Lizzy Huntingdon? The neighbour?’

  ‘Yes. We’re in a relationship, I suppose you’d say.’

  ‘And did Jessica Bridges know?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think she knows to this day. Lizzy didn’t want to upset her.’

  ‘And how would Jessica have reacted if she had found out?’

  ‘I think she would’ve been upset but not surprised. She stepped out of line first.’

  ‘Upset enough to collude with Jacob West to frame you?’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think she has that kind of mindset. I’m sorry I suggested that. That’s an unproductive line of enquiry.’

  ‘Well, you’re the expert.’ She gives me another of her smiles and I feel a spark of attraction towards her. I’ve always been drawn to clever women. Even Jessica can hold her own in an intellectual conversation if she tries. ‘This is what I’m going to do now, Michael: I’ll get the police to decide if they are going to hold you any longer today.’

  ‘They did mention restarting questions once you were here.’

  ‘I’ll shoot that down if I can. We need time to discuss your case in greater depth, particularly sorting out the confusion over the timings on Monday. If you were on a plane before the time of death, then I’d say they have to let you go.’

  ‘My flight took off at four-fifteen. I would’ve been going through security about forty-five minutes before, as I had only carry-on luggage and obviously there’s travel time to add to that.’

  She makes a note. ‘OK, I’ll go and have a quick chat with them.’

  I’m left waiting for another twenty minutes. My confidence that Miss Brightwell will represent my case competently has allowed my thoughts to move on to the secondary concern of what damage is being done to my reputation. I draft in my mind a statement for her to read out on my behalf – something serious and respectful of the police while projecting the subtext that they are wildly off course and complete idiots to pursue me, just because they like to put a celebrity in the hot seat. I wonder what Randall’s charge-to-conviction percentages are? I don’t think individual officers’ records are publicly available but I might be able to pull a few strings and find out. He deserves a few dents to his image, as he’s pissed on mine.

  Miss Brightwell returns with Randall and Lloyd.

  ‘I’ve agreed with the inspector that we will conclude the day’s proceedings with a brief interrogation to establish your alibi for Monday, and then they will let you go, to resume tomorrow,’ she murmurs, taking her seat beside me. ‘I’ve stressed that you are cooperating fully with their requests to help with their enquiries.’

  Randall goes through the recording protocol again and resumes his line of questioning. ‘Dr Harrison, can you please give a detailed account of your movements from Sunday night until Tuesday morning?’

  ‘Jessica and I arrived back from holiday at around eight in the evening.’ I sound bored but I’m not. I’m twisted up with dread. Can I clear myself? ‘We had had an argument so I needed some space from her. I was due at a conference in Berlin the next day, so I repacked my suitcase and left.’

  ‘She can confirm this?’ asks Lloyd.

  ‘Yes, though she thinks I ordered a taxi to go to a hotel at Gatwick. I was actually flying from Heathrow and stayed overnight two doors down with a friend called Lizzy Huntingdon. Since my relationship with Jessica hit the rocks, we’ve been seeing each other – that’s Lizzy and I.’

  ‘You are lovers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time did you leave on Monday?’

  ‘Lizzy is a teacher so she’s on holiday. We slept in on Monday and had a leisurely breakfast at about twelve. Oh, and yes, I answered a message from Jessica at about eleven, half past, it should be logged. I pretended I was in Berlin already as I did not want her to find out about Lizzy that way.’ I take a sip of water. ‘Right, OK, what next? I took a taxi to Heathrow.’

  ‘Which company?’

  ‘It was an Uber booking. The transaction should be on my phone too.’

  ‘If you could leave the handset with us.’

  I pull it out of my pocket and place it on the table, trying not to show my resentment. I don’t think there’s anything incriminating on there but there will certainly be some data that will embarrass me, certain messages that I’d prefer to keep private. ‘I went through the usual procedures and was on the plane for take-off at 4.30. Miraculously, we took off on time.’

  ‘So you left Miss Huntingdon around midday but weren’t required at the gate until thirty minutes before departure. There seems to be some time unaccounted for in there.’

  ‘I always leave a generous margin for flights. Ask anyone who knows my habits. It’s my nature: I hate rushing for anything.’

  ‘We only have Miss Huntingdon’s word that the alarm went off late afternoon, as Miss Bridges says it was disarmed by the time she called in that evening.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Lizzy lied?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything but her relationship with you rather complicates her role in this. We will, of course, be talking to her.’

  ‘Lizzy tried to contact me when I was in the air about the alarm. She couldn’t locate Jessica and she didn’t want to enter the house without permission. Others in the street must’ve heard it.’

  ‘Yes, Dr Harrison, we know how to do our job. We are making door-to-door enquiries.’

  Great: now my whole street will be talking about me. ‘You know this is completely preposterous? Why would I want to kill Jacob West? We no longer had anything that connected us, no motive.’

  ‘He might have gone public with his allegations against you, damaging ones even if they do not prove to be true. Fling enough mud and it sticks.’

  ‘Of course they’re not true – there’s no “if” about it! And then I would’ve sued him for defamation, not killed him. If I murdered everyone I disagreed with, then half the psychologists in my field would be dead.’

  ‘It was more than an intellectual disagreement.’

  ‘That shows you don’t understand the seriousness of academic debate. Careers are built and destroyed by it.’

  Miss Brightwell clears her throat. ‘Inspector, we are going off track here and it’s getting late.’

  ‘One more question: Dr Harrison, the nub of West’s resentment against you revolves around your ex-wife—’

  ‘Not ex-wife. I never divorced her. Emma died.’

  ‘Sorry, I misspoke. Your wife and what appears to be her child, Kaitlin. Did she have a child?’

  ‘Yes, before I met her.’

  ‘Jacob’s child?’

  ‘Not according to Emma.’

  ‘So who was the father?’

  ‘I suggest you look for Kaitlin’s birth certificate. All I know is that he wasn’t on the scene when I met Emma. I respected her privacy over what had been a pai
nful episode for her. She was trying to get away from Jacob so I wasn’t going to keep on digging all that stuff up.’

  ‘So where is Kaitlin now?’

  ‘I don’t know – and that’s the truth.’

  ‘That’s not an adequate answer. Did the child die?’

  ‘I suggest you use your investigative powers and find out what happened to her, if you believe it relevant.’

  ‘I find it extraordinary that your wife didn’t mention what happened to her daughter.’

  ‘Inspector Randall, I believe my client has been clear with you,’ says Miss Brightwell, cutting in before I can refute that. ‘He is not Kaitlin’s father so has no parental rights or responsibility for her. If the child went missing between Emma leaving Jacob and marrying Michael, then that’s something you need to investigate, but it is not my client’s business.’

  That’s not quite an accurate picture, as Kaitlin did live with us. I was a poor stepfather. I could fill in a few more blanks for them but it won’t make a material difference in the end. Just now I’m not minded to make their job any easier.

  ‘I assure you we will be investigating that, along with the rest of the anomalies in this case. I sense you aren’t giving us the complete story here, Dr Harrison.’

  I hold his stare. Of course I’m not, you prick. Why would I when you’ve hung me out to dry by leaking my presence in the station?

  He stands up, signalling that the meeting is finally at an end. ‘That’s it for now. We’ll get in touch when we are ready to resume this conversation.’

  ‘Direct your calls to me, please,’ says Miss Brightwell.

  ‘If that’s what your client wants, then of course we will. Dr Harrison, I need hardly say you shouldn’t attempt to leave London.’

  ‘But I’m due in Washington next week.’

  ‘I doubt this will have been cleared up by then. I’d be prepared to cancel.’

  ‘But I’m giving the keynote speech! Don’t you understand how important this is for my career and reputation?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that isn’t my concern here. As I’ve already mentioned, murder comes first.’