Waters knew Jo Evison had been a detective inspector in the Metropolitan Police before she left to pursue careers in profiling and writing about some notorious murder cases. He also knew that in the spring she had sold her detached, five-bedroomed house in Cockfosters for one and a half million pounds. Smith had sold his own property at the same time. Even allowing for what they must have paid for Drift’s End, they had to be comfortably off, and they probably didn’t need to be working at all.
Smith understood what Waters was doing, putting the conversation into idle and giving himself time to think. To help out, he said, ‘And what about Janey? What were you saying yesterday about a job?’
That didn’t help at all, obviously.
Waters said, ‘It’s in Manchester.’
There was no reason to go into detail – that was the single, salient point.
‘Oh. And I’m getting the feeling you won’t be putting in for a transfer.’
Waters drank some coffee – he’d made up his mind.
Smith said, ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. Bad luck. She’s a good one.’
‘So, tell me what happened in Pinehills yesterday.’
They had arrived late in the afternoon. Shirley Salmon had kept her composure until they sat down in her office, with Oliver watching television in the lounge of the apartment. Then she’d had a bit of a wobble, Smith said, thinking they’d arrived simply for a social visit and that she had to explain everything that had happened. Then she had another wobble when she realised that the young detective who’d asked her if she had mentioned it to anyone else – and she’d understood perfectly whom he meant – had told Smith that one of his old friends was in trouble.
Smith had scolded her for not calling him as soon as things had turned nasty, and then Jo had gone into the kitchen and made the first of several cups of tea. He listened as Shirley told him the story from the beginning, and he didn’t ask many questions. Smith hadn’t said this but Waters knew it, could picture it, the intent listening, allowing Shirley to pick out what she thought was important because that in itself would be revealing.
‘I told her,’ Smith said, ‘that at least she’d got lucky with the duty solicitor. Christine Archer?’
Waters said, ‘Yes. One of your favourites.’
The look was direct then but Waters never wavered.
‘Anyway, after she’d been through it all, she fetched Oliver out to say hello. I’ve known him since he was, I don’t know, eight or nine when he first stayed on the site. Ten years at least…’
Waters was working now, listening to a character witness, just as Wilson’s team had been for the past couple of days. He was surprised he could be as objective as he was at that moment, detached and evaluating what the witness was saying against the strength of the evidence.
But Smith had seen it and interrupted his own account.
‘You do know it’s ridiculous, don’t you?’
‘As I’ve heard you say plenty of times, what we know and what we can prove are often two quite different things.’
The café was busy now. A skinny youth had appeared behind the counter, serving, and Micky Lemon was just visible in the kitchen behind it, grilling burgers and frying all sorts of unhealthy delights.
Smith said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want a bacon sandwich?’
‘Yes. But don’t let me stop you, DC.’
‘I think I might… I don’t get many opportunities nowadays.’
He didn’t need to explain. Jo had made it her mission to bring Smith back to full health and fitness. Smith had escaped the clutches of one micro-managing detective inspector in DI Terek but ex-DI Evison was a different proposition altogether.
Smith had Micky’s attention before long, and asked for the sandwich with the requisite sauces, the bacon to be just a fraction overdone so that the edges were crispy, and if Micky didn’t mind, he’d have butter rather than any of those healthy spreads. As Micky walked away with the order, Smith caught Waters smiling and said, ‘At my time of life, you’ve got to live each moment to the full. Also, I’ve had a near-death experience. It wasn’t the first one, but it was the nearest. A bacon sandwich now and then is a form of closure, I reckon.’
Waters said, ‘Your time of life? You’re not sixty yet, and you look fitter than when I first met you.’
‘Well, that’s a back-handed sort of compliment, isn’t it? What was wrong with the way I used to look?’
‘It was probably just the three cigarettes a day.’
‘And now I’m not even tempted. So that’s a bonus as well. All those years of trying to give up and all it took was a knife in the pericardium.’
One of them had to make the next move forward. Smith was holding back, Waters knew, giving him the initiative as to whether he wanted to hear more about the encounter with Oliver Salmon yesterday afternoon.
‘So, did you talk to Oliver yourself?’
‘Yes. He told me he’d had a ride in a police car.’
After a moment, Waters said, ‘Does he understand what’s happening?’
‘I doubt it. But then, does anyone else? I’m bloody sure I don’t.’
It was the first sign that Smith was annoyed. Over his shoulder, Micky Lemon was putting the finishing touches to the bacon sandwich, and Waters had hunger pangs now. It took a conscious effort to remind himself that they were no longer a team as they had been for the past few years, working the mean streets of Lake, visiting cafes like this one, having lunch out at the Tuck Stop on the bypass or afternoon tea with Ma Budge before they took her son in for questioning once again.
‘Did Oliver say anything else, DC?’
‘Nothing of any importance. Not while we were in the apartment, anyway.’
Which meant that they – Smith, Jo, Shirley and Oliver, or some combination – had left the apartment where Shirley lived during the season. And Waters could already make a good guess as to where the excursion had taken them. It was an obvious thing to have done but as far as he knew, Reeve hadn’t done it yet; if Smith had, of course, he might have compromised the outcome of any subsequent visit. This is the danger that comes from allowing anyone outside an investigation to interfere.
The bacon sandwich arrived. Smith lifted the top layer of bread, nodded approvingly and then added a finely-judged coating of the world’s most famous brown sauce and then a dash of malt vinegar. He replaced the slice of bread and then he and Micky spent a moment admiring their combined handiwork. Waters felt like an intruder.
He said, when Micky had left them, ‘You took Oliver out for a walk.’
‘Yes, in the evening. Still too hot in the day for walking, isn’t it? You could say I even got lucky with the weather – the first summer after I retire is the hottest in forty years. Maybe it’s a sign.’
He picked up one half of the sandwich and bit into it.
‘And now I suppose I might as well make a wild guess as to where you went on this walk.’
Smith paused, halfway to his second bite.
‘Well, I hope it isn’t a wild guess.’
‘You went down to the footpath where the body was found.’
Smith frowned a little.
‘Not exactly. We did sort of amble in that direction. We went along the track. You know, the one you can drive along that comes to a dead end?’
Waters knew it all too well, having spent a very long, hot Friday there a fortnight ago this very day. He nodded and Smith went on, ‘But we didn’t get onto the footpath, not even close. Halfway along the track, Oliver stops. He’s decided that he isn’t going another step in that direction.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Yes. He said “Time to go home now.” He said that several times, and eventually that’s what we did. These sandwiches are pretty filling. Sure you don’t want the other half?’
Smith lifted the plate towards him. Waters reasoned that Jo was going to find out what Smith had been up to today. At least if he, Waters, had eaten half the sandwich he could clai
m he had reduced the patient’s intake of nitrites in the processed meat and cholesterol in the butter. This might go some way to placating her irritation over Smith’s being involved in the case. He took the sandwich and said, ‘What conclusions did you come to?’
Smith frowned and chewed one piece of the sandwich more thoroughly before he said, ‘I think you meant to ask, to what conclusions did you come… Anyway, I checked with Shirley. They’ve often walked that way before and gone along the footpath scores of times. He’d never reacted like that before. We couldn’t get him within thirty yards of where the path into the dunes starts. He planted his feet and he wasn’t going anywhere in that direction.’
‘That doesn’t look good, does it?’
Smith had finished his half of the sandwich. He wiped his fingers on the piece of neatly folded kitchen roll that Micky had thoughtfully provided, leaned back in the plastic chair and said, ‘Good for whom?’
‘For Oliver. The footpath reminded him of something that he didn’t want to be reminded…’, and then Waters paused because there was another hanging preposition in the vicinity.
‘Which could, I grant you, be something he had done there. Equally, it could be reminding him of something he’d seen. Oliver is in this respect a child of about-’
‘Eight or nine, at best. We’ve been through this at Central.’
‘Good, I should hope you have. Eight or nine at best – maybe younger than that. How is a child likely to react if they’ve seen something truly shocking? I don’t have a list of probabilities but one way is to shut it out, to refuse to have anything to do with it, including going anywhere near the place involved. In case you’re wondering, we didn’t try to get anything out of Oliver last night. We just watched him and then we walked back to the apartment.’
Like all things bad for you, the bacon sandwich tasted divine, and Waters didn’t want to hurry eating it, once he had begun. So he paused and said, ‘You’re suggesting Oliver is a witness?’
‘I’m suggesting it’s a possibility. But possibilities being what they are, it isn’t the only one. You’re about to mention the DNA evidence, I imagine.’
Waters nodded, chewing and thinking about the doctors last Christmas Day saying that the blood loss had been so catastrophic there would most likely be some loss of brain function. Maybe it just hadn’t kicked in yet.
Smith said, ‘That’s what makes it interesting, obviously. It’s not unheard of for a witness’s DNA to be present at a crime scene.’
‘Present, yes, but not in the mouth of the victim. That could be just about unheard of, DC.’
‘Fair point. Fancy another coffee?’
‘Does Micky do decaffeinated?’
Smith glanced at the people occupying the nearest tables before he said in a lowered voice, ‘Just what sort of place do you think this is? He could lose business if you start spreading rumours like that.’
‘I was thinking you’ve probably had enough to keep you going for the rest of the week, that’s all.’
Smith refolded the piece of paper tissue and placed it on his empty plate.
‘I’ve had enough. I was asking whether you wanted one. If you’re going to prove Oliver didn’t kill that poor woman, you’ll need to be firing on all cylinders.’
After they’d said goodbye to Shirley and Oliver, the two of them went back to the track, parked and walked along the footpath in the gathering dusk. Even after a fortnight, Smith said, it was easy enough to find the places the forensics team had examined, and Shirley knew enough about the case to tell them where they should be looking.
Smith said, ‘I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday afternoon – it kept me awake half the night. If someone moved the body-’
‘They did, DC. That’s not in doubt.’
There was a space before Smith said, ‘Really?’
A universe of doubt can be expressed in a single word, if you’ve had enough practice. Waters waited then, and Smith went on, ‘You’ve seen all the evidence, Chris, and I realise I’m only aware of the bits you’ve shared with me. And I do not expect you to tell me the lot. Apart from anything else, I imagine we’d be sitting here with Micky waiting to close up tonight. But are you telling me there’s good evidence the woman died at the first location, close to the road?’
It was a simple enough question but Waters saw the line of argument that stretched from it immediately; he saw it now but no one had raised the possibility before this moment. Or perhaps they had, but in a meeting that did not include him. That was the difference: they didn’t sit around for hours any more just talking about people, probabilities and possibilities. These days they carried out instructions, they did not fly kites.
‘No, I’m not. There’s good evidence she was attacked there.’
‘And when people are attacked for real, they tend to put up resistance. They struggle, sometimes they get away and make a run for it. Some attackers give up at that point, others pursue the victim and finish the job.’
Waters felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket, and he was aware of the time. He should be back at Central by now.
Smith said, ‘I’m having trouble putting Oliver into that scenario. I cannot see him being quick enough to catch a relatively young woman fleeing in fear of her life. She wasn’t overweight or anything, was she?’
No, Waters said, realising at the same time just how little Smith was working with – he was conducting his own investigation primarily as a thought experiment. But the alternative, Smith went on to point out, was even less credible – that Oliver had strangled Michelle Simms at the first scene near to the road, had picked up her body and then carried it well over a hundred yards.
‘You’ve met him, Chris. He just isn’t physically big enough or strong enough to do that on his own.’
Waters didn’t want to say he hadn’t really met Oliver Salmon. He had watched him in the cell at Central, he had seen the video recordings of an interview, but that was all. When Smith was at work, he’d always go out of his way to get in front of people – witnesses, suspects, victims, colleagues, friends, it made no difference.
Smith said, ‘So, maybe he had help. Maybe Oliver did kill the girl and then someone else moved the body.’
Waters hadn’t kept the surprise from his face when that was suggested.
‘Seriously? That’s not something we’ve looked at, DC. We… Who?’
‘Shirley? What about Ted the handyman and his barrow thing? Anyone there with a personal connection to Oliver. I’m serious. Don’t rule anything out. Shirley finds out Oliver’s done something awful and tries to cover it up. Would she be the first? What I’ve just suggested is a better fit than Oliver Salmon carrying out the entire thing on his own, isn’t it?’
Simply in terms of accounting for how the body might have been moved, it was a better fit. Pointing out that Shirley was an old friend was irrelevant. Smith would say being an old friend of his was no guarantee one was not a criminal; in fact, quite a number of people who were criminals would also consider themselves his friend. This was now a logical puzzle to be solved just as much as it was a crusade to save an innocent man from gaol.
Waters gave Smith’s last question some time before he answered.
‘Yes, I can see all that. Obviously, there are questions about how Oliver was involved, but he was involved, DC. The forensic evidence, the saliva traces, are as solid as it gets. Oliver had intimate contact with Michelle Simms at or near the time of her death. Add to that, when he’s shown the photograph of her in the interview, Oliver says “I think she’s dead”. How do you explain that? No image of Michelle had been shown in any of the media to which Oliver has access. I’ve seen you go for a charge on less than that, DC.’
Smith was staring down at the empty plate. After a second or two, he nodded, sighed and looked about the cafe.
‘This place is a little goldmine, isn’t it? We’ve been talking about getting ourselves some sort of business. That’s Jo and I, not me and Micky Lemon. Somethi
ng seasonal, maybe, you know – a few months in the summer and then having the winter off.’
‘Why not? It would save you from being bored, wouldn’t it?’
‘At no point in our two conversations have I said or implied that I’m bored.’
‘Agreed. I’m just making an assumption.’
Smith nodded again and gave Waters an honest, appreciative smile before he said, ‘Alright. If you want to get into this properly…’
‘Yes?’
‘Then you’d better get a move on. Stop ignoring the texts you’re getting on your phone, you’ve had at least three and they might be to do with the case. Decide whether you want to give me anything else to work with – up to you, no pressure – and then accept the fact that this is Micky’s busiest time of the day.’
Waters looked across the café; there was a small queue of people waiting to be served. He could only see one empty table. He said, ‘I can accept that. How’s it relevant?’
‘We can’t just sit here. This table needs to be earning him some dosh!’
‘OK. Any suggestions? We could talk on the way back to the car park.’
‘No – better idea. Two pieces of the home-made flapjack. I’ll have a mug of tea with mine.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There had been four texts altogether – one from Janey and three from Serena, which was about the usual ratio on a normal working day. Janey had asked him what time he expected to be back at the flat tonight, nothing more, but it felt significant in some way. When he reflected on it a little more, Waters realised it was because this might be their final weekend together in the old way, the way they had become accustomed to over the past year. There might be more weekends to come, but those would be different, bookended by hours of travel, hours in which to think and worry, getting back late before work the next day. Sooner or later one of them would postpone, and in the end the postponements would become cancellations.
Serena’s first text told him Terek had asked where he was; she concluded it with so I said I thought you’d gone for pizza. He said we couldn’t eat it in the office. I give up. The second text told him Terek had been in again, asking the same question. It had been sent just twenty minutes later. This was typical of the detective inspector, who would be unable to leave this alone until he had confronted the guilty party. The third text had arrived as Waters was driving out of the multi-storey car park, and it was much more interesting – I’ve located where that other mobile was when it made the call. The name of the tower is Dunstable West.
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