Songbird

by Peter Grainger

  Graham Fletcher had been arrested and cautioned in his home at eight minutes past seven earlier that morning. Whilst he was seated in the back of Waters’ car, Detective Chief Inspector Cara Freeman had asked him whether he would require the services of a solicitor once he was back in Kings Lake, and he had said he would. Did he have a particular solicitor in mind? Answering that question with a yes might suggest one has been expecting it. Fletcher said the firm used by his business had criminal lawyers and he would like one from there. Freeman took the name and said she would pass on what he had said to his wife. Waters was with a shaken and white-faced Michaela Fletcher when Freeman did so.

  Waters understood why the senior investigating officer had done this. After the moment of arrest, the clock was ticking; the twenty-four hours they had to hold Fletcher without charge was already shrinking. Criminal solicitors have a habit of arriving late and then taking an inordinately long time in private consultation with their client. Freeman was thinking ahead and reducing the opportunities for delay. Julian Edgeley arrived at Kings Lake Central at thirty-six minutes after ten o’clock in the morning. Freeman met him with DI Terek in a side room of the custody suite. She outlined the situation, told him how she intended to proceed once he had consulted with his client and then shook hands with him. When he’d left the room, she turned to Terek and said, ‘They’ll go no comment.’

  Waters had interviewed beside Smith on a number of occasions, but since becoming a detective sergeant in the spring he had done so only once with Terek, in an investigation into an alleged assault outside a nightclub in which a knife had been drawn. No charges had resulted and Waters had yet, therefore, to stand in the witness box and give evidence in a court of law. He had pointed this out to Freeman yesterday when she told him he would be interviewing Fletcher with her, and she’d said he had better get some practice in as soon as possible, then. Interviewing suspects requires a very particular set of skills – not all officers have it and many are happy for someone else to carry out that part of the process. It has little or nothing to do with seniority, and some outstanding SIOs will ask for a particular detective constable or sergeant to sit in when an interview is critical to a case.

  Every interview is now recorded on a DVD, and invariably these form a part of the evidence presented by the prosecution should the matter reach the courtroom. It is forgotten now but defence lawyers fought long and hard against their use, preferring the written transcriptions or a tape recording. Their clients not infrequently have unusual egos and there is a world of difference between reading the simple words “No comment” on a page and watching a suspect delivering the same phrase with a snide, sarcastic grin for the eighteenth time.

  Freeman hadn’t hurried the consultation between Fletcher and his solicitor. She had given them more than an hour, and it was fourteen minutes past midday when she pressed the button to begin the recording. Waters sat on her right, facing Julian Edgeley who was on his client’s left, and the video camera was on a stand to the left of the police officers. Freeman read aloud Fletcher’s name, date of birth and address, and asked him to confirm that these details were correct. He answered ‘No comment.’ She smiled and said, ‘Unfortunately, Mr Fletcher, there’s just one question you’re obliged to give an answer to, and it’s that one. Please check with your solicitor.’

  After a nod, Fletcher gave the required monosyllable and shifted in his seat, setting himself for what was to come. Waters took a good look at him and concluded that the man wasn’t easy to read. The face was not an ugly or unpleasant one, but it was immobile and closed. It didn’t seem to be the anxious, confused face of someone who has been wrongfully arrested, or even that of a man who is surprised at being so detained. It’s the face, Smith might have said, of a man who’s expecting some hostile fast bowling but who intends to stay at the crease all day if necessary.

  Freeman said, ‘Good, that’s out of the way. We’re going to be here a little while, so I’ve arranged for some tea and coffee. When it arrives, feel free to help yourselves.’

  She opened the file and took out a page of typed notes. This was placed on the desk in front of her, and then she picked up a pencil, which seemed an optimistic gesture in view of Fletcher’s unwillingness to confirm even his own identity.

  ‘Mr Fletcher, you’ve had more than an hour to consult with your legal representative, and I’m sure he has done a thorough job apprising you of your situation and your rights. Nevertheless, I want to be sure you understand your right to silence. You do still have it – remember when I said to you this morning “You do not have to say anything”? However, since the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act of 1994, that right has been balanced by the right of magistrates and the members of a jury to draw their own conclusions about why you have exercised that right. This is known as “adverse inference”. If those parties conclude that in failing to answer you have concealed facts known to you or even that you have acted unreasonably in refusing to answer, they may take this into account when considering the matter of whether you are guilty. That is why the caution says “But it may harm your defence…” So, to put it simply, you would be ill-advised to refuse to answer our questions today and then invent a story to explain the evidence we’re going to put in front of you, because the jury will see through that, Mr Fletcher.’

  Her tone was reasonable and matter of fact, but Waters was aware of her language and her logic – this was a different person to the one who gave that briefing on the Tuesday morning.

  Freeman continued, ‘And we are going to put the evidence we have in front of you, just about all of it. We are not obliged to do so, and, in my judgement, we already have enough to proceed with charges.’

  Julian Edgeley frowned at her but made no attempt to intervene. Freeman stared back at the solicitor, giving him all the time he might need to do so.

  ‘But, Mr Fletcher, I am going to give you the opportunity to comment on what we have found. This is not going to be what Mr Edgeley might have described to you as “staged disclosure”. Lawyers sometimes view that as an attack on your right to silence but I’ve never understood why. We’re going to tell you what we intend to put forward when the matter comes to trial, and-’

  ‘No. That’s an unwarranted assumption on your part. The mention of magistrates, juries and trials at this very early stage is an attempt to intimidate my client.’

  Undoubtedly, Edgeley’s intervention was what Freeman had wanted but she looked at Waters with some surprise before turning back to the solicitor.

  ‘Is it? Well, I must have failed. He doesn’t look very intimidated.’

  Every little helps. The jurors will hear her say those words and think to themselves, it’s true, he doesn’t. Why doesn’t he? If it were me, I’d be terrified…

  Freeman said, ‘Anyway, we might as well get started. Mr Fletcher, I’d like you to tell us about your relationship with Michelle Simms. How long ago did you first meet her? She’d have been known to you as Michelle Holt at the time.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Michelle was Michaela’s, your wife’s, older sister, of course. You dated her before you met and married your wife. How long did you go out with Michelle, Mr Fletcher?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Waters saw the pencil in Freeman’s hand make a second mark at the top of the page of questions she had prepared, and then a third and a fourth – each time Fletcher gave the two-word response, she made a short vertical line. On the fifth occasion, she made the line at an angle through the previous four, and then began the process again. It was obvious to everyone in the room that she was keeping count of his no comment answers.

  ‘Fine. Mr Fletcher, we have this information from your wife. It’s no secret, and it’s hardly incriminating. Are you sure you don’t want to cooperate at all with this part of the interview?’

  The solicitor looked irritated again but Freeman was only going up to the line. She wasn’t crossing over it into bullying or even implying a threat to the sus
pect.

  She went on, ‘OK, then. As I said, I’m going to tell you what we do know about your relationship with your sister-in-law. If you wish to say anything at any point, please do so. You went out with Michelle for several months before she ended the relationship, so this is someone you knew well, and who knew you well. During that time, of course, you met her sister, and these things happen, especially when we’re young – you then started a relationship with Michaela, which eventually led to your marriage. But you stayed in touch with Michelle and you remained friends. As far as we can tell, it wasn’t more than that.’

  She paused, as if wondering whether he might like to offer a voluntary ‘No comment’, but Fletcher looked back at Freeman impassively.

  ‘But you used to call in at Michelle’s hairdressing salon regularly. Presumably this wasn’t because they had lots of issues with the heating. We also know that it was while visiting the salon that you met Ashley Merrick. Ms Merrick works as a receptionist for your company now, but up until last April she was employed by Michelle Simms at the salon. On Monday of this week, you admitted to us, Mr Fletcher, that you began an affair with this young woman while she was working at the salon…’

  Waters was increasingly aware that the senior investigating officer’s intended audience for all this was not in the interview room, and neither was it among the people watching these events in the recording suite. Those for whom this was meant were at this moment living their ordinary lives on a Thursday morning. They were shopping, driving, drinking tea with a friend, working as carpenters, sales assistants and teachers, gardening, playing bowls, donating blood, walking the dog… They had never met each other and would not do so until a morning early in May next year when the clerk to the court would assemble them in an ante-room and ask them if they were willing to serve.

  Freeman was thinking of them, and every word was chosen with care. “You admitted to us”, she’d said, and admission implies some sort of guilt; “on Monday” – just a few days ago, why won’t he confirm it now, the jurors wonder; “this young woman” – yes, a lot younger than him and he’s married to the poor woman whose sister was murdered, and so this Ashley Merrick sounds like a victim as well. He only gave her that job because they were having “an affair”…

  Freeman said, ‘Obviously, we will come back to Ashley Merrick’s part in all this. Let’s move on to-’

  There was a knock at the door. It was not opened until Freeman gave a response, and then Priti was there, holding the door ajar so a uniformed officer could carry in a tray with mugs, a tea pot and a flask of coffee. This was all very civilised, and Waters told himself Freeman must have even more clout than he had first realised. But the arrival of the drinks had been planned, and he wondered whether Fletcher would unwittingly cooperate. Priti had a folded piece of paper in her hand which she brought around to Cara Freeman, saying that Detective Inspector Terek had said that she, DCI Freeman, would want to see this.

  As Priti and the constable left the room, Freeman read the note and then handed it to Waters. It was a print-out of an email from Sally Lonsdale, telling them the filtration tests on the material taken from the wheel arches of the Mercedes suggested there was a high probability of a match to the samples taken by the SOCO team at Pinehills on Friday the 28th of July. Microscopy would take a few more days to confirm that the sand particles found on the vehicle were from the beach road but Sally thought they’d want a progress report.

  Freeman had poured herself half a mug of coffee. Julian Edgeley asked Fletcher if he wanted anything to drink and received a shrug for his efforts. Edgeley then filled two mugs with tea, leaving one on the tray and putting the other on a coaster in front of himself.

  Freeman said, ‘So, Mr Fletcher, moving on. I’d like to talk about the events of Thursday the 27th of July – specifically what you were doing on that day. When I say “talk about”, I’m using the term loosely, of course. Shall I put you down for no comment?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Oh, right. I might have confused myself here. Is that no comment on my suggestion of no comment, or…?’

  The solicitor said, ‘Chief Inspector…’

  ‘Sorry!’

  The expression on her face was not so much a smile as a grin, as if she was interviewing a small boy about being cheeky to a member of staff rather than a potential murderer. She was, Waters realised, simply enjoying all this, which, in itself, was a little extraordinary. The pressure on the leading interviewer after weeks, months and sometimes years of investigation can be almost unbearable.

  Freeman said, ‘No comment it is, then. So, once again, I’ll go through what we believe we know. In the interview earlier this week, you said you thought you might have gone into Luton town centre late in afternoon of Thursday the 27th of July.’

  It was increasingly difficult to see what Fletcher had gained from allowing Freeman to do this – to repeat with her own angles and inflections what he had said to them a few days ago. Surely it would have looked and sounded better if he had repeated those statements in his own words? Yet, whether this had been his own choice or the solicitor’s, he could not now change his approach without making matters worse.

  Freeman went systematically through the evidence from the car park that Fletcher’s Mercedes had been there when a pay-as-you-go mobile phone was purchased in the adjacent shopping centre. Had he purchased that phone? No comment. She pointed out the odds against him not buying the very mobile phone used later that evening to make a call to his sister-in-law. He made that call, didn’t he? No comment – number sixteen, according to the five-bar gate count on Freeman’s sheet of notes. She said that Mr Fletcher must be growing tired of the sound of her voice, so Detective Sergeant Waters would take over now and disclose the forensic evidence they had gathered so far – there was still more to come, she said, picking up the email that Priti had brought in. Again, Julian Edgeley flinched as if about to protest but she was invariably just a millimetre short of giving him the opportunity.

  Waters himself had been falling under the spell, and was a little startled when he heard his own name. But he had his own prompt sheet at the ready.

  ‘Mr Fletcher, could you tell us what jobs you worked on during Thursday the 27th of July?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Fletcher picked up the mug of tea, took a small sip and then replaced it on the table.

  ‘I can help you with that if you’re having difficulty remembering, Mr Fletcher. We have the activity logs for your company. They show that in the morning you were with two of your employees at a property in Prince’s Street in Luton. The job was to power-flush a central heating system. There were’ – making a show of checking his notes to demonstrate just how detailed they were – ‘a total of fourteen radiators involved. We also have your stock inventory, which tells us which brands of chemicals you use in these jobs. Can you tell us what sodium n-lauroylsarcosinate is, Mr Fletcher?’

  Waters saw Freeman make another mark on her notes. He paused and watched because, for the first time, Fletcher had blinked – it was at the mention of the name of the solvent. It isn’t an unusual substance, surprisingly, and it would not be difficult to invent an explanation for how someone might have come into contact with it, but what Waters was revealing was the amount of knowledge they had and the level of detail. Using his own company records, they had forced their way into Fletcher’s world – metaphorically, they had kicked down doors, they were turning over his gaff, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Waters went on, ‘We found traces of this chemical on the skin of Michelle Simms’ neck, mostly on the right side. You’re left-handed, aren’t you, Mr Fletcher?’

  Julian Edgeley looked at the mug in front of Fletcher and then stared at Freeman – she stared back at him with raised eyebrows, and nodded to Waters, telling him to continue.

  He said to Fletcher, ‘The post-mortem on Michelle’s body revealed she had been struck hard on the right side of her face before she was strang
led. There was a fracture in her cheek bone. This also leads us to think her attacker was left-handed. There is-’

  ‘This is absurd! About twenty percent of people are left-handed. How many millions of men is that in this country?’

  Freeman let the solicitor’s interruption hang there for a long time, the silence magnifying its significance. Eventually she said, ‘The latest study I’ve seen says it’s eleven per cent, with slightly more men than women but not enough of a difference to be statistically important. So, very roughly, that’s three million, three hundred thousand males. Take out the children, the infirm and the elderly, and I’d say the man who murdered Michelle Simms is about one in a million. Carry on, Detective Sergeant Waters.’

  He did so. Did Mr Fletcher know just how unusual his Mercedes had been, the Mercedes he’d sold in something of a hurry only last week? Could he explain how traces from that vehicle had been found on Michelle’s body? Looking at Edgeley, Waters admitted they could not yet say “that vehicle” definitively but they were working on it. The UK’s vehicle records database is the most comprehensive in the world, and even as we sit here, he said, two officers are engaged in tracking down all one hundred and twenty-five C-class saloons with those cream leather seat covers. Proving that those traces could not have come from any of the other one hundred and twenty-four would take a long time, but it would be done and it would be enough.

  Graham Fletcher didn’t respond to any of this. Freeman must have waited a full thirty seconds before she said, ‘Look, we don’t actually mind “No comment”. It means we can all get on. It saves time? No…?’

  She looked at her watch. This was the first time Waters had noticed that she wore some sort of complicated thing with lots of dials. It was a man’s watch, too bulky for her thin wrist.