The Watcher

by Kate Medina

  Marilyn raised an eyebrow. ‘Should you be under arrest, Mr Lewin?’ he said, in response to Lewin’s question.

  Lewin shook his head jerkily. The movement reminded Jessie of Callan, of the unconscious movement he made when he thought of Iraq, of the piece of shrapnel lodged inside his brain. What was inside Lewin’s? No physical foreign body, surely? A psychological one then? An uncomfortable truth? Or a pack of lies and deceit?

  ‘No, of course I shouldn’t be under arrest.’ His tone unnecessarily aggressive. ‘Have you found my son?’

  Jessie sensed Marilyn pause for a fraction of a second. It didn’t come naturally to a policeman to lie. She held her breath.

  ‘Leo was found safe and well half an hour ago,’ Marilyn said.

  Fuck. She resisted the urge to whip her head around, give Marilyn an evil stare for blowing a core part of their agreed strategy out of the water within the first minute. In her opinion, he had just made their job significantly harder, pulled the rug from under the one advantage that they had – unless Lewin already knew that Leo would be found safe, because he’d left his son at Paws for Thought in the first place.

  Lewin froze for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on Marilyn’s, and then his head fell to his hands. Jessie and Marilyn sat in silence, watching his shoulders shake. After a minute or so, he straightened and massaged the heels of his hands into his eyes.

  ‘I need to see Leo.’

  ‘He’s been taken to St Richard’s Hospital in Chichester for a check-up. He is being looked after by specially trained family liaison officers and he’s fine.’

  Lewin rocketed from his chair. ‘I need to see him now.’

  ‘Sit down please, Mr Lewin.’

  ‘I want to see my son.’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Lewin.’ No ‘please’ this time.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, I’m the victim here and I want to see my son now.’

  Marilyn stayed sitting, though Jessie could tell he was fighting the urge not to rocket from his chair as well. ‘Your wife is the victim, Mr Lewin,’ he snapped. ‘Not you. Now sit down now. I won’t ask you again.’

  Simon Lewin remained standing, glaring contemptuously at Marilyn. The tension in the room was palpable, two stags squaring off for a fight, the reason not a female, but a child. Or more accurately, dominance, always the reason for males’ rutting fights.

  ‘This had better be quick,’ Lewin said, sitting finally. The sentence a consolation prize to salvage his ego, Jessie recognized.

  ‘It will take as long as it takes,’ Marilyn replied, not giving Lewin’s ego an inch.

  Jessie glanced quickly across. Marilyn’s thin face was set into an intractable rectangle. He wasn’t treating Lewin as the innocent husband of a murdered woman, the frightened father of a recently missing child, despite refusing to lie about Leo being found.

  ‘Firstly, I’m sorry for your loss,’ Marilyn said, resetting the tone of the discussion.

  Lewin gave a curt nod in response.

  ‘But before I let you visit your son, I need to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘I don’t know who killed my wife.’

  Marilyn raised a hand.

  ‘I was on a business trip to Wiltshire,’ Lewin continued. ‘I left home at five a.m. on Tuesday morning and returned last night, as you know.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a travel agent. I was checking out some new hotels to list. We’re trying hard to promote UK tourism.’

  ‘We’ll need the names and contact details of everyone you met with.’

  Lewin’s eyes widened. ‘Why do you need those details?’

  ‘It’s purely routine.’

  Frowning, he shook his head. ‘Routine isn’t good enough. They’re business contacts. I don’t want the police calling them. It wouldn’t look right.’

  Marilyn eyeballed Lewin across the table. ‘Your wife has been murdered and your son kidnapped, thankfully now returned safe, Mr Lewin. I’m sure that your clients would feel nothing but sympathy for you. My detective constable, Darren Cara, will sit down with you once this meeting is over and get a list of names and contact details.’

  The frown lines between Lewin’s eyes deepened. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with the police calling our clients. They won’t be able to tell you anything that I can’t. I’m an employee, for God’s sake, not the business owner. I can’t be made responsible for any damage to my employer’s business that your … your … your …’

  Jessie tensed in fascinated horror, expecting Lewin to spit out the word plods. Or worse, pigs … filth, even.

  ‘Staff,’ he spluttered eventually, ‘might cause by poorly handled interviews.’

  ‘My staff are exceptionally well trained and I can assure you that they will be sensitive,’ Marilyn replied, entirely unruffled. ‘The matter is not up for discussion.’ He looked pointedly down at the black notebook open on the table in front of him, cutting eye contact.

  Throughout his discussion with Marilyn, Lewin’s hands had been knotted together, as if he needed to tie them down to stop his agitation – his agitation and his lies – from transferring themselves into body language tics. Jessie resisted the urge to broadcast her conclusion. Marilyn had many years’ experience in interviewing suspects and she had none, zip, zilch. But what she did have was experience of counselling disturbed patients, the depressed, pathological liars, sociopaths, psychopaths, and from that experience a keen sense of people. She mentally bagged the information to divulge to Marilyn later.

  ‘You finished your last meeting at what time?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘Seven-thirty p.m. or thereabouts. It was over drinks in a pub.’ A pause, before he quickly added, ‘I only had a small glass of red.’

  ‘And you then drove home?’

  ‘I sat in my car in the pub car park and ate a sandwich I’d bought earlier in the day and then I drove home.’

  Marilyn nodded. ‘And you left the car park at what time?’

  ‘Shortly after eight.’

  ‘Did anyone see you sitting in your car?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Unsurprisingly,’ Marilyn muttered. ‘What was the name of the pub?’

  ‘The, uh, the Fox … something with foxes.’ Lewin paused. ‘The Fox Goes Free – that was it.’

  ‘Where in Wiltshire were you?’

  ‘All over.’

  ‘Where was your last meeting? Where is the Fox Goes Free?’

  ‘Chippenham.’

  ‘So you took the M4, A34, M3, M27 back to Chichester?’

  Lewin’s eyes widened.

  ‘My sister lives in Calne,’ Marilyn said, by way of explanation.

  Though Jessie knew that Marilyn had once been married, had two children, she struggled to envisage him as anything beyond the stereotypical maverick policeman, the self-contained loner. She couldn’t imagine a sister, a female Marilyn. The mind boggled.

  ‘No, I didn’t take that route.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the obvious one. The only one that makes sense, I’d venture to say.’

  Lewin shrugged. ‘I drove across country.’

  Marilyn raised an eyebrow. ‘It gets dark at five p.m., so it couldn’t have been for the views.’

  ‘I drove there via the A34 and M4 on Tuesday morning. There are roadworks on the A34 and what should have been a two-and-a-half hour journey took me four and a half. My satnav said that the A34 was clogged on the way back, and I didn’t fancy spending the evening stuck in traffic.’

  Marilyn nodded. He wasn’t giving much away in terms of words, expression or tone of voice. But neither now was Lewin, who appeared to have settled into his narrative. Poker faces all round.

  ‘Mr Lewin, you telephoned 999 from your mobile at eleven thirty-four p.m. last night. Where were you when you made that call?’

  Lewin’s gaze broke from Marilyn’s and moved upwards, to survey the right-hand corner of the room. Jessie’s gaze followed and alighted on a fat black spider motionless in the
centre of a gossamer web that laced the corner. A fly was struggling in its silken threads. Many psychologists would conclude, from that eye movement, that Lewin was lying – when she was younger, less experienced, Jessie would have done the same. But she’d spent much of the time during the months since she was invalided from the army reading, learning, and eyes moving upwards and to the right as an indication of lying was old hat. Lying was more in the voice – tone, minute hesitations – in hand movements – exuberant – in body language – over-animation. Now Lewin was just visualizing where he had been when he’d made the 999 call and she’d bet good money that he was going to tell the truth.

  ‘Near East Meon. I filled my car up at a petrol station and then pulled across the road to call Denise, tell her that I’d be home in half an hour. I phoned twice, let the phone ring and ring both times, but she didn’t answer. I knew that she and Leo were home, so I panicked and called 999. I was tired, overwrought. I’d had a very long day.’

  ‘It is tiring driving across country,’ Marilyn agreed, a facetious tone in his voice. ‘To avoid traffic.’

  The frown lines between Lewin’s eyes contracted minutely; he had picked up on Marilyn’s tone, was making a conscious effort not to respond negatively to it in body language.

  ‘Yes, driving at night is tiring,’ he said, his voice measured.

  ‘What car do you drive, Mr Lewin?’

  ‘An Audi A3.’

  ‘Saloon or hatchback?’

  ‘Hatchback.’

  ‘In …?’ Marilyn let the question hang.

  ‘In, uh … oh, right, sorry, I didn’t quite get what you were asking. It’s “Cosmos Blue”,’ Lewin responded, chancing a brief, chummy smile.

  ‘And what shade of blue is Cosmos?’

  ‘Dark blue, metallic.’

  ‘What’s the registration number?’

  ‘MK 16 UWA.’

  Marilyn scribbled the registration number in his notebook, looked back up. ‘You told the operator that you feared for your wife and son’s lives and that you wanted police to go to your house urgently to check on them.’

  ‘The woman … the operator, wouldn’t believe me. She thought it was a hoax call.’

  ‘But you insisted,’ Marilyn recapped. ‘You told her that you had called your wife twice and that she hadn’t answered, despite the fact that she was definitely at home and always answered the phone. You told her that you were worried that someone might have broken in and harmed them.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The operator asked you why you thought your wife and son’s lives might be in danger, didn’t she?’

  Lewin nodded.

  ‘What did you say in response?’

  ‘I said that my wife had been receiving death threats from an ex-boyfriend.’ Lewin unlocked and spread his hands in a ‘can you believe that?’ gesture. ‘The boyfriend used to beat her up when they were together. She left him and he never forgave her.’

  ‘Is that true? The death threats?’ Marilyn asked.

  No, it’s a lie – those hands.

  Lewin nodded. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘OK,’ Marilyn said, making a deliberately unhurried note in his black book. ‘What is the name of your wife’s ex-boyfriend?’

  Lewin shrugged and spread his hands again.

  ‘Mark, Martin, something like that. I’m not great with names and Denise didn’t like to talk about him. He terrified her and she’d moved on.’

  ‘But he hadn’t?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘Evidently not.’

  Jessie leant forward. ‘Why did you leave your wife at home alone if you were worried about a dangerous ex-boyfriend?’

  Lewin’s eyes bored into hers, challenge in his gaze. Challenge and overconfidence. He clearly felt his narrative was a winner. Perhaps he was right. She wanted to hear his story play out; maybe he had a smart move palmed in those recently animated hands of his.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lewin asked.

  ‘I’m a psychologist working with the police.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Something else flickering in his eyes now. Apprehension? Fear? ‘I’m not going to speak to a bloody psychologist.’

  ‘Dr Flynn is employed by Surrey and Sussex Major Crimes,’ Marilyn said.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t agree to speak to a bloody psychologist.’

  ‘Dr Flynn is here to help us find your wife’s killer, Mr Lewin. She is here to help you, not to catch you out. I’m very surprised that you don’t want to speak with her. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.’

  Lewin’s gaze met Jessie’s again, held it, but the overconfidence was gone. ‘I have nothing to hide,’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear that, Mr Lewin. Please answer Dr Flynn’s question.’

  ‘I have a job, Dr Flynn. I need to earn money. I had to go. And I didn’t think … didn’t think he’d …’ His voice wavered. A swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, bobbing and sticking. ‘I didn’t think he’d kill her.’

  ‘Did your wife ever report her ex-boyfriend to the police?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the police have a terrible record when it comes to protecting women from domestic violence and she felt that reporting him would aggravate him and she’d be more at risk.’

  ‘How about her medical records?’ Jessie asked. ‘Did she go to her GP or to the hospital with injuries?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not that either.’

  ‘Why?’ Jessie pressed.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did she never go to hospital? If her ex-boyfriend is violent enough to have killed her, he surely must have given her some very serious injuries when they were together.’

  Lewin nodded. ‘She was frightened when she lived with him. Too frightened to go. And he never broke anything, she told me. Well, just her nose and doctors can’t do anything about noses, can they? He was careful not to break any other bones, specifically because he didn’t want her to go to hospital.’

  ‘How long have you been married, Mr Lewin?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘Nearly five years.’

  ‘And how long did you date before you got married?’

  ‘Two and a half years.’

  ‘So why now?’ Jessie asked, anticipating Marilyn’s next question.

  They were making a good tag-team, and both of them randomly firing questions was forcing Lewin to look constantly from one to the other, unsettling him.

  ‘Why now what?’

  ‘Why did her ex-boyfriend start threatening her now?’ Marilyn said.

  ‘I don’t know … maybe, he, uh … Oh yeah, she said that he had just broken up with his latest girlfriend, wanted to get back with Denise. He really loved Denise.’ His gaze locked with Jessie’s and she felt the pulsing resentment, that undercurrent of aggression. ‘Despite what he did to her,’ he finished.

  Jessie nodded. ‘Many abusive men are violent because they love, or believe that they love their partner beyond anything and can’t bear to lose them. Violence is a way of controlling their partners, ensuring that they are too frightened to leave.’ She smiled collegially, playing the psychology. ‘It’s very typical, that intense, undying love.’

  Lewin clearly hadn’t expected her validation: he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, destabilized by the change in her.

  ‘What is her ex-boyfriend’s name?’ Marilyn asked.

  ‘I, uh, I already said.’

  ‘Remind me,’ Marilyn pressed.

  ‘Martin.’

  ‘Definitely Martin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And his surname?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘And when the threats started?’

  ‘Even then, she wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jessie prompted.

  ‘Because she knows that I can get angry. She didn’t want any conflict, didn’t want him getting hurt.’

  �
�Or you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or you,’ Jessie repeated, with another smile. ‘Getting hurt. I can understand that. She clearly loves you and was very happy in your marriage.’

  Lewin nodded. ‘Yes, she was happy. I made her happy.’

  ‘Great,’ Jessie said. ‘That’s great. It’s lovely that she found happiness after being in such an abusive relationship.’

  The overconfident light was back in Lewin’s eyes. He was lying through his teeth, though Jessie didn’t need to be a psychologist to see that.

  ‘What did you say to the emergency operator after telling her about Denise’s abusive boyfriend?’ Marilyn asked, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers, eyeballing Lewin over their tips.

  ‘I didn’t say anything else. I’d got the message across. She agreed to send a patrol car around to check on Denise and Leo.’

  Marilyn was leading him slowly, playing out lengths of rope. Would Lewin end up hanging himself?

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Lewin leant back in his chair and nodded. Emboldened by Marilyn’s dishevelled appearance, confusing lack of deportment with absence of mental acuity, as many suspects had before him. ‘As I said, it had done the job.’

  ‘Shall we listen to the call?’

  Though Lewin’s eyes remained on Marilyn’s, his expression intractable, Jessie noticed his jaw tighten.

  ‘We tape all 999 calls.’ Marilyn smiled. So that we can cover our arses in case of complaints. He didn’t say it. ‘In case we need to use them in court.’

  ‘I know that you do.’ An edge now to Lewin’s voice. ‘But we don’t need to listen to the call. I made it. I remember what I said and I’ve just told you what I said. Why is it important, anyway? I was driving back from Wiltshire while some psycho was murdering my wife and you’re wasting your bloody time listening to me speak, when you should be out there looking for him and I should be seeing my son.’

  ‘We’ll need to establish that.’

  Lewin frowned irritably. ‘Establish what?’

  ‘That you were driving back from Wiltshire when you said you were.’

  Lewin shot to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor again. ‘What the fuck? How dare you—’