CODE TO MURDER, page 13
And what about Williams anyway? thought Ben. Is he really as good with software as he thinks he is? Can anyone be as good as he thinks he is?
Ben smiled to himself.
They had been assuming he wasn’t. But what if he was? Pettigrew brought him in and they knew that had irked Anderson. Was Anderson struggling for once and saw Williams as a threat to him? Is that why he gave him such a poor performance appraisal? And it was really, really bad. Almost too bad. Was Anderson struggling and he was lashing out? Have they got it the wrong way around?
Either way, it was still Anderson who was killed. But what was the killer still looking for? Why did someone break into Anderson’s house? Is there something that will incriminate them and they are scared it’ll be found? Or was the break-in another red herring; purely random?
So many unanswered questions.
The frustration was building inside of Ben. This was exacerbated as a dog appeared out of the trees and started barking at him, its owner trailing behind and shouting at the dog.
“You should have him on a lead,” said Ben
“Yes, sorry, mate,” the young man replied as he chastised the dog and attached the lead to its collar.
Ben marched on. He was soon at the far end of the dam and crossed over the small wooden bridge taking him up to the left and along a narrow path, past a house on the right hand side. It was an unusual place to have a house, albeit great for walks.
He passed along the length of the dam at the far side before turning left back into the woodlands to head towards the start again.
His mind started wandering back to the case.
What if there is something more to this case we aren’t seeing yet?
Believing in coincidences is not usually a good thing for detectives. If the break-in was because somebody was looking for something Anderson had, was that why he was murdered in the first place? Did they find it wasn’t there after they murdered him so looked at his home for it? What was it?
Was it about the laptops? They knew one was taken, but where was the second one? Why was Anderson so secretive about the AI development? Was there something he was hiding? Was there missing code? Or was Williams just not as good as he thought?
Ben marched on and came back around to the side of the dam where his car was parked. It was still light so he decided to take a seat on one of the benches looking out across the dam.
I can see all the way to the end of the dam from here, he thought. If only I could do that with this case.
Going out for a walk in the fresh air always seemed to help him. It allowed him to consider things from a different perspective. It often resulted in lots more questions, but this helped to move things forward and get to the truth.
The mind of a detective works in strange ways, he thought. Maybe there will be AI for detectives one day, and it will get us to the truth much more quickly!
As he sat on the bench looking straight ahead, he knew there was another question that was bothering him, but he was trying hard not to think about it.
The telephone call he’d got as he’d arrived home was from Forth Valley Royal Hospital, telling him they’d had a cancellation and inviting him for a scan that coming Wednesday.
Why so quick? he thought. I only saw the doctor a couple of days ago. You don’t usually get scans that quickly unless it’s urgent, do you?
But it was a cancellation, he told himself. Just a coincidence. Then he reminded himself that detectives don’t believe in coincidences.
He was also trying not to think about what was going to be happening the following day – anytime he did, it filled him with dread. The Cameron case had been on his mind for months, casting a dark shadow on everything else. A sense of guilt about it had been dragging him down. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault. But the guilt was still there, and it was eating him up.
CHAPTER 32
Ben sat in the witness box, dressed in his best suit and tie. The public seating area was full and there was an expectant hum. He looked over at the family’s well-known and high-profile solicitor, who stood like a predator on the prowl, and in Ben’s mind had his sights well and truly locked on him.
Ben had been dreading this day. Court appearances didn’t usually bother him, but this was different. It had been in the diary for months. He’d thought about it before he went on holiday. He’d thought about it during his holiday. He’d thought about it since starting the Anderson case, along with everything else he had been dealing with. Now it was finally time: the inquest, or fatal accident inquiry, as it was known in Scotland. It wasn’t automatic after every suicide, but the nature of the note that the deceased had left meant the authorities deemed it necessary because of potentially serious public concern.
“Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector Fitzpatrick. I am Jonathan Bartholomew and I represent the family of Robert Cameron. I understand it was you who found Mr Cameron that day – can you tell us about that, please?”
Ben cleared his throat, then took a sip of water.
“I had gone to the house of Mr Cameron to ask him some questions about the death of his wife. I had spoken to Mr Cameron earlier in the day and agreed a time to meet him. When I arrived, the front door of the house was open. I knocked and shouted and went inside, but there wasn’t anyone downstairs. I shouted again and went upstairs. I knocked and opened the door of the main bedroom and there he was – hanging by his neck from a beam across the pitched roof space.”
“That must have been a terrible sight for you.”
“It was.”
“What did you do next?”
“I pulled a chair over and put it underneath him to take his weight, and cut the electrical wire he had round his neck, which was attached to the beam. I then phoned a colleague, who arranged for an ambulance and the appropriate police teams to attend.”
“But there was nothing the ambulance services could do? He was already dead?”
“That is correct. I knew he was as soon as I got him down.”
“I understand, Detective Chief Inspector, that you subsequently found a note written by Mr Cameron.”
“I did. It was on the dressing table in the bedroom.”
“My colleague will pass you the note. Can you please confirm that is the note you found, and can you please read it out loud?”
“It is the note, and it reads . . .”
Ben hesitated.
“Please read it out, Chief Inspector.”
‘‘‘I can no longer go on with my life. It was bad enough losing my wife in such horrific circumstances. I have tried so hard to keep things together and look after my two young children, but I am being constantly hounded by Chief Inspector Ben Fitzpatrick, who thinks I killed Janine, and who, come what may, will find a way of charging me with her murder.
The pressure is too much for me to cope with. My children have lost their dear mother and for them to think it was their father who killed her is not something any child should have to bear. I loved Janine. I ask my dear parents to look after Harry and Carly, and to forgive me for what I am about to do.’ It’s signed Robert Cameron.”
“A harrowing note, is it not, DCI Fitzpatrick?”
“It is, yes,” said Ben, quietly.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that, Chief Inspector. Can you speak a bit louder, please?”
“I said it is, yes.”
“For the benefit of everyone here, can you please tell us what happened to Janine Cameron?”
“Five weeks prior to Mr Cameron taking his life, we were called to attend the home of Mr and Mrs Cameron at seven-thirty in the evening.”
“Who called you?” asked the solicitor.
“Mr Cameron called us and indicated he had come home and found his wife dead in the living room. She had been stabbed multiple times.”
“And where were the children, Harry and Carly, at this time?”
“They were upstairs in bed sleeping during it all.”
“A terrible thing for any family to suffer, DCI Fitzpatrick, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Yet, according to Mr Cameron’s note, you hounded him and were intent on charging him with the murder of his wife, ‘come what may’. Is that so, DCI Fitzpatrick?”
“I did not hound him,” said Ben, nervously, anticipating what was coming.
“As I understand it, you were the senior investigating officer on the case, and records show in the five weeks leading up to Mr Cameron’s death, you and your investigating team went to see him thirteen times. That morning would have been the fourteenth. What do you call it if it is not hounding?”
“I call it conducting a thorough investigation into the death of a young woman who was brutally stabbed in her own home. That is what I am obliged to do and that is what Janine Cameron deserved. It is not a numbers game. Some of those meetings you refer to would have been formal meetings, like identifying the body. We go where the evidence takes us and ask questions as new evidence arises. We don’t stop to think about how many times we have spoken to a person before,” replied Ben, firmly.
“I have never ever come across an instance where a suicide victim leaves a note and blames an investigating police officer for their death. Have you, DCI Fitzpatrick?”
Ben knew the solicitor was being deliberately provocative, so felt he needed to make his position clear.
“No, I haven’t, but what I would say, Mr Bartholomew, is that nowhere in the note does Mr Cameron say he didn’t kill his wife. He only said he didn’t want his children ever thinking he did.”
A collective intake of breath seemed to suck the air out of the courtroom, followed by shocked murmurings.
“I am sorry, DCI Fitzpatrick, but did I hear you right? Despite all that has happened, do you have the audacity to still suggest Mr Cameron killed his own wife?”
“I am under oath, Mr Bartholomew. I am obliged to tell the truth. Or would you prefer I lied to this inquiry?”
“Of course you are obliged to tell the truth, DCI Fitzpatrick, but given the circumstances and the purpose of this inquiry I would have thought a bit of empathy and sensitivity to the family would be in order.”
“How dare you! I was the first officer on the scene when Mrs Cameron was stabbed and also when Mr Cameron committed suicide. Have you ever had to witness such things? I saw the children being carried out of the house by distraught grandparents as their mother lay in the living room. My heart breaks for those children and their family. I have more empathy for them than you could know. As for Mr Cameron, it saddens me that anyone would feel so badly that they would take their own life. I don’t believe I caused Mr Cameron to commit this act, but even the thought that I contributed to it in any way pains me greatly, and I have to live with that every day. That is nothing compared to what those children and grandparents have to live with, Mr Bartholomew, but please don’t tell me I have no empathy for them.”
Ben felt a wave of emotion overcoming him and took another drink of water, trying to compose himself.
He took a deep breath. He felt bad enough about what had happened, but to suggest he didn’t care about the family felt like a dagger into his heart.
“Regardless of how I feel, as a police officer I have a responsibility to get to the truth, and the evidence shows it was Robert Cameron. I wish it didn’t, but it does.”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t you charge him, DCI Fitzpatrick?”
“We had evidence, but more was required to satisfy the requirements of the Procurator Fiscal.”
“As I said, DCI Fitzpatrick, not enough to charge, and yet you see fit to sully the good name of Mr Cameron, a loving father and husband, at this inquiry here today.”
Sheriff Williamson, the judge in charge of the proceedings, intervened, “That’s enough, Mr Bartholomew. Mr Fitzpatrick is not on trial, and as he correctly pointed out he is under oath and obliged to answer any questions you ask him honestly. I would also stress we are not here to apportion blame, we are here to discover all the facts regarding Mr Cameron’s death. Do you have any further questions?”
“I do not,” said Mr Bartholomew, and he took a seat.
“I have one. Can I ask, DCI Fitzpatrick, is the investigation still ongoing?” asked Sheriff Williamson.
“It is, sir, yes.”
“Okay, DCI Fitzpatrick, you may go now.”
Ben walked out of the courtroom, accompanied by jeers and finger-pointing from the Cameron family, who were watching from the gallery.
He went straight out, past the chief superintendent who had been waiting to speak to him, and headed directly to his car.
He had never endured anything like that in his entire career. He was distraught for the children, their mother and their grandparents, and felt a burden of guilt because of what Cameron had written in the note – even though he knew it was unfair. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, covering the tears that started to flow as the emotion he had been suppressing drained from him. The pressure he was under was becoming too much.
CHAPTER 33
Returning to the station, Ben caught up with his team. He had been hoping a good progress report would take his mind off the Cameron case, but, disappointingly, Phil Martin had yet to surface. However, digital forensics had been through Mike Williams’s phone and laptop, and Kevin had noted a pattern of tension building between him and James Anderson. Interestingly, Kevin had found the performance appraisal Anderson had done for Williams six months ago, and it was nothing like the latest one. It was a good appraisal – not great, but good. It highlighted some areas for Williams to work on, but was generally complimentary. That confirmed Ben’s original thinking that, for whatever reason, Anderson had gone over the top in the most recent one. But for what reason?
Kevin had also picked up a clear threat in one email from Williams, that said if Anderson didn’t change the appraisal he’d ‘BE SORRY!’, in capitals, followed by an exclamation mark. Kevin also elaborated on the rising tension between the two men,
“Over the last few months, some of the exchanges are a bit terse, sir. From what I can tell, Williams seems to be on top of and ahead of schedule on all the software development work, and had made a number of requests to get involved with AI. He often sent suggestions, plans and ideas for functionality, and complained he was not getting enough work to do; that Anderson was not using his skills and experience. All he got was Anderson fobbing him off – politely at first, but as time went on, more and more bluntly. Williams also emailed Pettigrew on one occasion to make the same points to him, but Pettigrew’s response to him was off-hand too, telling him it was Anderson’s call and to do as he was told.”
“Just like Williams told us,” said Julie.
Kevin had also found an email from Williams to his ex-wife the weekend before the offsite. She had been chasing him for maintenance and he had responded by saying he was sorry, but that if she could bear with him he would have his financial situation sorted very soon.
Interestingly, the email had been deleted by Williams the day after Anderson’s death – it was only recovered by forensics.
“Okay, Kevin, can you get hold of Williams’s ex-wife and find out if he elaborated on what exactly would be making his financial situation better, and if she knew when?”
Ben had also been thinking about something else he felt merited further investigation. “Let me throw a curveball into the mix,” he said. “Trade-IT has only been going ten years. They’ve gone from three owners to two, to the lot now being owned solely by Richard Pettigrew. Two co-owners under forty killed. One in what was recorded as an accident, and the other in a murder that was made to look like an accident. Maybe coincidence, but you know how much I distrust coincidences. So, Julie, I want you and Emma to get as much information as possible on what happened to Colin Smith, one of the original owners of Trade-IT, who died in a hiking accident. If there was anything remotely suspicious or inconclusive about his death then I want to know. Get hold of the case files, but also speak to the officers who worked on the case – maybe one of them had a niggle about it and was overruled by someone further up the chain. Don’t speak to anyone at Trade-IT or Mrs Anderson about it yet – not until we get an inclination there was something amiss. I don’t want to open old wounds just for the sake of it.”
CHAPTER 34
Just after lunch, Kevin confirmed he had managed to get hold of Mike Williams’s ex-wife.
“After she stopped quizzing me about what Mike might have done, and having a good old moan about him, she was chatty and helpful. She basically said that, when she got the email, she didn’t believe him and so picked up the phone to tell him she had heard it all before, so what was different this time.”
“And was there something different?” asked Ben.
“Well, apparently, he told her everything was going well at work and he expected to get a big promotion with much more money – within the next month.”
“Oh yes,” said Ben. “Nothing we have heard would have implied that. Unless, of course, Williams had prior knowledge that James Anderson’s job would be opening up . . . Let’s go and speak to him again, Julie.”
“Will we still get the cooperative Williams this time, or the one who wants to strangle you again?” pondered Julie.
On the way downstairs, Julie asked Ben, “How was it this morning, Ben?”
“Frankly, it was horrible. I’ll talk to you about it later.”
In the interview room, with Williams’s solicitor again present, Ben started by saying, “We have now been through your computer devices, including emails and messaging apps, and we would like to ask you a few more questions.”
Williams didn’t answer, but sat there expectantly.
