The Dentist, page 24
‘Thank you for the report, George. It was most comprehensive,’ said the Chief as Cross settled into his seat across the desk.
‘Yes, it was,’ replied Cross.
The Super, Ellis, closed his eyes, out of embarrassment.
‘How would you like to proceed?’ the Chief asked.
‘I think there are several ways of going about this.’ said the Super jumping in.
‘George?’ said the Chief ignoring him.
‘At this point, I’m not entirely sure. Obviously I need to interview MacDonald and Clay again. In more detail. The question is, in which order,’ said Cross.
‘Indeed. What does your gut tell you?’ asked the Chief.
‘My gut doesn’t tell me anything,’ Cross replied.
The Super interjected again, ‘George tends not to work on gut feelings, sir. He prefers logical analysis of what he has in front of him.’
‘I see. I myself have always found them a useful tool,’ said the Chief.
‘I’m sure I’d work on them if I had them. It’s just that I don’t. I don’t have instincts or feelings about a case. In fact it would be fair to say that I don’t have them outside of work in the normal course of my life, if that helps. I work on logic, patterns, indicators, relevant factors and gaps that indicate a break in that logic or patterns,’ said Cross.
‘I remember now. Of course,’ said Pringle, smiling. ‘So tell me what course of action you would find most useful at this point in the investigation.’
‘The two omissions. First MacDonald failing to tell me that Leonard had visited him recently. It would seem he was the only one who knew Leonard before his disappearance, who knew he was back in Bristol. Secondly, Clay’s failure to tell us the true nature of his relationship with MacDonald. Why?’
‘It goes without saying that this needs to be handled with the utmost discretion,’ said the Chief.
‘Of course,’ replied the Super. Cross didn’t see the need to make any comment as no question had actually been asked.
‘From reading your commendably detailed report, it does seem that there were some extremely strange and, it has to be said, obstructive, decisions made by MacDonald during the original investigation.’ He turned to Ellis, ‘Whatever happens, I want a full departmental inquiry into the conduct of this case. It’s alarming that it wasn’t questioned at the time.’
‘Concern was raised at the time,’ said the Super quickly.
‘To the very SIO who was responsible for those actions, and therefore able to head off any such questions at source,’ the Chief pointed out.
‘Yes sir,’ the Super acknowledged.
‘George, I want the Deputy Chief copied in on everything from now on,’ said the Chief.
Ellis fidgeted in his seat, distinctly embarrassed that his being kept in the loop wasn’t seen as enough by the Chief.
‘If you need anything from this office, just make the call and I’ll help in any way I can.’
Cross said nothing.
‘What’s the connection is what’s eluding me,’ the Chief continued.
Again Cross didn’t help out.
‘There’s one question you didn’t appear to have asked MacDonald – if he believed the Polish builder to be guilty, why didn’t he charge him?’ Pringle asked.
‘It wouldn’t’ve stood up in court, and anyway, the confession had served its purpose. It gave MacDonald the perfect excuse to ease off the investigation and, in the end, close it down,’ Cross said.
‘There’s always the possibility, of course, that he knew the Pole hadn’t done it…’ said the Chief.
‘Because he knew who did,’ Cross replied.
‘Exactly.’
As they got up to leave, Pringle asked Ellis to wait behind for a moment.
‘Cross doesn’t do any media does he?’ asked the Chief.
‘God no.’
‘Good, just checking.’
Chapter 38
‘You need to release him,’ said Cross.
‘The CPS feel they have a case, George,’ Carson replied.
‘It wasn’t Badger,’ said Cross, emphatically.
‘The evidence would suggest you’re wrong,’ but Carson already knew that this wasn’t an argument he was going to win, and possibly the best plan here was to concede he’d been wrong. They shouldn’t have charged Badger, and Ottey had pushed him into it. He wouldn’t be taking any blame for this one. He never did. That was his skill.
‘Would it be easier if I approached the Chief on this?’ A simple question from Cross, not a threat, just his realisation that this might be the quickest way to get a result.
‘Alright. Alright,’ Cross had noticed that Carson had a habit of saying this when he knew that he was in the wrong, was about to do something about it, albeit usually reluctantly, and saw no need for any further discussion. ‘I’ll tell the CPS there have been new developments,’ Carson said.
‘We should also get social services involved. He’s a veteran. He needs help to prevent him ending up back on the streets.’
‘Anything else?’ Carson asked, irked.
Cross considered the question seriously for a moment. Then,
‘No, that’s all,’ and he left Carson’s office.
The approval and interest of the Chief was undoubtedly welcome for the latitude it afforded Cross, but it came with its own unique set of problems. Suddenly everyone was interested in and had an opinion about the case. All those ranked immediately above Cross suddenly felt the need for the case – or cases, as they now acknowledged – to be concluded as soon as possible. Arbitrary deadlines appeared out of nowhere, having been imposed without consultation with him. They felt the need to be seen by those above them - the Chief in particular, now this was within his orbit - as being efficient and doing their jobs well. Their interest, though, inevitably made things more difficult and time-consuming for Cross, as he was constantly required to keep them “up to speed.” So their frustration with what they saw as his doing nothing the following day – he was sitting in his office thinking – increased exponentially.
He called Ottey in. Mackenzie followed, thinking that she was now part of the inner circle on this case. She was wrong.
‘You are not required, Mackenzie,’ said Cross.
And with that the door was closed and all she could do was return to her desk hoping that no-one else had borne witness to this latest humiliation. She watched Ottey and Cross through the glass and wondered what they were discussing. She was disappointed, as she felt she had made several useful contributions to the case and was surely part of the team.
Ottey knew better than to criticize Cross for his abrupt dismissal of Alice, as she instinctively knew what he wanted. While he was vehemently opposed to supposition and conjecture in any investigation, he often got to a point where he wanted to know what she was thinking. It helped him piece together as yet unconnected strands. He was also aware of the fact that she had a set of social skills, emotional reactions, and made empathetic observations that he was incapable of, but whose value he had come to appreciate over time. This was one of those times where he wanted to know what she felt as well as thought – unfounded suspicions, instincts and gut feelings included.
‘It feels like a straight up cover-up by a policeman for a kid he fostered who he has strong paternal feelings for,’ she said.
‘But Clay wasn’t ever a person of interest,’ replied Cross.
‘Because he headed it off at the pass.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The car. MacDonald had to know that Clay was driving the car that day, and it was the only thing that could link him to the murder. So he made sure it was dismissed as irrelevant. That way, they never came anywhere near Clay as a person of interest.’
‘But why would MacDonald do that? If he really knew Clay had killed Hilary why would he cover it up? Do you think there was more to their relationship?’ Cross asked.
‘You mean sexual?’ said Ottey.
‘Maybe.’
‘But he was so young. You’re talking abuse.’
‘Yes, it would be.’
He waited to see what Ottey made of this.
‘So he abuses the child. Child grows up, commits a crime and blackmails the abuser…?’ she hypothesised.
Cross said nothing. He hated these kinds of theoretical, conjectured conversations but knew they could be useful – up to a point.
‘There wasn’t a whiff of that kind of thing around MacDonald in the force, and there would be – rumour, gossip,’ she said.
‘Hundreds of kids went through that house. It would give a predator ample opportunity,’ Cross said.
‘I don’t believe the wife would have tolerated that. Do you?’
‘I have no idea. All I know is that something compelled MacDonald to act uncharacteristically during that investigation.’
‘But child abuse?’
‘It might be something to use in the interview. See how he reacts?’ he asked.
‘That’s what I hate about this job. It makes us go to such dark fucking places in our heads. It can’t be healthy,’ she said.
‘So to sum up?’ he asked.
‘We have a red car speeding off suspiciously from the vicinity of the murder, with trade plates, that was damaged. A red Jaguar XJR. We have Clay in possession of a red Jag at that time, but no evidence of there being any damage done to it. We have a suspiciously inept investigation led by MacDonald, the foster-father of Clay, who dismissed the red car out of hand. Clay described the man who practically brought him up and, according to the wife, he regularly visits, as a ‘good customer.’ We have Leonard, obsessed by his wife’s murder, losing the plot, disappearing for a decade, then coming back to Bristol, living on the streets and being murdered. He’d bombarded the investigation with calls, letters and emails that homed in on MacDonald. MacDonald neglected to tell us that he’d had a couple of argumentative visits from Leonard shortly before he was killed. Leonard’s family is divided, and declared his death as soon as they could, with Alan driving the business into the ground. Would Leonard’s return jeopardise that? Yes, probably. But they didn’t know he was back. Unless Alan was lying, of course. Have I left anything out?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he stated, blankly.
‘I actually don’t know why I even bothered to ask.’
‘The missing accident report. MacDonald requisitioned it just weeks before Hilary’s murder,’ said Cross.
‘We think he asked for it.’
‘Wilson is convinced, and I have no reason to doubt him, having looked at his file.’
‘You looked at his file? Why?’ asked Ottey.
‘To come to a conclusion about his reliability.’
‘Okay… so why would MacDonald ask for the report?’
He thought about this for a moment. His face never gave anything away at times like this. No frown as he thought of something that didn’t make sense, no raised eyebrows as something he hadn’t thought of before, suddenly occurred to him. He was completely expressionless. He got up, walked across to the ancient grey metal filing cabinet in the corner and took out a file. Raymond had once eyed it covetously, and said if ever they were having an office clear-out he could give it a good home. Cross often wondered what it was about his father that drew him to the most unattractive, albeit practical, object in any room he walked into. Was this the pathology of the committed hoarder?
He flicked through the file until he came to a blank sheet of A4 with Malcolm Clay’s business card attached to the top with a paper clip. He removed it from the page and examined the list of charities he was involved with, laid out on the back. He then turned to his computer and started googling a couple of them. Ottey had been waiting patiently for him to say something. She now got up, walked round and stood behind him to see what he was up to. Normally he didn’t like this, but she thought that he was looking at the search results on the screen with such fierce concentration that he might not notice. She also knew that this would annoy him less than interrupting his chain of thought by asking him a question.
He was looking at the home page of a national charity that Clay was a trustee of. This particular charity raised money for the provision of prosthetic blades for children who had lost one or both legs.
‘What are you thinking?’ Ottey asked.
‘Hilary Carpenter’s accident. The parents were both killed but there was a boy. His legs were badly injured, one of them practically severed,’ Cross said.
Ottey made a mental calculation. ‘The timing’s about right,’ she said. Cross then came across a picture in the site’s media archives of Clay with a small girl of around seven with two prosthetic blades. She was wearing a ballet outfit. The two of them were smiling. Clay had his arm round the child’s shoulders and was dressed in a smart pinstripe suit and tie. But it was what he’d done with one of his trouser legs that had caught Cross’ attention. He had pulled it up to reveal that he too had a prosthetic leg, a blade, fitted into his expensive Oxford Brogue.
‘Fuck me,’ said Ottey.
‘Clay was the boy,’ Cross said quietly.
Chapter 39
As they drove to Clay Motors, Cross reflected on how cases sometimes just came together so quickly after often long periods of just not being able to see it. They’d had all the elements needed to solve the case right in front of them. The answer had, in some ways, been staring them in the face. The accident report had been the connection, they just hadn’t seen it. That being said, the evidence might point to Clay, but he wasn’t sure they had a case that would stand up in court. He’d have to see what came up in the interview. He looked forward to moments like this. It was like a vindication of what he had chosen to do with his life.
Cross’ choice of the police as a career wasn’t initially made with any ‘conviction’ Raymond was fond of saying. It was a decision he hadn’t made alone of course. Raymond was involved, as many parents are with such an important decision. Cross had decided not to go to university, much to his father’s disappointment. Raymond understood it, but couldn’t agree with it. It was just something he had to go along with. He had spent the boy’s entire life trying to ensure his happiness - which was an all-consuming challenge with this particular young man – and he certainly wasn’t going to jeopardise that by making him do something he had no appetite for. Cross never admitted it and would certainly never have let on to his father, but one of his main reasons for not wanting to go to university (or “uni” as younger people insisted on referring to it, much to his annoyance) was that he didn’t want to leave home. He still lived with his father, which suited him. He had no idea how he would adjust to more demanding social situations like living in a students’ residence or, even worse, sharing a flat with several others. He was quite awkward around women, and he knew this. It wasn’t so much to do with his condition – they weren’t even aware he had a ‘condition’ at the time – as the fact that, ever since his mother had left, there hadn’t really been any women in his life.
He and Raymond, well, his father mostly, had narrowed the field down to the traditional choices of Church, the services or banking. The Church was out, obviously, as Cross had no faith. None of the services would really have suited his particular mindset, although the requirement to keep his uniform and sleeping quarters regimentally clean, spotless and fantastically organised, held a certain appeal for him. The bank was an obvious fit as he was good with numbers, but it didn’t really hold much appeal for him. This was, in part, to do with an odd attitude to money. He didn’t like it much and disapproved of its accumulation for accumulation’s sake. He wasn’t of a mind to look after others’ wealth. They hadn’t even discussed the police.
Then one evening, they were watching the local news and Cross suddenly came out with a detailed analysis of an ongoing police murder investigation and the course of action it would be more sensible for them to follow. Raymond thought about this for a moment, and how his son had always been a keen puzzle-solver of any kind, always been obsessed with detail and things always being accurate – much to the annoyance of others – and would be a good fit. He had also shown no interest in Raymond’s almost encyclopaedic knowledge of twentieth-century detective fiction, both British and American. (He could’ve done well on Mastermind with this as his specialist subject, he was fond of telling people). Because he only ever managed to get through two-thirds of any crime thriller before he put it down, having invariably figured out who the culprit was and why. Often together with many flaws in the plotting he’d discovered, that tore the logic of the conclusion to pieces. He therefore lost interest well before the end.
Raymond had become well aware of George’s behavioural oddities and eccentricities over the years and understood them to an extent. In fact, many modern experts may well have looked at Raymond himself, his hoarding, his obsessions and come to the conclusion that he exhibited some signs of Asperger’s himself. He could see that some of George’s social inabilities, his social inelegance, lack of empathy together with his capacity for observation and the processing of large amounts of information at any given time, might well be extremely useful qualities for a policeman. Even if, or maybe because, they were wildly unorthodox. He had the capacity to look well outside the box.
So it was the police. Cross was just pleased that a decision had been made. That the discussion about his reluctance to go to university could be put to one side, and that his father seemed happy. He subsequently joined up, not though any sense of vocation or the desire to serve the public good. He just joined. The sense of providing justice for victims and their families; the satisfaction of making sense of the senseless, finding the logic in the illogical and the pleasure therein, would all come later.
Clay was a picture of self-assurance when they arrested him at his car salesroom. Cross wondered whether this was because he’d got away with it before and was confident he would do so again, or whether it was just the well-rehearsed confident persona of someone who was used to lying on a daily basis as he sold cars to his customers.
