The Dentist, page 26
Cross was indeed weighing up his options. Actually, in truth he was weighing up MacDonald’s rather than his own. He had to know that they were likely to find out the truth of these murders sooner or later. The choice facing him was how helpful he’d be in that process, and what he could possibly gain from it.
‘Mr MacDonald, I’m going to lay out where we are on this side of the table. How it looks from our perspective. I’m not going to keep anything back, I’m going to share it all with you out of respect for you as a former officer. You’re not under caution and I’m not going to ask you for any comment. I’m just going to ask you to reflect. I’m not even going to ask you what you would think of it all if you were sitting where I am. Knowing what we know. I have no interest in that. I just want to give you the chance to consider it and make a decision as to how you want to proceed Are you amenable to that?’ Cross asked
‘And if I wasn’t?’ MacDonald retorted.
‘You are here voluntarily,’ Cross said.
‘In an interview room,’ MacDonald said.
‘Yes indeed, which must tell you something.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘The gravity of the situation. Your presence in an interview room, the Chief Constable’s interest all surely point to the fact that some form of charge might be imminent.’
‘And what exactly am I to be charged with?’
‘That’s for those in a higher position of authority than me to determine.’
There was a long pause. MacDonald hated being in this subservient position to this idiot. What he wouldn’t do just to be able to put him in his place again, just once.
‘What is more, it will depend on what you decide to do once I’ve left this room. You know full well we’ll get to the bottom of this by the time we’re through,’ said Cross.
MacDonald didn’t react. No nod, shake of the head or comment which made Cross think he was already coming to the conclusion that there was no way of getting out of this.
‘Hilary Carpenter’s murder – an inefficient investigation at best, woefully so in fact, or a deliberately obstructed investigation. If the latter, the question is why?’ he asked.
This was the crux of the whole investigation at this point. Cross was convinced that question held the answer to the whole thing. So he just looked at MacDonald, to let him know that.
‘The only possible lead you had was discarded with such alacrity. A red Jaguar that was parked in the same road as the murder had taken place, driven away carelessly enough and with such urgency that it caused damage to another parked car, but didn’t stop. All around the time that the murder was committed, but not adjudged to be worthy of further enquiry.’ Cross went on. Another long look between the men.
‘Malcolm Clay was in possession of a car, a red Jaguar, at the time of the murder. Malcolm Clay, who had been brought up by you and your good wife. He was sacked for having the car without permission, and not turning up to work for three days. Just enough time to have a damaged car repaired, wouldn’t you say?’ he asked.
Again MacDonald said nothing, waiting to find out how much more they know.
‘Is that why you closed down the car line of enquiry?’
‘Is that it?’ MacDonald asked. He laughed.
‘For the moment.’ Interesting, thought Cross. Laughter. Was that relief?
As they walked to Clay’s interview room, Mackenzie appeared and handed Ottey a piece of paper. She’d concluded by now that using Ottey as a conduit rather than dealing with Cross directly was more effective and less intimidating.
‘You asked me to go through MacDonald’s financials at the time of the murder. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for what I’ve highlighted,’ she said.
Ottey looked at it and handed it to Cross who looked at it and placed it carefully into one of his files. This was akin to him saying “Thank you, that’s most useful.” Had it not been, it would’ve been handed back immediately without a word, but with the distinct impression that she was wasting his time. She walked away, smiling. She was learning to take credit in the small things with Cross, which she’d find in time would make dealing with him a lot easier for her.
Malcolm Clay was seated in another interview room. He watched Cross as he organised his files in front of him.
‘OCD?’ Clay asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Cross.
‘You have OCD,’ he said indicating the files which Cross had placed on the table with his usual ritual.
‘No, I don’t,’ Cross replied as a matter of fact, not seeing the need to elaborate upon this rebuttal.
‘You sure?’
‘Mr Clay, where were you on 28th August 2004?’ asked Cross.
‘I have no idea.’ Clay replied.
‘Let’s go back to the month of August 2004. What are your memories of that?’
‘Nothing particular comes to mind. It was a long time ago.’
‘It was, but are you really sure you can’t remember anything? It seems to me to have been quite eventful. You had your twenty-first birthday that month. People tend to remember landmark birthdays like that. Did you have a party?’
‘No, just dinner with my parents.’
‘That sounds nice. So you do remember. How about losing your job?’
‘Ah, was that then? I was a naughty boy, that’s all. Bit of a prat really. Completely got what I deserved. Totally in the wrong,’ Clay said.
‘That’s very candid of you. So why was your employment terminated?’
‘You must know why.’
‘Just answer the question if you would.’
‘I borrowed a car from the showroom without permission.’
‘Did you expect to get away with it? Without any consequences?’
‘If I’d returned it when I planned to, I would’ve.’
‘What happened?’
‘I got carried away.’
‘With what?’
‘The exuberance of youth.’
‘Perhaps you could clarify.’
‘I was trying to impress a young woman. You know what it’s like.’ There was a slight pause. Clay chose to fill it, ‘or maybe you don’t,’ he said, which went completely over Cross’ head. He was too focused on his line of questioning. Clay would gradually learn that this tactic, if indeed that’s what it was, was completely wasted on Cross.
‘Presumably what you’re saying is that you succeeded,’ Cross said.
‘I did.’ He smiled a little too smugly for Ottey’s liking.
‘And this young lady’s name?’ Cross picked up his pen, prepared to note it down. There was no answer. He looked up.
‘That’s none of your business, Detective,’ said Clay.
‘On the contrary, that is very much my business, Mr Clay,’ Cross replied.
‘And why is that?’ Clay asked. At this point his solicitor lent over and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was Clay, appeared to ignore it.
‘You have been arrested on suspicion of murdering Hilary Carpenter on 28th August 2004. If you weren’t in the vicinity of the crime or indeed in Bristol itself, and this woman could prove it, it would save us all a lot of time,’ Clay didn’t answer and Cross quickly concluded that he wasn’t going to. ‘Did you know Hilary Carpenter?’
‘No comment.
Cross looked up. A “no comment” reply wasn’t uncommon in an interview such as this.
It’s just that they were normally employed from the very start.
‘Do you remember the car?’ he continued.
‘A Jag.’
‘Model?’
‘XJR.’
‘Colour?’
Cross noticed the micro-hesitation before Clay replied.
‘Red,’ Clay said.
‘Any problem with it?’
‘Of course not. It was a brand new car.’
‘I was thinking about accidents.’
‘No.’
Cross paused just long enough to convey his doubt about the veracity of this answer.
‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely, that’s not exactly the kind of thing you forget about.’
‘Unlike the name of the woman you were with,’ observed Ottey.
‘Just a few minutes ago you couldn’t remember anything about August 2004, despite the fact that it was the month of your twenty-first, and that you’d lost your job,’ Cross went on.
‘But you remember a lot about the car,’ said Ottey.
‘I’m into cars. It’s my thing. I’m a car dealer remember?’
‘Tell me about the MacDonalds,’ Cross said, changing direction.
‘What have they got to do with any of this?’ asked Clay.
‘Any of what?’ said Cross.
‘Your arresting me.’
Cross was tempted to say that that was indeed the question he was trying to answer, but he didn’t want to alert Clay to the possibility that the police already thought that MacDonald was involved in some way. ‘I didn’t say they had anything to do with it, but they were, are, important people in your life,’ said Cross.
‘They’re good people. Well, obviously you know Stuart,’ rhetorical therefore unanswered, ‘As for Sheila, that woman’s a saint,’ Clay went on.
‘You went to Buckingham Palace with her when she got her MBE.’
Clay looked at him for an explanation. But none is forthcoming.
‘I did.’
‘Why did they choose you, do you think?’ asked Cross.
‘How do you mean?’
‘They had so many people they’d fostered over the years, why choose you?
‘I don’t know. We’re still close. They’re my parents as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You feel that strongly?’ Cross remarked.
‘I do. Very much so. I owe them everything.’
‘Do you think many others feel the same way about them.’
‘One or two. It really depends on the length of time they spent with them, what problems they may have had when they arrived.’
‘Were they good with problem children?’ asked Cross.
‘She was. Very calm. Always listened. It was like you couldn’t do anything to upset or rile her. You could act up and you could never get her to lose it. Mind you if someone got between her and her kids, she was ferocious.’
Cross thought for a moment as if he was trying to figure something out for himself and then when he’d failed he looked up to ask Clay, ‘When you say you “owe them everything” what do you mean by that. Exactly?’ he said.
‘I would’ve thought that was obvious.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ but Clay didn’t volunteer anything further. Cross made a note in his file then carried on., ‘Had you lost your leg before you met them?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When.’
‘The year before.’
‘So you must’ve been quite traumatised when you met them?’
‘You think?’
‘How did you lose it?’ asked Cross.
Clay said nothing. His lawyer stepped in. ‘The circumstances of my client’s injuries are a painful and, as you rightly say, traumatic memory, which he prefers to keep private. They’re not relevant to your inquiry, surely?’ Cross wasn’t going to answer that this early.
‘I see. Your parents. What happened to them?’
‘They died.’
‘How.’
‘Again, relevance?’ said Clay’s solicitor.
‘Mr West, this is not a court of law. I can ask whatever I like, whether your client chooses to answer is a matter for him. I will continue to ask any questions I consider to be pertinent whether you feel they are or not,’ Cross replied firmly.
Cross didn’t even look at the lawyer to see whether he had made his point. He consulted his file. ‘You had a number of surgeries after your placement with the MacDonalds,’ Cross said.
‘Several.’
‘That must have been a terrible time.’
‘You get used to it.’
‘It says a lot about the MacDonalds that they were willing to get involved in such a complex situation.’
‘It does.’
‘Signing up to all those hospital visits. Endless hours waiting for you to come through an operation. All the ancillary worry.’
Clay said nothing.
‘Do you think all those medical treatments created a stronger bond between you and them than the other children,’ Cross asked.
‘With Sheila, almost certainly. Not so much Stuart. He was always here. At work,’ Clay replied.
This interested Cross. He was trying to put distance into their relationship; him and Macdonald. Why? ‘You were the only child out of all those hundreds that they adopted,’ he said.
Cross looked at Clay who seemed to be a little reflective all of a sudden. Staring at the table. His guard, his salesman veneer, seemed to have slipped since the MacDonalds had been brought into the conversation. Was it nostalgic fondness or maybe some kind of beginnings of remorse? Emotional interpretations like these were often useful but, equally as often, misleading in that the interviewee’s emotions were inevitably close to the surface because of the very nature of their situation, guilty or not. They were in an interview room. A hostile, sterile environment and often under arrest. Of course they were uptight, vulnerable. He’d known suspects to burst into tears at the simple offer of a cigarette break. So he was always circumspect when it came to reading too much into these demonstrations of emotion.
Cross asked the same question again. What was odd about instances like this, for those who didn’t know him, and actually odd even for those who did, is that he repeated the question in exactly the same way as he’d asked it before. But as if he had never asked it before.
‘Could I have a comfort break, please?’ Clay asked.
‘I’d also like a brief conference with my client,’ said the lawyer.
‘Of course,’ Cross replied politely.
Chapter 41
‘Why did you send Malcolm abroad in September 2004?’ Cross asked MacDonald, back in the other interview room.
‘We didn’t send him away,’ MacDonald answered.
Cross took Mackenzie’s note out of his file. ‘You paid for a round-the-world ticket for him,’ he said.
‘I’ve always wondered about those tickets,’ Ottey chimed in. ‘They’re so cheap.’
‘Are they?’ Cross asked.
‘As long as you fly in the same direction,’ she went on.
‘I didn’t know that,’ he said, intrigued by the thought.
‘Never been tempted?’ she asked.
‘I don’t fly,’ he replied.
‘You’ve never been on a plane?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Ironic, given Raymond’s history,’ she said.
‘Actually that’s not true, I went on Concorde with him the other day. Obviously it wasn’t flying,’ he turned back to MacDonald. ‘My father was an engineer on Concorde at Filton,’ he said by way of explanation.
‘Is that right? I didn’t know that,’ MacDonald replied.
‘No reason why you should’ve,’ said Cross.
MacDonald seemed more relaxed than he had in the first session. Perhaps he’d had time to gather his thoughts. Cross hoped so; he found misplaced confidence often a useful tool in interviews.
‘Malcolm’s trip,’ Cross continued.
‘Yes,’ replied MacDonald.
‘How long was he away for?’
‘Just under a year.’
‘Really? That seems a long time.’
‘Isn’t it normal for a gap year?’
‘A “gap year”? I’m sorry I don’t understand,’ said Cross.
‘That’s what kids do. They take a gap year.’
‘I know that, but isn’t it supposed to occupy the time between leaving school and going to university. Hence the “gap”? What was Malcolm’s “gap” between?’ asked Cross.
‘Good point. I think I even remember saying that myself. He’d chosen not to go to university. He’d got the required grades, in no small part down to Sheila’s badgering him to do his schoolwork and revision. But it wasn’t for him. He wanted to go straight into work, which he did, but then he wanted this gap year and I said to him – “Gap between what?”. But Sheila, as ever, joined sides with the boy. Actually she did that with all the kids, always took their side.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘I might be laughing now but I didn’t find it funny at the time. Anyway, they got their way. He had his gap year, and it did him a lot of good, I think. He came back a bit more mature.’
‘Was he lacking in maturity?’ Cross asked.
‘Not particularly,’ MacDonald answered, back-tracking, just in case Cross had picked up on something.
‘Well, that was extremely generous of you.’
‘Like I said, it was Sheila. I thought it was a lot of nonsense, to be honest.’
‘Where did he go?’ Cross asked.
‘Round the world,’ MacDonald replied sardonically. It was the first time he’d displayed any sign of irritation. The trip obviously seemed convenient to Cross. Stop the red car line of inquiry and then, to double down, send Malcolm off round the world. Had he later become a person of interest in the case, he could’ve just stayed abroad somewhere and disappeared.
‘Tell me about his parents,’ said Cross.
‘What about them?’
‘How did they die?’
‘I’m not sure,’ but his eyes flicked up to Cross. They both knew he’d just made a mistake. A small one for sure, but mistakes like this, however slight, often snowballed out of control. Trying to correct them led to more mistakes being made, and those in turn would then also need correction till the interviewee found him- or herself tied up in knots, just trying to keep track.
‘You’re not sure?’ Cross replied, no inflection of surprise or doubt, just straightforward, matter of fact. MacDonald decided the safest course of action was to say nothing further.
‘It’s something we can easily find out,’ Ottey said.
‘It’s just that he likes to keep it private.’ MacDonald replied. Cross said nothing. ‘Will we be much longer? I have to drive my wife to work.’
‘She works?’ Ottey asked.
‘No, volunteers, but she doesn’t drive, so I take her.’
