The truth, p.10
The Truth, page 10
He took out his phone, negotiated his way through the usual predictive text problems and found Farmbridge Yacht Haven. It was real enough and the website suggested it was an established and sizeable operation. Then he turned on the ignition, opened the satnav and put in the postcode. To his surprise, he discovered it was more than ninety miles despite being in a more or less straight line south – down the A12 and turn left near the end. He had a choice of routes, too – most direct, most scenic and most ecologically sound but all were going to take a couple of hours at least, assuming the traffic was behaving itself.
At this point, you’d contact the senior investigating officer and discuss whether this was a sensible use of police time and public money, but there is no senior investigating officer. There is Jason Diver, but involving him was entirely out of the question – imagine getting a call from Smith on his second day in the field, asking whether he should drive down to Essex to see if he can find out where the Galene had sailed from… Jo, Charlie, Anthony, Fraser and Metcalfe? No to every one of those. As a policeman, Smith had been only too well aware of his reputation for being occasionally maverick, a loose cannon, someone willing to step outside established procedures when he thought it justified; in this situation, there are no established procedures. He had read the ABI handbook over the weekend and found it mostly helpful but it had nothing to say about the decision he had to make now.
The phone balanced on his knee sprang into life, vibrated and fell off into the footwell – simultaneously, various things lit up on the dashboard. For a moment he was flummoxed before he realised the car’s Bluetooth was relaying a call on his mobile. He’d seen Jo take calls while they were driving, but what was it she pressed? Presumably this blinking blue phone symbol on the steering wheel.
A voice he recognised was saying, ‘Hello? Hello? Dave?’
The blinking blue phone symbol received Smith’s most withering look.
‘I’m afraid Dave’s not here.’
Jason Diver said, ‘Oh… I’m sorry. I was sure I had the right number.’
He didn’t hang up because it had to be the right number – Jason’s phone would have added contacts automatically, there could be no human error involved. After a short pause, Diver said, ‘May I ask who I am speaking to?’
The answer was, ‘Smith. David Smith.’
He was immediately aware that he had then sounded rather like the fictional world’s most famous spy – nevertheless, an important matter of principle was at stake here. Thankfully, Jason Diver was onto it – ‘Ah, I see. Yes, my bad! Ha! So, what did we say? David? Smith?’
‘Either or. What’s up?’
At work he had been DC or Smith. Both were perfectly acceptable then but he’d feel like a right idiot asking the people at DDA to call him “DC”. Jason had tried “David” in the office but it felt a little too familiar; “Smith” might be the best in the end but he would leave it to Jason to make his own choice from the alternatives he had been given.
‘… picked up your message this morning. I’ve had a delve into Rodos Asset Management. First thing, they’re well hidden, even when you go below the waterline. I’d say it has some characteristics of a shell company. They do have assets and operations but not proportionate to what their turnover appears to be. They’re legal and the info you mentioned from Companies House isn’t incorrect but I’d say it’s far from the complete picture. There’s one interesting thing, though…’
Smith had reached into the footwell for the mobile. When he brought it up, it must have been too close to something in the dashboard and there was a weird, echoing whine. He moved it away and things sounded normal again, so he continued his conversation with the steering wheel. ‘What’s that?’
‘Rodos has been running for five years. Two years before that, your Mr Othonos got into a lot of trouble with Her Majesty’s tax inspectors. It wasn’t just late or non-payment. He had another company and was being investigated for defrauding the Revenue. That can carry a custodial sentence. Strangely, he was never charged. If you pay up in full and add a bit on for goodwill, that has been known to happen.’
Smith said, ‘I’m sure it has. Useful background, though.’
‘I thought so. Any good information in Lowestoft?’
‘Bits and pieces. I’m just debating whether to go down to where the boat was before this. It’s a bit of a drive.’
Diver said, ‘That’s totally up to you. Like we said, you’re the boss. But if you do go…’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t forget to record the mileage. You’ve only seen the nice side of Maddy so far.’
Smith heard the girl’s voice shout in the background, and then someone else laughing. That might have been Katherine Diver. Smith said, ‘Yes, will do,’ and ended the call. Of course, he hadn’t written down the starting mileage this morning, and would need to make something up. He looked again at the satnav and selected the yellow route. Might as well enjoy what scenery there was on the way.
Chapter Eleven
Christine Archer might have been a little annoyed but it wasn’t always easy to tell; on the other hand, Annie Cater had worked with her first as a trainee and now as a qualified solicitor in her own right for some years, and she was no longer intimidated by the older woman, just careful. She said, in answer to the last question, ‘Yes, all three of them are in the meeting room. The client, Anthony Hills, his father and someone from Diver and Diver.’
Christine Archer said, ‘Why are Diver and Diver involved already? It looks far too early to me. I don’t see that we have any need of them at this stage – if we do at all.’
Annie explained that the father had appointed them himself, and that he was a former police officer. The answering look said it plainly – that’s all we need. Archer pulled a sheet out of the file, studied it briefly and said, ‘And this is everything you’ve been able to get out of Lake Central police?’
The younger woman had that unflappable quality you want to see in your opening batsman, your accountant, your A and E consultant and your criminal lawyer. She responded to the implied criticism with, ‘It is. And I think it’s all anyone could have got, but you’re welcome to try yourself, Christine. They’re being very tight-lipped on this one.’
That sheet was laid down and the rest were leafed through methodically – the client is already paying, and if they arrive early and have to wait as a result, so be it. When she’d finished, Archer made a scribbled note on a pad and said, ‘All right. Let’s get this over with. I hope the father isn’t someone I know.’
Smith was the first to stand when the two women entered the meeting room, and the other two men followed suit. There was an odd moment when she recognised him and half-turned towards the girl, as if a practical joke had been played, and then she looked away and invited the three of them to resume their seats. She introduced herself and her colleague, before speaking first to Anthony, confirming that he was still happy for Fraser and Metcalfe to represent him in this matter. Then she looked at Charlie, who explained his role as father of the arrested. Finally, her narrow, bespectacled gaze fell upon the third member of the party.
Christine Archer said, ‘And we have met before.’
Smith said, ‘We have, Ms Archer. On a number of occasions.’
She cleared her throat, before, ‘In order to avoid any confusion whatsoever, I have to ask whether you are here in a professional capacity, Mr Smith.’
He waited, as if having explained what she must do, she would then go and do it. When nothing more was forthcoming, Smith said, ‘Well, I suppose I am, yes.’
She said, ‘You suppose so? Can we be very clear on this? You are not here in your capacity as a detective sergeant from Kings Lake Central police station?’
Smith smiled at the very idea.
‘Absolutely not, Ms Archer. That would be highly irregular under the circumstances, wouldn’t it? I have retired from the Kings Lake police force.’
She was usually pretty quick, he thought to himself; something seemed to have upset her equilibrium for a moment, but then he saw the realisation on her face before she said, ‘Oh. You’re working for Diver and Diver now.’
He said, ‘I’m acting as a consultant on this case, yes.’
The distinction between being employed, self-employed and working as a consultant wasn’t one he had bothered to point out to anyone else, but it seemed important to get matters abundantly clear with his former adversary. She hadn’t exactly lit up with enthusiasm as he did so, however, and so he added for good measure, ‘I never imagined we would end up playing on the same team, Ms Archer. It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?’
She agreed that it was indeed, but with a little note of doubt, as if funny wasn’t quite the word she would have used to describe the situation in which they now found themselves. Then she seemed to give herself a metaphorical shake and got back to the business in hand – and, remarkably, the first thing she suggested to her client was that appointing a private investigator might have been premature. She said to Anthony, ‘Until we have some idea whether the authorities intend to charge and then prosecute, until we know the grounds of any case against you, it is difficult to direct a private investigation. Fraser and Metcalfe have no wish to see you incurring unnecessary costs, Mr Hills.’
To be fair, Smith had not been expecting an old-school reunion hug from Christine Archer, none of those funny-when-you-look-back-on-them stories about flushing each other’s biology books down the loo, but this was surely below the belt. There was almost an implication that he was part of a scheme to defraud his old ally at Central – Christine Archer was not looking at him directly but she would be aware of him watching her.
Charlie said, ‘As I told your Mr Fraser, that’s my lookout. I’ve got some knowledge of how the other side works, remember. I’d rather stay ahead than have something serious disclosed ten minutes before a hearing. And as it happens, DC has already come up with a couple of interesting things.’
There was something rather definite about Charlie Hills when he’d made up his mind. Archer made a short note before she looked up and back in Smith’s direction. She said, ‘Really? And these are?’
With the Alwych open in his right hand, he told the two solicitors first about his visit to the Kings Lake harbour on the previous Friday. The note-making on the other side of the desk had at some point been delegated to the Irish girl, who had, he was certain, a Belfast accent. When Annie finished writing, Archer said, ‘I don’t see anything unusual in that, anything interesting.’
Smith explained that such an operation would have been planned at least twenty-four hours in advance. The authorities could easily have detained the two men on the Galene as it arrived in the harbour – in not doing so, the authorities had, then, made a choice. Why go to the bother of an additional operation to arrest Anthony Hills on the Monday morning? And why allow the other man on the yacht to walk away?
Christine Archer said, ‘We do not know that he did. He could have been arrested elsewhere. The police are under no obligation to tell us if he was.’ Turning to Charlie, she went on, ‘The operational decisions taken by the police have no bearing on your son’s situation at present. We have made a note but-’
Charlie half-raised a hand towards her and said, ‘Tell her what you found in Lowestoft, DC.’
He summarised that part of the story, ending with the fact that the visit to Buckden Marine by the detectives had been a cursory one. He said he doubted there had been significant criminal involvement at the repair yard – the manager had been unforthcoming but the mechanic had given him useful information, something he wouldn’t have done if he had been party to concealing cocaine on the yacht. The behaviour of Tim suggested the drugs were already on the Galene when it arrived at the yard for repair.
Christine Archer watched as Annie finished those notes, not looking at Smith, giving herself time to think. Plainly she was uncomfortable about dealing with him but her professional curiosity got the better of her in the end and she said, ‘What was the useful information?’
Smith said, ‘He put me onto where the yacht had sailed from before it arrived in Lowestoft. I drove down there the same day and he was spot on – it’s a marina on the estuary of the Creek river in Essex. The Farmbridge Yacht Haven. It’s a big business with hundreds of boats moored there. They offer the full service – temporary and permanent moorings, all the chandlery, basic repairs. The work done by Buckden Marine was specialist engineering, and I reckon that’s the only reason the Galene was ever there.’
She said, ‘You obtained proof that Mr Hills’ boat was there before it went to Lowestoft?’
‘As good as. They were not going to let me photograph their records, so I didn’t ask, but the Galene is a regular visitor there. I’d say the Farmbridge Yacht Haven is her home address. The lady in the office was quite chatty once we’d got to know each other…’
The solicitor was looking at him now with an expression that seemed to be saying, yes, I can imagine.
‘… and although the office doesn’t have the records of daily comings and goings, she did tell me to whom I could speak about that. She gave me the name of the man who manages that part of the marina.’
Archer said, ‘So then you spoke to him, and?’
Smith said, ‘Well, no, I haven’t spoken to him yet. He was in Cornwall because of Storm Sarah.’
She said with a little sigh, ‘Obviously,’ and glanced at Charlie, as if to remind him this was all costing him a fair amount of money. Meanwhile, Smith carried on helpfully.
‘I’m sure you know, Ms Archer, that big Atlantic storms get names these days. I don’t know how that all started, but anyway, the one before was Roberto. Then we have a female name because they alternate, so that was Sarah. I suppose the next one might be Trevor. The point is, Robbie is a big-time surfer, so he was down in Newquay over the weekend. Funny when you think about it – the weather here was pretty good…’
Christine Archer said to Annie Cater, ‘Robbie is probably the name of the man who looks after the boats. I’m not sure we need to note it down.’
Undeterred, Smith continued, ‘However, he’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I could get him on the phone but my hunch is it would be more productive as a face-to-face meeting. I could drive down and see if he’ll talk.’
Archer, with another glance at Charlie, said, ‘How far is the yacht haven from Kings Lake, Mr Smith?’
‘One hundred and twenty four miles.’
‘And then back again…”
‘Hopefully, yes.’
This time Smith held her gaze, and there was something a little less light-hearted in his manner; they had to get past this if they were serious about doing their best for Anthony Hills.
She said, ‘What is the rate per mile?’ and he answered, ‘I’ve no idea. What would be about right?’
The solicitor said in very measured terms, ‘I think you should speak to Diver and Diver and let their client know the costs he has incurred so far. Our position – that is, the position of Fraser and Metcalfe – is that we wait until we know whether charges are likely to follow Mr Hills’ arrest. Let’s finish there. Mr Smith – a private word, if you don’t mind.’
She remained standing, indicating this was not going to be a lengthy meeting. Smith thought about resuming his seat anyway, but decided against it for Charlie’s sake. And he wondered whether Christine Archer was always this cross and unhappy, too – there was a frown above the frame of her spectacles, a little knot of annoyance, one she had pulled too tight years ago and which she couldn’t now undo.
She said, ‘I’m not pleased with this arrangement, Mr Smith – I think I have made that clear.’
Smith nodded and replied, ‘Yes, I think so too.’
Their eyes locked as they had often in times past; the only thing missing in between was a table from one of the interview rooms in Lake Central. She said, ‘This is not a police investigation. We have different priorities and different procedures. I’m not sure that your approach will benefit my client’s interests.’
Whether or not this had been her intention, she had brought the matter to an appropriate crisis by speaking to him one to one. Smith said in his most level and reasonable manner, ‘I see. If you could explain your thoughts, I’ll give them due consideration. If I agree with you, I will withdraw from the case.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’
He’d need to watch that one, it could easily become a habit.
Christine Archer said, ‘Very well. My concerns about additional costs are genuine. If we reach a trial, Mr Hills will be facing legal fees in the thousands of pounds as it is. Diver and Diver have given us useful support once or twice in the past but their services do not come cheaply.’
It was time, he decided, to put her in the picture. He said, ‘Ms Archer, I’ve never worked with Diver and Diver before and I don’t plan to again. I got involved only because Charlie Hills is an old friend of mine and he asked me. Carrying Katherine Diver’s card gives me a little bit of cover and makes me look legitimate. The only expenses incurred so far are mine – and most of them will stay that way.’
She said, ‘I see,’ a little less grudgingly, as if she did.
Smith said, ‘What’s the next objection?’
This was the detective sergeant she remembered – the chess opponent who makes moves with alarming rapidity, convincing you he is thinking three or four moves ahead at the very least. Now Christine Archer took more time to phrase that next objection.
‘Obviously, Mr Smith, you think like a policeman, a police detective. That’s why Mr Hills senior asked for your help. It’s entirely understandable. But there is a danger in it. So far you have followed the police officers who went to Kings Lake and Lowestoft – and before you mention it again, I agree, there appear to be some oddities about their investigation – but we run the risk of you getting ahead of them. For example, have they spoken to ‘Robbie’?’
