The truth, p.16
The Truth, page 16
Smith said, ‘Charges can be made for all sorts of reasons. It can be political. It can be used to get the brass off your back – someone’s been charged, something’s being done. It can get the media to lose interest for a while. Or it can be speculative – charge someone, even if you don’t think you can make it stick in the courtroom, he might crack in the end and start talking.’
Jason said, watching Smith closely, ‘But he cannot do that if he doesn’t know anything, can he?’
‘No.’
Jason waited but nothing more was forthcoming on that subject. He said, ‘So, what’s next?’
Smith said, ‘I’ll see Anthony today, and update him. He can have a look at the photos I took just to confirm I found the right man in Enfield. After that, there’s not much to be done until we know what the police think they’ve got. There’s a lot of waiting in this job.’
Jason said, ‘What about your contact at the marina – Robbie?’
A shake of the head from Smith.
‘Less than fifty-fifty I’ll hear from him. He’ll already be thinking he told me too much.’
‘But if you do? What then?’
Smith said, ‘If Tim shows up, I’ll go and have a word.’
‘Just like that?’
There could be no doubt about it – Jason Diver was interested in what Smith was doing. A scenario began to loom out of the fog of the near future: Jason wanted to come out on a case with him, wanted to get all hands-on, learn the business and have adventures… Dear Lord, no.
Smith said, ‘Well, if you want to know something, the quickest way is usually to ask someone. Obviously, you have to choose your moment.’
In the other room, Katherine was still talking. Smith had been able to pick out a few details and he had a growing suspicion that the phone call was not unrelated to the matter being discussed in this room.
Jason said, ‘With the sort of people you think are involved, that could be dangerous, couldn’t it?’
‘Yes. That’s one of the reasons you have to choose your moment. Once upon a time, I might have made sure there was a squad car not too far away, but that’s no longer an option. As it happens, I reckon that if I did inform the authorities beforehand, efforts would be made to ensure I was not asking this character too many questions.’
Jason Diver was still trying to work this one out – and, to be fair, Smith hadn’t given him that small but significant final detail, that Tim had offered the boat-hand who worked at the marina money for information. There might have been more questions but Katherine returned at that moment, smiling. She folded herself back into her chair and said, ‘Well, this is exciting. We have our first complaint!’
Her brother said, ‘What about?’ and she answered, ‘More a case of whom,’ looking towards Smith with the smile still in place. As far as he could tell, it was a perfectly genuine smile.
She said then, ‘That was Christine Archer. They’ve been contacted by solicitors acting for Mr Milton Othonos. Mr Othonos is aware that property belonging in part to him has been involved in a police investigation. He had no prior knowledge of any criminal activity and has been deeply hurt that the trust he placed in others has been betrayed. Any further communication must be made through his solicitors.’
It’s possible the two of them mistook his silence for embarrassment, but Smith was re-running his visit to Rodos Asset Management like a video tape – speeding it up, slowing it down, rewinding and reviewing. And at the end of the process, he was confident he had not made a mistake. He said, to be absolutely sure, ‘Othonos’s solicitor contacted Fraser and Metcalfe, who just contacted you?’
Katherine said, ‘Yes. Christine Ar-’
‘And no one from this office has told Fraser and Metcalfe I called on Othonos yesterday?’
Two sets of eyes were looking at Jason, who assured them that was the case. Smith said, ‘I mentioned Anthony Hills’ name and I showed them your card.’
It was a different sort of silence now. Jason got there first.
‘So how did his solicitors know about Fraser and Metcalfe?’
Smith was nodding, and then he made a there-you-go gesture with his open palms as if he had just performed a magic trick at a children’s birthday party.
Katherine said, ‘I’m sure this is important in ways I do not understand… But how did they know?’
Smith said, ‘How is less significant than the fact they took the trouble to find out. Othonos will have some unscrupulous and probably highly effective lawyers. The moment the Galene was intercepted they’ll have been on the case – well-prepared and bloody well paid. What they wouldn’t have anticipated was me turning up and starting to leak the details all over his office. Hence the warning shot.’
After a few more moments, Jason said, ‘Which is why you did it.’
Smith said to Katherine, ‘Was Ms Archer annoyed?’ and the answer was, ‘No, I don’t think so. She just wanted to be sure you were told.’
Anthony’s solicitor had most likely read it the same way as his private detective – Othonos’s lawyers had been a little too quick off the mark, a little too slick. Methinks they do protest too much, then. Othonos is in this up to his neck, thought Smith, as he went down the stairs and out into the streets of Kings Lake, and if I can…
If you can do what, Smith? Your only job here is to keep Anthony Hills out of prison, not to put anyone else into it. These are strange days indeed.
Chapter Seventeen
Smith had driven from the office of Diver and Diver to see Charlie and Anthony Hills. The photograph was identified as being Milton Othonos, and when Smith recounted the story of the statement made to Fraser and Metcalfe, there were some choice words from Smith’s former colleague at Kings Lake Central. Charlie, it seemed, had fallen into the same error as Smith – this was no longer simply about protecting his son. He wanted, in his own words, “to nail the bugger!” Old habits die hard.
When he was asked what next, Smith made it clear that the only honest answer was – not much. Othonos’s lawyers had pulled up the drawbridge; laying siege to him would be a waste of time and money. Smith knew where Tim might turn up but he had no idea when – if the opportunity arose, he would approach him. Charlie saw the danger in that, just as Jason Diver had, and offered to go along for the ride. Smith thanked him while making a mental note to keep the father of the charged as far away as possible from the man who had sailed the Galene from Lowestoft to Lake that weekend; it was impossible to see how such a meeting could end well.
And then, on that Thursday morning, Smith went home to Drift’s End. The past ten days had been rather interesting – even entertaining at times – but it seemed to be over. He’d been here and there if not everywhere, but in the clear light of a lovely May lunchtime, he hadn’t achieved very much after all. Anthony Hills was still facing a serious charge and a gaol term if found guilty, and they still didn’t know what the police had, other than his association with the yacht. Smith had discovered either that serious crimes investigations by the police had reached new lows in terms of their competence and effectiveness or that he himself had been inadvertently wandering around in one for several days, and probably getting on someone’s nerves.
When he arrived home, Jo came out of her office and they had sandwiches in the garden. She said she’d finish for the day as they hadn’t spent much time together since he’d become a consultant… An exchange of dry remarks followed but he could see she was pleased she had made him get involved, and she asked what he was planning to do now. Smith had looked at his watch and said, ‘It’s high tide or just after. We should drive along to Tommy Bean’s and see what he caught this morning. Plaice will be coming into season. There’s nothing as sweet as the first plaice of the year.’
Later that evening, after some of that most delicate of flatfish had been consumed with spring vegetables from the raised beds behind the cottage and a chilled Chablis, Smith went to his study and made the final draft of his notes. Several pages of the Alwych were transcribed into a Word document – with instruction from Jo he had discovered the parallel and rather pleasing universe of efficient word-processing, as opposed to the clumsy “typing up” he’d been doing for most of his life. The paperwork required by Diver and Diver – or rather by Jason and Madison because it was increasingly obvious that Katherine continued to inhabit a parallel universe of her very own as far as mundane matters were concerned – the paperwork for which Jason had apologised, was laughably undemanding if you had spent any time in the modern police service. Despite the promises of successive new Home Secretaries, the bureaucracy had got worse during Smith’s final years as a detective. An hour spent out on an operation often resulted in several more spent at one’s desk if an arrest had been made. He recalled being told not so long ago by a uniformed officer that after he had detained a drunken man for criminally damaging a neighbour’s garden fence, fourteen separate forms had been completed – the poor sod’s entire shift had involved the arrest, which took twenty minutes, followed by seven hours dealing with the resulting blizzard of paperwork. And people wonder why the bobbies on the streets give out warnings and hope for the best. So, in that respect at least, working with DDA was progress – Jason liked a concise summary and, obviously, the record of expenses. Smith completed both in under an hour.
The May weather was holding – it had been the finest and driest spring for years in the east of the country. A consequence of this was that the soil in the garden of Drift’s End, being unusually light because of the silt and sand, was drying out rapidly. They could water from the mains supply but Smith had made plans to harvest rain from the roof and the outbuildings so they would be better prepared in future. On the Saturday afternoon he was at the top of a ladder, fitting a new down-pipe into a water butt, and explaining to Jo that the next world war was going to be about water rather than oil – she was supporting the pipe at ground level and said it was good, then, that they were doing their bit for world peace. When his mobile began to ring, she said she thought it might be the secretary general of the United Nations, calling to offer his congratulations.
She watched as he answered the call single-handedly, holding on to the ladder with the other. She was still learning things about him – she could not have gone up there but Smith apparently had no fear of heights. Then he was coming down, and still talking. From the look on his face, she knew it was important. He said into the phone, ‘How long ago was this?’
The answer made him look at his watch – then he asked several more questions. How many? Tim is definitely there? How long will it take them? Is it all right if I call you back?
Because of the name, Jo had pieced most of it together before he explained. The Klymene had her engine running. Robbie had been down the river visiting a mate. He had just come past and seen them on the yacht –Tim, the Frenchman, Pierre, and another man Robbie didn’t recognise. He’d pulled alongside and asked if they were going across, and was there anything they needed; the answers had been yes, and no thanks. When Smith inquired whether they could just be going out locally, Robbie said they could but he’d never known it – this looked like one of their regular trips, and they seemed to be in a hurry.
It was a two-hour drive, even on a Saturday. And, as Jo pointed out, if he was there, how was he planning to speak to Tim without the others around? Confronting one man was a very different proposition to confronting three, especially men like these and close to deep water. Smith said, ‘If I’m right about Tim, I’d be safe enough…’ but he didn’t disagree with what she was saying about the others.
He took a few steps away from her, onto the lawn, put his hands into his jeans pockets, stared out across the marsh and muttered, ‘Sod it!’
She joined him and said, ‘You asked how long it would take them. What did he say?’
Smith said, ‘They have a moderate south-westerly, which is ideal. He reckons they’ll be across tomorrow and in Amsterdam by Monday morning. I could try to pick him up when they get back but it’s the same problem. We don’t know for certain which day. I get another call but they’ve disappeared by the time I get there. They’re not going to sit around for long on a boat with that sort of cargo.’
Jo said, ‘Call Charlie.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re already considering going after them, so see what he thinks. It should be Charlie’s decision – he brought you into this.’
The words were on the tip of his tongue – how do you know that I’m… But she could already read him as well as Sheila. Maybe this is what happens when you get involved with a criminal profiler. He didn’t waste time with it; instead, he focused on the impracticalities of her suggestion, even though she was right and it had been in his thoughts.
‘I’d have to fly. It’s too short notice.’
She said, ‘You don’t have to give anyone notice, except me. You drive to the airport and get on a plane.’
He looked at her then and said, ‘You make it sound simple, but it’s a bit more involved than nipping into Lake for an optician’s appointment!’
Jo said, ‘Yes, it is but not that much. If you’re on the first flight out of Stansted on Monday, you can be walking around Amsterdam by mid-morning. The flight to Schiphol takes around an hour. I’ve done it, and it’s cheaper and quicker than catching a train to Kings Cross. For some people it’s their daily commute.’
Smith was making a list in his mental notebook.
‘If I need some sort of transport?’
She said, ‘Bike. Everybody bikes in Amsterdam.’
He pictured it, pursuing Tim around The Netherlands on a push-bike, and then he realised she was shaking her head. She said, ‘I’m fairly sure Europcar will have a branch. We can organise that before you go, and pick something up at the airport. Call Charlie Hills.’
He said, ‘You’re assuming this all goes swimmingly. It might take some time to find him, if I can at all. I might need accomo-’
‘I don’t know if the bulb season still brings in tourists, but I think you’d get basic accommodation somewhere. Again, we can fix that up online. You might not need it but is your passport up to date?’
Only a couple of weeks ago they had discussed their first foreign trip together, and that had made him check. He said it was, and then she told him again to call Charlie. He’d got involved not only with a criminal profiler but someone who had been a detective inspector in the Metropolitan Police. He only had himself to blame. He called Charlie.
‘It’s owned by a couple called Jaap and Natalie. He’s a filmmaker and she’s a journalist. Their bio says they’re often away but they have a neighbour who would be there to greet you if that’s the case. It sounds perfect for what you need – it’s a ten-minute walk from the central marinas. And it looks gorgeous as well…’
‘It’ was a houseboat moored on a canal in Amsterdam – the Tulp Roze. Jo was flicking through the images again, and Smith foresaw another problem; she might suggest coming with him. Trying to head that one off at the pass, he said, ‘And how exactly does Airbnb work?’
Jo said, ‘People with accommodation to let register on it, and people looking for accommodation can message them. It’s that simple, like all the best ideas. I used it a lot when I was lecturing in Germany.’
There was a certain symmetry in this – one might even suggest a certain poetry; after all, the entire business was about boats in one way or another. Charlie had been in no doubt. He’d said to Smith, ‘It’s the only lead there is, DC. We don’t know what he’ll say if you confront this bloke with it, but if you don’t ask him, we never will know. I realise it’ll probably come to nothing, but if you’re willing to go for it…’
Smith had raised the subject of money again, this time telling Charlie he would do the whole thing at cost – in other words, Diver and Diver would now bill him for the expenses but there would be no charge for the investigator’s time. He had no idea whether this would be acceptable to Jason Diver and he didn’t much care. Jo had come in and heard the end of that conversation. When it was over, she said, ‘Imagine it was the other way round – imagine it was Diarmuid in trouble. Is there anything you wouldn’t do? Any money you wouldn’t spend?’
He sat beside her at the dining room table and looked at the pictures of the houseboat. Jo had called several hotels and guesthouses in Amsterdam but there wasn’t a room to be found – it seemed that the Dutch Bulb-fields and the Delights of Amsterdam in Spring tours were still very much in business. When he came to the bookings calendar, he said, ‘So, it says it’s available but is it? How up to date are these things?’
Jo had the answer. ‘In this case, bang up to date. If there is no weekly booking by midnight tonight, they’ll let it by the night from Monday, payable up front by bank transfer. Jaap and Natalie are Superhosts – they know what they’re doing.’
‘They’re what?’
‘Superhosts. On Airbnb, it means they have the highest rating. They messaged me back within minutes, while you were on the phone with Charlie.’
He looked from Jo back to the screen – re-entry into the modern world after wherever he had been for the past few years involved considerable drag, it seemed, and if the trajectory was out, this could all end up in a fireball.
Jo, however, was enjoying herself in the combined roles of mission control and senior investigating officer. She continued, ‘And there’s a bonus. As long as you take your driving licence and pay for charging, you get the use of their electric car. It’s a dear little thing!’
It was bright yellow and resembled a once-larger vehicle which had made a last-minute escape from the jaws of the car-crusher in Lake’s vehicle recycling yard. An attractively Dutch-looking blonde lady stood beside it smiling. Jo said, ‘I think that’s Natalie. You can see the Tulp Roze in the background.’
He said, ‘So you’ve booked it?’
‘No. We have to set up an account for you and wait until midnight.’
