Crisis

14

I called Kate from the taxi on my way to Bury St Edmunds, to apologise and to tell her that I wouldn’t be coming back, not for quite a while anyway. I’d left her in the bar at the Bedford Lodge in the hope that I’d be able to make a quick return, but that wouldn’t now happen.

‘Who was that woman on the phone?’ she asked. ‘Was it your wife?’

Ouch!

Kate had obviously been working herself up into a frenzy since I’d left, imagining the worst of me, and who could blame her? It had been the most ill-timed of phone calls.

She had also clearly been topping up with the booze.

‘That was not the reason,’ I said calmly. ‘I don’t have a wife.’

‘Girlfriend then?’

‘No. I don’t have a girlfriend either.’ Other than you, I thought.

‘So who was it?’

The breaking news of Declan’s arrest would travel round Newmarket at the speed of sound, but it wouldn’t be me that leaked it first.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.’

She wasn’t happy. And neither was I.

‘I’ve been dumped by men before,’ she said acidly, ‘but never actually when on my way to bed with them.’

‘I’m not dumping you. Quite the reverse. I’m just sorry that something very urgent came up to do with my work.’

‘Something you don’t trust me enough to tell me about?’

Ouch again!

‘It’s not about trust,’ I said. ‘It’s just confidential. Legal stuff. I wouldn’t even tell my mother.’ Oh God, why am I talking about my mother again? ‘Can I call you in the morning?’

‘I’ll be at work.’ She made it sound like an excuse for me not to.

‘But I can call you there?’

There was a long pause before she answered.

‘I’m hurt,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m drunk, I’m lonely and I’m hurt.’

She was crying, and I felt totally wretched.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you. But this is something I have to do. I’ll tell you all about it very soon, but I can’t right now.’

She hung up without saying goodbye and I very nearly told the taxi driver to turn round and go back to the hotel, but for what? I couldn’t tell her about Declan, so what else would I say? It would only end in an argument and that might result in even more damage than I’d already caused.

I decided that I was better at solving other people’s crises than my own.

‘I’m telling you, I didn’t kill Zoe.’

‘Then why are you here?’ I asked. ‘The police must believe you did, otherwise they wouldn’t have arrested you. Why do you think they did that?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Declan replied.

We were sitting opposite each other across a table in a special room reserved for detainees to meet with their legal representatives at the Police Investigation Centre in Bury St Edmunds.

I’d arrived soon after Declan had been brought in and I’d had to wait while he was processed by the custody officers: photos, fingerprints, DNA sample and clothes removal for forensic examination. All standard procedure. Finally they had collected him from a cell and allowed me to see him.

He was wearing a police-issue tracksuit that was at least two sizes too big for him. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been funny.

The clock on the wall indicated that it was half past ten in the evening. It was an hour and a half since I’d left Kate.

An hour and a half of abject misery.

‘What time did you get up this morning?’ I asked.

‘Ten to five,’ Declan replied. ‘As usual at this time of the year. First lot goes out at six. Why is that important?’

‘Because you’ve been up for almost eighteen hours. I might be able to argue that you are in need of a night’s rest before being questioned.’

‘A night’s rest? In one of those cells? You must be joking. They’re bleak, with only a thin waterproof mattress on a very solid bed. I won’t get much rest there. No, let’s get on with it. Then I can go home.’

‘Declan,’ I said, ‘have you the slightest idea how much trouble you are in? The police wouldn’t have arrested you on suspicion of murder just on the off-chance you might have done it. They must have evidence against you. Now what could that be?’

‘I didn’t kill Zoe,’ he repeated.

‘If you say so,’ I said. ‘But what evidence might they have?’

‘I have no idea. Nothing. I didn’t kill her.’

‘You’re not being very helpful.’

I stared at him across the table and, for the first time, I noticed that his nose was slightly crooked. I wondered if that was due to a fall from a horse, or whether Ryan had broken it with a punch in a Doncaster hotel.

There was a knock on the door, which then opened slightly.

‘We’re ready,’ DCI Eastwood said, putting his head through the gap.

‘Just a moment,’ I said. ‘We’ll be out in a minute.’

The door closed again.

‘Now listen to me, Declan, and listen well,’ I said. ‘We need to use this session to find out what they have on you, rather than to give them any more ammunition. Do you understand?’

‘They can’t have anything on me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t do it.’

‘When they ask you something, simply say that your solicitor has advised you that you should not answer any questions at this time. Then it’s my fault you’re not answering, not yours. Remember, you don’t have to prove your innocence, they have to prove your guilt. Don’t say anything else without referring to me first. This is important. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he said, but I wasn’t sure he meant it.

‘Come on, let’s go.’

We transferred to a proper police interview room and sat side by side facing DCI Eastwood and the other plain-clothed policeman who had travelled with Declan in the squad car.

The chief inspector pushed a button on the control panel on the wall and a loud, long beep was heard.

‘For the record,’ he said. ‘This interview is with Mr Declan Chadwick who has been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Zoe Robertson. I am Detective Chief Inspector Eastwood and I am accompanied by Detective Sergeant Venables. Mr Chadwick’s solicitor, also present, is Mr Harrison Foster.

‘Mr Chadwick, may I remind you that you are still under caution, that you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Declan said.

‘I also inform you that this interview is being recorded and that the video and audio recordings may be produced in court as evidence. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes,’ Declan said again.

‘Good,’ said the DCI. ‘Can you please confirm your full name and address?’

‘Declan Vincent Parker Chadwick. Rowley House Stables, Hamilton Road, Newmarket.’

‘Thank you. Now, Mr Chadwick,’ said the chief inspector, ‘when did you last see your sister?’

Declan glanced at me. ‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’

Good boy, I thought.

The policeman took the lack of an answer in his stride and carried on. ‘Is it not true that you saw her last Sunday?’

Last Sunday? Even I would like to hear his answer to that bombshell.

‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time,’ Declan repeated.

‘Is it also not the case, Mr Chadwick, that you collected Zoe Robertson from Cambridge Station just after midday on Sunday and drove her away in your car, a light-blue Audi A4?’

What?

‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’

‘We have CCTV footage from the forecourt of Cambridge Station that shows her getting into your car. Were you the driver, Mr Chadwick?’

‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’

‘Where did you take her, Mr Chadwick?’

There was something quite menacing in the way the detective kept adding ‘Mr Chadwick’ to all his questions. If I was beginning to sense the threat, goodness knows how Declan was feeling. But he appeared to stay calm and unconcerned.

‘I am advised by my solicitor not to answer any questions at this time.’

Even I was beginning to be irritated by his response because I, too, would have loved to hear the proper answers to the detective’s questions.

There was a brief knock on the door.

‘Interview suspended,’ said the chief inspector, and he pushed a button to stop the recording before stepping out of the door, leaving Sergeant Venables still in with us.

Declan turned to me as if he was about to say something.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Anything you say in here may be used in evidence, whether during the formal interview or not.’

Declan nodded and turned back to face the sergeant.

The three of us waited in silence for DCI Eastwood to return, which he did after a few minutes, carrying a small, transparent plastic bag.

The chief inspector pushed the relevant button and was rewarded with another long beep from the recorder. ‘Interview restarted,’ he said. ‘I remind you, Mr Chadwick, that you are still under caution. Are you aware what this is?’ He held up the plastic bag. It contained a mobile telephone in a pink case. ‘Why was this found hidden under your clothes at the back of your wardrobe?’

Declan looked at me and, for the first time, there was more than a touch of panic in his eyes.

Time for me to step in.

‘I would like to speak privately with my client,’ I said.

‘I want an answer to my questions first,’ said the detective, but he hadn’t risen to the rank of chief inspector without knowing the law. I knew it too. Declan had a right to speak privately with his legal advisor at any time.

‘Interview suspended,’ the DCI said reluctantly. He stood up, as did his sidekick. ‘In here all right?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘In the previous room.’

He gave me a look but I glanced up at the camera above his head. I wasn’t totally confident that the video recording switched off at the same time as the audio.

Declan and I went back into the legal consultation room. I closed the door.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ I said. ‘You told me that the police had no evidence against you and then I find out that you collected Zoe from Cambridge Station on the very day she died. And whose phone is that?’

‘Zoe’s,’ he said. ‘She left it in my car.’

‘So you did collect her on Sunday?’

He sat down heavily on a chair next to the table, while I remained standing.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’ He leaned forward and rested his head on his arms and sighed deeply.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’m here to help you but you have to tell me the truth.’

‘I collected her and spent a few hours with her. But I didn’t kill her. That is the truth.’

‘So tell me everything that happened.’

‘She called me on Saturday afternoon in a real state. She was shouting down the phone at me. Claimed she needed to talk but not on the phone. She initially wanted me to come to London but I refused. In fact I refused to speak to her anywhere. Then on Sunday morning she called me again when I was in the yard office. Said that she was already on the train from King’s Cross and she was coming to see me whether I liked it or not. She sounded completely deranged.’

‘What was it that was so important?’

‘Family matters,’ he said, clearly not wanting to elaborate. ‘But the last thing I needed was for her to turn up in that condition at my front door upsetting Bella, so I finally agreed to pick her up from Cambridge.’

‘Did Arabella know that?’ I asked.

‘No way,’ he said decisively, glancing up at me.

‘Why not?’

‘I decided it was best to keep them apart. Zoe had upset Bella enough already.’

‘Over what?’

‘Money, mostly. Zoe was always in need of money. Used to say that her need was greater than ours as she had her brats to feed. And that didn’t go down too well either.’

I remembered back to Arabella’s brusque reaction when I’d asked her whether she and Declan had any kids of their own.

‘So you and Arabella can’t have children?’

He looked up at me again. ‘No.’

‘Your fault or hers?’ I asked, hopeful that I wasn’t prying too deeply.

‘Hers,’ he said. ‘She has something called PCOS. I can’t remember what it stands for, but it stops her producing eggs. We’ve tried every drug there is. IVF too. All bloody hopeless.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Shit happens, or rather it doesn’t. Not in our case.’

‘Was it money that Zoe wanted to talk to you about on Sunday?’ I asked, trying to bring the conversation back to the matter in hand.

‘Yeah. Mostly.’

‘What happened after you picked her up from the station?’

‘I drove around for a bit.’

‘Where to?’

‘I don’t know. Around Cambridge somewhere. We parked for a while outside one of the colleges to talk. Then I drove her to Newmarket.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she asked me to. She wanted to see if anything had changed since she left. We stopped at a McDonald’s for a late lunch on the way.’

‘Then what did you do?’

‘Drove around the town a bit. Then I dropped her at Newmarket Station to get the train back.’

‘At what time was that?’

‘About three-thirty.’

‘Did you actually see her get on the train?’

‘No. It wasn’t due for another half an hour. I couldn’t wait. I had to get back for evening stables.’

‘How was she when you dropped her?’ I asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Was she still in a state? Or had she calmed down, back to normal?’

‘Normal?’ Declan said with a laugh. ‘Zoe was never normal. But she was fine, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. She was still angry, but she was always angry.’

‘Angry with whom?’ I asked.

‘Everyone. Me, Ryan, our father, everyone. Psychosis is a very angry disease.’

‘Psychosis?’

‘She had no grasp of reality. How they ever let her out of a mental hospital I’ll never know. She lived in her own little bubble.’

Yes, as may be, I thought, but who burst it?

‘My client would like to read a prepared statement,’ I said. ‘But he does not intend to answer any questions after it.’

It was half an hour later and we were back in the official police interview room with DCI Eastwood and Sergeant Venables.

And the recorders were running again.

Declan and I had been over everything two more times and, on the second occasion, he had written it all down in chronological order.

‘You have to give them something,’ I’d explained to him. ‘You have to say that you agree with the facts as they have stated them so far — there’s no point in denying them when they have the CCTV and Zoe’s phone — and then you give your version of what happened last Sunday.’

‘My version?’ he’d said. ‘But I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Good. Then the police will be able to verify everything you say. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’

‘Nothing,’ he confirmed.

I was certain, however, that he hadn’t told me the whole truth. There were things that he obviously still didn’t want to divulge, in particular about why Zoe had wanted to see him in the first place. But this would have to do for now.

Declan read out his statement describing how Zoe had called him from the train and why he had gone to Cambridge to collect her. He then went through the full period between her getting into his car and him dropping her at Newmarket Station at three-thirty, before going home for evening stables.

He finished by saying that he’d found the mobile phone down the side of the passenger seat of his car on Monday afternoon where Zoe must have dropped it. He had panicked and hidden it in his wardrobe so his wife wouldn’t find it, but he now realised that he should have handed it straight to the police.

When he was finished, Declan laid the paper down on the table.

I could see in the chief inspector’s face that he didn’t believe a word of it and, to be honest, I wasn’t sure I did either.

‘Can I go home now?’ Declan asked.