The Bell Ringers (24 page)

‘And the other thing you mentioned – SPINDRIFT?'

‘Oh, I think we'll leave that for now. It isn't relevant to this and I think I've had enough excitement for one night,' said Kilmartin and handed Link the outstanding part of his fee. ‘This is on the understanding that I have not only bought your technological genius, Murray, but your silence. I do not want this getting out. Do you hear?'

Link nodded.

‘I mean it, Murray. I don't want any cause to feel angry with you.'

‘Understood. You're the guv'nor. You paid for all this.'

Kate submitted to it all: to the media, which had been tipped off about the arrests and was waiting as the convoy of cars slowed at the rear entrance of High Castle police station, allowing cameras to be pressed to the window of the car she was in; to the humiliation of ‘the Cage', where suspects were held; to being searched and having her clothes removed for forensic examination; to the replacement white forensic suit and black canvas shoes; the incompetence and woeful gaze of the custody officer who informed her of her rights but then did not seem to know how to fill in the computerised custody form; the universal cheerlessness of the place with its unforgiving light and the minatory tone of the notices addressed to suspects; to the wilting heat and airlessness; to the whistling of constables in distant corridors; and to the astonishing fact that she was arrested and deprived of her liberty and was for a period of one and a half hours locked in a cell with a brushed steel lavatory that smelled of urine: to all this she submitted with a cold, silent fury.

It was in the early hours before the police doctor determined she was fit in body and mind to be interviewed and legal representation was assigned from the duty calls centre – Jim Wreston, a fresh-faced man in his late twenties with a loosened tie knot and scuffed shoes, who seemed hopelessly in awe of the police. She was taken to the interview room where Newsome was waiting with the officer she had seen overseeing the security operation in the square on the day of the funeral. His name was Tom Shap and he was a superintendent. Newsome recited a legal caution and for the tape recorder's benefit gave their names and that of an officer of unspecified rank, referred to simply as Mr Halliday, who sat tipping the back of his chair against the wall.

They began with her relationship with Eyam. She told Newsome again how she learned of his death, about her attendance at the inquest and the funeral, the intervening weekend and being approached by Hugh Russell in the Green Parrot cafe. She described her astonishment at his news about the will and then went on to say how Russell had told her on the following day about the theft of documents and the attack on him. Her account was clear and poised, even though her mind was still racing with the possibility that Eyam might still be alive. She worried that this vast, unconfirmed secret would communicate itself as guilt, and the one thing she needed now was for the police to let her go. But it was clear Newsome and Shap were laying the foundations for a long interrogation. Wreston sat mute beside her, occasionally glancing in her direction as if he understood the drift of the police questions, which she knew he didn't.

Shap, whose manner had not improved since her first encounter with him, asked about ‘the lost hours' between Russell's departure from Dove Cottage and the discovery of the car with his body inside at the end of the track. She was getting to know the property, she replied, thinking about what she would do with all Eyam's possessions. She recalled phoning the office in New York and then she mentioned using the computer, which she instantly regretted.

‘I'll to come to that later,' said Shap.

‘In the meantime,' said Newsome, ‘perhaps you would explain these.' He drew some still photographs from an envelope but held them towards his chest.

‘You haven't disclosed this material,' said Wreston.

‘I am doing so now,' said Newsome.

‘Let's get on with it. I have no objections,' Kate said.

He handed the photographs to Wreston.

‘You told us,' said Shap, ‘that Hugh Russell informed you of the break-in at his office and the attack he suffered and that all the time you had been in the hotel.' He laid down the four CCTV images of her standing outside Russell's office and one of her pushing the door open. Newsome described the images for the tape recorder.

‘These place you at the scene of at least one crime,' said Shap. ‘We conclude that Mr Russell didn't see who hit him because he was struck
from behind. We know you were in the building at the time of the attack, though you omitted this important fact from your story and this leads us to believe that having failed to kill him on that occasion you lured him to the cottage where your accomplice, Sean Nock, finished off the job for you.'

‘That's ridiculous,' she said.

‘Then how do you explain your behaviour over the weekend and on the evening of the attack? One resident whose garden backs onto the alleyway known as the Cut recently installed CCTV to deal with the problem of burglars. He has film of you making your way along that alley once over the weekend and then early on Tuesday evening.'

‘I did go to see Mr Russell at his request,' she said after a while.

‘At last we're getting somewhere,' said Shap unpleasantly. ‘What were you doing there?'

‘Mr Russell asked me to take delivery of the documents.'

‘Why didn't he mention this to the investigating officers when they took his statement?

‘Because I asked him not to.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he said the documents were sensitive. He came to Mr Eyam's wake at the Bailey Hotel. He was flustered and said he wanted to give them to me immediately. I didn't know what was in them of course, but I thought I should take delivery as discreetly as possible. When I got to the offices the door was open and after a few minutes I went upstairs. I was halfway up when two men attacked me. I saw very little because of the light. I was hit several times and fought back. When they left the building I continued upstairs and found Mr Russell unconscious. The safe was open. When he came round he confirmed that the documents were missing.'

Shap sniffed. ‘Come on, Miss Lockhart, do you really expect us to believe this? The story about the two men is pure fantasy, isn't it?'

‘No,' she said quietly as an idea struck her. ‘Do you want to see the injury I received?' She lifted up the trouser leg and showed them the cut on her ankle. They were unimpressed.

‘There was no other reason to explore that alley two days before the
break-in,' continued Shap. ‘You were finding a way of getting to his office unnoticed, weren't you?'

She met his eyes. ‘What possible motive could I have to attack a man I had not met until that morning?'

‘You tell us. Maybe it was Mr Eyam's will,' said Newsome.

‘I am the main beneficiary of Mr Eyam's will. That is true, but the will's authenticity can be established by simply looking into Mr Russell's records and consulting his partner. It was witnessed by Mrs Spring, whom I've never met. As I told you, I have no need of money, inspector. I am not the kind of person who goes round forging wills. I still have a very well-paid job and considerable savings.'

‘The will is being examined now,' said Shap.

‘You took it from my purse?'

‘Together with the letter that purports to be from your friend David Eyam. Tell us a little about that. It seems a strange document. Not the sort of letter you would want a friend to read after your death. It seems, well, so vague and . . .'

‘And whimsical? Yes, David was like that sometimes. To tell the truth I only read it once because it made me so sad to think of him gone. We had been friends for a very long time. Maybe he was a little drunk when he wrote it. I believe he was ill. There is a lot that is painful to me and still unexplained.' Halliday had stopped rocking his chair and let his hands drop to his knees.

‘Quite so, Miss Lockhart,' said Newsome. ‘What do you think he was trying to convey in that letter? It's almost as if there was a coded message in it.'

‘It did seem a bit odd, I agree. I don't know what you mean by a coded message, but then I haven't had time to think about it.'

‘Because you spent all day on the road,' said Shap. ‘Where did you go?'

‘I am sure you know, inspector. I went to Oxford to see a friend in college – my old college.'

‘Do you mind telling me who?'

‘As a matter of fact I do – it's personal.'

‘Look, Miss Lockhart, unless we get your cooperation on these
matters this will go very badly for you. We will learn the truth one way or another, I can assure you of that.'

‘What truth is it that you want? That I hit Hugh Russell over the head, but failing to kill him, inveigled him out to Dove Cottage the next day, having arranged with another man I'd never met before to have him gunned down just a few hundred yards from the cottage, so putting me at the scene of the crime? Is that what you believe? Is that really your theory?' She looked from one face to the other. ‘Or are you holding me here on the pretext of the murder inquiry while you go through my phone, computer and personal belongings?'

Newsome stretched and then locked his hands at the back of his head. ‘You seem anxious, Miss Lockhart.'

‘I'm not anxious, but I'm extremely angry at the way I'm being treated. Has it occurred to you that if I'd been in that car I would have been killed also? Does it matter to you that while you question me the real killers are getting away? The two men who attacked Hugh and me are clearly the prime suspects, yet you put no effort into finding out who they were. There is not one shred of evidence to say I killed my friend's lawyer. You have nothing and you know it. You have no alternative but to let me go.'

‘You're not going anywhere. Even if we didn't have the film of you entering the building, we'd still know you'd been there. Your DNA and fingerprints have been found on the safe door and I am confident that we will find fibre evidence to match the clothes you were wearing that evening. We know that you left by the rear door and that you retraced your steps to the hotel by the Cut because we have film of that too. That is compelling evidence of your intentions that evening and the following day, Miss Lockhart. You will certainly spend the rest of tonight in the cells.'

She looked at Wreston. ‘Then this interview is at an end,' she said. ‘I read the code of practice while I was waiting. You have already failed to give me proper rest and nourishment. If I recollect rightly it says that,
“Breaks from interviewing should be made at recognised meal-times or at times which take into account when the suspect last had a meal.”'

‘That's at my discretion and if you refuse to answer questions an adverse inference may be drawn by a jury.'

‘By a jury! There won't be a jury because you can't charge me, and I very much doubt you have even enough to keep me here. But go ahead – ask your questions. I am not saying anything more until my chosen legal representative arrives. I am informing you that I am tired and that if you continue with this interview I will formally lodge a complaint about your oppressive behaviour.'

Wreston woke from his trance. ‘I think my client is indicating that she needs rest. It
is
nearly two thirty. Under the guidelines, she has a right to reasonable treatment.'

Newsome switched off the tape recorder. After forms were filled in and two tapes ejected from the machine the three policemen left without a word. A few minutes later she found herself in a cell with a sandwich, banana, milk chocolate wafer biscuit and a cup of tea.

She slept fitfully for a few hours and woke early with thought of the book on the shelf and what it meant. If Eyam was alive, there were only two motives that might have caused him to leave England – straightforward evasion or a more sinuous and ultimately mystifying diversionary plan. As she lay on the foam mattress, a glimmer of daylight showing through the bottle-glass cell window, she decided it was more likely to be the second. If Eyam had intended to vanish for ever, it would have been simple for him to remain hidden and find a new life on his father's fortune. But he had left clues that he was still alive, including a barely coded confession in the order of service for his own funeral, which might just as easily have been spotted by someone else – Kilmartin for instance – or any of Eden White's more alert associates.

The way to make sure that only she saw those lines in the song would have been to leave it at Dove Cottage or with Hugh Russell. But, no, he had put this clue in the most public forum possible. Why? There was no clear answer, at any rate none that she could readily find, huddled in a paper suit under this thin blue blanket with the dreadful smell of piss in the air. But she did keep on reminding herself of Eyam's exceptional skills of manipulation, his foresight, the obsessive organisation of his affairs. Eyam was a planner, a list maker, a ticker-off of things done. None of this was an accident. If he was dropping these rash, schoolgirl hints about his secret, he wanted someone other than herself to become
suspicious so they would start investigating his death, his whereabouts and his intentions. Perhaps he was laying a trail, setting up a diversion while evidence against Eden White and the government was published? If this was the case others must have known of the plan to fake his death before she had come anywhere near suspecting it. At least one person had been to the cottage while she was away and left the copy of
The Story of a Shipwrecked Sailor
so she would see it. But why hadn't he been more explicit in the tape? Maybe she'd missed some clues in it. She wouldn't have another chance to hear it because the people who must now be looking at her computer and phone and drawing a precise picture of her life and associates would probably also find the tape in the car and subject it to the same kind of scrutiny.