‘So have you applied for data for his other numbers? The other SIMs he’s used in that phone?’
‘First thing this morning. We’re waiting for the results, but in the meantime we got a subscriber check done on his one and only handset.’
‘And?’ I was holding my breath.
‘The phone comes back to a Mr Colin Friedland. Address in Briarstone.’
‘He registered the phone?’
‘He’s had an account with the service provider for five years. Clearly a fine upstanding citizen, Mr Friedland. I like him already.’
If he’d registered the phone, he was either stupid, or completely innocent, or truly believed he had nothing to hide. Or maybe when he’d registered it he hadn’t intended his current activities – maybe it was a recent thing. I wondered if he even realised that having an account with the service provider meant that all his efforts in swapping the SIMs were pointless.
The DCI rubbed his hands together. ‘I think we deserve a cup of tea, don’t you? I’ll make it. What are you having?’
He didn’t make it, of course. There was no milk. He took me up to the canteen that was usually busy, but which on a Sunday was home only to a few members of the patrol team enjoying their bacon sandwiches before heading back out into the town centre. We got coffees from the machine and sat with them in a slightly awkward silence.
‘I can’t help thinking about Eileen Forbes,’ he said.
‘Eileen? Why?’
‘It was just a matter of hours, that’s all. If we’d taken it seriously – if we’d been a bit quicker with the trace… I wonder if we could have saved her.’
I shook my head. ‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘I think she must have passed that point a long time earlier. And he obviously had some kind of control over her mind from the moment she met him. You couldn’t have changed that.’
‘We saved you,’ he said.
I didn’t answer. I thought of Sam, wondered if that was what he thought, too.
‘How’s it been, at home?’ he asked eventually.
‘Fine,’ I said, not wishing to embark on a lengthy explanation of how I’d ended up living with a reporter from the
Chronicle
I’d only met for the first time a few weeks ago. And his parents. And my cat.
I could see him fishing around for another question to ask me, holding them up to the light for scrutiny and discarding them – boyfriend? No, too personal… family coping? She might start crying… Children, pets? Ditto…
‘Rain seems to be holding off,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, with obvious relief. ‘Shame to be stuck in here, really.’
His phone rang then, loud enough to make me jump.
‘They’ve got him,’ Paul said, when he ended the call. ‘He’s on his way in now.’
Until that moment I’d felt nothing other than the excitement of being involved in a job at the arrest phase, something I’d never done before. But now, there was something else – relief? The feeling that it was over, that I was waking up from a long sleep and that my life could begin again.
We took our coffees with us back up to the MIR.
After that, the phones rang constantly. Now the case was unravelling, senior officers were ringing Paul with offers of help, trying to find ways in which they could snaffle a bit of the credit for a job that was potentially going to be high-profile. There was a lot to be gained from it. Every time Paul put the phone down again we had a bit of a laugh about how nobody had been particularly interested and now suddenly our job was the most important thing going on in Briarstone. I didn’t mention that I’d been working on the case for a while before anyone had shown any interest at all – including him.
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
‘He’ll be put in a cell while we get a search team inside his house with the PACE clock ticking down. Keith and Simon will be doing the initial interview. When they get back up here we’ll have a meeting to talk about the interview strategy.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can go home.’
‘What?’
‘Annabel. You’ve been absolutely pivotal to this whole investigation, you know that. But you’re also a victim. You shouldn’t really have come back in here after you were off. That’s Frosty’s fault, really. He didn’t know what to do with all those billings and he told Kate and she decided to mention it to you.’
‘I’m glad she told me. I’m glad of it.’ I felt choked, suddenly, as though I was being dumped.
‘We couldn’t have done this without you,’ he said gently. ‘But we need to separate you from the investigation now, or else having you on the team could threaten any prosecution. If we get past the CPS, you’re going to be a key witness. Do you see what I’m getting at?’
He was right. I knew he was right. But it still felt like being punched in the gut.
Well done, Annabel, thank you for solving the whole sodding case for us, now piss off back to the civvies’ office where you belong
.
‘You’re not going to be able to tell me anything about the interviews? What he says?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry. This has to be it. You can see that, can’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I felt tears starting and I pushed myself up from my chair before he could see them. ‘Thanks, though. And good luck.’
He started to say something else but I couldn’t wait. I logged myself out of the system while I was putting on my coat. By the time I’d done that he was on the phone again and I could give him a happy little wave through the glass partition, then down to the corridor to the Ladies’, where the sobs began.
When the knock at the door came, I was half-inclined not to open it. On a Sunday? It was likely to be some sort of evangelist, or, worse, someone trying to get me to change my energy supplier. I framed my face into a polite but assertive smile, ready to get rid of whoever it was quickly.
And of course the smile died on my face when I opened the door.
‘Colin Friedland? My name is DC Keith Topping; this is my colleague DC Simon Lewis. Can we come in, please?’
‘It’s not convenient,’ I said, eyeing them up and down. The younger one – Lewis? – was taller than me and twice as wide – a rugby player if ever I’d seen one. I wanted to ask him if he was front row or back but thought better of it.
‘Oh?’ said Lewis. ‘Why’s that?’
‘I was just preparing dinner,’ I said.
‘I’m afraid it’s rather urgent,’ Topping said.
What a name. Keith Topping? I’ll bet he was bullied at school; what would they have called him? Dream Topping? Tip-Top?
After a brief discussion in the house they arrested me and took me out to the police car that was parked just out of sight at the end of the drive. It’s funny that my first thought on their introduction was not that something must have happened to my mother, in her nursing home – I knew immediately why they were there. And it felt like the start of an exciting new chapter. A new game for me to play, with new rules. In the back of the car, my hands uncomfortably cuffed behind me, I was smiling with a delicious anticipation of what was going to happen next.
Dumb and dumber, these two. The same two who arrested me. The skinny one now sitting on a comfy chair in the corner and the one built like a prop sitting on a plastic chair, too small for his fat arse, across the table from where I’m sitting, awaiting the best they can do.
‘Colin Friedland, you’re aware that you are still under arrest for the murders of Rachelle Hudson, Robin Downley, Shelley Burton, Edward Langton, Dana Viliscevina and Eileen Forbes. 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.’
I say nothing.
‘You have the right to legal representation, as I mentioned before. You’ve said you don’t want a solicitor to be present but I just want to remind you here that you can change your mind about that at any stage. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I don’t need a solicitor.’
‘This interview is being recorded on DVD, Colin. Do you understand everything I’ve said to you so far?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say.
‘Right, then. Let’s make a start, shall we? Can you tell me when you first met Rachelle Hudson?’
I genuinely have to think about that one. They think I’m going to be difficult, I can tell. They’re settled in for the long haul, braced for it like fishermen heading for the North Atlantic. ‘I think it was just after the beginning of February. I don’t recall the exact date.’
I was expecting them to exchange glances; I can almost feel the surprise like an electric shock between them. They didn’t think it was going to be this easy, did they? And yet they still have no idea of any of it, not really.
‘How did you meet?’
‘In the country park in Baysbury. She was running. No, actually, she was sitting on a bench – but she had been running. We fell into conversation.’
‘What about?’
‘I could tell she was unhappy. I was trying to make her feel better about herself.’
‘Did you ever visit Rachelle Hudson’s home?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She invited me in.’
‘Just that time, or did you go back there again?’
‘I visited her once she had died.’
There is a brief silence broken only by the electric hum of the DVD recorder. Both of them are staring at me.
‘Colin, did you kill Rachelle Hudson?’
I smile at them. ‘No, of course not. She did that all by herself. I was just there to comfort her, to ensure that she was happy with the decisions she made.’
There’s another pause while they digest this information and clearly thrash about in their collective tiny minds for a new type of interview strategy, since the direction this one is taking evidently wasn’t in their plan.
‘Did you help her to take her own life?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Did you touch her in any way?’
I think about this for a moment, trying to remember. ‘No, I don’t think so. I might have touched her arm or something. I was never violent or anything like that.’
‘Did she talk to you about wanting to take her own life?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What did she say?’
‘I think she said she felt sometimes that she would be happier if she ceased to exist.’
‘Did you suggest she seek help? Talk to someone about how she felt?’
‘She was talking to me about how she felt.’
‘But you didn’t think you should try and stop her from ending her life?’
‘No. That was her decision. She was a grown adult.’
‘And you didn’t report her death?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Surely that sort of thing should be up to one’s next of kin, shouldn’t it?’ I give Lewis a cheerful smile which he does not return.
‘Did you say anything to try to dissuade Rachelle from taking her own life?’
‘Not at all. Once she had made the decision to die, she was much happier. That was a good thing, don’t you think?’
Lewis does not answer the question. Instead, he looks across at Topping for the first time since the interview started. He’s way out of his depth already and we’ve only been talking for five minutes or so. I almost feel sorry for him.
After that brief wobble, he comes back from another angle. ‘Did you give Rachelle a mobile phone?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘So I could keep in touch with her.’
‘Did she ever call you using the phone?’
‘No. I called her on that number a few times.’
‘And did you take Rachelle’s own mobile phone away from her?’
‘Yes, I did. She wanted to cease all contact with her family. She didn’t need the phone any more.’
‘You took it without her permission?’
‘No, she gave me permission to take the phone away.’
‘What did you do with the phone?’
‘I got rid of it.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I can’t remember exactly. I might have put it in a dustbin somewhere.’
Lewis sighs heavily and consults his notes. Then he says, ‘Going back to the mobile phone you left at Rachelle’s house. You said you called her on it a number of times. What did you say to her when you called?’
‘I don’t remember exactly. I was calling to check if she was alright, if she needed anything.’
‘Did you know she was starving to death?’
‘Yes.’
They look at each other again and I smile. This is such a lot of fun. I wish I’d owned up to it all months ago.
‘Did you not think, then, that she might have needed food?’
‘No. That was the way she had decided to die. If I’d brought her food I would have been going against her wishes. She’d already chosen that path. That was her right.’
Lewis raises his voice slightly for the first time. ‘“She’d chosen her path”?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ I say cheerfully. ‘We all choose our own paths, DC Simon Lewis. You’ve chosen your path, too, haven’t you? And you, DC Keith Topping. It’s only when we’ve chosen our path and taken steps towards it that we can realise what it means to be truly happy. Don’t you agree?’
Sam’s car pulled into the side entrance to the police station car park and swung round so that it was facing back to the main road. I opened the passenger door and got in.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
He hadn’t been expecting me to finish so early, judging by the surprised tone of his voice when I’d called his mobile. I had considered getting the bus or a taxi back to my house and sending him a text to say I’d gone home, but he would only have turned up there. Shutting the door and leaving the world behind me was no longer an option.
‘Yes and no. I’m off the case. Apparently I shouldn’t have been allowed back in the MIR after that man made me into a victim.’
‘Is that the good news or the bad news?’
‘The good news is that they’ve made an arrest and he’ll be interviewed, probably later this afternoon.’
‘Really? Who is he?’
‘Sam, I can’t talk about it.’
‘What do you think I’m going to do? I can’t name him if he hasn’t been charged, you know that. Tomorrow’s issue’s already gone to press. There’s bound to be an official announcement about the arrest on tomorrow’s local news. By Tuesday morning everyone and his uncle will know all about it.’