said they couldn’t possibly accommodate me on Tuesday, but after a pathetic display of subservience and respect for their difficulties they agreed to squeeze me in on Friday. They like us to know that they can’t be pushed around. I said: “Thank you, Friday will be fine.”
Tuesday, I went to court instead. After hanging about for two hours and another half-hour talking to a magistrate, I came away with a warrant to search Silkstone’s house and a special circumstance attached to his bail conditions. He had to stay out of the way while we did so.
I rang him on his mobile and told him to bring his brief with him when he came to sign the book on Thursday. I wanted to do a substantive interview, to clarify his exact movements on the day his wife died. I didn’t mention the search warrant.
“What if I refuse to stay?” he ventured.
“Then I’ll arrest you,” I told him. The time had come to put pressure on Mr Silkstone. He’d had a long break, had probably grown complacent about his predicament. He was due for a wake-up call.
Wednesday I drove to the lab at Wetherton and had a long talk with one of the professors. He listened to what I had to say, sounded sceptical but agreed to loan me a scientist. At a price, of course. He followed me back to Heckley, where I held a briefing with Dave Sparkington, Jeff Caton and four members of the scenes of crime team. Compared to them, the professor had sounded jubilant and enthusiastic.
“So you were serious,” Sparky declared.
“I’m always serious, Dave,” I replied.
“What exactly are we looking for?” one of the SOCOs asked.
“You have the difficult bit,” I told him. “Silkstone killed Peter John Latham with a kitchen knife, ostensibly belonging to Latham. It just happened to be available, on the worktop. If the murder was planned in advance Silkstone wouldn’t have left anything to chance. What I want to know is whether Silkstone was aware that the block containing the knives would be there, or if he took it with him. Ideally, I’d like to link the knives with Silkstone. Had the block stood on his worktop before it went to Latham’s house? We’re talking micro-analysis stuff here; trace evidence. Look for marks, a faded patch on the tiles, an impression on the underside of the block, that sort of thing. Take some pictures in UV or oblique light; you know more about it than me. My team will be looking for other possible links. Were the knives a present from the Silkstones, or were they bought specially for the job? Count the knives in both houses, does one of them have too many or too few? Look for a receipt, trace the supplier, who bought them?”
“Perhaps there are photographs taken in their kitchens that might show the knives,” the youngest of the SOCOs suggested. She was an Asian girl, with huge dark eyes. A SOCO’s greatest asset is his or her eyes, and hers were belters.
“Good thinking,” I said. “Find their photo albums. And while we’re talking about photos, I’m going to ask Somerset to give the picture of Caroline Poole we found in Latham’s bedroom a going over: does it carry any prints, inside or out, and what was used to trim it down to size? You know the score, so have a look at his scissors.”
“All this should have been done before,” Sparky declared.
“You’re right, Dave,” I said, “but Silkstone confessed to murder and we believed him. We believed what we saw and what he told us. Any tests we did were to confirm his story, because we had no reason to do otherwise. What we are saying now is that perhaps he was involved also with the death of his wife and the whole thing was premeditated. This is a murder enquiry, and not Confessions of a Salesman. Without witnesses the odds are stacked against us, but let’s give it a try.”
They closed their notebooks and stood up, looking slightly more enthusiastic than before but not exactly overflowing with optimism. The young scientist from the lab hung back as they drifted away.
“So where are the, er, whatsits?” he asked.
“Here,” I said, passing him a manila envelope.
“There’s a hundred in here?”
“A hundred and two.”
“Do you realise how long it will take?”
“It could be up to three hours,” I replied, “but just do as many as you can. The more the merrier. What I mainly want from you is an unbiased report, nice and scientific, that nobody can argue with.”
He reached inside the envelope and extracted a dispenser of aloe vera liquid soap. “And what’s this for?” he asked.
“Um, use your imagination,” I replied.
“Present for you,” I said, opening the car boot.
“What is it?” Dave asked, coming over to me. It was seven thirty in the morning and a light drizzle was falling. We hadn’t met for a pint the night before, so I’d spent the evening shopping and doing chores.
“My old microwave,” I told him. “You can have it for Sophie, if you want. You said she needed one. The bulb’s gone, but otherwise it’s OK.”
He turned up his collar and looked at it for a few seconds before saying: “And what about you? I thought you lived out of the microwave.”
“I bought a new one last night. A Mitsubishi. It does everything, including the washing up, so this is now going spare. Any good to you?”
“Charlie…” he began, “I’d be annoyed if I thought you’d gone out and bought one just so Sophie could have this.”
“I didn’t,” I assured him. “Sainsbury’s have started doing these ready meals for the healthier appetite, like mine, and this isn’t large enough for them. They get stuck corner-ways on when they rotate, so I bought a bigger one. Now I’m getting flippin’ soaked, so do you want it or not.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks a lot. I believe you like I believe the Prime Minister, but thanks. It’ll save me a bob or two.”
“And these are expensive times,” I said.
“You can say that again.”
I helped him carry it to his car and we walked into the nick, brushing the raindrops from our jackets. Dave is paid for the overtime he works, but it is strictly limited. I have to ration it out and try to be fair to everyone. The younger DCs have expenses, too: mortgages and young children if they’re married; flash cars with big payments if they’re single. “What a miserable day,” I complained.
“Yeah,” he agreed with a grin. “What we need is a nice juicy interview, to brighten it up.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange, Mr Nasty,” I said.
“I’ll wait for your call, Mr Nice,” he replied.
Jeff attended the briefing while I read the night reports. He was wearing blue trousers with a logo tab sewn to a pocket, a short sleeved white shirt and a green tie with multicoloured triangles in a random pattern. Annette waved a coffee mug at me across the office and I nodded a Yes please at her. She was wearing a lime green T-shirt that managed to look expensive, black trousers with a slight flair and chunky-heeled granny boots. She looked sensational and I let my eyes linger on her, catching the curve of her breasts as she reached to plug in the kettle. Jeff, in contrast, looked quite ordinary.
Just before ten, front desk rang to say that Mr Silkstone and Mr Prendergast had arrived and were now in interview room number one. We gave them five minutes to decide where they were sitting and went down to join them. Silkstone looked leaner than I remembered him, and had worked on his tan. He was wearing a stone-coloured lightweight suit that was inappropriate for the weather and made him look like Our Man in Havana. Prendergast was in solicitor blue, and two large umbrellas leaned in the corner, each standing in a small puddle. I wondered if they had licences for them.
“Nasty morning,” I said, brightly, as I sat opposite Silkstone. They both glanced at me without replying, Silkstone giving me the look he normally reserved for flat tyres and dodgy oysters. Dave placed two cassettes in the recorder and announced that we were off.
I thanked them for coming and did the introductions, adding that DS Sparkington would have to leave us in a few minutes to make a phone call. “The principal reason we are here,” I continued, “is to make what we call a definitive activity chart of Mr Silkstone’s exact movements through the house on the day that Mr Latham died. It’s not a new idea, but the prosecution service has started asking for it in all cases. Up to now we’ve only done one if we thought it relevant. I know you have told us most of it before, but I’d be very grateful if we could run through it
