Wylie.’
‘But…’ The solicitor was perplexed but also wary. He knew Brock was no fool. He scanned his face and saw only confidence. ‘You have no evidence. The CPS knows that. You can’t go to trial.’
‘Well, things are continuously developing, as you well know. Evidence is often buried in shifting sand.’ He guessed the metaphor would register. Any lawyer representing Wylie would be painfully conscious of it. ‘Mr Wylie’s and Mr Abbott’s email records, for instance…’ He deliberately wasn’t looking at Wylie as he said it, but he saw an involuntary twitch at the edge of his vision.‘They were lost along with their computers, of course…’
The solicitor glanced at his client, whose face was blank, then back at Brock.‘So?’
‘But fortunately we can do something about that.’
‘How?’Wylie couldn’t help blurting out the question.
Brock turned to look at him as if for the first time. ‘Microsoft keep servers in California which store information on all their email accounts around the world, including a copy of every email that passes through them.’
‘You’re joking,’Wylie said in disbelief.
His solicitor, who had obviously come across this before, said, ‘You’ll need a US court order. Have they agreed to release them to you?’
‘It’s in train. That’s why there’s been a delay in our proceeding. I’m afraid there’s no question of bail, though.’ Again he picked up a signal from Wylie, a clenching of fingers.‘As I said, we’re convinced that the victim’s welfare would be prejudiced.’
‘You bastard.’ Wylie stared at Brock, his face white, breathing becoming more laboured.
‘I’d like some time alone with my client,’ the solicitor said, fingering his watch again.‘Two or three minutes?’
‘Be my guest,’ Brock said. He got to his feet and knocked on the locked door.
Outside, he asked the prison officer to let him use a vacant interview room to make a confidential phone call. He got through to Virginia Ashe and explained what he was doing. She listened without interruption but with several sharp intakes of breath. When he had finished she made her points in the quick, decisive manner of hers.
‘One, a notice of transfer has to be served on the court by the Director of Public Prosecutions.’
‘You act for him. You can do it.’
‘Not on something like this. I’d need approval, which I certainly won’t get on the basis of what we currently know. Two, to be valid it must be served before the magistrates begin committal proceedings. Now you’ve disclosed your tactic, Wylie’s legal representatives will press for those to begin.’
‘You’re the lawyer, Virginia. That’s your field.’
She sighed. ‘Three, since you’ve disclosed your subpoena for the emails, they will also fight to block their release. Do you know that they contain anything incriminating?’
‘I didn’t before, but I do now. It was written all over Wylie’s face.’
‘That’s not evidence.’
‘Microsoft refer requests from foreign police services to the FBI for approval. It’ll be up to them. If there’s the faintest hint of violence against children, I’m sure they’ll be sympathetic.’
‘But why did you warn Wylie of all this?’
‘I want to panic him, Virginia. I want him to react before he knows for sure how we stand.’
‘His solicitor will be straight onto us. My boss practically promised that Wylie could expect to be out of goal today.’
‘That’s why I’m ringing you now. I want you to stall them. Talk to Wylie’s brief about shifting ground-the poor bloke looks as if he’s balancing on a pile of shale. Just play for time. I think gaol is beginning to get to Mr Wylie.’
‘I do hope you know what you’re doing, Brock.’
‘Of course I do, Virginia,’ he said, sounding as confident as he could.
As he finished the call his mobile rang. It was Bren, his voice sounding unnatural, tight.
‘Chief? We’ve just heard from the hospital. Lee passed away less than an hour ago.’ Then he repeated himself as if he still couldn’t come to terms with it. ‘She’s dead. She never regained consciousness.’
After thirty minutes Kathy rang the bell on Reg Gilbey’s front door. It was opened by Tom Reeves.‘Hi.’ He grinned at her, winked and nodded back with his head to indicate that they could be overheard.‘Come on in.’
Sir Jack Beaufort was waiting for her in Reg’s dining room, sitting on one side of a polished pine dining table. The chair opposite him had been pulled out in preparation for her, and Kathy had the unnerving impression of a courtroom, the judge behind the bench and the witness -or was she the accused?-facing the court for interrogation.
Beaufort rose to his feet and offered his hand across the table, shaking hers briefly and indicating the vacant chair. ‘Coffee, Sergeant?’ he asked curtly.
‘Thanks. Black, no sugar, please.’
‘I know,’ Reeves said, and left the room.
‘He likes you,’ Beaufort said.‘He speaks highly of you. That’s what persuaded me to speak to you.’ He cleared his throat, as if offering Kathy a chance to say something, but she remained silent. His gaze was steady and unblinking, and despite herself she felt intimidated.
‘You look uncomfortable,’ he said softly. ‘Please don’t be. I’m not a monster, you know. My colleagues used to call me “Jocular Jack” behind my back, on account of my sense of humour in court.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, indeed. Reg Gilbey told me about your interview with him yesterday. He was quite upset about it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘We often forget, don’t we, in our line of work, how distressing our ways can seem to the lay public when they experience for the first time what is commonplace to us?’
‘I assure you that we complied with the rules laid down in PACE.’
Beaufort waved his hand dismissively.‘I never doubted it. But still, just the idea of being questioned like a criminal would be enough to throw someone like Reg into confusion.’
‘He didn’t seem confused to me.’
‘He’s desperately worried that he may have given the impression that he felt guilty, or had something to hide, about the encounter with the Rudd child that he described to you. As he said, I was there that afternoon, and I can assure you that there was absolutely nothing untoward about it. The little girl was perfectly happy and Reg behaved impeccably towards her. That’s really what I wanted to tell you. Ah, Tom, well done. Biscuits too!’
Reeves came in with a tray, put it on the table between them and left again. Beaufort fussed over the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself as if content to have completed his business. Kathy watched him, pretty certain that he had not.
‘Don’t you find police work very stressful, Sergeant?’ he asked conversationally.
‘It can be, yes.’
‘Especially a case like this. The thought of that missing child, the demands on you to come up with a result…
I imagine the pressure must be almost overwhelming for the person leading the team, the senior investigating officer.’
Brock, Kathy thought, that’s what this is about.
‘You’re SIO’s getting on a bit, too, for such a role, isn’t he?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The important thing is his experience. That’s what gives him the edge. It’s what gives Special Operations the edge.’
Beaufort smiled.‘Very loyal, as you should be. But I must confess I’m not convinced. I’m pretty experienced too, at judging men and their patterns of behaviour under stress, and it’s my humble opinion that your chief, and perhaps SO1 also, has been overstressed for too long. I would say that he is in the process of having a breakdown.’ He held up his hand as Kathy started to protest. ‘I know, it’s none of my business, and I hope it won’t go beyond these four walls. I’m just expressing a personal opinion, and perhaps offering a little insight for you to think about, because I know that, deserved or not, the team tends to be identified with the actions of its leader. Did you know that DCI Brock called at my house recently and behaved in a quite threatening way to my wife and myself?’
Kathy felt a jangle of anxiety.
