The first recourse of the rich and powerful, Paula thought. Bludgeon me with your influential contacts. But she wasn’t having any of that. ‘I doubt it, sir.’
He looked affronted, his chin jutting forward. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘No, sir, just ill-informed. Our unit is not answerable to the chief constable of Bradfield Metropolitan Police. We come under the direct control of the Home Office. So, we don’t actually have a chief constable for you to be a good friend of. Sir, can I ask you to reconsider your decision not to talk to us?’
‘You can ask but you’re wasting your breath. Why would I say anything to you? You’ve got my cousin locked up, I can’t even speak to him. I don’t know what trumped-up charges you’re laying on him, but I’m not giving you the chance to do the same to me.’ He made to close the door, but Alvin leaned his weight against it. ‘Get off!’ Conway sounded genuinely outraged to be thwarted on his own doorstep.
‘Your cousin is singing like he’s auditioning for the X Factor,’ Alvin said. ‘If I was you, I’d want to get my version on the record. First one out of the blocks always looks the most credible. You must know that, you’ll have had to mediate in plenty of disputes over your business career.’
It was a good pitch, Paula thought. ‘What have you got to lose, if your hands are clean?’
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to frame my cousin for, so I don’t know how to avoid something you could twist to his disadvantage. So I am refusing to answer any of your questions. If you want to talk to me, arrest me. If you want to come into my house, get a warrant. And in the meantime, fuck right off.’ He pushed the door again, and this time Alvin stepped back. Nothing else he could have done, Paula thought.
They walked back to the car in silence. ‘That went well,’ Alvin said as he started the engine.
Paula twisted in her seat to look back at the lit windows. Mark Conway was outlined against the light, his face a dark blur. ‘There’s a kind of man who thinks money and power insulates you against the rules the rest of us live by. I don’t care what Inspector Valente says about Mark Conway. In spite of his performance of being one of the good guys, I think he’s one of the other kind and I think he’s in this up to his perfectly shaped eyebrows.’
Alvin grinned as he pulled on to the road. ‘I didn’t like him either.’
‘All we need is some shred of evidence. One loose thread we can pull on to unravel this whole case.’
‘He’s the kind of man who carries nail scissors to cut off all the loose threads,’ Alvin grumbled.
‘One way or another, we’ll just have to blunt his blades.’
46
I’ve spent hours interviewing patients over the years. Some of them have committed terrible crimes, but many of them have been brought into our care before they have reached that pitch. But no matter how well prepared I am before those initial interviews there is always a bolt from the blue that takes me aback.
From Reading Crimes by DR TONY HILL
Getting his plan off the ground had gone better than he’d expected. Salty Davy Smart, the prisoner who effectively ran the library, had been delighted at Tony’s suggestion. And so Books to Share with Your Kids had been booked in for the following afternoon. Four men had turned up at the appointed time and had been only mildly disgruntled that no actual books had arrived yet. Salty Davy had unearthed a battered copy of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales that had found its way into a donated box of assorted books. It was a long way from what he had in mind, but Tony had skimmed it in his cell overnight and reckoned the language of the translation was simple enough to be a starting point.
They’d sat round a table in the furthest corner of the library, as far from casual encounters as possible. Tony had never felt this nervous facing a group of students. Two of them looked barely old enough to be in an adult prison, one still ravaged by teenage pimples, the other by the kind of tattoos that made potential employers blanch. The third was in his twenties. He had shaggy blond hair, a wispy beard and the fidgety twitches of someone who was barely managing to satisfy the drug habit that had put him behind bars in the first place.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Tony began.
‘Makes a change,’ Wispy Beard said. ‘Anything to relieve the monotony.’
Before Tony could get started, they were joined by a man he recognised as one of the Lithuanians that Matis Kalvaitis hung out with. He nodded gravely and sat down. ‘I join you,’ he said. ‘I can read but my English not good.’
There was another man lurking behind him. The Lithuanian half-turned and said, ‘Gordo, get in here.’
Gordo glowered, chubby arms crossed tightly over his chest, shaven head cocked to one side as if daring Tony to make something of it. ‘I don’t need to waste my time on this.’ His accent was local. Tony imagined he was the Lithuanian’s muscle, paid in tobacco or drugs or phone cards.
‘I’m here, you’re here. Sit down.’ There was no room for argument. The big man sat. He didn’t look happy.
Tony managed a strained smile, trying to cover his unease. The drugs that swilled around in the prison made for unpredictable responses. If any of them were boosting their confidence with something extra, there was no knowing what might set them off.
None of the usual group ice-breakers Tony had used in the past were going to work with this lot. No point in splitting them into pairs to learn what they could about each other in five
