DS Banks was waiting for Dan, pacing in the police station waiting area in a bright blue shirt and yellow tie, his force ID swinging from a lanyard picked up at a policing conference. His hair was short and dark, his parting too precise. Dan wondered whether the part of the job he loved the most was the parade ground salute.
‘Mr Grant, come through,’ and he went straight to a door on the other side of the waiting area. There weren’t the usual pleasantries one might expect for a victim of crime. Then again, most victims of crime aren’t defence lawyers who spend their lives trying to dismantle police investigations.
He was shown into an interview room, normally reserved for suspects, with a recording machine fastened to a table and four chairs bolted to the floor. ‘This seems as good a place as any.’
Dan took a seat and waited for the offer of coffee. It never came. Dan didn’t mind. He was more interested in telling them what they needed to know and getting out. He decided to wait until Banks spoke though.
Banks took the seat opposite. He put some pieces of paper down. Blank police statements, ready for Dan’s account, although he didn’t seem in any rush to write anything down.
‘What happened there then?’ he said, and tapped his cheek to indicate Dan’s bruises.
‘You must know what happened. I told your colleague last night, and now you’ve got me here. I was looking into a case and I was jumped. I gave her a name. Carl Ogden.’
‘What was the case?’
Dan shook his head. ‘You don’t get that.’
‘How can we help you if you don’t tell us?’
‘When did I ask you to help me?’
‘How about when you were being taken to hospital?’
‘Your colleague asked me questions. I gave answers. You know how it is though. I was dazed, concussed, but I’ve given you a lead. If you go to his house and find his clothes or trainers, they might have my blood on them. You won’t need to know any details of my case then. Res ipsa loquitur, as they say.’
‘Yeah, yeah, the facts speak for themselves. I’m not entirely wet around the ears, except there are problems with your account.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Carl Ogden was in all night. He never left. We went to his house after you’d been taken to his hospital, expecting to see him washing clothes and shoes. He was cosied up with his girlfriend, had been all evening. No sign of bloody clothes. Just a guy having a night in with his girl.’
‘Bullshit. I followed him.’
‘How did you know it was him?’
‘His clothes. His ridiculous trousers with OGGY down the leg. They’re his bloody signature.’
‘Did you see his face?’
‘Well, no, because I was walking behind him.’
‘What about when you were attacked? What was the street lighting like?’
‘Not much of it. It was dark, you know that.’
‘Did you get a good look at their faces? You said more than one, right?’
‘Two at least.’
‘At least? Could have been more than two then?’
‘Two, I’m sure.’
‘You said at least a moment ago. Which is it? Just two, or at least two?’
Dan took a deep breath to stay calm. ‘At least, okay. I get your point.’
‘And you didn’t get a good look at their faces?’
‘It was a flurry. I was being attacked.’
‘The answer is no, I believe.’
Dan clenched his jaw.
Banks sat back and smiled. ‘Not nice, is it, Mr Grant, having what you believe to be true twisted by questions, until the point is reached where everyone thinks you’ve got it wrong, even though you’re convinced you haven’t?’
‘Don’t be a smart-arse.’
‘I’m just giving you an example of what you’ll face if this ever gets to court. But then, you know that already. What’s the legal principle about identification you always throw around? That a mistaken witness can be a convincing witness and a genuine witness, but still, nonetheless, mistaken? Is that it?’
Dan stood. ‘If you’ve dragged me here for some petty revenge for all your lost cases, save your breath. I’ve got other things to do.’
‘What like? Fill out insurance forms for your office fire? How’s business, Mr Grant? All I hear from defence lawyers is how poor they’ve got, that the gravy train has screeched to a halt. How convenient will the fire seem if someone looks at your accounts?’
Dan put his hands on the table and leaned forward, until his face was close to Banks’s, snarling when he said, ‘If you’ve got me here to accuse me of a crime, you better have more than you’ve got.’
‘Don’t threaten me, Mr Grant.’
‘What time did you get the first report that there’d been a fire?’
Banks sat back and folded his arms. ‘Just after ten.’
‘And where was I?’
‘Not yet collected by the ambulance.’
‘Unconscious on a piece of waste ground? How long would it have taken me to get from where I was to my office? Where’s my car? And I thought I was too concussed to be a reliable witness against Carl Ogden? You can’t have it both ways, and do you know what, I still feel a little woozy. The head injury must be coming back, intermittent dizziness or something.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the pub. I’ll call Eileen and tell her what I know, but it will be the same as I’ve already told you. I was jumped by Carl Ogden and some of his cronies, left for dead in the dark, and they went and destroyed my building because they’ve got something to hide. I would suggest that you stop puffing your chest out at me and let me leave, because you know you can’t detain me.’ Dan went to the door and opened it. ‘This way, isn’t it? Will I need a special fob to get me out, or will there just be a big button for me to press? I’ll tell you what, I’ll find out.’
Dan closed the door and set off walking. He knew Banks wouldn’t follow him. Good, let him sulk. For now, Dan wanted fresh air and then more booze. He was going to lose the day, he’d decided. And the thought felt liberating.