Grahamslaw waited as Mellor began the formal introductions before starting the interview.
The room they sat in was small and windowless. There were four seats, two each side of a narrow wooden desk. At one end of the desk sat a twin tape deck. The room was left over from the days when the Complaints Unit used to occupy offices in the main building at New Scotland Yard, so it currently saw little use. Nowadays, CIB had their own offices, well away from the people they were tasked with investigating. Security had been the acceptable and public argument for the move, but many within the service accepted that the infamy and reputation of the branch suggested it was a sensible move to place them well away from the mainstream.
‘My name is Superintendent James Mellor; with me is Detective Sergeant Ian Bishop. Also present is…’
‘William Grahamslaw. Commander, Specialist Operations Directorate.’
The Complaints Superintendent then introduced Robert Finlay, who was sat alongside his Commander, much in the way a solicitor might sit with his client. Finlay spoke his name in response to Mellor’s prompt.
Mellor then outlined the purpose of the interview – that he was investigating the involvement of Police Constable Kevin Jones in criminal activities, including murder and the possession of firearms. He continued with the formal caution that they were all familiar with, to let Finlay know he wasn’t under arrest, he wasn’t obliged to remain in the interview and answer questions, and that he was entitled, at any time, to break off and obtain legal advice.
Finlay answered ‘yes’ when asked if he understood his rights. The Commander had done his level best to prepare his Inspector for what was to come but, he’d made it clear that, once the questioning started, Finlay was on his own.
Mellor opened a file. ‘OK, let’s make a start, Inspector. First things first: how long have you known PC Kevin Jones?’
Finlay sat upright in his chair, his back straight, his gaze steady. He’d kept his jacket on and looked smart, if perhaps a little uncomfortable. Grahamslaw knew that his work phone was in his pocket, turned off. The Commander had suggested Finlay put it there because he figured Mellor would want to seize it. Also on the desk in front of them sat Finlay’s work diary. It was a log that every detective was expected to keep, and showed the hours and days he’d been working as well as what he’d been doing and when.
‘I’ve known him for a little over twenty years, sir,’ came the reply.
‘And how did you first meet?’
Finlay glanced across at the Commander before answering. ‘He was a member of 22 SAS Directing Staff overseeing selection for the Regiment. I first met him when I was doing that selection.’
Grahamslaw remained impassive as he listened. He’d recommended Finlay was open about the Special Air Service and his army experience. They’d agreed that, to avoid appearing to be evasive, he would answer as honestly as he could.
‘So, you were soldiers together?’
‘Not exactly together. I was applying to become an officer in the Regiment. Jones was a Corporal at the time and was on a different squadron to me. Our paths didn’t cross for some time after that first meeting.’
‘Until when, if you can tell us?’
‘Until he joined my squadron on promotion to Sergeant. That would have been in … early 1980.’
‘You have a good memory for dates, Inspector.’
‘Not especially, sir. I remember because I was injured in a firefight in the January of that year, which resulted in my doing a course with the Met while I recovered. It was that experience that started my interest in becoming a police officer.’
‘And, of course, as well we all know, a large number of your fellow soldiers were involved in the Iranian Embassy siege in the April of that year.’
‘Correct.’
‘Were you and Jones both on that siege, Inspector?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. As I believe Mr Grahamslaw can confirm, I cannot disclose the identity of any soldier who took part in that operation.’
Mellor turned to the Commander who simply nodded in response.
The Superintendent took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Very well, I understand – although, given the number of men who have written about Operation Nimrod, I don’t think it would have caused any particular conflict. Right, let’s move on … and try to relax a little, Inspector.’
Mellor probed about the length and strength of the friendship that had developed between an officer and one of his sergeants. He suggested, and Finlay agreed, that it was unusual but not unheard of.
‘You were in touch quite a lot in late August and early September 2001, would that be fair to say?’
‘We were. We’d not seen each other for a while and had drifted apart to some extent. As you’re probably aware, we were both the subject of an attempt by people from our past to have us killed.’
‘The IRA?’
‘And you’ve heard the reports of two soldier-types abseiling onto a block of flats called Alma House in Hackney and giving our SO19 boys a bit of a licking?’
Finlay didn’t answer. The pause was deliberate.
Grahamslaw recognised the signal to cut in. ‘The Inspector has been instructed by Director MI5 not to speak about events of that period, I’m afraid. Shall we move on?’
Mellor scowled. ‘So, you wouldn’t be able to tell me if PC Jones was one of the men on the roof of Alma House?’
Again, Finlay remained silent and poker-faced.
‘And what about the reports of a helicopter being heard in the fields near the house you lived in at the time? A large helicopter of the kind used at the Hackney flats? I suppose you can’t answer anything about that, either?’ Mellor raised his voice as he leaned forwards in his chair.
Grahamslaw recognised the tactic. It was a ploy designed to unsettle. The Superintendent was too experienced to allow his temper to show, he was hoping to gradually unnerve Finlay, by revealing some things he knew and others that he might hint at knowing.
It didn’t work.
‘I understand enquiries made at the time with the RAF confirmed that to be one of their flights at low level, sir,’ Finlay replied.
Grahamslaw stifled a smile. ‘That’s correct,’ he added.
‘Yes … all rather convenient,’ Mellor scoffed. He stared hard at Finlay, who shifted his gaze towards the Sergeant making notes on a small pad.
‘Do you mind if I ask a question?’ Finlay asked.
‘This is my interview, Inspector. If you have any comments or questions we can deal with them at the end. Is that clear?’
Finlay didn’t reply.
Mellor cleared his throat before continuing. ‘What have you been doing workwise since the attacks on you in late 2001, Mr Finlay?’
‘I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Mellor. After a period of leave, I returned to work here at the Yard, working on the anti-trafficking team.’
‘And have you had much contact with PC Jones in the last year?’
‘A fair bit, yes. My wife and I used to visit him in hospital and when he was discharged, and we’ve met socially on quite a number of occasions.’
‘You’d describe him as a close friend, then?’
‘Certainly, which is why I find it almost impossible to believe the allegations I’ve heard concerning him.’
‘Which are?’
‘That he’s in hospital having taken an overdose and that Sandi, his girlfriend, died at his hands.’
‘What did you know about their sex life? Did he discuss it with you, for example?’
‘Is that relevant?’
‘Just answer the question, please.’
Finlay shrugged. ‘He didn’t discuss it with me.’
‘So, if he said he had discussed it with you, he’d be lying?’
Nice move, thought Grahamslaw. Create doubt. But Finlay wasn’t that wet behind the ears.
‘I’d say he might remember something I’ve forgotten,’ he said.
Good reply. The Commander fought hard not to revel in the frustration he knew Mellor would be feeling.
‘Indeed,’ said the Superintendent. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Last week. We had a drink with him and Sandi at my local pub.’
‘Mrs Beattie was with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did they seem together?’
‘They seemed to be getting along fine. I had the impression they were very fond of each other.’
‘Did either of them mention to you that they liked to use recreational drugs?’
‘Kevin doesn’t take drugs.’
‘And what about Mrs Beattie?’ Mellor demanded.
‘I saw nothing to suggest it, no.’
Grahamslaw noticed a slight edge to Finlay’s response, a hint of anger, or possibly frustration. Beneath the calm exterior, something was definitely bothering him.
Mellor continued. ‘You’ve no idea why PC Jones might decide to kill Mrs Beattie?’
‘Like I said a moment ago, sir. I find it hard to believe he did.’
‘Yes … as you say.’ Mellor glanced towards his Sergeant, who reached into a briefcase on the floor and then placed an A4-sized brown envelope on the desk between the Superintendent and Finlay.
Grahamslaw glanced at it. Although open at one end, the contents were concealed. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. The revelation that a gun had been found in the boot of Jones’s car was something he had kept from Finlay. It wasn’t that he wanted to give the Complaints Branch an edge, more a sense of wanting to know the truth. Finlay was a good cop, of that there was no doubt, but all police officers knew they must act within the law, so if the Inspector knew something, now was the time to find out.
Mellor fingered the envelope, as if teasing his interviewee with the fact he knew its contents and his opponent didn’t. ‘Tell me what you understand by the term “trophy weapon”, Mr Finlay?’
‘A memento of battle, sir. Like an assegai brought home from the Zulu wars, or a German bayonet kept by a Tommy as a keepsake memory from World War Two.’
‘And what about the rights and wrongs of doing so? We all know that lots of soldiers do it; even journalists have been known to bring back trophies. What do you think?’
‘You want my opinion, sir?’
‘Indulge me a moment, yes. I’m sure that members of the SAS have quite a collection.’
‘There’s a process to deal with trophies and, to the best of my knowledge, it is stuck to. Museums throughout the country would be somewhat bare if it wasn’t for such things, don’t you think?’
‘That’s as maybe, Inspector. With regard to PC Jones, are you aware of his having kept any weapon or equipment after leaving the armed services?’
‘I am not, sir.’
Grahamslaw again watched Finlay closely for any sign of discomfort. That there were none didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Although it was many years since the Inspector had undergone training in how to resist interrogation, he had only recently attended CID training courses where his memory and skills would have been refreshed, albeit from the approach of the interrogator rather than the suspect. He was lying, of course – of that the Commander was certain, but it didn’t show.
‘What about you?’ Mellor continued. ‘Did you decide to keep anything as a memory keepsake of your time in the army?’
‘Just a few bits and bobs. Badges, hats, that kind of thing.’
‘Nothing illegal, then?’
‘No, nothing illegal.’
‘No … of course not,’ Mellor replied, his expression tight-lipped.
Grahamslaw recognised the cynicism and when the Superintendent raised his eyebrows and turned towards him in what appeared to be an attempt to secure a degree of empathy, he was careful not to react.
‘So, you would have no idea where PC Jones might have obtained a Glock 9mm pistol, I assume?’ Mellor continued.
‘Not as a trophy weapon, certainly.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘When Kevin and I left the services, we were using the Browning. The Glock only became popular many years later.’
‘My information is that the Glock was in use as early as 1982. So, it’s quite possible PC Jones could have obtained one before leaving the army.’
Finlay raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we discussing a theory, or a specific weapon? If it’s a theory, I’d have to accept you could be right. If it’s a specific weapon you’re referring to then the first thing I would do is check when it was manufactured.’
Mellor paused, and the Commander wondered if Finlay’s response had given him a new line of enquiry to follow up on. After a moment, Mellor turned to his Sergeant, who slid the envelope across the table towards him. Slowly, and deliberately he removed a series of medium-sized photographs, which he placed face down on the desk. ‘What car does PC Jones drive, Inspector?’
‘A blue Peugeot.’
‘Would you recognise it? Do you recall the registration number, for example?’
Finlay shifted in his seat and gazed to where the fingers of Mellor’s right hand were teasing at the edge of the uppermost photograph. As the Superintendent turned it over, Grahamslaw noticed a slight flicker in the Inspector’s eyes.
Mellor simply smiled.