The journey back to Newcastle was uncomfortable. It seemed to take for ever, but thankfully it was nearly over. Riley Archer’s information had been spot on. As far as Daniels was concerned he deserved a commendation and would get one from a judge eventually if she had anything to do with it, assuming the case ever reached a court of law. But that was still a long way off.
Glancing over her shoulder, she wondered if the man in the back seat was responsible for Amy Grainger’s death and Jessica’s disappearance. Not to mention Rachel. Her suspect had made absolutely no comment whatsoever since his arrest. Harris glared back at her from under the peak of his red cap. Not one word had passed his lips in over two hours and she was relieved when they finally turned into the station car park.
Gormley parked as close to the back door as he could. They got out and took their prisoner straight to the custody suite, booked him in and handed him over to the custody sergeant, who put him in a cell to await his solicitor.
Back in MIR, Daniels went directly to her office, picked up the phone and made arrangements for Harris’s fingerprint image to be entered into PNC database for comparison. Cynthia Beecham hadn’t argued about handing it over. Protected data could prove innocence as well as guilt, was how she’d put it. Daniels couldn’t argue with that. In the end, it drew a blank. Harris had no criminal record, not as much as a speeding ticket. With no time to dwell on that, the DCI lifted the telephone receiver to call Laura Somers. Rachel’s mother was anxious for news, understandable given the recent death of Amy Grainger. Updating her on developments, Daniels arranged for a family liaison officer to visit, hesitating when she heard a knock at the door.
She covered the speaker with her free hand.
Carmichael poked her head in. ‘Harris’s brief has arrived,’ she whispered.
Miming a thank you, Daniels went back to her call, apologizing to Mrs Somers for the interruption. ‘Has Rachel ever mentioned someone called Mark to you, now or in the past?’
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a short delay, some noise at the other end of the line, then Laura Somers was back. ‘Sorry, Inspector, I dropped something. Who is he?’
‘We have reason to believe that a man called Mark met with Rachel on Friday morning. I’ll be speaking to him shortly. I thought I’d run it by you first in case you knew anything about him. I’ll keep you informed if my enquiries come to anything.’
Daniels rang off.
Mark Harris and his brief were waiting in the interview room when she and Gormley walked in. The solicitor wasn’t known to them. He was relatively young, around thirty years old, very good-looking but with a deep red scar which ran from his hairline down his forehead and through his left eyebrow as if he’d recently had an argument with a car windscreen. Unless, Daniels thought, one of his clients had taken umbrage at his instructions. Either way, it looked painful.
Harris was sitting back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. A little smug, Daniels observed, but nervous too, if the perspiration on his brow was anything to go by. He looked right through her as if she wasn’t there. Noticing the exchange between accused and accuser, the brief quickly got to his feet and handed over his business card. He smiled broadly, trying his best to take the heat out of the situation.
‘I’m Alec Walton, Bradley, Walton and Associates. I’ll be acting for Mr Harris. I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘DCI Daniels.’ She pointed to her left. ‘My colleague, DS Gormley.’
They all sat down. Gormley turned on a recording device housed in a recess in the wall, reintroduced all four for the benefit of the tape, adding the time and date, reminding Harris he was still under caution and had been arrested on suspicion of the abduction of Rachel Somers.
‘Do you understand?’ he said.
The suspect sighed. ‘Yes.’
Daniels leaned her elbows on the table. ‘Would you please tell us where you were between eight a.m. and ten a.m. on the morning of Friday the seventh, and what exactly you were doing?’
Harris looked at his brief and received a nod in return. ‘I was at work.’
‘In what capacity?’ Gormley picked up his pen.
‘I work as an HGV driver for Conrad Couriers.’
‘Their head office being where exactly?’ Daniels asked.
‘On the Access 63 business park. It’s near Selby. You should know, you’ve already been there. Thanks to you, I’ll probably lose my job.’
Daniels moved on. ‘What time did your shift begin?’
‘Four a.m. I had an early delivery to South Shields. Got there around six, dropped my load and grabbed some breakfast—’
‘Where?’ Gormley stopped making notes.
Harris’s brow creased. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a simple enough question.’ Daniels met his gaze across the table. ‘Where did you eat?’
‘In my cab.’
‘Packed it yourself, did you?’ Gormley asked.
‘No. I bought it from a mobile breakfast van.’
Daniels wanted more. ‘Which one?’
‘Lindisfarne roundabout. It’s one I use regularly. Lass called Sheila runs it, does an excellent fry-up, if you guys are ever interested.’ Harris grinned. ‘Ask her if you don’t believe me.’
‘Oh, we intend to,’ Gormley said. ‘First chance we get.
‘Did you meet anyone else while you were having breakfast?’ Daniels asked.
She watched for a reaction and got one. Harris’s grin had disappeared. She looked across the table at Alec Walton, wondering what advice he’d given his client, suspecting that she was about to encounter a stone wall. A ‘no comment’ interview was not what she needed right now. But Mark Harris surprised her.
‘I told you, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just . . . I wanted to talk to her.’
‘Rachel Somers?’
‘Yes.’
‘She met you at Sheila’s breakfast bar?’
Harris nodded.
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Daniels said. ‘Had you met before?’
‘Only in cyberspace.’ The grin was back.
Daniels bristled. The remark was more than irritating. Millions of people around the world had fallen foul of web fraudsters and conmen. Yet people continued to post personal information on social networking sites with total disregard to the consequences, some of which had been fatal.
‘I take it you mean the Internet?’ she said.
Another nod.
‘On which site?’ Gormley asked.
Harris hung his right arm over the back of his chair. ‘Facebook.’
Daniels waited for Gormley to stop scribbling. Harris was a cool customer. Either he hadn’t taken on board the seriousness of the situation or he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for his meeting a girl half his age. But if that were so, why had he refused to speak to them without a solicitor present?
She moved on. ‘You told us earlier, you hadn’t meant to hurt her. What did you mean by that?’
Harris looked away.
‘Answer the DCI’s question.’ Alec Walton put a hand on his client’s arm. ‘It’s OK, Mark, you have nothing to hide. We discussed this.’
Harris was scared and it showed.
Walton looked at him.
But still he remained silent.
‘Could I have a few moments alone with my client?’ Walton said.
At such a critical point in the interview, Daniels was annoyed at the suggestion that they should take a break. Her suspect was beginning to lose his bottle and this was no time to take her eye off the ball. Refusing Alec Walton’s request, she said, ‘Earlier you told me that you dropped Rachel Somers in Durham, Mr Harris. What time was that exactly?’
‘No comment.’
The brief spoke next. ‘DCI Daniels, if I could just—’
But Daniels was on a roll. ‘How long have you been corresponding with Rachel on Facebook?’
‘No comment.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Daniels looked at her watch. ‘Interview terminated at 3.05 p.m. Mr Walton, there’s no point in you hanging around. This is a major investigation. We’ve got urgent enquiries to make outside of the area and time is of the essence. Your client is going to be lodged here until those enquiries are complete. If you wish to speak to him, see the custody officer. If he has anything more to say, I’ll be happy to listen. I don’t have time for this.’