The new DC Simon had borrowed had been in Lafferton CID since the week of his attack. Fern Monroe had come in on the fast-track scheme after having taken a degree in criminology, and at twenty-three was enthusiastic, brainy and abrupt and clearly thought that she was rather above spending hours trawling through CCTV footage.
‘How long is this going to take, guv?’
Simon bit his tongue. She was young, a rookie, she hadn’t had the shine rubbed off her yet. She’d learn.
‘I am hoping less time than you might expect. A note was made on the Still files that all local authority CCTV cameras were ordered to tag their recording for that day. You know about tagging?’
She did not, he could tell by her expression. He could also tell that she would die rather than admit it. Well, he was going to cut her some slack. Just not too much.
‘Oh yes.’
‘So run through it for me.’
‘Certain cameras are marked out.’
‘Not quite.’
‘Sorry, no. I meant certain times.’
Serrailler leaned back. He knew that he would be fairer to her than many a senior CID officer, and that if she did not mend her attitude quickly, they would be unforgiving. They were not bad people, not unkind or impatient, and they had all been at the bottom, at the beginning. But there was still some prejudice against fast-track graduate entrants to the police and someone was always ready to trip them up and make fools of them. If he said nothing now, things would get worse and quickly.
She sat looking at him coolly through tortoiseshell glasses.
‘DC Monroe, listen. You have been a DC for a few months. Fine. You cannot have experienced everything – or even very much – and you can’t know everything. There is absolutely no shame in saying so. There are plenty of things I still don’t know. Same applies to every single officer in this station. So, let’s start again. Do you know exactly what a tagged day means in terms of CCTV recordings?’
‘Probably not, comprehensively.’
‘You mean “No”?’
She met his gaze defiantly and did not look away. ‘All right.’
‘You mean “No”?’
‘Yes, guv.’
‘OK, got there. Now you’re going to find out and it’s very simple. It isn’t something you’ll come across every day though it isn’t a rare occurrence either. Let’s take this particular case – the disappearance of Kimberley Still, nearly five and a half years ago. How familiar are you with the case?’
‘Not at all.’
Serrailler opened up his laptop. ‘Here – this page and the next – read it and get up to speed. I’ll get the coffees in. Black? White?’
‘Tea, Earl Grey, black. The machine does have it.’
He was waylaid by a couple of people wanting to greet him, and by the time he returned to the room as large as a cupboard that he had purloined for the viewing, DC Monroe had brought herself up to date on the cold case.
‘There are quite a few things that ought to have been done as routine that I can’t find any reports on.’
‘You could say. That’s why we’re here.’ He set down her plastic cup of tea.
‘Thanks, guv. I owe you 90p.’
‘On me. What about tagging?’
‘Got it. So we’re hoping to find that every local authority CCTV record taken on the third of June was frozen, as it were – tagged. It should never be erased, whereas even with digital they do eventually have to erase some data from way back. I was just getting up the LDC stored files.’
‘Good. Find the date and see if they have all been tagged as requested.’ He drank his coffee and watched her fingers speed, concentrating hard. She was clearly an expert and they had never had enough of those. He had watched too many stubby fingers poke and jab ponderously at keyboards.
‘Here we are … it looks as if the tagging worked. Now we just need to find the relevant cameras – there’ll be a database. Shall I access it?’
He noted that she did not say ‘try to’.
Three minutes later the information was on-screen, the relevant cameras narrowed down to four.
‘We can rule that one out,’ Serrailler pointed. ‘That’s in Victoria Street, at the back, away from the park. This one is at the main gates – probably doesn’t concern us for the moment.’
‘So, it’s these two – 245 and 248?’
‘Can we look at the tagged day only?’
‘Third of June … we should be able to – that’s basically why it’s tagged – never to be deleted.’
‘Right – can you find the date? It’s in white on the top above the pictures.’
She found it.
‘This is saving so much time. Glad I’m in expert hands.’
She gave a very small smile.
They started to go patiently through all the images for the day on which Kimberley had gone missing, starting at midnight and one second. There was nothing at all until three, then an urban fox and a cat. Nothing again. Slowly, they caught up with that day, frame by frame, with delivery vehicles, people cycling and walking to work, children going to school, postmen, more delivery vans. Plenty of quiet patches – this was not an especially busy area at any time. They got to four in the afternoon without any sighting of any car near the side entrance to the park. The camera was pointed just away from the pavement.
‘Someone could have stopped a car in this area – here to here – and this camera wouldn’t have picked it up. You can just about make out people going in but no full-on shots. If we’re going to see anything it will be on the camera at the entrance by the block of flats. That might catch the road and the kerb as well or it might not. It’ll be someone’s law that we’re trying to get a sight of activity in the one small area not covered by any camera at all.’
But at the camera’s date and time of 3 June at 13.11, they got lucky.
‘Look, guv.’ Fern Monroe had pressed pause.
Serrailler leaned forward. The image was not good – they never were – but Fern had paused at a frame which showed a man and a woman come out of the side entrance to the park and cross the road.
‘Go back.’
She ran back to where a car came down the side road, paused and then turned slowly into the entrance to the flats. They watched it park, and what looked like the same man get out. He took the short walk in reverse and entered the park.
‘Freeze that please. Enlarge?’
‘It will make it less clear.’
‘I know – I need to get a better idea of his height and build. There – stop. Russon is white, around five ten, full head of hair, stocky but not fat.’
‘Looks about right but his face isn’t visible.’
‘Shoot forward to where he goes into the park.’
Four minutes and twenty-two seconds passed without sight of him, though three other people came out of the park and one went in.
‘There.’
The man came out again, hurriedly this time with, on his left side, so turned away from the camera, a woman, probably five inches shorter. They crossed the road, towards the block of flats, walking more quickly still. Up to the car. Another frame and the man was opening not the driver’s door but the offside rear. He had the woman directly in front of him, so close that there was little view of her between him and the open car door. The next frame had to be moved to and fro several times because the movements were fast and jerky. The woman seemed to have got into the rear seat, the man slammed the door, went quickly round, got in and reversed, wheels spinning, and then was away left and out of sight of the camera.
‘Bingo,’ Serrailler said.
‘But is it him?’
‘I think it could well be, but this on its own isn’t enough of course.’
‘That’s as clear a picture as I can get. If I pull it in closer it’ll just blur.’
‘Go back to where we first pick up the car.’
‘Ford Focus, I think,’ Fern said. ‘Light colour. Older model.’
‘Driver’s clearer but still not identifiable enough – I’d put money on this being Russon. It would help in court but it isn’t conclusive.’
She moved on and stopped again. ‘Ah – thought so. Number plate.’
‘Well spotted … not quite all of it. Let’s see if we can improve on that.’
But all the subsequent views of the car showed less. Simon made a note of the best they had, which lacked the first letter and the last two numbers.
‘That’s almost certainly a Y.’
‘No … J.’
‘You don’t usually get a J at the end. Y is common.’
‘We need to keep them both for now. Can you try and track this down please? ANPR should find it for you in a trice. Email me what they come up with.’
‘And then?’
‘Nothing else today – we struck gold early on but I may need you later, if nothing more urgent comes up.’
‘Famous last words but it’s quite quiet at the moment, guv. Where are you going?’
Simon hesitated, partly because it could have been regarded as an inappropriate question from a rookie DC to a Chief Super, but mainly because something occurred to him.
‘I need you to get info from ANPR first, and if it’s helpful, it might be interesting for you to come with me. Good experience for you to sit in.’
‘An interview in prison.’
He left the station straight away. He was still officially on sick leave and the last thing he wanted to do was breathe down the necks of CID. Fern Monroe would get any information about the car in double-quick time – she was keen and efficient, and he could work with her, so long as she didn’t forget that she was in her first job.
He walked round to Adelaide Road and took the side entrance into the park. It was a dull, cold day and there were not many people apart from two mothers with toddlers, duck-feeding, and a few of the elderly regulars. Stan Barnard was not among them. Serrailler went to a bench halfway round, and then walked briskly back – it took him just over a minute. From there across the road to the block of flats was half a minute. It was very little time for anyone to notice the man and woman, whoever they were, leaving the park together, but Stanley Barnard had and it had taken more than five years for them to find that out.
He walked down through the shopping arcade, and out in the direction of the cathedral, adjacent to the Lanes. He had wanted to buy a new book about Leonardo da Vinci, which the bookshop would get for him in a couple of days if it wasn’t already in stock.
He almost turned towards it, then stopped. He wanted the book but not urgently. He was fabricating a reason for going in there, tantalising himself with the chance of seeing Rachel again. But why? And if she was there, what would he say to her?
No.
Instead, he made a call to the prison, requesting an interview with Lee Russon that afternoon. An hour later, DC Monroe sent him an email.
Not enough info on car number plate to recognise categorically but they came up with 24 close enough to be worth pursuing based on what we have. Am checking now. Might be a slow job?
But by the time Simon arrived back at the station he found that she had easily eliminated half of them as being nowhere near a match for the car make and model, and two others because they had been recorded as off the road and destroyed.
‘Leaves me with ten, guv.’
‘Take each one and go carefully. I’ll look as well.’
Five down, she stopped. ‘Look at this … it’s all the numbers we can make out clearly. It’s the right car. Light colour. But nothing is coming up under owner, tax or insurance info. Just blanks.’
Simon thought for a moment. It felt right. They were near. Nearer than near. But there had to be more.
‘Speed cameras?’ Fern said.
‘Good call. Find every one within a radius of ten miles and focus first on the west side – Starly Road. Then look for those at the bypass end. Black Earl Grey tea?’
‘Thanks, guv.’
The machine was out of china tea so he went down to the canteen. There was a queue, at the end of the shift, but while he was waiting, Fern Monroe burst in through the doors, calling as she came. ‘Guv – got it. I’ve got it!’
Serrailler frowned as odd people stared round, and turned away from her until he had got their teas, before taking them across to a window table on the far side.
‘Guv –’
‘DC Monroe, I know this is on police premises, not a public cafeteria, but even so, best not shout all our secrets to the entire force.’
She looked annoyed but sat down and took a sip of her tea. It was boiling hot but she appeared not to notice.
‘So – what have you got?’
‘There are three speed cameras within two miles of the park on the Starly side – the first was out of order on that Wednesday, but the second camera picked up our car, pretty certain it was him but he wasn’t speeding. The third camera is in Gulliver Road.’
‘Runs along the top of the park.’
‘Yes – the camera is on the straight, before you get to the left-hand turn into Waterloo Way which leads to the side of the park and that block of flats.’
‘Well known for speeding – people going away from the town centre, using it as a bypass, which it isn’t, it’s a residential road – wide though, and often there are cars parked on both sides.’
‘Our car was caught on that camera speeding towards the turning, which he took a bit fast. This time, the camera got him full on and also as he was speeding away from it. It clocked him and he was issued with a ticket. I’ve asked for a copy and note of address and when it was paid.’
‘If it was paid.’
‘Well, yes. The result won’t be as quick as the ANPR was though – separate department and not fully digital at this date.’
Serrailler drank half of his tea and then looked across the table. ‘Good work, DC Monroe. This is what you need to have – attention to detail, perseverance – plus never lose sight of the big picture, and never ignore your hunches. Just don’t rely on them, to the exclusion of all else. Sermon over. Finish your scented tea – we’re off to Leverworth Prison.’
Lee Russon had been notified in advance that he was to be interviewed and immediately asked for his solicitor. The request had been refused but now they were in the small room with him – Serrailler across the metal table, DC Monroe on a chair against the back wall some yards away – he asked again.
‘You don’t need your solicitor, this is a talk. You’re not under caution, you are not charged with anything, you can refuse to answer any of my questions, and you are free to go at any point – just ask.’
Russon was leaning against the back of his chair so that it rocked. He had his arms folded across his chest and a sneer on his face.
‘All right, then, no worries, I haven’t a clue why you’re here but I haven’t done anything – haven’t really had a chance, have I? So I’m fine without the legal team. Who did you say you were? I don’t remember you.’
‘No, we haven’t met. Detective Chief Superintendant Simon Serrailler. This is Detective Constable Monroe. She is sitting in but not taking part. Is that all right with you?’
Russon shrugged but gave Monroe a quick up-and-down, before looking away.
‘I want to talk to you about cars, Lee.’
‘Try a garage.’
Simon ignored him. ‘Specifically, cars you have owned in the past ten years. Specifically, one car, but let’s go through them.’
‘As if.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Had a lot of cars, me.’
‘How many is “a lot” – over ten years? Try to be exact, if you can.’
Russon closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He stayed like that for several minutes and Simon did not nudge him, did not speak, just waited.
‘Twelve. Fourteen. I dunno.’
‘That seems a lot.’
‘Does it? Why does it?’
‘I know some people like to change their cars regularly, especially if they buy new and have a sort of rolling deal, exchanging every two years. Is that what you did?’
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Bought. Sold. Normal I’d say.’
‘Maybe. All right, you bought a banger, drove it into the ground, tarted it up and sold it to some monkey, bought another –’
‘You accusing me?’
‘No. Just saying what probably happened.’
‘Fat lot you know.’ Russon swung his chair fully upright suddenly, bumping against the table as he did so. He leaned on it and stared at Serrailler. ‘That it?’
‘I’ve hardly started.’
Russon rolled his eyes.
‘What was the last car you owned?’
‘Still on cars, are we?’
‘We are.’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Try hard.’
‘OK, let me help you. Colour – black? Silver? Blue? White?’
‘I had a black car. And a white van. I had a maroon car. I had –’
‘Which were you driving on the third of June 2009 … when you were caught on camera speeding in a thirty mile per hour area and issued with a ticket?’
‘I never got a ticket.’
‘The camera never lies, Lee. Which car?’
‘Told you. No idea about speeding and tickets. Wasn’t me.’
‘Which car did you own on and around that date? Come on, don’t mess me about, You know.’
Russon tipped his head back and closed his eyes again. ‘Time goes slowly in here,’ he said. ‘Not that you’d know. It’s a very, very long time ago.’
‘But nothing much has happened during that time. It was your last car, wasn’t it? So you’ll remember.’
‘My last car, was it?’
‘It was.’
‘Which car was that?’
‘Oh, you tell me. Make and model. Colour. Registration number.’
‘Bad memory, me.’
‘It was a beige Ford Focus, wasn’t it?’
He shot the question out quickly and saw the flicker of surprise on Russon’s face before he closed his expression down.
‘Registration beginning APW …’
‘I told you, I had dozens of cars.’
‘On that third of June you only had one – a beige Ford Focus. What happened to that car, Lee?’
‘How should I know? Five years ago and I’ve been in here, no cars in here.’
‘Did you dump it? Did you set fire to it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fed up with this, this is getting boring.’
‘You left the car outside the block of flats in Waterloo Way. You crossed the road and went through the side entrance into Adelaide Road Park. Not long after that you were seen emerging by the same route with a young woman, aged about twenty-five, who I believe to have been Kimberley Still.’
Russon sat bolt upright, his hands gripping the table. ‘Hang on, hang on. “You were seen”? By who? Who saw me with whatever her name was, who says they saw me?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Lee, but you could tell me.’
He watched Russon weighing everything up, as he stared down at the table. He could continue to say nothing, know nothing, remember nothing – plead innocent. He could give the wrong answers, or partially wrong. Or he could give out the information. Serrailler knew he was now trying to work out exactly what that would mean and what would happen next. He could make a shrewd guess but, depending on what he had actually done with the car, he couldn’t be sure what Serrailler himself knew, and if he knew anything troubling, then how, how?
He looked at the copper. He didn’t know anything – or nowhere near enough. He’d picked up a few bits, God knows how or why, but that wasn’t a problem. Keep his head, that’s all he needed to do. Give away nothing.
‘The car, Lee?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Just the colour will do for a start. Just give me the colour.’
‘Can’t remember. Maybe black?’
‘Try harder. Or the make?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Bit careless to get a speeding fine on that day of all days.’
‘Didn’t get one.’
‘When?’
‘When you said.’
‘When was that?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Where did you take her, Lee?’
A split-second pause, before the man closed down again. But there had been the flicker of shock in his eyes.
‘What did you do with her?’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’
‘Where did you take her in the blue Mondeo?’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That was it, wasn’t it, a blue Mondeo? That’s the one we’ve got a note of.’
The man was biting his lip, holding himself back, wanting to say ‘No, I never had a blue Mondeo’ but forcing himself not to, wanting to show Serrailler he was talking out of the back of his head but not doing it.
‘Or was it the Ford Focus? Sorry, my mistake. Yes, of course. You took Kimberley over to the Ford Focus when you got her out of the park – we know that for sure. Where did you drive off to? Pretty fast, wherever it was. Did you get another speeding ticket, Lee?’
Russon stood up. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want to leave now.’
‘All right – just tell me it was the Ford Focus and I can tick that off the list.’
‘What list? What are you talking about?’
‘My list. We’ve got the car, we can have that confirmed, just thought it would be helpful of you to tell me as well.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve got the car? How can you have got the car, there’s no way –’
‘No way what?’
‘I want to go. If you don’t let me out of here I’ll have you.’
Serrailler stood up calmly and walked to the door, opened it, ushered Lee Russon out to the waiting warder. ‘Thanks, Lee. You’ve been very helpful. I may need to talk to you again.’
There was a silence from the corridor, and then footsteps away.
Serrailler turned back into the interview room.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘Excellent. He’s got the wind up. He doesn’t know what I know, and he’s worried. Let him sweat. Come on, Monroe – you can tell me your thoughts on the way back.’