Lost - Michael Robotham [94]
My name is called. I button my jacket on the walk to the witness box and unbutton it as I sit down.
The Rook looks up from his notes as if surprised that I’ve bothered showing. He rises slowly to his feet, drops his chin and tries to look at me through the top of his head. The first few questions are the easy ones—name, rank, years of experience as a police officer.
Miss Hanley is on her feet. “My learned friend seems to be placing great faith in the credibility of this witness. However, he has failed to mention that DI Ruiz was suspended as head of the Serious Crime Group several days ago and yesterday afternoon, following an internal disciplinary hearing, he was sacked. He is no longer a serving member of the London Metropolitan Police and is the subject of a criminal investigation—”
Lord Connelly motions her to sit down. “You’ll get your opportunity to question the witness.”
The Rook consults his notepad and then does something I don’t expect. He takes me through the original investigation, getting me to restate the evidence against Howard. I talk about the photographs, the bloodstains, the missing carpet and Mickey’s beach towel. He had the opportunity, the motive and the corrupted sexuality.
“At what point did Howard Wavell become a suspect in the original investigation?”
“Everyone who lived in Dolphin Mansions was immediately a suspect.”
“Yes, but at what point did you focus your attentions upon Mr. Wavell?”
“He became of particular interest when he was seen acting suspiciously on the day Michaela disappeared. He also failed to provide an alibi.”
“He failed to provide one or didn’t have one?”
“He didn’t have one.”
“In what way was he acting suspiciously?”
“He was taking photographs of the search parties and people who had gathered outside Dolphin Mansions.”
“Was there anyone else taking photographs?”
“There were several press photographers.”
The Rook gives a wry smile. “So having a camera didn’t automatically make someone a suspect?”
“A young girl was missing. Most of the other neighbors were helping look for her. Mr. Wavell seemed more interested in recording the event for posterity.”
The Rook waits. He’s letting everyone know that he expects a better answer.
“Prior to your seeing Howard Wavell at Dolphin Mansions that day had you ever come across him before?”
“We went to the same boarding school back in the sixties. He was a few years behind me.”
“Did you know each other well?”
“No.”
“As the officer in charge of the investigation, did you think about either stepping down or absenting yourself from interviews because of your past association?”
“No.”
“Did you know Mr. Wavell’s family?”
“I may have met one or two of them.”
“So you don’t remember going out with his sister?”
I pause, racking my brain.
The Rook smiles. “Perhaps you dated too many girls to remember.”
Everyone cracks up. Howard laughs as hard as anyone.
The Rook waits for the laughter to subside. Almost in passing, he remarks, “Four weeks ago you took an envelope containing six hairs to a private laboratory in central London and asked for a DNA test to be carried out.”
“Yes.”
“Is that normal police procedure—using a private facility to conduct DNA tests?”
“No.”
“I think I’m right in saying that the Forensic Science Service do DNA tests for the police.”
“It was a private request not a police one.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Unofficial? How did you pay?”
“Cash.”
“Why?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant—”
“You paid in cash because you didn’t want a record of the transaction, isn’t that the case? You didn’t leave your address or phone number with the laboratory.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, which is probably for the best. I’m dying here. Perspiration is leaking down my chest and settling in a pool at my navel.
“What exactly did you ask the technicians at Genetech to do for you?”
“I wanted them to extract DNA from the hair strands and compare it with the DNA of Michaela Carlyle.”