The Trophy Taker Read online

  He disappeared back inside, taking care to pull the door shut behind him. He would no doubt be reviewing any advice he might give Abrahams now he knew she and Hunter were conducting the interview.

  *

  Preliminaries over; Hunter got straight to business. He was to do the main interview, with Charlie watching Abrahams’ body language. There were few people when placed under the pressure of an interview that didn’t show signals when lying and few people better equipped than Charlie to pick up on them.

  ‘Where were you on Sunday 2nd October 2016?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Were you alone or with anyone?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Were you at 14 Burnet Grove?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Were you working that night?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Do you have any other addresses you go to? Any family, friends, work colleagues that you stay with?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘If you were home, what were you doing?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Were you watching TV, or on the computer, doing social media, perhaps?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Was there anyone who could verify where you were that night?’

  Abrahams showed no emotion, in fact he appeared to display only boredom and a total lack of interest in anything Hunter asked. Each time he replied, Charlie watched Justin Latchmere’s satisfaction appear to grow. They were getting nowhere. Hunter changed his tack.

  ‘Do you know a woman called Susan Barton?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  She pricked her ears up at an actual answer. Hunter continued his line.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve never met her?’

  ‘No comment.’ He was back to his previous retorts.

  ‘She was a teacher. Are you sure you’ve never met her in connection with her teaching?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Have you been involved in any extra studies?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Have you any connection with any Harris Academy school?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Particularly the Harris Academy at Crystal Palace?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Do you have any connections with anyone else who works at the school? Or any pupils who went there previously? Or go there now? Or anyone who might know Susan Barton?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘How about her church? She was a regular churchgoer. Might you know her from her church?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Abrahams grunted with obvious amusement at the question, before turning to see the expression on his solicitor’s face. ‘Look, officer, I do not know her.’

  ‘She helped out with lots of church meetings and charities. Might you know her from any of them?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘So if we find any links with her we will know you’re lying?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Hunter sat back, flicking through some notes that he had made earlier. He took his time and as the seconds lengthened into minutes, Abrahams started to fidget. Charlie knew exactly what Hunter was doing. He’d been taking it easy, allowing Abrahams to think he had the upper hand, allowing him to make any comments or denials that might be shown to be lies if any further evidence or links came to light. Now he was relaxed the more important questions might catch him off guard. Eventually Hunter leant forward across the desk and stared straight at him.

  ‘Do you own a Dark blue Vauxhall Vectra Estate registration number LV07JCF?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You’re shown as owning one, according to the DVLA. So where is it?’

  Abrahams coughed and threw his hand up over his mouth. He looked down at the tabletop between them, his hand still locked in place. Hunter did not avert his stare.

  ‘The car is still registered to you and you have paperwork and keys for it in your flat.’

  ‘They’re spare keys.’

  ‘So where is the car?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well I suggest that you do know and you tell me where it is pretty damn quick.’

  ‘I-I don’t know where it is. Why?’ Abrahams was stammering now. He obviously had something to hide.

  ‘Because your car was seen coming from the place that Susan Barton’s mutilated body was found. And I believe you were driving it. So, you’d better be able to give me a very good reason as to why it was there, or else I’ll be perfectly within my right to suggest you know a lot more about this whole incident that you are letting on.’

  For the first time since coming into contact with Abrahams, Charlie saw a flicker of emotion appear on his face, the first sign of panic. His cheeks were losing their previous colour, his mouth gaped and sweat was beading on his forehead.

  ‘I lent it to my friend.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘I don’t know his name.’

  ‘Don’t lie. Why would anyone lend their car to someone whose name they don’t even know? What’s his phone number?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So you’ve lent your car to someone whose name you don’t know and who you can’t even contact? That’s rubbish.’

  ‘I only know him by his online name. We chat on a website. He asked to borrow it. I’ve lent him stuff before and he’s always returned it with no problem. He said he’d bring it back in a few days.’

  “When, exactly?’

  “I don’t know.”

  ‘So what is his online name?’

  ‘I-I can’t remember offhand.’

  Abrahams was sweating profusely now, the skin on his cheeks and forehead almost white. He turned towards Latchmere with what looked like a plea for a lifeline. He was digging himself a hole with his own words and now he was teetering on the edge.

  ‘My client needs medical attention immediately, officer. I insist that you stop the interview now, in order that he receives it,’ Justin Latchmere’s voice boomed out. ‘Or I will end the interview myself and make a complaint of abuse of process to the custody officer.’

  *

  Oscar Abrahams felt sick. His wordless plea for assistance from his solicitor had worked, thankfully, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to carry on the act. He folded his head down into his hands on the table in front of him, moaning noisily.

  Why did he always do this? He should have taken his solicitor’s advice the whole way through and made no comment. He had been too gobby. He was always the same. It was his own words that got him into trouble, every time, and yet again he had said more than he meant to and needed an outer.

  He could feel his heart racing. The panic was not shifting. His solicitor and the police officer were still arguing. Their words were blurred and indistinct but he guessed the gist of the conversation. Justin Latchmere seemed like a good bloke. Maybe he was one of them? Maybe he liked children too. Maybe he should subtly enquire at some point.

  His solicitor was standing now, his voice still loud, moving towards the door.

  As he heard the police officer eventually say that the interview was concluded and heard the buzz of the tape machine being switched off, he smiled to himself and sent a silent prayer of gratitude up into the ether.

  Chapter 18

  ‘The bastards. The absolute bastards. Just when we had him rattled.’ Hunter was fuming.

  The interview had been concluded and Abrahams seen by a custody nurse, who had decided that he needed time out to recover. It would be some hours before he was sufficiently well enough to be re-interviewed. Latchmere had disappeared too, his expression that of satisfaction with a job well done. Charlie and Hunter firmly believed that if he could hinder justice, he would; and now it was personal. He would be trying to frustrate them both with any investigation they were involved in. Charlie was equally as annoyed.

  ‘It’s shit. You had him squirming. He didn’t know what to do with himself at the end there. He knows what’s goi
ng on. He’s up to his neck in it.’

  ‘And yet that fucking slimy bastard Latchmere got him his outer. “PACE says the interview must be stopped. PACE says we need to get him medical assistance.” Blah blah blah. Well the Police and Criminal bleedin’ Evidence Act shouldn’t be their way of getting out of answering questions. It was absolutely obvious Abrahams was playing a game and Latchmere loved it. He was straight on to it. Sometimes I wonder why we fucking bother. Our hands are tied whatever we do. He’ll have sorted out his story by the next time we speak to him.’

  ‘Can we interrogate his computer and see if there is any evidence of this so called “friend” on it?’

  ‘I’ll bet a million quid there is no other guy. Or certainly not one that he’s lent his car to. He knows he’s cocked up with the car so he’s hidden it and concocted this story.’

  ‘I’m surprised he panicked so much though. It was like he went into shock, sweating, white and clammy. You’d have thought he would have been calmer, especially bearing in mind how he’d been earlier in the interview.’

  ‘Sometimes the body just takes over. Like you say, it was almost like shock. He couldn’t help himself.’

  It had been an eye-opener to Charlie. She was used to the hidden clues, the involuntary movement of limbs, eyes being averted, the tone of speech altering slightly, but Abrahams’ reaction had been significant. Maybe he thought he’d got away with it. There had been no trace of it at his flat or any of the surrounding roads although they had conducted a thorough search. They hadn’t made too big a deal of the car when he was arrested, wanting to play down its importance for just this reason. Better to spring it on him now. It made his guilt so much clearer even though his little game had bought him some time. She thought back over the answers he had given.

  ‘So… he knows that his car is the key. Apart from saying he didn’t know Susan and a few facetious comments about her lifestyle, he gave nothing away; he didn’t explain what he had been doing on the night of Susan’s murder and wouldn’t give an alibi at all that we could investigate.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. If Abrahams is our man, it’s a good cover story. He’s claimed to have met a fictitious guy through a chat room; no doubt a secret one he’s part of with all his other sick little paedo mates. I’m sure if this friend exists, Abrahams will know his real identity, but he’s never going to tell us who he is because he knows this bloke could drop him in it if we were to find him and put pressure on him. ‘He also knows how hard it is for police to break into these websites and chat rooms. They’re all on the dark web, they’re encrypted, and the bastards that share their sick perversions don’t use their names, or certainly not in conversation. We’ll be lucky if we can get into the site, never mind an IP address or identity, and if we are actually able to, it’ll take weeks. We don’t have that time. If we can’t find that bloody car or prove some sort of connection between Sarah Barton and Abrahams, we’ll have to let him out on bail.’

  ‘But, boss, if he is telling the truth and really has lent his car out to a paedophile friend, then this male is another suspect. Or they could be jointly involved? And how on earth is Susan connected?’

  They carried on walking in silence, both sickened at the thought. They still had a bit more time to hold him without charge, but if they had nothing further he would be released by the weekend. A forensic team were hard at work in Abrahams’ flat, searching for anything; any fingerprint, fibre or scrap of DNA that might link him to Susan Barton. It was unlikely Susan would have been in his flat though and he’d already intimated that they wouldn’t find anything. Why would he have said that unless he knew it was clean? He’d learnt from experience not to leave clues. Paedophiles had a reputation for being devious. If they were lucky, they might find something of note on his dirty clothing or even the most recently washed in his chest of drawers but they certainly couldn’t go through every item of clothing in his wardrobes and cupboards in the kind of detail required to get a match. It would take forever.

  They needed to find the car; and they needed to find it as soon as possible.

  *

  School was just finishing for the day when Charlie reached Harris Academy. With any further work stalled on Abrahams she wanted to put to rest her niggle that the headteacher and staff were hiding something.

  As she arrived in the car park she was surrounded by a crowd of babbling teenagers, running, walking and strolling from the building in a mix of large groups, smaller cliques and lone students. A young girl, barely more than thirteen, walked past her alone, with shrunken cheeks and vacant eyes, carrying a large, heavy rucksack whose straps dug into her shoulders, pulling her skinny frame off balance. Charlie had the urge to jump out of her car and run to catch up with the girl, who looked as unhappy in the school environment as she had been. Maybe she too had lost someone close or had issues that were just too hard to discuss. How much easier to keep the hurt locked away and stay detached, rather than bring it out into the open and risk ridicule.

  The moment passed and the girl was gone and as the number of students began to dwindle Charlie got out of her car. The reception was nearly empty. It was amazing how quickly a school vacated on the ring of a bell. George, the Victorian receptionist, was seated in his usual position. She went towards him and was about to ask if she could speak with the headteacher when Vincent Atkins himself poked his head out from his office.

  He caught sight of her and frowned. ‘I thought you were going to ring first to make an appointment. I have a meeting now.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Atkins. Maybe I can speak to the others first and come back to you at the end if you’re free.’

  A door swung open behind her and she immediately recognised the voices of Sophie Pasqual and Daniel Roberts, the two language teachers she had spoken with before. Sophie was carrying a large stack of books.

  ‘Ah hello again, Ms Pasqual and Mr Roberts. Maybe one of you would be free now for a quick chat.’

  The headteacher’s frown deepened. ‘Really officer? I would have preferred a little more notice.’

  The Latin teacher looked slightly bemused. ‘Vincent, I’m quite happy to speak now. I’ve nothing I need to do that can’t be done later. Or would you rather go first, Sophie?’

  Ms Pasqual shook her head. ‘You go first, Daniel. I have a pile of marking to get through.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure that’s all right, Daniel, and you have nothing more pressing?’ Atkins cocked his head as if querying the teacher’s willingness. It seemed to Charlie that he was trying to give his staff members any excuse not to speak.

  Daniel Roberts didn’t take the hint. Indicating a small interview room off the main reception, he led the way, holding the door open for her, before entering himself. As it swung shut she caught a glimpse of Vincent Atkins standing motionless, still staring towards them.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Roberts, for making the time to speak to me.’

  ‘You can call me Daniel.’ His smile was friendly.

  ‘Thanks then, Daniel. Anyway I apologise for not giving you prior notice. I had some space in my diary suddenly and thought I would take the opportunity to catch anyone free before the school is closed. It appears to be a bit of a problem with your headteacher though?’

  She put her observation as more of a question, hoping he would take the bait. He did, coming straight to the point.

  ‘Vincent’s worried because he and Susan had recently started an affair. He thought the staff was not aware but it’s common knowledge. You can’t keep that sort of thing a secret for long. Susan mentioned it to one or two of her friends and it soon got out. She was separated from her husband, so it wasn’t really an issue for her, but Vincent is still married. That’s why Sophie asked him if he was all right the other day and why I queried whether he had spoken with you. We expected him to have mentioned it straight away, but for some reason he hasn’t.’

  Charlie nodded, understanding now why the headteacher had been so reticent about talking to her. ‘H
ow long had the affair been going on?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly when it started, but maybe two to three months.’

  ‘Do you think he was happy that news of their affair had got out? Might it have been getting more serious than he was wanting?’

  Daniel Roberts frowned, staring straight at her and ran his fingers through his beard. ‘Now there’s a thought. Maybe it was going a bit quicker than he had expected. He was trying to keep the affair quiet so that his wife didn’t find out, and I know Susan was a very religious person. She spoke about her faith often and I know she regularly attended her local Catholic church. She was involved in lots of good works. I suppose she could have been putting pressure on him to tell his wife. I can’t imagine she would have been happy conducting an affair with a married man in secret. Everyone was surprised that the two of them had got together. He must have thought it was his lucky day.’

  ‘She was popular then?’

  ‘Yes, she was. Everyone liked her. She was pretty and fun to be around and had a bubbly personality.’

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of that might have wanted to cause her harm?’

  ‘Not that I can think of. She got on with all the staff and the pupils all loved her. She’d relaxed more recently too since splitting with her husband, Mickey.’

  ‘You knew him then?’

  ‘I’ve met him a couple of times. He always had a lot to say for himself, and when he was around, she was quieter than usual. It’s funny really; Mickey liked to look good but was all brawn and no brains. Vincent is all brains, with no looks and barely a bean to rub together after losing a load on some dodgy investments. They’re the total opposites, but then they say opposites attract. A lot of women are attracted to intellectuals, especially at her age.’

  ‘So they got on well, Susan and Vincent?’

  ‘They were always deep in conversation in the staffroom. That’s what got people talking, but I think everyone was surprised to learn that they’d begun a relationship.’