Chameleon

The reception area provided a respite from the cold winds whipping across the car park, and Pete and Dee were grateful for the overheated lobby. Steve Post brought them both visitors’ badges and then led them to a small conference room on the first floor, known as the second floor to their American hosts. From the window it was apparent that they were at the front of the building, in what would be the right hand wing when viewed from the front. They could see over the car park and to the road beyond.

Steve left the two alone with a tray of biscuits and some water in sturdy glass bottles, fastened with rubber ringed cork seals secured by a wire bound stopper; a little over the top, perhaps, for still water. A few moments later Steve returned, accompanied by DS Scott and DCI Coombes. Pete had never met the DCI, and so introductions were effected. Dee had not seen the DCI since her that fateful day at the London Eye, he enquired after her health. Dee appreciated his enquiry because she knew that he wasn’t a “people person” in any sense, and they weren’t friends even though they had worked closely together in the past.

The two policemen reviewed the evidence and explained their interview strategy to Pete, Dee and Steve. The evidence wasn’t solid, but it placed Gillian Davis very firmly at the scene of the crime.

***

The room overlooking the interview suite was necessarily dark. The subdued lighting allowed them to view the proceedings through one way glass. The sound was broadcast to speakers inside their room from microphones on the interview table.

Inside the interview room the two detectives sat opposite the suspect and her counsel. They had been friendly and quite disarming when they were introduced. They assured her that their sole intention was to clear up a number of questions that had arisen during their investigation into the deaths of the Hokobus. Her counsel, the redoubtable and quite famous Pat Gallagher, didn’t trust the Brits a jot. Why would he? They had stolen half of his beloved ancestral Ireland.

***

Gillian Davis wore a conservatively styled black jersey dress that covered her arms and fell to her knees. A patterned Pashmina hung around her shoulders, gathered at the front by a gold clasp at the nape of her neck. Her make-up was lightly applied and her jewellery was not ostentatious, despite her wealth. In the hour that she had been sitting in the room she had not spoken. Her counsel had answered every question on her behalf, but to his credit the answers were fulsome and helpful. Nonetheless, now was the time for the detectives to hit the former MI5 operative with their evidence.

“Ms Davis, we have evidence that places you at the scene of the crime at the relevant time. Would you like to comment?” Coombes growled.

“I don’t recall my client denying that she was in the vicinity of London’s third most visited attraction, along with hundreds of other people on that day or any other. Move on, please.”

Coombes growled again. “You were identified by a witness, who attests that you sprayed a paralysing substance in his face and kidnapped the Hokobus whilst dressed in a police uniform. Thus being the last person to see them alive.”

“Ah, I wondered when we would get to the mysterious policewoman. Before we address that statement, let me make one of my own. Surely the last person to see the Hokobus alive would be their killer, Inspector, and my client has never needed to deny that killing because she has never been accused of it. Should you deign to make such an accusation, I can assure you it will be denied, vigorously!”

The lawyer paused and looked at his notes.

“Now, about this policewoman. If the witness statements are correct, we seem to have a woman between five feet six inches and five feet ten inches. She was either blonde or possibly dark haired, it was difficult for the witness to be certain as she had her hat on. She had blue, green or brown eyes and a beauty spot above her lip, or not, as in the case of the artist’s impression. Finally she was very trim. She may have worked out, or, she had wide hips and an average sized bust.

I have to concede, gentlemen, that my client does indeed fit that description.” He gri

“Actually, we have a witness statement from the man she paralysed, who saw her close up and gave an accurate description which was then reproduced by a police artist. It is this description that makes your client a suspect in this matter.”

“Oh yes. I remember that witness. As I recall, he gave his detailed description to….” He paused to look at a copy of a police notebook that had been disclosed to him as evidence. “Detective Sergeant Scott! Well, how fortuitous. I guess that would be you, Sergeant?” he asked, looking pointedly at DS Scott. Scott nodded.

“Well, you should remember your reply, in that case.”

DS Scott flushed. How could he possibly know what was said at the scene? No-one would have written it down. He thought. The lawyer continued.

“If my sources are correct, you said that the description might fit half the women in London. Is that right, Sergeant?” The two policemen remained stoic, giving nothing away.

“You would be obliged to answer that in court, Sergeant, but if it helps, my investigator has a statement from the paramedic who attended the witness, if you would like to see it. In the meantime I assume that once again my client is prepared to concede that she could indeed fall into the classification of ‘half the women in London’. Now, if we could perhaps move onto some real evidence I would be grateful.”

The next few minutes were spent discussing CCTV footage of the parking garage that was inconclusive, the absence of physical evidence and a hire car that Gillian Davis had rented for the day and which was caught on camera in the general area, which the suspect did not deny. Coombes had played around enough; it was time for the killer blow to her defence.

“Ms Davis, this has all been very entertaining but there is one piece of evidence that is unequivocal and undeniable. We have a contact lens bearing your fingerprint and your DNA that you lost in the Hokobus car on the day of the murder. You were there, Ms Davis. You were in the car with the Hokobus. You sprayed them with your home made spray and then you killed them. I think that a jury will convict on that evidence alone.”

Chapter 5 8

FBI Field Office, Richmond, Virginia. Thursday 10:30am.

Dee was surprised to see that neither the suspect, nor her counsel, were at all affected by the fingerprint or the DNA evidence, neither of which had been shared with them previously. Dee wanted to believe that Davis’ facial control was magnificent and that inside she was terrified, but that did not gel. She looked calm and she was calm.

Steve Post had picked up on this, too, whilst Pete seemed unaware of the potential problem and so merely looked on in anticipation. The FBI man took his laptop out of hibernation mode and flicked on the CJIS search engine. With a few key strokes he obtained high level access to the recently completed CJIS database. Nestled in the West Virginia hills, not far away from the field office, the Criminal Justice Information Services building housed the world’s largest criminal database.

***

Pat Monaghan could hardly suppress his supercilious smile as he answered the accusation.

“Detective Chief Inspector. My client does not deny that a cosmetic contact lens with her fingerprint and DNA profile may indeed have been found at the crime scene.” He paused, giving the two policemen some hope that a limited admission would follow. “However, she does reserve the right to have our own experts carry out tests to confirm your allegation.”

The two policemen acknowledged that this was a reasonable request, but repeated their accusation that she had now been placed fairly and squarely at the crime scene.