Chapter 73

Chapter 73

The door opened a crack and a pair of eyes peered nervously out over the safety chain.

‘Yes?' the inhabitant demanded, suspiciously.

‘Mr Malcolm Cartwright?' Charlie enquired.

‘Yes,' the elderly man repeated curtly.

‘I'm DS Brooks. I was wondering if I might have a quick word?'

His eyes now drifted to her warrant card, taking his time to examine the detail carefully before reluctantly removing the chain and ushering Charlie inside.

‘I've already spoken to a member of your team,' the pensioner complained as he led his visitor slowly into the living room. ‘Big chap, blond hair, a DC, I think …'

‘DC Jennings.'

‘That's the fella. I'm really not sure what I can tell you that I didn't tell him …'

He shuffled across the room, before collapsing into an armchair. Turning the TV off, he gestured for Charlie to seat herself on the sofa opposite. She obliged, noting that her host continued to avoid eye contact. Was that because he was annoyed? Or did something else lie behind his circumspection?

‘I wanted to go over the details of your statement,' she responded purposefully. ‘Just to make sure we've got everything correct, if that's OK?'

Cartwright shrugged reluctantly, but didn't refuse.

‘You drive a dark blue Mazda 5, registration DB14 HTE. Is that correct?'

‘I imagine you walked past it on the drive, so …'

Still no eye contact and now a flash of irritation. Intrigued, Charlie continued.

‘And you were driving it through the Lordship Road underpass on the night of the ninth of November, correct?'

‘Yes. As I said before, I was returning from visiting my brother-in-law. We're not terribly close, but since my wife's death, he's the only family I've got.'

‘I see. And you passed through the tunnel at around 9.45 p.m.?'

A brief nod of the head.

‘An on-site traffic cam shows that it took you upwards of five minutes to exit the tunnel, a journey which should take no more than thirty seconds. Can you tell me why that was?'

‘As I explained to your colleague,' Cartwright replied im-patiently, ‘I received a phone call from a friend, so I did the sensible thing and pulled over to take it. We spoke for a few minutes, then I drove on. That's really all there is to it.'

‘Well, that certainly would explain it,' Charlie replied, smiling. ‘The only problem is that there's no record of you having received a call at that time.'

Now there was no pushback. No condescension, no irritation, no fatigued shaking of the head. The old man sat stock-still, staring determinedly at the carpet.

‘You have a mobile registered with Vodafone, phone number 07768 037608. Is that the phone you're referring to?'

He continued to stare at the floor, unwilling to respond.

‘Is that your phone, Mr Cartwright?'

‘Yes, yes,' he muttered unhappily.

‘Well, I've got your call log here,' Charlie said, pulling a sheet from her file and handing it to him. ‘As you can see there's a call at 17.00 hours, but after that nothing until 10.15 the following day.'

Cartwright held the piece of paper, but didn't bother looking at it.

‘In light of that information, would you care to revise your statement?'

Her tone was firm, even a little aggressive, and now finally the pensioner raised his eyes to meet hers. Instantly, Charlie saw it – fear.

‘I would advise you to think very carefully about your response, Mr Cartwright. As I'm sure you're aware, misleading the police in the execution of their duties is a criminal offence.'

Charlie noted that the piece of paper was shaking in his hands now, his discomfort rising with each passing second.

‘Malcolm, what really happened that night?'

‘Look, I don't know what all this is about, but I've done nothing wrong, OK?'

‘Perhaps you'll let me be the judge of that. What happened?'

‘I … well … I didn't go out that night. It wasn't me driving.'

‘So who was at the wheel that night?' Charlie asked, surprised.

‘An old friend. Well actually, an old neighbour. Used to live two doors down.'

‘A name, please?'

Malcolm Cartwright shifted uneasily in his seat, before murmuring, ‘Dave Reynolds. He's one of your lot, a beat copper.'

‘I see,' Charlie replied carefully. ‘It's my understanding that Mr Reynolds and his family have two cars of their own, so can you tell me why he'd need to use yours?'

‘Do we really have to do this?' the pensioner suddenly protested. ‘I'm sure Dave's done nothing wrong and I'd hate to—'

‘Can you just answer the question, please?'

There was a brief silence.

‘Look, the truth is that I don't use the car much anymore. My eyesight's not what it was, I probably shouldn't be using it at all. Since Covid, I … I get a lot of things delivered – food, prescriptions and so on – but I don't want the car to go to rack and ruin. I paid enough for it and would like to get something back, when I eventually do decide to sell.'

‘So …?'

‘So, as a favour to me, Dave pops round once in a while, takes it for a spin.'

Charlie's heart was pounding now, but she kept her voice even as she replied, ‘And he did that for you on the evening of the 9th November?'

‘Yes.'

Charlie stared at the pensioner, her eyes sparkling fiercely. She was thrilled at having elicited a potentially major breakthrough from the reluctant witness, but also angry that he had kept this vital information to himself for so long.

‘And can I ask why you lied to my colleague when first asked about this?'

The elderly man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Look, I didn't mean any harm by it. The truth is, I didn't really believe that Dave drove the car purely out of the kindness of his heart. I suspected … well, I suspected that maybe he had a fancy woman on the go, someone he didn't want his wife knowing about, and that it would be easier, better, for him if he didn't take his own car. Honestly, I didn't pry too deeply, it's none of my business really …'

‘I wish you had,' Charlie countered, pointedly.

‘Why? What on earth has he done?'

‘David Reynolds is the prime suspect in an active investigation concerning the abduction and false imprisonment of an underage girl.'

Perhaps she could have kept this to herself, but Charlie wanted to see the old boy's reaction when he realized what kind of animal he'd been covering for. But to her annoyance, Malcolm Cartwright reacted not with regret or horror, but pure astonishment.

‘Dave? Mixed up in something like that? No, no, no, I think you must have got the wrong end of the stick, dear.'

He leaned forwards, smiling, enunciating his words clearly as if speaking to a child.

‘David Reynolds is one of the nicest people I know.'