Chapter 81

Chapter 81

‘I'd like to remind you that you are being interviewed under caution and anything you say during this interview may be used in evidence against you. Also present in the room are DI Grace, DS Brooks, and solicitor for the accused, Eleanor Higham.'

Helen completed the caution, raising her eyes to take in their prime suspect, who sat bolt upright in his chair, flanked by his expensively tailored solicitor. Whereas Reynolds had been relaxed and convivial during their initial chat, now he seemed focused and alert. According to Charlie, he hadn't uttered a single word during his arrest, other than to confirm his name to the custody sergeant, presumably saving his energy for the battle ahead.

‘I'd like to take you back to the ninth of November, if I may,' Helen began, opening her files. ‘Can you confirm that you were on duty that evening, walking the Hoglands Park beat with PC Beth Beamer?'

A curt nod from Reynolds, his eye drifting slowly from Helen to Charlie, then back again.

‘According to PC Beamer, during your rounds, you encountered Naomi Watson, who was apparently sleeping rough in the Lordship Road underpass. Can you confirm that?'

‘I believe we had a brief conversation,' Reynolds replied cautiously.

‘You believe?' Charlie queried.

‘I'm afraid my memory of that night isn't terribly clear,' the suspect continued. ‘We were involved in a number of different encounters and altercations, lots of faces, lots of places.'

‘So you've no recollection of what you discussed with her?' Charlie persisted.

‘Probably just checking that she was in the land of the living. I've found dead bodies in that underpass on more than one occasion over the years, I can tell you …'

He smiled briefly, his whole bearing genial and friendly. Helen wasn't convinced for one minute, so resumed her attack.

‘What about your second encounter that evening?'

Reynolds said nothing, but adopted a pointedly quizzical expression.

‘My client has made it clear that he only met her once,' his brief intervened. ‘And he barely remembers that.'

‘Except you did go back, didn't you, David?'

A slight reaction from Reynolds, who seemed to take exception to her using his full name.

‘You borrowed an old neighbour's car and drove back to the tunnel. I'm referring to a Mr Malcolm Cartwright, resident of 45 Blossom Drive, who's confirmed that he lent you his Mazda 5 that night, a vehicle which you subsequently returned the following day. I'm showing Mr Reynolds a still from a CCTV at the mouth of the underpass, showing that same car, entering the tunnel at 9.45 p.m. on the ninth of November and leaving it at 9.51 p.m.'

She slid a copy of the photo across the table towards him. He refused to even look at it, but his solicitor examined it swiftly, before replacing it on the table.

‘Can you confirm that you were driving Mr Cartwright's Mazda that night?'

‘Absolutely not,' Reynolds pushed back. ‘I have two cars of my own, why would I need his?'

‘He confirmed that he lent it to you. I have his written testimony here,' Helen persisted. ‘In fact, you've borrowed it a number of times over the years, apparently.'

‘Do you have any evidence to support that outlandish claim?' the lawyer butted in. ‘As you can see, the driver is not visible in that photo, so unless you have other evidence, an independent witness placing my client there …'

‘So Mr Cartwright is lying? Deliberately misleading the police?'

‘Look, I don't know him that well, to be honest,' Reynolds answered calmly. ‘But I certainly wouldn't put it past him. He's old, he's crabby, he's confused. When we lived there we did have a bit of a falling out actually – he objected to my boy playing football in the street with his pals. Maybe he's still pissed off about that, I don't know. But, honestly, he's talking through his hat.'

It was a convincing performance, reasonable, credible and with sufficient annoyance to suggest he might be telling the truth. But Helen knew in her heart that Reynolds was lying, so dismissed his explanation out of hand.

‘We take a very different view. We feel he is a very credible witness, with no reason to lie, especially as he seemed oddly fond of you. Said you and your family had done loads for him over the years …'

Reynolds shook his head, looking bemused, but Helen wasn't distracted.

‘It's our firm belief that you were in the underpass that night, that you persuaded Naomi Watson to get into the Mazda, that you then abducted and imprisoned her.'

‘Why on earth would I do something like that?' he protested. ‘I'm a serving police officer.'

‘For your own sexual gratification,' Helen fired back.

Reynolds sat back in his chair, throwing up his hands in an extravagant gesture of disbelief.

‘You have, after all, been accused on three separate occasions of sexually assaulting underage girls.'

‘Really?' Reynolds exclaimed, withering. ‘You want to go over all that again ? They were liars, attention-seekers. They objected to getting pulled in for drinks, drugs, what-have-you, so they tried to make life hard for me. But it was all hot air from start to finish, which is why they never got anywhere.'

‘You didn't attempt to persuade them to drop the charges? Pressure them into retracting their statements?'

‘That's a very serious allegation, Inspector,' Eleanor Higham complained, frowning. ‘I hope you have firm evidence to support your accusations.'

‘There's another reason why you might have abducted Naomi,' Charlie intervened, trying to draw the solicitor's fire. ‘Money.'

‘I'm sorry?' Reynolds queried, once more appearing bemused.

‘We recovered a bank note recently during an encounter with your wife, Jackie.'

‘An illegal intrusion of my property.'

‘No, the legitimate settling of a fixed penalty notice for a traffic violation,' Helen countered. ‘Subsequently that note was tested in the police forensic lab and found to have two fingerprints on it belonging to a man called Graham Armstrong, a convicted paedophile.'

This provoked an instant reaction from his solicitor, a marked furrowing of her brow, but Reynolds was swift and cool in his response.

‘Do you always send parking payments to the forensics lab?' he asked knowingly.

‘When I feel such action is justified and necessary,' Helen replied curtly.

‘Is that right?'

‘From memory, your wife had a considerable bundle of notes in her purse, which struck me as odd. Any reason she might need to carry so much cash?'

‘You'd have to ask her,' Reynolds replied carefully. ‘But we have been doing a lot of work on the house recently, and the builders like to be paid in cash. Hide it from the taxman and all that? I don't condone it, but it's the way the world works …'

Again, Reynolds appeared both reasonable and composed. Helen knew she had to keep pushing.

‘I'm glad you've mentioned the work on your house,' she continued. ‘You've obviously piled loads of money into your property. This over and above the large amounts you've spent on luxury cars and foreign holidays. Now, we've done a deep dive on your finances, your income, and guess what? They don't tally. You couldn't even come close to affording all that on a PC's salary. What's more, I don't see digital transactions between yourself and travel agents, airlines, hotels, electrical retailers or car showrooms. Suggesting to me that you paid for lots of these big-ticket items in cash . Now who does that these days? Who buys a new car with cash? Pays for ￡20k holidays in cash? Criminals, that's who.'

‘This is utter madness, Inspector Grace, even for you,' Reynolds' lawyer protested.

‘Perhaps your client can explain the anomaly then? Where did the money come from? Did Graham Armstrong give it to you for services rendered?'

‘Look, we've had a bit of inheritance over the years, from my parents, from Jackie's. And often you can get better deals with cash. There's nothing sinister about it.'

‘And you'd be able to prove that, would you? You'd be able to provide us with bank statements, legal documents showing us exactly where the funds came from to finance your lavish lifestyle? This inheritance you claim to have received?'

And now for the first time, Reynolds hesitated. Helen reasoned that if he hadn't ever envisaged getting caught, he wouldn't have constructed such an elaborate artifice, and was poised to pursue this, when Eleanor Higham again cut in.

‘I must say this all seems very convoluted, Inspector. What exactly are you accusing my client of, other than providing a good life for his wife and son?'

‘I'm accusing him of abducting underage girls for sexual exploitation and financial gain. Shanice Lloyd, Mia Davies, Naomi Watson, Laura White …'

Again, a marked reaction, the names appearing to land with Reynolds and fluster his brief, who'd no idea that other victims were potentially involved.

‘Of falsely imprisoning them, abusing them, monetizing their pain for the "enjoyment" of other men.'

‘That's total crap,' Reynolds exploded, shaking his head violently.

‘On the contrary, you have a history of sexual crimes against women, of using your knowledge of the streets and the power of your uniform to intimidate, trick and assault young girls. My belief is that over the years, your offending escalated to keeping your victims captive, exploiting them over a sustained period of time. I am in no doubt that you represent a profound threat to women and that you are guilty of preying on the most vulnerable members of society, young girls with nowhere to go, who feel they can trust you. You are the very worst kind of offender and I intend to ensure that you are made to pay for your crimes.'

She finished, breathless and angry, staring directly at Reynolds. He eyed her for a moment, shaking off his discomfort as he gathered himself, replying:

‘What have you got? Statements from a bunch of liars, a confused old man, a Mazda with a phantom driver and a few bank notes which probably came from a cashpoint. If Armstrong's fingerprints are actually on them, it's nothing to do with us.'

‘I disagree. No smoke without fire, Dave …'

‘I'd never harm anyone,' the suspect continued, aggrieved. ‘In fact, I've never hurt anyone in my life. And I certainly have no interest in teenage girls. I mean, what do you think I am?'

‘Do you really want me to answer that?' Helen replied darkly.

‘There you go,' Reynolds burst out, gesturing at Helen. ‘You see that? It's a hatchet job, an attempt to frame me, to ruin me. Well, it won't work and you know why?'

He leant in closer to Helen, eyeballing her viciously.

‘Because you've got nothing on me.'