“Yes?”
“Good morning, Mr Henderson,” she said, politely. “My name is Detective Inspector Anika Salam and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Henry Tomlinson.”
“What do you want?”
“We would like to ask you some questions under caution regarding certain financial transactions of yours. Would you be willing to attend an interview with us?”
“Now?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
Henderson looked down his nose at her.
“I’m not one of the plebs you’re probably used to dealing with,” he sneered. “If you want an interview, you’re supposed to send me an invitation in writing. I know my rights.”
Salam and Tomlinson looked at each other with mock embarrassment.
“Oh, darn. In that case, I guess we’ll just have to arrest you on suspicion of fraud, conspiracy to defraud and false accounting. Don’t even get me started on the money laundering offences,” she said cheerfully.
Henderson broke out in a cold sweat.
“I bet that interview under caution is looking pretty good right now, son,” Tomlinson said, man-to-man. “If I were you, I’d reconsider.”
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Henderson stuttered and almost ran to the phone.
As he disappeared into the hallway, Salam and Tomlinson took a good survey of the space they could see inside the house and shrugged.
“I think this one’s going to be fun,” she said.
*
After a hasty phone call to his solicitor and a fabricated story to his employer about needing to go into the city, Henderson followed Salam and Tomlinson to the police station in his own car. Thanks to round-the-clock surveillance of his home and vehicle, he still hadn’t been able to get rid of the shoes he’d worn on the day Alice Chapman died. He’d tried to light a fire in the living room grate, hoping to burn the offending articles, but unfortunately there was no kindling or firelighters. If he had left the house to get some, he would have risked being seen by the surveillance team and being asked some extremely awkward questions about why he was seen buying firewood and lighters in high summer. He only hoped they wouldn’t procure a search warrant before he’d had time to think of a plan. When he arrived at police headquarters in Newcastle, Henderson was met by the same solicitor who had been present on the day of DNA testing at Cragside. They were shown into a small meeting room inside the interview suite where they held a lengthy consultation, following which they were taken to an interview room where they were left for a further fifteen minutes to stew in their own juices.
At quarter-past ten, the door opened and Henderson’s face registered shock.
“DI Anika Salam entering interview room 1 with DCI Maxwell Finlay-Ryan, the time is sixteen minutes past ten on Wednesday the seventeenth of August,” she stated clearly, for the record.
The two detectives took their seats at a table for four, with Ryan sitting directly opposite Henderson.
“If you could please state your names for the recording,” Salam instructed them.
“Melissa Kettering of Kettering, Quinlan and Associates.”
There was a pause until Henderson realised it was his turn.
“Martin Henderson,” he snapped, unable to meet Ryan’s eye.
Salam recited the standard police caution, making sure they went by the book.
“Do you understand all that, Mr Henderson?”
“Of course, I do. I’m not an idiot. I want to know what he’s doing here,” he jabbed a bony finger toward Ryan’s face and his solicitor gave him a warning look.
Ryan smiled lazily and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
“During the course of DCI Ryan’s investigation into the deaths of two people on the Cragside estate, of which you are manager, he sought the assistance of the financial investigation unit. Certain matters came to light which have led us to open our own investigation, which is why you’re here today. DCI Ryan will therefore be note-taking during this interview.”
“Well, I want it noted for the record that my client has been extremely cooperative in agreeing to attend voluntarily today,” Kettering began, with a hauteur that must have taken years to perfect. “You acted in clear breach of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act when you failed to give my client proper written notice of this interview.”
“A requirement which your client was happy to waive, since he was feeling so cooperative,” Salam put in.
“Under threat of arrest,” the other woman hissed.
“There was no threat at all,” Salam said, with a smile for Henderson. “I would have been very happy to arrest Mr Henderson.”
Ryan’s lips twitched.
“Now, let’s get down to business.” Salam clasped her hands together on the table top. “Please could you tell us your age and current profession, Mr Henderson, as well as your residential address?”
He answered in a grudging monotone.
“And I understand you do not own the estate manager’s cottage but live there as part of the compensation package from your employers, Lionel and Cassandra Gilbert?”
“Yes,” he muttered.
“I hope there’s a point to these questions, detective inspector,” Kettering spoke out again. “We were afforded no pre-interview briefing or any indication of what you intend to ask my client, which is another breach for the record.”
“Actually, there’s no obligation for us to brief you ahead of an interview. Normally, we do, but what can I say? We just didn’t feel like it today.”
The solicitor’s mouth snapped shut.
“We understand you are an experienced estate manager, Mr Henderson. Can you tell us where you have worked previously?”
Henderson swallowed.
“It’s all listed on my work record, isn’t it?”
“Where is the relevance, detective? Perhaps we should be asking to see your CV?”
The solicitor exchanged a smirk with her client.
“Oh, it’s quite simple, Ms Kettering. None of the companies Mr Henderson claims to have worked for actually exist.” She turned to the sixty-something man and watched him wipe perspiration from his lip.
“Can you explain that?”
“No comment.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and he could feel Ryan’s eyes boring into him.
“You are aware that, should this interview be used as evidence in court proceedings, adverse inferences may be drawn from your refusal to answer?”
Henderson folded his arms across his chest while Salam listed his entire work history, or at least the version he’d included on the CV he provided to the Gilberts.
“None of these stately homes exist, nor do the companies who are listed as your previous employers. Can you explain that, Mr Henderson?”
“No comment.”
And so it went on.
Eventually, Salam came around to the next line of questioning concerning Henderson’s transactional history.
“In January of this year, you purchased a BMW i8 hybrid sports car, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
He could hardly deny it, since the car was parked in the car park outside.
“The money laundering officer at the car dealership registered a suspicious report following your purchase, Mr Henderson. Do you know why?”