‘We have photographic evidence, sir. Believe me, this is copper-bottomed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll get off. I’ll be back in the office in about half an hour and I’ll show you my evidence then.’ George gently replaced the receiver and turned to see Bob Lucas in the doorway of the study. ‘DCI Carver would like us to return to Buxton,’ he said. ‘And I need to take those envelopes back with me. Can I leave you to sort out an overnight guard on the darkroom?’
‘I’ll deal with it, sir. Just to say, we’ve been through every book on the shelves in the study and there’s no photographs anywhere. We’ll carry on looking, though. Good luck with Hawkin.’ His sleek head bobbed in a supportive nod. ‘Let’s hope he makes it easy on Mrs Hawkin and decides to come clean.’
‘Somehow, I doubt it, Bob,’ Clough said from the doorway. ‘Too cocky by half, that one.’
‘While I remember, she doesn’t want us calling her Mrs Hawkin any more. I suppose we call her Mrs Carter,’ George sighed. ‘Pass the word round.’ He ran a hand over his still wet hair. ‘Right, then. Let’s go and make this bastard suffer.’
The photographs silenced Carver. George reckoned it wouldn’t be the last time they had that effect. Carver stared as if gazing would somehow erase the images and replace them with the picture-postcard shots of Scardale that Hawkin sold to local shops. Then, abruptly, he turned away. He pointed to a sheet of paper. ‘Naden’s home number. He’ll want to be present when you interview the prisoner.’ He stood up and snatched his overcoat from the wall hook behind his desk.
‘You’re not staying for the interview, sir?’ George asked, something like dismay showing in his voice.
‘It’s been your case from the beginning. You see it through,’ Carver said coldly. He shrugged into his coat. ‘You and Clough, you do it.’
‘But, sir,’ George started, then stopped. He wanted to say he’d never done anything as serious as this, that he’d never conducted an interrogation where he had so little to go on, that it was Carver’s job as the DCI to take charge in this situation. The words died in his mouth with the realization that Carver thought the wheels were going to come off this case somewhere along the line and he didn’t want to be aboard when they did.
‘But what?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘So what are you waiting for? I can’t lock up my office if you’re standing in the middle of the floor like piffy, can I?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ George said, picking up the sheet of paper from Carver’s desk. He turned his back and walked out into the CID room. ‘Sergeant,’ he called across to Clough. ‘Grab your coat. Let’s go.’
Surprised, Clough did as he was told. Carver scowled. ‘Where are you going? You’ve got a prisoner to charge and question.’
‘I’m going to phone Mr Naden and ask him to be here in an hour’s time. Then I’m taking Sergeant Clough home with me for a meal. We’ve neither of us eaten since breakfast, and a major interrogation needs more to sustain it than nicotine and caffeine. Sir,’ George said unapologetically.
Carver sneered. ‘Is that what they teach you at university?’
‘No, sir, it’s something I learned from Superintendent Martin, actually. He says you should never send your forces into battle on an empty stomach.’ George smiled. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, sir, we have work to do.’ He turned away and picked up the phone. He could feel Carver’s eyes burning into his back as he dialled. ‘Hello? Mr Naden? It’s Detective Inspector Bennett from Buxton CID here. I intend to question your client on suspicion of murder and rape in an hour’s time. I’d be much obliged if you could be here then…Fine, I’ll see you then. Thank you.’ He ended the call by depressing the rest then dialled again. ‘Anne? It’s me.’ He turned round and stared pointedly at Carver, who snorted and stalked off towards the stairs.
Precisely an hour later, Alfie Naden was shown into the interview room. He looked the epitome of a prosperous country solicitor, his neat paunch encased in a three-piece suit of irreproachable dark worsted. Gold-framed half-moon glasses perched on a fleshy nose flanked by florid cheeks. His bald head shone under the lights, and his chin was as smooth as if he’d shaved before coming out for this evening appointment. It would have been easy to mistake him for a bumpkin except for his eyes. Small and dark, they glittered like the glass eyes of an antique teddy bear. Seldom still except when he was probing a witness, they missed nothing. He was a shrewd adversary and George wished Hawkin hadn’t possessed sufficient local knowledge to engage the man.
Once Clough had brought Hawkin up from the cells, they cantered through the formalities. Hawkin said nothing, his lip curled slightly in distaste. He looked as neat and confident as he had at ten that morning.
George cautioned him, then said, ‘Following your arrest this morning on suspicion of murder, I obtained a search warrant from High Peak magistrates.’ He handed the warrant to Naden who scrutinized it and nodded briefly. ‘My officers and I executed that warrant this afternoon at Scardale Manor. In the course of that search, we discovered a safe sunk into the floor of the outbuilding which you have converted into a photographic darkroom. When that safe was opened with a key concealed in your study inside Scardale Manor, six brown envelopes were discovered.’
‘Six?’ Hawkin interjected.
‘Six envelopes which proved to contain certain photographic prints and negatives. As a result of which, I am charging you, Philip Hawkin, with rape.’
Throughout George’s formal speech, Hawkin’s face had not changed. So he wasn’t going to roll over, George thought. He thinks he’s got away with the big one, so he’s going to bite his tongue and take his medicine for the rape.
‘May we see the evidence?’ Naden said calmly.
George looked inquiringly at Hawkin. ‘Do you really want your solicitor to see the photographs? I mean, Mr Naden is the best there is. If I was you, I wouldn’t take the chance of him walking out.’
‘Mr Bennett,’ Naden warned.
‘He can’t defend me if he doesn’t know what you bastards have faked up,’ Hawkin said. His accent had slipped several notches down the social scale since the morning’s condescension.
George opened a folder in front of him. In the hour they’d been gone, Cragg had inserted every print and negative strip into its own individual plastic bag. The night-shift CID man had labelled each one as it had been slid inside the bag by its edges. Tomorrow, the forensic team would have their chance. Eventually, the force’s photographers would make copies from the negatives. But tonight, George needed to keep hold of the evidence.
Silently, he placed the first photograph of Alison in front of Hawkin and Naden. Hawkin crossed his legs and said, ‘Did you bring me some fags?’
Naden dragged his horrified eyes away from the photograph and looked at Hawkin as if he were a creature from another universe. ‘What?’ he said faintly.
‘Fags. I’ve run out,’ Hawkin said.
Naden blinked a dozen times in quick succession
