two shiny keys taped underneath the desk. He didn’t touch them.
‘Peter – get the photographer in here. I need a picture taken.’
Only when the keys had been photographed and fingerprinted did Donnelly remove them from under the desk. The tape used to hold them in place had been carefully removed and sealed in a plastic evidence bag. Who knew how many microscopic pieces of evidence clung to its sticky back?
He held the keys up and asked the room a question. ‘Now. What do we use keys for?’ Slowly he looked down at the drawers they’d broken open. The locks remained intact. He winced as he put one of the keys into the drawer lock. It didn’t fit. He tried the other. It fitted. He grimaced before turning the key. The lock clicked open. ‘Ooops,’ he said. ‘I think we might be getting a bill for some broken antique furniture.’
He tried the other drawers. The key fitted them all. He dropped it into an evidence bag and sealed it straight away. He tossed the other key around in the palm of his hand and called out across the office. ‘Anyone finds a locked anything, let me know.’
A detective searching the walnut cabinets attracted Donnelly’s attention. ‘Hold on, there could be something under here.’
Donnelly moved closer and watched over his shoulder. He pulled back the carpet at the base of the cabinet. They stared at the floor safe. They looked at each other, then at the key in Donnelly’s hand.
He pushed the key into the lock. He could feel it was precision-made. It slid into place as if it had been oiled. The heavy door opened upwards.
The first things he saw were bundle of cash, neatly rolled and held in place with rubber bands. He touched nothing. He could see they were mainly US dollars. Hundred-dollar bills. Some sterling too − fifty-pound notes − and Singapore dollars, again in fifties. How much in total, he could only guess. He saw the unmistakable red cover of a British passport. He flicked it open − it was in Hellier’s name. This man could leave the country in a hurry if he had to.
There was something else, lying under the passport. A small black book. An address book? Donnelly was still on his knees. He looked up at the detective who’d discovered the floor safe.
‘You’d better get that photographer back in here. And the fingerprint lady, too. I don’t know what all this is about, but it’s got to mean something.’
Sally’s search team had arrived back at about 2 p.m. She sat with Sean in his office briefing him on what they had found and seized, the main thing being Hellier’s computer that would be sent to the electronics lab where the boffins would interrogate the system’s innards. Maybe they could find something, but it would take time.
Sean’s phone rang. ‘Hello, this is DI Corrigan.’
‘Front office here, sir. There’s a Mr Templeman wants to see you.’
‘Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.’ Sean hung up. ‘Hellier’s brief’s here,’ he informed Sally as he set off for the front office. He walked quickly along the busy corridors and skipped down the stairs, nodding to the stressed-looking civilian station officer before waving Templeman past the waiting queue of customers. Templeman wasted no time with pleasantries. ‘I demand immediate access to my client.’
‘Of course,’ Sean agreed, and guided him through a side door into the station. ‘I’ll take you to the custody suite. Follow me.’
‘And when do you plan on interviewing my client? Soon, I hope.’
‘When the Section Eighteen searches are complete and I’ve had time to assess the evidence.’
‘How long, Inspector?’
‘Two or three hours.’
‘That’s totally unacceptable,’ Templeman argued. ‘Clearly you’re in no position to interview my client, therefore I suggest you release him on bail until such time as you are ready. Later this week, perhaps.’
‘I’m investigating a murder,’ Sean reminded him, ‘not some Mickey Mouse fraud. Hellier stays in custody until I’m ready.’
Sean typed in the code on the security pad attached to the outside of the custody suite. When the pad gave out a high-pitched beep, he pushed the door open, immediately looking for a gaoler to take Templeman off his hands.
‘Murder or fraud, Inspector, everyone is entitled to a fair and vigorous defence,’ Templeman continued. ‘And that’s what I’ll ensure my client gets.’
‘Everyone except the dead,’ Sean replied coldly. ‘Everyone except Daniel Graydon.’ He grabbed a passing gaoler before Templeman could reply. ‘This is Hellier’s brief,’ he said. ‘He would like to see his client as soon as possible.’
‘No problem,’ the gaoler responded. ‘If you follow me, sir, I’ll sort that out for you.’
Sean was already walking away, Templeman calling after him: ‘I need to see any relevant statements you have. I’m entitled to primary disclosure, Inspector. I’m entitled to know what evidence you have against my client.’
‘And you will,’ Sean answered, already looking forward to the moment when he would reveal Hellier’s fingerprint had been found in Daniel Graydon’s flat, but undecided who he was most looking forward to seeing squirm: Hellier or Templeman.
Sean bounced up the stairs and back along the corridors to the incident room, tired legs suddenly alive again. He reached the incident room in time to hear the volume within rising. It could mean only one thing: Donnelly’s search team were back. Sean headed for his office, passing Donnelly en route. ‘My office, when you’ve got a minute, Dave.’
Donnelly dumped several evidence bags on his own desk and headed straight for Sean’s office.
‘What have you got?’ Sean said.
‘We’ve seized every bit of clothing he owns and his shoes. We’ll get that lot up to the lab tomorrow.’
‘I need something now. Something for the interview. I want to charge Hellier tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.’
‘Sorry, boss. No smoking gun in the house. But it’s all wrong there − he keeps his office locked all day when he’s not in there, even when he’s at home. His wife says she doesn’t know where he keeps the keys. She also says she knew nothing about the floor safe.’
‘Floor safe?’ Sean asked.
‘The jewel in the crown. Guy’s got a floor safe in his study.’
‘Plenty of rich people have got floor safes. Doesn’t mean much.’
‘True, but how many keep rolls of US dollars in them, with their passports? There was an address book too.’
‘So he’s prepared to leave in a hurry. Who knows why? If it was a crime not to trust banks, we’d all be in jail.’
‘For someone who doesn’t trust banks, he’s sure got plenty of money in them. Close to half a million, from what I could tell. God knows how much the final total will be.’
‘What about the address book?’ Sean asked. Often it was the smaller, less dramatic items
