The Night Book (30 page)

The second was where to get himself a good lawyer.

The interview room was stifling. There was no air-conditioning and the single ceiling fan hadn’t worked for weeks after someone left it spinning at full speed
overnight.

Great damp patches darkened Probus’s suit under the armpits and in a broad band across his shoulders. He mopped his forehead with a white handkerchief, as with his other hand he picked up
a sheet of paper the detective had just handed to Meriel.

‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but this is completely out of the question. My client is under no obligation whatsoever to read aloud from these pages.’

Probus pushed the document firmly back across the table.

This interview, DI Thompson decided, was not going well. Meriel Kidd was immovable in her account of what had happened out there on the lake. She was calm and unruffled when he’d
questioned her about the missing Rolex, too.

‘I can only repeat what I told the inquest, Inspector: I’ve lost it,’ she had told him in a quiet, steady voice. ‘I placed it in my handbag but it subsequently vanished.
Obviously I have mislaid it. Perhaps your men will find it during their search of my home. I certainly hope so. It is worth a great deal of money.’

‘But presumably not a lot in sentimental value, Miss Kidd?’ It was a low blow, but it hadn’t appeared to trouble her.

‘None at all, since you ask. It is obvious from these pages you have been given – private items that I should like returned to me at the earliest opportunity, by the way – that
I deeply disliked and resented my husband. But I was under no requirement to share that information with anyone, including the coroner. Why should I? It had absolutely nothing to do with his
death.’

This woman doesn’t need a solicitor, Thompson thought wryly to himself. She’s doing very well on her own.

‘I should like to hear you read an extract from these diaries, Miss Kidd. Any page will suffice. Perhaps this one.’ He handed her a sheet from the top of the pile between them.

It was at this point Probus had intervened, but the policeman pushed the paper for a second time back towards the lawyer and his client.

‘I see no grounds for your objection, Mr Probus. I am merely trying to establish—’

‘You are merely trying to discomfit my client, Inspector, and I won’t allow it. She has not denied writing these chapters. She has no reason to. They are patently fantasy, flights of
fancy that bear no relation to reality whatsoever. It is only her wish to co-operate with the police that has brought her here this afternoon. In my opinion she can leave this room at any moment
she chooses.’

You’re probably right there, you fat bastard, Mark Thompson reflected.

‘Very well. We’ll come back to this later.’

‘We will not. If you ask my client again to read aloud so much as a single word, I shall advise her to leave the police station immediately. This is undue coercion.’

The DI decided to let the point drop.

‘Miss Kidd. Why did you fail to tell the police about your final conversation with your husband?’

‘I thought I had done so. I was very surprised to learn otherwise. But, as I explained to the coroner, I was in deep shock the afternoon I made my statement. It’s hardly surprising I
omitted something as trivial as him asking me the time.’

All right, Thompson thought. Let’s try this for size.

‘You had a very serious argument with your husband out there on the boat that day, didn’t you, Meriel? We have a witness prepared to swear that you told him of this. You informed
your husband you were leaving him, didn’t you? He became very angry with you, didn’t he?’

Meriel appeared entirely unperturbed.

‘No, and no. No such conversation took place. By “witness” I assume you are referring to Sebastian Richmond, with whom I have just ended a relationship. For reasons best known
to himself, he is making this up.’

‘Why would he do that?’

Probus leaned forward again. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but I am going to have to halt this line of questioning. My client bears no responsibility for what this gentleman may have told
you. She cannot speculate on the matter.’

Ignoring him, Mark Thompson continued: ‘You argued about this book, Meriel, didn’t you? Your husband had found it and made copies of it. He threatened you with exposure in any
divorce hearing. If your listeners knew you were capable of writing utterly sick, sadistic fantasies such as this, your career would come to an end, wouldn’t it?’

Meriel adjusted the dank, clammy collar of her silk blouse before replying. She was drenched in perspiration but when she spoke, she sounded calmer than ever.

‘Inspector Thompson. You talk of witnesses.
There were none –
apart from me. My husband and I were alone on our boat. And I am telling you, as the sole witness, two facts.
Facts
, Inspector.

‘One. My husband and I did not argue that afternoon. Not about this book and not about anything else.

‘Two. I was entirely unaware that my husband had found my manuscript until last night, when Mr Richmond informed me he had discovered a copy hidden in my cellar. I destroyed the original
shortly before Cameron died, when I decided that writing it was a silly and unpleasant habit I had to put a stop to. I had no idea my husband had read it and secretly made copies. That has come as
a tremendous shock to me, I can tell you.’

The detective looked coolly at the woman opposite.

‘I believe Mr Richmond is telling us the truth, Miss Kidd. Which means I believe you’re lying to me now. And here’s what else I happen to believe. You wanted to kill your
husband, didn’t you? You wanted to murder him.’

Meriel didn’t miss a beat.

‘I certainly did. But only in my imagination. I’m sure I’m not the only wife who is guilty of that, Inspector. I see you wear a wedding ring. Perhaps your own wife occasionally
harbours similar fantasies to my own.’

You’re bloody right there, Mark thought. Clemmie hadn’t spoken a word to him since he’d told her they had to cancel yet another holiday. A freelance writer, she had locked
herself in her study and the only response when he tried knocking on her door was the steady clacking of her typewriter.

He stood up. ‘All right, Miss Kidd. Please remain here with Mr Probus. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

He needed to consult Tremayne. And probably the AC. For the next twenty-four hours, he didn’t want Meriel Kidd going anywhere, still less having access to newspapers, a television or
radio.

If he found what he was profoundly hoping he would, he expected it to be the bombshell that would blow the widow’s defence into a million pieces – provided she didn’t see it
coming.

And, of course, providing he found it.

‘You can’t hold her overnight, Mark. You simply don’t have cause. What do you think, sir?’ Superintendent Tremayne turned to the AC.

‘I agree, Gil,’ the senior man said. ‘Why is this so important, Mark? She’s co-operating, isn’t she? I’m sure she’ll come back in the morning if you ask
nicely.’

The DI shook his head. ‘I don’t want her to find out that we’re sending divers down at first light tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if something incriminating
is
down there and we find it, I want to hit her with it stone-cold. The problem I’m having with her is that she’s had time to think
through all the angles on this. I wish to hell Richmond hadn’t gone and told her what he’d done. She’s got all her ducks lined up in a row.’

The AC looked pensive.

‘Does she know we’re searching the boat as well as the house?’

‘Yes, and she doesn’t seem bothered about it. I don’t think we’ll find anything incriminating there. But she
doesn’t
know we’re sending divers down
because obviously we don’t need a warrant to do that.’

The superintendent frowned. ‘But why are you giving her the impression that we need to tell her about warrants? Did you tell her we’d got a warrant to search the boat? You were under
no obligation to do that, Mark.’

‘Yes, I did, because I want her to feel I’m being completely straight and open with her about the scope of our investigation. I didn’t have to tell her about the warrant for
the house, either, but I did. I’m deliberately misdirecting her away from the lake itself. As far as she’s concerned we’re only interested in the house and boat – and the
diary, of course. If we find what I think we’ll find in the water, I don’t want her to have had even a second to cook up a story about it.’

The AC stared at him. ‘What
do
you expect to find down there, Mark?’

Thompson looked surprised.

‘That’s obvious, isn’t it? Cameron Bruton’s Rolex. It’s the key to everything.’

On the AC’s advice, Mark Thompson managed to get hold of one of the best prosecution lawyers in the country, a barrister with chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. Once the
man had been apprised of the situation his advice, delivered over a bad telephone line from the Old Bailey, was unhesitating.

‘S’easy, old boy. Tell her you’ve found something suspicious on the boat. Make something up, you can always withdraw it tomorrow. Say you’re arresting her on suspicion of
withholding evidence. You think she’s doing that anyway, don’t you? That means you can keep her in overnight and her lawyer won’t be able to apply for a writ of
habeas
corpus
for unlawful imprisonment until tomorrow. By the time he’s got that sorted, your divers will have popped back up to the surface waving the watch. Easy-peasy.’

The DI frowned. ‘Not if I’m wrong and there’s nothing there. I’ll be the one hauled before a judge, for false imprisonment.’

‘Then you’d better keep your fingers crossed, old boy.’

Mark rang off and made his way back to the interview room, collecting a uniformed sergeant along the way.

When they went inside, Probus was up on his feet at once.

‘This is unacceptable, Inspector. You have kept my client waiting here for almost forty-five minutes. We are leaving.’

‘Be quiet please, Mr Probus.’

Mark faced Meriel.

‘Meriel Kidd, I am arresting you on suspicion of withholding evidence. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but what you say may be written down and given in
evidence.’

He turned to his colleague.

‘Take her to the cells, please, Sergeant.’

Probus looked as if he was going to explode.

‘This is outrageous.
OUTRAGEOUS!
You have
no
basis whatsoever to make this arrest. I am taking this matter directly before the nearest High Court judge. How
dare
you abuse your powers in this way? This is one of the most
serious
—’

Meanwhile the sergeant had quietly slipped a pair of handcuffs on Meriel and was leading her from the room. She hadn’t said a word, and looked unperturbed as ever. Thompson marvelled at
her extraordinary composure, even in this insufferable heat. He’d never seen anything like it in his entire career.

He turned to the lawyer.

‘Mr Probus. My officers have made a discovery during their search of the boat.’

‘Really? What of?’

‘I’m not prepared to say for the moment.’

Probus called out after his departing client.

‘Miss Kidd, this will not be allowed to stand. I will have you out of this place by lunchtime tomorrow, I guarantee.’

She made no reply, and the door closed quietly behind her.

Thompson ignored the blustering lawyer, who was, as the London barrister had predicted, now promising to bring a writ of
habeas corpus.

The policeman made a mental calculation. Twenty hours, he decided. He had twenty hours to pull this thing off.

And if he failed?

A long spell of gardening leave awaited. It might even turn out to be permanent.

He certainly wouldn’t be short of spare time then to take Clemmie on holiday, would he?

Meriel sat on the edge of the bunk in her cell, thinking. Why had she been arrested? She’d overheard the detective telling her lawyer something about finding evidence on
the boat, but that was nonsense. There was nothing incriminating aboard, and nothing back at the house, either, other than more copies, possibly, of
The Night Book
; she had no idea how
many Cameron had made.

No, she decided, this had to be some sort of bluff. DI Thompson had tried his best to unnerve her, first by asking her to read extracts from the diary aloud, and then directly accusing her of
lying about that final row with Cameron. Only Seb could have told him that – he was bound to have been questioned himself this morning – but all she had to do was continue to deny it.
As she’d said to Seb last night (how long ago that seemed now) it was his word against hers; they could prove nothing. Probus had confirmed that to her while Thompson was out of the room.

If the police now thought a night in the cells was going to rattle her, they could think again. It was certainly unpleasant, not to mention extremely boring – she had nothing to read
– but she’d cope. They’d have to let her go, probably tomorrow if Probus had anything to do with it.

She lay back on the bunk and put her hands behind her head.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said aloud to the whitewashed ceiling.

‘Keep your nerve, Meriel Kidd. You’re going to be just fine.’

Mark Thompson had a bad night. He didn’t sleep much and he was up before dawn; he wanted to be at Ullswater before the divers went down. There was nothing he could
usefully do at the scene, but he couldn’t bear hanging around headquarters waiting for news.

He dressed in the dark, trying not to wake the sleeping Clemmie, and went downstairs to make himself some tea and toast. He switched on the radio in the kitchen in time for the early headlines.
Meriel Kidd led the bulletin: yesterday’s brief police press statement that she had been arrested and kept in custody had electrified an already sensationalised media.

Probus, damn him, had poured petrol on the flames with an impromptu press conference on the pavement outside police headquarters. He said his client intended to sue for wrongful arrest and would
be seeking ‘exemplary’ damages.