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 then snapped open his briefcase. He took out a packet of Benson & Hedges, still in their cellophane wrapper, and tossed them in front of Hawkin, who made a point of not looking at any more of the photographs that George methodically put in front of Naden. The solicitor seemed mesmerized by the record of defilement piling up before him. When the final photograph sat in front of him, he cleared his throat.
‘They’ve faked them,’ Hawkin said. ‘Anybody knows you can fake up photographs. My stepdaughter went missing and they’ve not been able to find her and now they’re framing me to make themselves look good.’
‘We’ve got the negatives as well,’ George said flatly.
‘You can fake negatives too,’ Hawkin said superciliously. ‘First you fake the photograph, then you photograph it. Bingo, you’ve got a negative that you can print from.’
‘Are you denying that you raped Alison Carter?’ George asked incredulously.
‘Yes,’ Hawkin said firmly.
‘We have also taken possession of a bloodstained shirt which is identical in every particular to the shirts you have made to measure at a London tailor. This was hidden in your darkroom too.’
Hawkin finally looked startled. ‘What?’
‘The shirt was very heavily stained with blood on the front, the lower sleeves and the cuffs. I expect that when it is tested, it will match the blood previously found on Alison’s underwear.’
‘What shirt? There was no shirt in my darkroom,’ Hawkin exclaimed, leaning forward and jabbing the air with his cigarette to make his point.
‘That’s where it was found. Along with the gun.’
Hawkin’s eyes widened. ‘What gun?’
‘A Webley .38 revolver. Identical to the one your mother’s neighbour Mr Wells had stolen a couple of years ago.’
‘I haven’t got a gun,’ Hawkin gabbled. ‘You’re making a big mistake here, Bennett. You might think you can get away with framing me for this, but you’re not as smart as you think you are!’
George’s smile was as icy as the wind that whistled outside. ‘You should know that it is my intention to present this information to the Director of Public Prosecutions in the firm belief that he will allow us to charge you with murder,’ he continued inexorably.
‘This is an outrage!’ Hawkin exploded. He shifted in his seat and turned his aggression on his solicitor. ‘Tell them they can’t do this. All they’ve got are some poxy faked pictures. Tell them!’
Naden looked as if he wished he’d stayed at home. ‘I must advise you to say nothing further, Mr Hawkin.’ Hawkin opened his mouth to protest. ‘Nothing further, Mr Hawkin,’ Naden repeated, a hard edge in his voice that entirely contradicted his benign appearance. ‘Mr Bennett, my client will not be making any further statement at this time. Nor will he be answering any of your questions. Now, I require a meeting in private with my client. Other than that, we will see you before the justices tomorrow morning.’
George sat staring at the typewriter. He had to prepare a brief on the rape charge for the uniformed inspector who dealt with the magistrates’ court. It was a straightforward request for a remand in custody, but with Alfie Naden defending the squire of Scardale before a bench of the local great and good, George wanted to take no chances. It didn’t help that his head