‘No,’ Sean insisted. ‘I sensed no panic when we asked him about being in the flat. He knows he’s left it clean. Or maybe I’m wrong and he’s never been there. Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I need to know more before I draw any lasting conclusions. Let’s have him followed for a while.’
‘Round-the-clock surveillance?’ Donnelly asked.
‘Starting as soon as possible,’ Sean confirmed. ‘He may have missed something. Something that could betray him. If we’re lucky he’ll lead us to something that’ll hang him or at least give us grounds to dig further.’
‘If we’re very lucky,’ Donnelly pointed out.
‘Right now we don’t have much else, so let’s start digging into his past. A man like Hellier doesn’t just appear. Have criminal and intelligence records checked, see if Mr Hellier here hasn’t got some skeletons in his closet.’
‘What about Inland Revenue, employment records, general background information?’
‘Not yet. We haven’t got enough for Production Orders. Let’s stick to our own records first − see what we can turn up.’
‘It’ll be done,’ Donnelly told him. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah,’ Sean answered. ‘You take the car and get back to the nick. Concentrate on tracking down the rest of the victim’s clients and let me know as soon as you turn up someone or something interesting.’
‘Fine. And yourself?’
‘I’m going to have a little chat with his wife.’
Sean took the Tube from Knightsbridge to King’s Cross, noting all possible CCTV points that Hellier could have passed, including those covering the taxi rank outside the station, where Hellier probably hopped into a cab for the last leg of his journey home, although from here their journeys differed – Sean travelling the rest of the way by bus. Black cabs were an expensive luxury for him, not a realistic mode of transport. Not so for Hellier. Even so, it hadn’t taken him long to get to Hellier’s place: 10 Devonia Road, Islington, close to Upper Street and the Angel underground station.
Hellier’s house was another beautiful Georgian terrace and looked like a much smaller version of the Butler and Mason office building. Sean was beginning to feel undervalued and underpaid, but at least the time alone had settled his racing mind and allowed him space to clear his thoughts. He bounced up the steps and gently tapped the chrome knocker twice. After an acceptable wait the door was opened. ‘Hello,’ was all she said. Sean had expected her to say more. He showed her his warrant card and tried to look as unofficial as he could.
‘Sorry to bother you, I’m Detective Inspector Corrigan, Metropolitan Police.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, attempting to feign surprise. So Hellier had called and warned her. No matter. Sean had assumed he would − that wasn’t why he was here. He was here for a chance at a snapshot into Hellier’s life.
‘Mrs Hellier?’ Sean asked, smiling.
‘Yes. Elizabeth. Is there a problem?’
Sean was struck by how much she looked and sounded like a female version of James Hellier: tall, slim, attractive, well spoken, the product of finishing school and two skiing holidays a year; the best of everything her whole life, but unlike with Hellier he could sense her naivety. Was that why Hellier had married her?
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Sean lied. ‘I’m just looking into an identity fraud case. We think someone may be trying to pass himself off as your husband James.’
‘Really?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid so. They tried to make a substantial purchase in Harrods on Wednesday evening. I’ve already spoken to your husband and he says he was home all night with you. If you could confirm that, then I’ll know for sure the person we have in custody is lying to us.’
‘But if you’ve already spoken to my husband, why do you need me to confirm he was at home?’
Naive, but not stupid, Sean thought. ‘I like to be thorough. Maybe we should discuss this inside,’ he suggested, hoping to see Hellier’s things, to walk in the skin of James Hellier, even for a few minutes.
‘That’s not really convenient right now. My children will be home from their tennis lesson any second. I wouldn’t want them to start worrying. I’m sure you understand. But I can tell you that James was here on Wednesday, although I hardly saw him. He was working in his office most of the night.’
Sean couldn’t stop himself looking past her into the house and sensed her trying to grow large to prevent him. She wanted him to stay out of her family’s life.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand – and thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Well, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He turned to leave, then quickly turned back, speaking before the door closed on the opportunity. ‘One more thing …’ He registered the annoyance on her face, the slight flushing of the facial capillaries, only minutely visible behind her tanned skin. He waved his finger randomly at the front of the house and spoke casually. ‘I was wondering, which room is your husband’s office?’
She stumbled. Clearly her husband hadn’t warned her to expect this type of question. ‘Does it matter?’
‘No,’ Sean replied, smiling. ‘Not really.’ He waited, not moving, knowing she would give in to the silence.
‘This one here,’ she surrendered, pointing to one of the front ground-floor windows, keen to be rid of him.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘If I had a house like this, that’s where I’d have my office too.’ Satisfied, he knew it was time to leave. He had sown the seeds of doubt in her and she would sow the seeds of fear into Hellier. He imagined the panicked conversation she would have with her husband later that day, both questioning each other, doubting each other. ‘Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Goodbye, Mrs Hellier. Tell James I said hello.’ She didn’t answer. He heard the door slam before he reached the last step.
Sean made the long journey on public transport from Islington back to Peckham, jealously watching the vast majority of his fellow commuters wearily heading off for the weekend while he was heading back to work, all thoughts of home and rest still just a distant hope. He’d had little more than six hours’ sleep in the last two nights and knew the next few days would be no better. Reminding himself to buy some caffeine pills, he used the public entrance to the police station and climbed the stairs to the incident room without acknowledging anyone. As he crossed the room towards his office he casually observed who was there and who was missing. He assumed those not there would be running down whatever inquiries Donnelly had assigned them. He entered his office and sat heavily in his chair. Within seconds Donnelly was at his open door, a heavy bundle of witness statements and completed actions cradled in his arms. He didn’t seem to feel the weight.
‘How d’you get on with Hellier’s trouble and strife?’
‘She’s lying for him,’ Sean answered. ‘Said he was home all night. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time she’s covered for him.’
‘Aye, but does she know what we’re investigating?’
‘Not unless Hellier’s told her, which I doubt.’
‘So technically he has an alibi.’
‘Yeah, but you could drive a bus through it. She said he was in his office all night, alone. It’s on the ground floor next to the front door. He could have slipped out and back easy as.’
‘But you don’t think he went home, do you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Sean confirmed. ‘What have you turned up?’
‘Well, from a criminal records point of view, Hellier’s as clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket, as far as I can tell. He’s been working at