Dead Feint Page 8

  And so I tried a different tack instead. “I’ve not seen much of you these last few days.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and paused as if weighing his words. And then, “I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment. But I promise you, it’s not always like this.” He added, “It doesn’t help living so far apart.”

  Well, he’d got that right at least. Of course, there was a simple solution to that particular problem, but it was one he would have to work out for himself.

  “And this goddamn investigation takes up so much time too,” he said.

  Not to mention dining out with ex-lovers in Stoke Newington. Or maybe not so ex. Or was I really just being paranoid? I pushed the thought aside and tried to stay positive.

  “Having the new place should make life easier,” I said. “Maybe you can stay over sometimes.”

  He squeezed my arm. “I’m sure I can.” He glanced at his watch. “Come on, Naylor will be here soon. We’d best get in place.”

  I followed him out of the door towards the meeting room. For the moment, it seemed we were at stalemate again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “So why two monitors?” Nathan dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk.

  I followed suit and said, “I was concerned about Rusty’s behaviour patterns. Some people are hard to read, Rusty being a typical example. They’re very good at keeping their feelings under control with few if any visual cues. It makes it difficult to read their body language.”

  “So how does the second monitor help?”

  Both monitors were powered up and showed images of the interview room from different angles. I tapped the screen on the left. “This just displays the usual mid-range view of the room so I can observe Rusty’s overall body language.

  “But this one…” I tapped the other screen. “This one is connected to a high-speed camera that allows me to focus directly on his facial expressions.” I leaned over to the control panel in front of the monitor. “Watch.” Using the joystick on the panel, I zoomed in to show how the camera could be manipulated to close in at a specific location.

  “I’m still not sure how that helps.”

  As he spoke, the door of the interview room opened and images on both screens showed Rusty Naylor follow Lowe into the room.

  “It’ll be easier to explain later when the interview is over.” As both men seated themselves and faced each other, I used the joystick to zoom in with the camera until Rusty’s face filled the screen. At my request, the table had been removed, so I had an uninterrupted view of Rusty on the first monitor.

  A microphone in front of the monitors connected to Lowe’s earpiece, and I pulled it toward me, ready to direct his questions if need be.

  Nathan and I sat in silence as Lowe ran through the usual procedures, advising Rusty of his rights and stating the time date and place. Lowe conducted the interview much as I’d asked.

  When he raised the issue of the phone call, Rusty looked puzzled. “I’m not saying Candy didn’t call now and again but I don’t recall such a conversation.” He paused as if casting his mind back and shook his head. “No, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  Lowe pushed the point. “Our witness was certain about what she heard.”

  “Candy could be a bit of a drama queen at times. It’s possible she was exaggerating about something and I didn’t take it seriously. Your witness could have beefed it up as well. These things happen.”

  I said, “Did you see that? Did you see how Rusty reacted?”

  Nathan rubbed his chin. “I didn’t see a reaction.”

  “Exactly.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “Am I missing something here?”

  Keeping an eye on the screen, I said, “Lowe challenged him. Even from someone with nothing to hide that should have got some sort of reaction.”

  I leaned toward the microphone, switched it on, and said, “Richard, ask him if he knows of anyone who might want to cause harm to his sister. Keep pushing it and see if we get a response.”

  Lowe asked the question but got a negative response and no reaction.

  Lowe drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Your sister is overheard telling you she’s in some kind of danger and then both she and her friend are murdered. And you’re telling me you don’t remember the conversation and you have no idea who she could have been talking about?”

  “I only wish I did.” Rusty Naylor stayed calm and composed, his hands resting in his lap.

  “You can’t think of anyone who could have been a threat?”

  “As far as I know, she didn’t have any enemies.”

  Lowe tried a different approach and described the tattooed man Mia had seen in the bar. “You don’t know anyone who fits that description?”

  As impassive as ever, Rusty answered in the negative.

  I switched off the mic and said, “Not a flicker. You see how calm he is?”

  In front of me on the table was a remote recording device, part of the camera configuration I’d helped set up. And each time Lowe asked a pertinent question, I recorded the response.

  Nathan rapped a knuckle against the second screen. “There’s no change in his facial expression either.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  He glanced towards me, brows knitted into a frown.

  “I’ll show you later.” I turned my attention back to the two screens.

  Lowe continued the interview but, learning nothing of any consequence, eventually brought it to a close. After formally concluding the interview, asking Naylor to make himself available for future interviews, and escorting him out of the station, he joined Nathan and me in the smaller of the two meeting rooms.

  “That was a waste of time,” he said.

  “Don’t be so sure. We’ll know more when I’ve checked the recording.”

  “That shouldn’t take long,” said Nathan. “You recorded only a few seconds each time.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I said. “These cameras are capable of 1,000 frames a second and I need to check each frame. I reduced the speed for this interview but it will still take me a while to check through the recording.”

  Nathan said, “That could take a while. I hope you have something to show for it.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  The two of them left me to it, returning to their own offices and other duties. It took me the rest of the morning to trawl through the camera footage, stopping briefly to grab a sandwich and coffee from the mini-mart next door. No offence to Rusty but by the time I’d finished, I was heartily sick of the sight of his face. But at least the exercise had been worth it. And when I summoned Nathan and Richard back to the meeting room after lunch, I had some interesting images to show them.

  They were impressed.

  Lowe said, “That’s amazing.”

  Nathan grunted his agreement.

  We all three sat around the screen displaying Rusty’s image as I flipped from one frame to the next and back again. The first image showed Rusty’s usual inscrutable expression. But the second frame showed something completely different.

  “He looks scared,” said Lowe.

  “I’d call that an understatement,” said Nathan.

  “I don’t understand,” said Lowe. “How can his expression change so quickly? And why didn’t we notice it before?”

  I’d already marked the frames I wanted them to see, and I flipped through to the next one. It showed Rusty’s response to Lowe’s description of the tattooed man. “Welcome to the world of micro-expressions.”

  They both stared at me, incomprehension showing on their faces.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Let’s suppose you’re off duty for the weekend,” I said, tipping my head in Lowe’s direction, “and you’re looking forward to watching the Charwell FC game on Saturday.”

  “I’d be a damned sight more enthusiastic if they weren’t doing so badly in the league.”

  I chortled. “Even so. Now let’s say the Chief here cancelled your
leave.” I hooked a thumb towards Nathan. “Said he needed you to work. How would you react?”

  Lowe squirmed in his seat, embarrassed. “Well, I’d have to work of course. I wouldn’t have a choice.”

  “Yes, but how would you feel?”

  “I guess I’d be disappointed.”

  “I put it to you, you’d be more than disappointed. You’d be angry.”

  Lowe protested. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “You may not even be consciously aware of it. But it would happen all the same. Human nature. Of course, you wouldn’t want it to be known so you would make sure you didn’t display that anger.”

  “No, of course not.” Lowe sounded dubious.

  “And that’s how micro-expressions occur. When you deliberately try to suppress your feelings. You see, no matter how much you tried to hide that anger, for that one split second before you got your emotions under control, it would show on your face, an involuntary reflex action.”

  Nathan said, “Too fast to be seen?”

  “There are seven main common universal expressions encoded by micro-expressions.” I checked each one off on my fingers. “Disgust, anger, fear, sadness, happiness, contempt and surprise. And each one is expressed for no more than a fraction of a second. Which is why we can see them only when recorded on a high-speed camera.”

  “So Naylor was deliberately trying to hide something from us?” said Nathan.

  Lowe interjected. “But what does it mean? Frightened of what? Of being caught out? Frightened of whoever threatened his sister?”

  Nathan again. “That’s something we need to find out. Looks like we’ll have to pull him in again.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “I suspect he’s not the type to be easily pressured.

  “It’s not as if we have a choice,” said Lowe.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “I’ll still be at the Fairview for a couple of days until the new place is ready. So why don’t I invite him to join me for a drink? Try the soft approach.”

  Nathan was reluctant, but I set out to persuade him that my approach was probably best. And in the end he acquiesced. “Very well. I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rusty was waiting for me, already seated at the bar, slumped over his beer. He gazed down at the half-empty glass, a picture of despondency.

  It was early evening and most of the Fairview’s patrons were in the restaurant next door, the muted background hum of their conversation making its way out to us. The only other drinkers were a middle-aged couple at the table over by the window, he reading the evening paper and she concentrating on the screen of her mobile. A bored-looking barman leaned against the wall behind the counter, half-heartedly towelling a glass. He looked almost pleased to see me as I entered from Reception. He must have been having a slow shift.

  Rusty turned at my approach, tried a smile, and held out a hand in greeting.

  I took it in mine, shook it warmly, and slid onto the stool next to him. After ordering myself a vodka and tonic, I apologised for not having had a chance to talk with him earlier. “I was hoping we might get together after your interview this morning.”

  “You were there, of course?”

  “Whatever I can do to help.”

  “And the high-speed camera would have been your idea.” He looked me straight in the eye, challenging me. When I didn’t respond immediately, he said, “There were two cameras in that room. It was obvious why.”

  There seemed little point in either denying it or apologising for it. Not that I needed to. I passed it off with a smile. “I always said you were one of my better students. I bet you learned all my techniques by heart.”

  “Wondered why you felt the need is all.”

  “You must know it’s not personal, Rusty. I have a responsibility to the police, my employers, to use whatever techniques I feel are appropriate.”

  He finished his beer and put the empty glass on the counter. “And when was it you knew I was lying?”

  So much for my intended softly softly approach. But if this was how he wanted to play it, then so be it. I wasn’t about to let him throw me off track with his directness.

  I drained my glass and signalled the barman to let us have another round of drinks. “You know how this works as well as I do. So you know when it was. The moment you lied about that phone call. You knew who threatened Candy. And you told me you’d lost touch with her. Another lie.”

  “That much was true. That call came out of the blue. And she wouldn’t tell me where she was or what she was doing. She told me she was too scared.”

  Our drinks appeared in front of us. Rusty picked up his beer and raised his glass to me. “I guess I have some explaining to do.”

  Raising my glass to him in return, I said, “I guess you do.”

  He grimaced and nodded in agreement. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “None of us are.”

  He snorted. “Spoken like a true psychologist.”

  “So who are you?”

  He slid off his stool still holding his drink. “Let’s take a turn outside. The walls are closing in on me. They always do when I think back to the old days.”

  I followed him out onto the terrace, drink in hand, and we leaned against the balustrade looking out over the waves. The blood-red sun was already on its slow descent behind us, colouring the sky over the sea with its crimson glow.

  He said, “You didn’t know I’d done time, did you?”

  “So that’s why the walls were closing in?”

  “I remember telling you my sister hadn’t led a blameless life. But we’re from the same stock. I had my moments too. It’s in the blood I guess.”

  Blaming our genes or our upbringing or our circumstances were all too common as excuses for our misdeeds. Understandable, of course. Human nature dictates that we seek to justify our actions, no matter how bad, by looking elsewhere for the cause. It would be too painful to accept responsibility ourselves. But I didn’t contradict him.

  He said, “It happened bit by bit; petty theft, street crime. I did some stretches inside. And then I got into the big time. Smash and grab and store robbery with one of the local gangs. I was the getaway driver.”

  Before continuing, he drew in a deep breath as if to ready himself. “And then it all went belly up. The owner of a late-night convenience store fought back. He was shot. Died on the spot.”

  He shifted his stance. The boards beneath him groaned.

  “I turned Queen’s evidence. Shopped ’em.” He twisted around to face me, gripping the rail with his free hand. “That must seem strange to you. After the kind of life I’d led.”

  “Not really. We all set our own moral codes, the standards by which we live. And somewhere within that set of values, we all draw a line. You’re no different from anyone else.”

  He told me of the consequences of that decision. A reduced two-year sentence. And anonymity. But something went wrong. After his release, his complicity in the eventual arrest of the other gang members was leaked. And, by his reasoning, from inside police ranks. As he spoke, he finished the rest of his beer and left the empty glass on the balustrade rail.

  “Is that why you never reported the threat made against Candy?”

  “I didn’t think they meant her any harm. Not for a moment. It was just their way of trying to get to me. I was lying low. Trying to hide. I told her she was safe.” He leaned against the balustrade, arms on the rail and looked over to the ground below. “What a mistake that was.”

  I downed the rest of my drink in one go, my mouth suddenly dry. “And afterwards?”

  Rusty straightened up again.

  “The deed was done. It’s not like I could bring her back. So why make it hard on myself? I’ve been living under a false name, see. If I’d come clean about who I really was, about why she was killed, I’d be a sitting target. Which is what they wanted, right? I still think I was stitched up by the bizzies. So I wouldn’t be doing m
yself any favours ’fessing up to the ones who’d dropped me in it to start with.”

  The tables on the terrace were filling up as diners finished their meals and came out into the sun to finish their drinks or to enjoy the warm weather.

  I put my empty glass on a nearby table and said, “Let’s walk down to the front. It’s more private there.”

  We made our way down the steps to the Esplanade and as we crossed the road towards the beach, I questioned him some more. Why had he chosen to stay silent after learning that the first victim wasn’t his sister? Why hadn’t he given the full circumstances to the police?

  A family of holidaymakers trekked towards us, the father laden with deck chairs, the mother chastising an exuberant over-excited child trying to pull free of her controlling grip. We leaned up against the sea wall and waited for them to pass before continuing our conversation.

  Once they were out of the way, I said, “I don’t understand why you said nothing.”

  “I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it was her. It didn’t make sense. I was sure the first victim was Candy. If she was still alive, why had she never contacted me?”

  “Maybe she was still too frightened?”

  “Maybe. But I wish she’d got in touch all the same.”

  “And the tattooed man? Do you know him?”

  “No. But I recognised the description of the prison tattoo on his neck and put two and two together. It had to be someone tied to my old gang.”

  “So what now?”

  He turned to face me. “I guess I’m going to have to come clean after all. Perhaps it’s something I should have done long ago.”

  I agreed. Glancing at my watch, I said, “I have to make a call to my publisher shortly but why don’t I drive you down to the station later?”

  He declined the offer. “Might as well head on over there now and get it over with.” Pushing himself away from the wall, he added, “Why don’t you phone your Sergeant friend and tell him I’m on my way.”