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.“And you would be?” asked Shand.“Charles Rathmell,” he said as though the name should be familiar – which it wasn’t – and delivered with the aristocratic disdain of a Regency buck.“My card,” he added, handing Shand an embossed work of art.“Very nice,” said Shand, fighting the sudden urge to rip it up and cast the tiny pieces over the lawyer’s crocodile skin shoes.“Well, Mr.Rathmell, perhaps you’d be so kind as to inform your client that he has two choices.One, he comes to the station voluntarily or, two, I arrest him here and all his colleagues and clients can read about it in tomorrow’s papers.”“You have no grounds for an arrest.”“Do I not? You want me to read them all out in front of the press? That’s a reporter standing by the gate.” Shand turned to stab a finger in the direction of the lone bystander.“I’ve got a loud voice and I bet he’s got big ears.”Gabriel lurched forward.“No,” he said, grabbing his lawyer by the arm.“It’s all right.I’ll go voluntarily.”~Shand placed the supermarket box in the middle of the table in Interview Room One.He’d leave it there, not say a word about it, and let Gabriel’s imagination do the rest.“Take a seat,” he said as Gabriel and his lawyer came through the door.“My client has nothing to say, Mr.Shand.This is a totally nugatory exercise.”“Indeed, sir,” said Shand, dismissively.“They were always my favourite.Now, Gabriel, have you heard of a club called Gulliver’s? A drinking club off Hanover Lane.”Gabriel looked at his lawyer who answered for him.“My client refuses to answer any questions.”“Perhaps he’s confused as to the whereabouts of Hanover Lane,” said Shand, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward.“It’s not in Swindon, Gabriel.It’s in London.And your name appears in the guest book.”Both solicitor and client sat silent and implacable.Shand produced the evidence bag with the matchbook and dangled it in front of Gabriel’s face.“Ring any bells yet, Gabriel?”“This is a pointless exercise, chief inspector,” said the lawyer.Shand ignored him.“This was found in the car used for the abduction of Helena Benson.”Gabriel started.“I thought this was about Annabel,” he blurted.“Now that’s interesting,” said Shand.“What makes you think the crimes are unconnected?”Gabriel looked pleadingly at his lawyer.“He doesn’t have an opinion one way or the other,” said Rathmell.“He was merely expressing surprise.”“Surprise,” echoed Shand.“Well, let’s give him another one.We found fingerprints on this book of matches and guess what – we found a match to ones found in your house.”This time it was the lawyer who looked towards his client.Gabriel shook his head.“You’re lying,” he said.“I wouldn’t know how to, Gabriel.But you see, it’s not just the fingerprints, and the club in London with your name on the guest book.It’s this as well.” He tapped on the large cardboard box on the table.“I expect you thought this was where you put your clothes when we perform the strip search.”Rathmell leapt to his feet.“Chief Inspector!”Shand held himself in check.The words were there, waiting.It’s all right, Mr.Rathmell, we’ll bring in a box for you too.Instead he raised his hands and apologised.“Do you know where this box was found?” he said, introducing a more sombre tone to his voice.Neither man spoke.Rathmell flounced back into his chair.“This is the box that Helena Benson’s head was put into when she was buried alive.Look,” he said, turning the box to make sure both men could see the punctured hole.“This is where the breathing tube went.Can you imagine what it was like? Buried alive for nine hours with nothing to see but the inside of this box.The darkness, the weight of the soil on your body, the only air coming through a tube held between your teeth.Imagine if you had to sneeze.What would you do? Grit your teeth and hope you didn’t lose the tube?”Rathmell spoke.“I fail to see what this has to do with my client.”“Do you recognise this box, Mr.Marchant?” asked Shand, pushing it towards him.Gabriel backed off, not wanting the box to touch him.“Take a good look,” said Shand.“It came from your house too.”Gabriel stood up violently, so violently his chair overturned.“What is this! I had nothing to do with any burial, or murder, or anything [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]