‘Yes, I’ve invested in the company,’ said Simon, sitting back and eyeballing Erika.
She took out another bank statement. ‘I also have one of Giles Osborne’s bank statements. For Cosgrove Holdings Ltd, for the same date, which shows the forty-six thousand pounds goes in to the account . . .’
‘Where is this going?’ asked the solicitor. Erika held up her hand and carried on.
‘But on the same day, your forty-six thousand pounds goes back out again.’
Simon started to laugh, and looked around the room to see if anyone would laugh with him. Peterson remained stony-faced. ‘Why don’t you ask Giles? I’m not involved in the day-to-day running of his company. I’m a sleeping partner.’
‘But you invested forty-six thousand pounds. That’s a lot to be just a sleeping partner?’
‘Define a lot? To me, forty-six thousand pounds is not a vast sum of money . . . I’m sure for you, with a police salary, it’s a lot more.’
‘With that taken into account, surely you and Giles would have at least agreed what your investment would have entailed?’ said Erika.
‘I trust Giles and, if you remember, before the brutal murder of my daughter, I was welcoming Giles into my family as my son-in-law.’
Simon’s angry mask cracked, and they saw the raw pain from the loss of Andrea.
‘Okay, so as your son-in-law, did Giles share with you why the forty-six thousand pounds was paid straight out to a company called Mercury Investments Ltd?’
Simon looked across at his solicitor.
‘Yes or no? It’s a simple question,’ said Erika. ‘Yes or no, did Giles share why the forty-six thousand pounds was paid back out to a company called Mercury Investments Ltd?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know of a company called Mercury Investments?’
‘No.’
‘It’s registered to a Rebecca Kucerov, wife of this man – Igor Kucerov. Just in case you need reminding, we recovered Andrea’s second mobile phone with these pictures.’
Erika took the explicit photos from the folder and laid them out in front of Simon. He glanced down at them. He closed his eyes and began to shake.
The solicitor leant in and started to gather them up. ‘I object to my client being shown these distressing photos of his daughter, who has only just been buried . . .’
‘But what does your client have to say about this forty-six thousand pounds? We believe this man, Igor Kucerov, is linked to the illegal trafficking of young Eastern European woman to the United Kingdom. He was also tried for the murder of a young girl called Nadia Greco.’
‘Was he convicted?’ asked Simon, sharply.
‘No, but even without a conviction it adds up to a damming link. So I’ll ask you again. Do you know why Giles Osborne transferred the forty-six thousand pounds to Igor Kucerov?’
Simon sat back, looking rattled.
‘My client has no comment.’
‘Right,’ said Erika. She gave Peterson a look and they both stood.
‘And?’ asked the solicitor.
‘We’re suspending this interview for the time being,’ said Erika.
‘What time did you say it was?’ asked Simon.
‘It’s twelve-fifteen pm,’ said Erika.
‘I’d like to talk to Linda, NOW,’ he said.
Erika ignored him as she and Peterson left the interview room.
64
‘He looks like he’s going a bit nuts in there,’ said Moss when they were back in the observation suite. They looked at the four screens. Simon was in the middle of a rant about “that bitch policewoman” having no right to deny him access to his daughter.
‘Perhaps they all need to sweat it out for a bit,’ said Peterson.
‘Yes, but remember we’ve only got them for twenty-four hours. If we can’t charge them, then we have to let them go.’
‘If only we could re-arrest Kucerov for the murder of Nadia Greco,’ said Moss.
‘We don’t have any new evidence. And our time wouldn’t be used effectively trying. We need to get him on this link with the money from Simon and Giles,’ said Erika. ‘And Linda is the link to Andrea and Igor.’
On the next screen, Linda was now sitting with her head on the table of the interview room, absent-mindedly tracing circles on the scratched tabletop.
On the screen below, Igor sat back, legs splayed, resting his head against the wall. Giles remained impassive too, sitting in his chair and looking around, almost as if a waiter had forgotten his order.