the handle tight. This time, with a bit of luck, it would.
'Wait,' Yeats shouted. Someone overheard Morven arguing with Wilson at around two thirty that afternoon. And the murder weapon wasn't a knife, it was a carving tool used by Nisga'a people. Wood carving tools are easy to buy here but I checked it out and this particular one isn't available in the UK. I tracked it down to a Native American gallery in Vancouver. So add this up. Morven resides in British Columbia. He flew from a place called Terrace to Vancouver where he stayed for two days before boarding a flight to Heathrow. You're detectives, work it out.'
Elizabeth had no answer as Yeats seemed to have tied what little he had quite neatly together. Did he have absolute proof the Canadian was the last person to see Wilson alive? If Yeats arrested a high profile foreign national without concrete evidence, he'd face diplomatic repercussions. However, she wasn' t about to leave without having the last word. Elizabeth moved back into the office. 'What about the all-important question, a motive?'
Yeats fell silent for a moment too long which Elizabeth interpreted in the only sensible way. As yet he hadn't come up with one. She watched him search for a suitable answer.
'We all know what can happen when an argument spirals out of control,' he offered.
Yes, Elizabeth thought, and often leads to murder, only not necessarily in this case Detective Chief Inspector Yeats. But you're the one who has to prove it, I don't.
She didn't slam the door after all. Not now she'd partially regained the upper hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
May 13th 8.30 am
Elizabeth cursed as she pulled into the car park behind Gloucester and Cheltenham County Court. According to a large advert, a food festival was taking place at Gloucester docks which accounted for the lack of spaces. With only a few minutes before her meeting with one of the district crown prosecutors she reversed back to the rear court entrance and waited. Leaving the engine running she quickly checked the paperwork. In her mind there was sufficient evidence to take the case to court. However the Crown Prosecution Service followed a strict code issued by the Director of Public Prosecutions, setting out the general principles they must follow when deciding which cases ended up in a courtroom. Elizabeth hoped she'd met the two main considerations, a public interest to prosecute and sufficient evidence likely to lead to a conviction.
She looked up and stared at the busy docks. Right now she'd prefer to join the crowds wandering past the food stalls or stopping to buy kitchen equipment. What she most wanted to do was relax, but that state of mind and body seemed as elusive as ever. She went back to the file. On paper the case against the brothers looked good. Even so, experience had taught her not to be overly optimistic. Plenty of grey areas existed within the law and a good defence lawyer knew exactly how to breach them. Her appointment today was with a new district prosecutor, a woman called Francisca Montero. Elizabeth checked her first name. Francesca was obviously the English version; the surname Montero gave her origins away. She was probably Spanish.
A knock on the driver's window startled her. The car park attendant wanted her to move. She opened the window and flashed her ID. 'I' ve got an important meeting in the court.'
'If you hurry there's a space. One of the judges is just pulling out.'
Elizabeth thanked him and quickly moved the car forward. Then she waited patiently until the elderly driver manoeuvered his Bentley out of the bay. She hurried up the steps and pushed open the double glass doors into a busy reception area. Reorganisation inside the courts had taken place since her last visit and she wasn't quite sure where to go. She spotted a security guard and he directed her to the third floor. Instead of waiting for the lift she ran upstairs and surprisingly wasn't out of breath by the time she reached Ms