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“It never happened!”
The investigator will usually begin the discussion by describing a criminal incident which has been troubling him. The subject’s default position will always be that the incident, whatever it might have been, is entirely untrue.
That money never went to/from that bank account; the victim was mistaken in her assertion that someone had visited her home in the middle of the night and demanded she sign certain papers; the documents in question never existed; no-one had ever stabbed anyone with a hypodermic syringe.
At this point, the examiner will introduce the documentary evidence he has, and any tapes, photographs etc which place the other man at the scene of the crime. The interviewee is unimpressed. Indeed, he is positively scornful.
“It wasn’t me!”
‘How could you possibly think that that man, talking to that bank teller, could be me? He’s nothing like me. He’s clean-shaven and I’ve got a beard– it could be anyone! It could even be a woman!’
‘And the fact that he’s only got two fingers on his left hand doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of people have had their fingers shot off in accidents. I know dozens, myself. And those Russian prison tattoos are very trendy these days – you can buy transfers of them in our local newsagent’
“It was someone else”
Eventually forced to admit, in the light of the overwhelming proof, that the robbery, kidnap, etc did indeed take place, the conversation moves along on the premise that the perpetrator was another person entirely.
‘Who do you think might have borrowed your identity, tattoos, fingerprints, car and clothes on this occasion?’
In financial crime, the blame is without exception always attached to the secretary. She is an important character in the story which is now playing out. A figure of such popularity that her exclusion from the dramatis personae, during the recent revamp of Cluedo, is a mystery to all professional detectives. However, when her name is requested, she is usually found to have been a temporary employee who can no longer be traced.
Similarly, whatever the weight of forensic evidence to the contrary, signatures are never the suspect’s own. They are, without exception, forgeries. Asked who might be the forger, and why they did it, the secretary is likely to reappear on the list of possibilities. At this point, her role may become a little more developed. She might be described as a bitter, manipulative bitch who harboured a grudge against her employer. Her name, however, will still escape him.
The investigator will remark regretfully that, as Miss X is no longer traceable, the focus must continue to be the original object of the enquiry. Her name (perhaps Jezebel, or Delilah) will be then be retrieved from his memory, after a decent interval, to be jotted down by the investigating officer, who will doodle an enormous question mark next to it, as the suspect looks on.
“This is defamation – I’m going to sue!”
The combatants have now reached an important stage in their talks. Having deployed his Outrage button, the suspect will now loudly examine his own remedies under the law. Even though the suspect has not yet ben accused of anything, to the offended party, it is vital that he must now convince the other man that he is an expert on slander, libel and calumny. And the Data Protection Act. And the more obscure parts of the Human Rights legislation relating to privacy. The investigator, on the other hand, will have an actual knowledge of the relevant legal definitions and the appropriate case law. This disparity enables him to drink his coffee before it gets too cold.
It is important that the suspect must be given the chance to purge himself of his opinion of the dastardly and criminal behaviour of his opponent, and the subsequent effect on his own reputation. This is because unless he acquires a very good solicitor, it will usually be impossible for him to refer to these injustices from the dock.
The correct response from the examiner during any monologue is a remote look, if possible combining a degree of empathy and boredom.
“Everyone’s at it!”
When it is no longer a dignified option to continue to deny it ever happened, the ‘everyone does it’ defence will come into play. Recently, Pakistani Cricket board chairman Ijaz Butt claimed that, far from corrupt behaviour being confined to his own countrymen, English bookies have told him that our own players are far from blameless, too. By saying this, Mr Butt is playing out an old, old routine.
‘It’s part of cricketing/banking/insurance/downloading(or insert name of country here) CULTURE’, the interviewee will cry earnestly. “Everyone I know does it- you can’t just pick on me!”
The investigator has spent months getting enough evidence to put this guy away. He wants his lunch. He looks wearily around the room. No, there seems to be no-one else present who could usefully confess to the crime, and spare the current victim. The acceptable social values of (insert name of country here) are a closed book to him. He deals in black and white, right and wrong. A journey into the colourful morals of the financial sector might be a temptation, but he has to press on.The phrase ‘Bang to rights’ flits across his consciousness, but out of kindness, he doesn’t voice it.
Instead, he mutters apologetically “Doesn’t make it right, though”
The suspect’s eyes widen in amazement. He’s never met anyone with such a restrained view of social acceptability, and takes a breath to explain further.
“Let me tell you about these people I know who are far worse than me’, he continues excitedly. ‘They make a fortune by ....’. His adversary picks up his pen again and takes down the details of those who will be the topic of his next enquiries. It is some minutes before the speaker realises he has just squealed on his local Mr Big. He suddenly stops talking and looks worried. Time to move on.
‘This can be sorted out!’
When he hears this, our hero knows it will not be long before that sandwich is in his grasp. The couple have reached the traditional moment when a bribe is mentioned. Not overtly, of course – there are formalities to be gone through on both sides.
The suspect leans closer to the questioner. If he has a gold tooth, this is a good time to allow it to catch the light.
‘Look’ he says in a conspiratorial and amiable tone ‘You and I are both
· Business people
· Men of the world
· Reasonable blokes
· Freemasons’
Occasionally, our law enforcer may be surprised by the strength of the bond proposed by his new friend. He might be astonished to learn that they share a religion, sexuality, or a deep-rooted love of their families, or a joint hatred of an even more vile section of society than mere thieves.
With nods of encouragement, palm-spreading and much eye contact, the subject will now elaborate on some actions which might improve their newly-close relationship.
‘You don’t want to be doing this for ever, do you?’ ( And indeed, this question does raise a doubt with most counter-fraud specialists). Our man politely says nothing.
‘You could come and work for me!’ says the interviewee triumphantly. ‘We’d make a great team!’
With a sad shake of the head, the idea is dismissed by the questioner. If he wishes, he can interject a gentlemanly reason for declining. For example, he might say
‘Sorry, my stand-up tour of Europe starts in a fortnight’
Again obliged to move quickly along, our subject remains upbeat
‘Well, if that doesn’t work for you, perhaps you’d like to just have a break on my yacht? I quite often fly people out to the Bahamas, and it’s all very relaxed. I know some great girls’
The interviewer’s eyes are drawn to the picture on his desk, of his wife and daughters enjoying themselves on the last family holiday to the New Forest. He knows the suspect has noticed it, too.
‘Or you could bring the family!’ he says cheerfully.
After a final mournful glance at the picture, the investigator puts his hands on the table, palms down, and stares pointedly at his own fingernails. He knows that his companion would feel very hurt if he merely said ‘No thanks’. And as an Englishman, he would not wish to be rude.
‘This is all out of my hands now, I’m afraid’
‘What happens next, then?’
‘I have some sandwiches in this drawer. Would you care for a cup of tea?’
The investigator telephones for some tea. At the other end of the line, a burly colleague is alerted that the interview is over, and calls the police. When the refreshment arrives, the investigator makes sure he is between his new friend and the exit. The enormous colleague shares the tea, leaning against the door and smiling absently, until he hears a knock from outside.
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