“Do you think that my life was in danger last night? He was very close and toward the end, he was drawing me into his arms as if he wanted to embrace me. In fact, if DI Langton hadn’t been in the flat, what do you think he would’ve done?”
“His audacity in turning up at the flat yet again shows us the cracks. He is getting very desperate. But I don’t think he is earmarking you as a victim: not yet. Right now, he is really covering his tracks. But I think he is unnerved, especially by the fact McDowell is not the patsy he thought he would be. So this visit could have pushed him into making a really big mistake. It could also fuel his need to prove how brilliant he is, and that would mean another victim.”
He took a deep breath. “So, in answer to your question, I don’t think he intended any harm to come to you last night—you are, at present, too useful—but I believe he will. Your trust value went down a notch when DI Langton appeared. I hope I’ve impressed on you how dangerous this man is. He isn’t thinking like a hunted man. He thinks like a hunter. Right now you should be regarding him as a walking time bomb.”
At no time had Langton glanced toward Anna, though he remained attentive. Everyone in the room could feel his impatience whenever Parks covered territory that he already knew.
They were, however, still dependent on the results from the forensic laboratory to come in. Without them, they still only had circumstantial evidence and not enough to either charge Daniels or keep him in custody. He had not broken into Anna’s flat, but “paid a late-night visit.”
Parks concluded, “I would say he is aware that he is under constant surveillance, which means he’s already taking risks while, at the same time, proving how clever he is by outwitting the surveillance team.”
After Parks had left, Langton gave a briefing to the team. It was imperative they retain the surveillance on Daniels. Glancing at Lewis, he said that both sides of the Queen’s Gate residence must be watched as from now. McDowell would be called in for further questioning and it was crucial they get from him any possible connection to Daniels. If Daniels had planted the handbags, then he must have known where McDowell lived.
Lewis lifted his hand. “Unless McDowell really did kill three of the victims. It is still a possibility.”
Langton nodded, though he seemed doubtful. However, he explained, they would be stepping up McDowell’s interrogation and pushing for a result. With no word yet from forensic, he instructed Anna and Barolli to go over there and breathe down their necks. He discussed the possibility of the pink shard of glass coming from Melissa’s T-shirt.
“We’re clutching at straws at the moment but one of them could be enough to pick him up. So get cracking and let’s get a result today and get this animal off the street.”
In the car park, Anna and Barolli passed McDowell, handcuffed to an officer, being led away from the prison security van. He looked less fit than the day before and seemed disorientated, his feet shuffling beside the officer. His withdrawal symptoms had really kicked in and he was visibly shaking, his hair lank from sweat.
“I wouldn’t like to interview him. Going to be like pulling teeth,” Barolli said, watching McDowell being led into the station. They got into the patrol car. “Apparently, he got roughed up in the nick.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said quietly.
“Of course.”
“I’ve read the surveillance reports. Even though there wasn’t a rear exit from Daniels’s apartment, there was someone on surveillance there in case he did a roof job.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“So they must have known when he’d skipped out?”
“Yes—well, the gov knew.”
“Was I set up?”
Barolli knew he was in trouble. After a moment’s hesitation, he shrugged. “This is off the record, OK? The gov asked Lewis to do extra time. He was the one on the rear of the Queen’s Gate flat.”
“I knew it. Langton set it up, didn’t he?”
“Look, Anna—even I wasn’t in the loop, all right?” Barolli flushed. The truth was, he did not approve of the risk Langton had taken.
“Did he pull the surveillance from the mews behind Daniels’s place?”
“Listen, it’s hard to keep up with him,” Barolli sighed. “I don’t want to say anything that would put me in the shit, all right?”
She gave him a penetrating look. “He did, though, didn’t he?”
“I can’t say.”
From the rear of the patrol car, Anna looked out of the window, amazed at her own stupidity. Every time she felt she could trust Langton, he slapped her down.
“I met his ex-wife, Nina,” she said carefully, watching for a reaction.
“Great looker, so I’ve heard.”
“Did you know she’s the commander’s DI?”
Barolli laughed.
“No!” He shook his head, amused. “Now I know how he knows what the commander is having for lunch! He plays women like they were violins.”
Anna pursed her lips. Plays women like violins, does he? She decided to change the subject.
“Do we know when Melissa’s body will be released for burial?”
“Not yet. They already had samples, so they didn’t need her hair for a match. I suppose they might have already let her family take her home. Though I doubt it, really. The gov would want us to go to the funeral, out of respect. Guess she’s still at the mortuary.”
“Home,” Anna murmured, struck by the fact that Melissa Stephens was never ever going home. Whatever she herself had been put through lately by Langton meant nothing in comparison.
Langton placed a full packet of cigarettes in front of the huge man and watched him shake as he lit one. His solicitor, Francis Bellows, warned them that his client was not in good shape as his rights were read to him again.
After a quick glance at Lewis, Langton flipped open his file. “Right, let’s get started. Did anyone approach you during the past few weeks, say? Asking questions about you, where you lived? Anything that you can think of that was unusual?”
McDowell leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. “Yeah, the fucker from the traffic cops towed away me car. Said it wasn’t taxed or insured; outstanding parking fines, an’ I missed a court appearance or something, I don’t know.”
“This was recently?”
“I can’t remember.”
Langton slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “You are up for three counts of murder. If you had a hard time in prison last night, think about twenty years of it, maybe more. You’d better start thinking.”
“Thinking about what?” He blinked, unnerved.
“If anyone approached you, or someone you know, asking questions about you.”
McDowell frowned. There was a long pause. He bent his head. He was “thinking.”
Using tweezers, the forensic scientist worked intently on Melissa’s T-shirt. First he matched the color of the diamantés, then he pried the jeweler’s claws open with his tweezers, unclipped a stone and laid it under the microscope.
“Color matches,” he said softly. He signaled for Anna to come closer. As she examined it through the microscope, he continued: “It’s such a small fragment: they’re probably sold in their millions. Trouble is, it’ll take time to build up the surrounds.”
Anna surrendered the microscope to Barolli, saying she would see if the T-shirt manufacturers could be of any help.
Anna went into the anteroom to use her mobile. It was disheartening to hear that it was a very big company and that millions of T-shirts with diamanté designs had been manufactured. She described the specific design. She waited on hold for five minutes before a new voice came onto the phone. This woman said that this particular T-shirt was not a bulk order, but one specially commissioned by a jeweler as a deluxe promotional item. He had ordered two dozen as gifts for special occasions, to be presented to clients in a tote bag.
“Did you supply the diamanté stones?” Anna asked.
“Yes. The col
or the client wanted was very vibrant, consequently more expensive than usual and therefore more costly to make up. But the jeweler was Theo Fennel, a top-of-the-range designer, with a shop on the Fulham Road.”
Anna listened, trying to be patient. “Yes, I recognized the logo. So you’re saying the stones were not mass-produced?”
“No. In fact, the ones you are talking about were the last of a batch. They went out of business soon after so we couldn’t order any more.”
Anna closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
When Anna returned to sit with Barolli, she relayed the information. The scientist appeared and gestured for them to join him. Two massive blow-up pictures were in the light box. One contained a single stone removed from the T-shirt; the other had the shard of pink glass.
“You can see from picture one that on the entire stone there are small grooves, resulting from the claws that held the stone in place. On the second picture, we have a section of that stone. In the right-hand corner there is a very tiny indentation and at first we didn’t even see it. Then it was magnified to this size.”
They stepped across to a computer and watched the broken section slide into place on the empty claw. It was a match to the right-hand corner.
“My God,” Barolli said in a hushed tone.
“Could any stone fit that claw?” Anna asked the scientist.
“Absolutely not. It’s just like a ballistic test on a bullet. Although mass-produced, each stone will have some slight flaw. These are not a particularly hard stone, so when they were clipped onto the material, it left an identifying mark.”
Barolli and Anna exchanged glances.
“Would you be prepared to testify in court that, without doubt, this section of stone came from Melissa Stephens’s T-shirt?”
“Yes.”
Anna spontaneously threw her arms around the surprised scientist’s neck, while Barolli watched, grinning.
It was a major breakthrough.
Lewis left the interview room to take a phone call. Langton continued interrogating McDowell. When Lewis returned, he passed a memo to Langton, who glanced at the information, then momentarily closed his eyes. Then he looked at the prisoner as if there had been no interruption.
“Excuse me. Can you repeat what you just said, Mr. McDowell?”
“I said he was foreign.”
“Foreign?”
McDowell leaned across to whisper to his solicitor. After a few moments, Francis Bellows faced Langton. “As you know, my client maintains that the drugs found in his possession and at his home were for his own use. He is very concerned that if he answers your question regarding this person, it could implicate him in the charges of drug dealing.”
Langton sighed, impatient. To get McDowell even to admit that someone had approached him in Manchester had taken half an hour.
“If Mr. McDowell has information that helps my inquiry and assists in proving he was not involved in the murders, then it will obviously be beneficial to both parties.”
McDowell looked to his solicitor. Langton leaned forward.
“Mr. McDowell, I am attempting to find out if someone set you up. Not for drugs, but for three murders. Now, about this man who approached you…”
McDowell spoke hesitantly: “It was a while ago, good few months. Maybe three or four, but Barry, he was on the door, right?”
Langton interrupted. “Sorry, who is Barry?”
“The other guy what does the doors with me, alternative nights. We work them between us; there’s just the two of us.”
“Right, carry on.”
“Well, I’m in the back having a bevy before I go out front and Barry comes and tells me there’s this bloke asking for me. Said he was foreign, well dressed and he’d walked up to Barry and asked if I was around.”
He said he’d asked Barry what the bloke wanted and Barry had told him that he wanted to score. “He’s a good bloke is Barry, so he’d told the bloke that he didn’t know where I was. Then he asked for me address. Said could he come around there? That’s when Barry got a bit suspicious and come to find me.”
Langton nodded encouragingly.
“I said to keep him talking; ask him who put him in touch with me.”
“And?”
“When he went back out, the bloke had gone.”
Langton shifted his weight. “So you didn’t actually see him?”
“No. When I heard he’d gone and pissed off, I got really edgy, you know? Because why come to the pub, ask for me, say he wanted some gear, then piss off?”
“Did he ever come back?”
“No.”
Langton rubbed his head and looked at a note Lewis had just passed to him suggesting Daniels had followed McDowell home. Langton scrunched the note in his hand. “You stated that your basement has been broken into many times. Do you recall if there was a break-in after this foreign man was seen at your pub?”
While this could have been a convenient lead for McDowell to follow, he responded in the negative, shaking his head and stubbing out his cigarette.
“I really don’t remember. ’Cos I work most nights until three or four in the morning, there was always some bastard jimmying the padlock off the doors: kids, dossers.”
“We will need your mate’s surname and address.”
“Barry Pickering.”
“And his address?”
“Well, he was living at his mother’s, over in Bolton, but he won’t be there. He’s in Walsall Cemetery. Died of a brain tumor, six months ago.”
At that point, Langton snapped, “Six months ago? Then how could he have seen this foreigner outside your pub?” He stood up quickly, pushing out the table, and started gathering his papers together.
“All right,” McDowell said loudly. “I met him.”
“What?”
“I talked to him.”
“Go on.”
“I didn’t want to get meself into any more shit than I’m already in. That’s why I lied. Since Barry’s not been around, it’s been me doing the doors on my own.”
Langton did his best to keep his temper under control. As he asked McDowell to describe the man, his jaw muscles were working overtime.
“He was tall, good-looking. Wore a baseball cap, pulled down low. I told him I didn’t have any gear on me and he’d have to wait around, so he went into the pub and stayed for a few drinks. Then he just upped and left.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
McDowell gave a half-shrug. “I don’t know. To be honest, I was a bit worse for wear.”
“You must have a few punters coming up and trying to score from you. So how come you remember that specific one?”
McDowell pouted, sulking. “Well, he was foreign for a start and for another thing, he give me a few quid.”
“And this foreigner never made contact with you again?”
“No.”
“I’ll ask you again: would you recognize him again, if you saw him?”
McDowell puffed out his cheeks. “It would depend.”
“Depend on what?”
“Well, you’ve got to find him first. After that, I don’t know.”
Barolli signaled to Anna in the waiting area. “They got a result; they’re up on the next floor.”
Anna grabbed her briefcase and followed Barolli. Eagerly she caught up with him and then overtook him, heading up the stairs through the swinging door into the laboratory.
Toward the end of the lab, amid rows of high-powered magnifying equipment, two scientists stood side by side, looking at their light boxes, on which sections of a single strand of hair were displayed.
“You have a result?” Barolli asked nervously.
The younger of the white-coated men pointed a thin marker at the first light box. “This is the hair from the Mercedes. We sliced it into four sections. Though one sample was lost, fortunately we retained three sections.”
He moved to the second light box. “This is the single hair taken from the victim, Melissa
Stephens; here we have a seventy-five percent match.”
“Seventy-five,” murmured Barolli.
“The hair follicle was weak. But the DNA match proves without doubt that the hair taken from the car seat of the Mercedes came from Melissa Stephens.”
Anna could feel her legs shaking. She looked at Barolli, moved.
“Brilliant,” he said.
Langton was so fed up with McDowell that he called it quits for the day. As Lewis and he were discussing whether to put Daniels in a lineup, Moira picked up the phone. She stood up from her desk and looked to Langton with some emotion. “The labs have finished their tests of the hair.”
Langton stiffened, expecting the worst.
“It’s a match. It belonged to Melissa Stephens.” Their eyes met. As soon as she had spoken the words, she put her hand over her mouth. He gave a brief, meaningful smile, then turned to Lewis. “Get the warrant ready.” Then the roller coaster started.
Tension built throughout the afternoon. Everyone was waiting to hear when they would pick up Daniels, but Langton tried to remain calm, one eye on the clock. It was late. If he arrested Daniels now, an all-night session would not even get started, as he was certain his solicitor would demand sight of statements. With a case of such magnitude, Langton would refuse, but he would have to indicate what areas of questioning would be forthcoming.
When Barolli banged into the toilets, Langton was standing at the basin splashing cold water on his face.
“Put it there,” said Barolli, with his hand outstretched.
Langton slapped his hand.
“How did you go with McDowell?” Barolli perched on the counter.
Langton straightened his tie, explaining about McDowell’s so-called foreigner possibly being Daniels. “We might think about getting Daniels into an ID parade.”
While Barolli used the urinal, Langton washed his hands.
“I want Travis to be on the arrest.” He was avoiding Barolli’s sour look, not wanting to be drawn into an argument.
Barolli, not liking it, muttered, “OK.”
Above Suspicion (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 1) Page 35