by Ryan Casey
“Well, I see a lot of girls coming in an’ out of this place. But she don’t look like the type.” He frowned and drew out his last words. He was like a scruffy version of Wallace from Wallace & Gromit.
Brian sighed. “Thanks, sir. If anything does come to you, you’ll give me a call, won’t you?” He handed his card to him.
The man waved Brian off. Another dead end. Cassy was at the bottom of Absom Road, engaged in conversation. They would never get anywhere like this. People didn’t talk. Probably all had some silence pact or something. That’s if they knew anything at all.
Something caught Brian’s eye in the distance. A person stepped out of their front door. He was wearing a blue jacket, a cap covering his eyes. Brian walked towards him, even though the man was beyond Cassy.
The man turned around and looked at Brian. Brian raised a hand, but the man pretended he hadn’t seen him. He shuffled down the alleyway and took bow-legged strides away from the officers.
“Sir, can you wait up a second?” Brian called. The clouds of breath above the man increased in number as he continued walking. Cassy turned to Brian to see what he was doing and then spotted the man ahead of her.
“Sir, this is the police, can you…”
The man ran.
“Shit. Cassy, get the car and bring it ‘round here right now. I’ll get him.”
Cassy frolicked around, caught in the moment. She took a quick look at Brian’s bouncing waist. “But you–”
“Just go!” Brian said as he sprinted past her and towards the man, who climbed the stairs at the side of the buildings and kept on running.
Brian had always intended to start exercising as a New Year’s resolution, but not exactly in this manner. He launched himself up the stairs and past the doors of houses, some derelict, some as good as new. The frosting breath of the man in the distance grew larger as he turned a corner.
The man wasn’t slowing down for anybody. He darted down the metal grating and froze at the end before disappearing right around the corner. Shit. Out of sight. Brian would have to be careful. All sorts of bad things happened to police officers when the suspects weren’t in vision.
Brian slowed down before the turn and poked his head around, half-expecting something to smack him in his face.
The man stood at the very end of the walkway, elevated fifteen or so feet above the ground. His cap had fallen off. Brian could see his face now, panicked and wide-eyed. He faced Brian and took a pained glance at the ground below him. Shit. Not a jumper…
“Sir, step away from the edge of the walkway, slowly.” Brian had seen people jump from this height before. He wasn’t high enough. As a rule of thumb, suicide jumpers needed to jump from at least three times their actual height to kill themselves, and even then, only fifty percent died. This was just shy. Once, a few years back, a woman had jumped from this height. Instead of killing herself, her thighbones crunched into her pelvis, which pierced through her flesh and mashed her colon. She lost her legs, and the damage to her digestive system meant that she defecated into a bag to this day.
The man’s eyes were huge and animalistic. He was panting now. “Just–just leave me, okay? Just let me go, and…Just leave me the fuck alone.” Something small dropped from his hand, tumbling from the elevated platform and to the ground below.
“Sir,” Brian said. Cassy’s car approached from the other side of the road, behind the man. “Sir, we just want to ask you a few questions about Nicola Watson. The girl who was killed. You know how it looks–if you jump, you’ll never get away with it, whether you like it or–”
“I don’t care how it looks,” the man shouted. His entire body shook. He moved one foot backwards and dangled it over the edge teasingly.
Flashbacks of the staircase.
Brian took a step towards him as Cassy crept out of the car. The man’s eyes widened as Brian treaded closer.
“This doesn’t have to end in tears, mate,” Brian said. “We just want to talk. A few questions, that’s all. So get away from that edge, and we can talk.”
Cassy moved stealthily up the road below them. She grabbed the item that the man had dropped. Brian had to keep the man talking. Just a few more seconds…
“Just a stupid mistake…a stupid mistake.” The man dragged his foot back onto the metal grating and moved shakily towards Brian.
“Come on,” Brian said. “We can talk about that mistake. Come on, that’s it. Another step. Another step.”
The man looked up at Brian and shook his head. “You’ve no idea. No idea.” He laughed before stepping backwards and closing his eyes.
If Cassy had arrived at the top of the ladder a moment later, she’d have fallen to the ground to whatever fate awaited her pelvis and colon below. Instead, she caught the man’s back and pushed him forward. Flailing his arms, he went flying face-first into the grated flooring.
Cassy charged towards the man and sat on his back and dangled the small item he’d dropped over his face. Brian rushed over to help pin him down. The man cried out with pain.
“Sir, we’re taking you into custody for the possession of a suspected illegal substance,” Cassy said.
Brian let out a snigger of disbelief when he faced Cassy. They had no right to arrest him for fleeing a scene. But drugs…Cassy was good. Really good. “You…You’d better be more careful in the future.”
“Thanks for the concern. Now let’s get this bastard down to the station.”
The man didn’t put up any sort of fight. He just smiled as they pushed him down the stairs and towards the car.
“Price,” Brian radioed in. “I think we’re on to something.”
Chapter Fifteen
The man didn’t say a word on the journey to the station. He just kept looking down at his hands and scratching at them. A constant smug smile clung to his face. Something was distinctly unlikeable about him. Maybe it was just the ‘70s-style moustache.
Maybe it was what they had in common. The willingness to jump.
They pulled him down the corridor and towards the interview rooms. Heads turned. Whispers started. But the man just smiled through it. Defeat in his eyes–the chase over. No jumping off buildings today.
They had to question him about the drugs. The possession of drugs was their excuse for bringing him in here. Then, they could take the interview in a more extra-curricular direction.
Brian placed him in a chair and sat opposite, flicking the recorder on. “I don’t know whether you’re familiar with this procedure, but you have a right to inform someone of your arrest, a right to legal advice, and a right to look at the police codes.”
The man smirked. He wiped his mouth with the sleeves of his blue jacket.
Brian plonked the small bag of weed against the table. “Well?”
“What’s the point in arguing any of it?” the man grunted. “You’ve made your minds up about me. You can throw me to the wolves. They always do.”
Price appeared at the door and tapped his watch. He didn’t have long to talk to him. Not this time. The man was entitled to a duty solicitor, so he’d get one. That’s just how it worked.
Cassy slipped the printed sheets that Price had given her over to Brian. The man sat back and folded his arms.
“Adrian Priles,” Brian said. “Forty-six years of age. Cinema attendant down at the docks. Suspiciously away from your flat the two previous times we paid visits. But strangely…that’s all we have on you, and that we pulled from your driving license and ID card scans. Tell me, Adrian, if you’re so squeaky clean, how long have you been lurking around brothels with drugs?”
“It’s not what it looked like, okay?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what it looks like, Adrian. We turned up. We were just about to ask some nice, friendly questions. You do a runner. You pull yourself to the top of a staircase, and you get yourself all ready to jump. And this is just days after a murdered girl is found on the street parallel. So apologies if, in
your opinion, it’s ‘not what it looked like’, but it is exactly what it looked like. Start talking.”
“You think I was something to do with that?” Adrian slammed his palms against the table. “I just wanted a toke. It’s not what it looks like.”
“New blend, by any chance?”
Adrian shrugged. His nostrils twitched. “Perhaps.”
“I have a colleague looking into this supposed new blend. I’m sure he’d love to hear what you have to say.”
Adrian shook his head. “Unless?”
“Well, you could talk to us about what you were doing at the brothel in the first place if you really did just want a ‘toke’. How about that?”
Adrian twiddled with his finger before reaching into his pocket. “Don’t bullshit me. I know I’m not here because of the drugs. I know how you people work. Let me show you something.” He pulled a ring out of his pocket and slipped it on his finger. “This is my wedding ring. I have a wife at home. She’s expecting a second kid. I tell her I go out with Dave and Andy a few nights a week. Dumb bitch still thinks Dave and Andy exist.”
“Unfaithful git.” Cassy shook her head.
“So while your wife’s however-many-months pregnant, you’re going out there getting your kicks from someone else? Is that what you’re trying to tell us? Is that your defence?”
Adrian smiled, revealing his coffee-stained yellow teeth. He toyed with his ring some more. “Like I said, it’s not what it looks like.”
“Where were you on the night of Nicola Watson’s murder?” Brian asked. “Were you ‘out with Dave and Andy’ then?”
Adrian’s left eyelid twitched. He inhaled sharply. “I’d like to see that solicitor now, please.”
Shit. He knew his rights. He knew he had every right to sit around and wait for his solicitor. They had him. They had to press him. “He’s on his way. If you’d just–”
“Adrian,” Cassy cut in. “You could save yourself a lot of trouble if there’s something you want to tell us. If there’s something you’re hiding and you’re not telling us, we need to know.”
“And why should I tell you when I’m entitled to legal advice?”
Cassy rubbed the side of her neck. “You don’t have to. But if you want to save your ass, you might as well start saving it now.”
Adrian opened his mouth then closed it again. He straightened his back and laid his hands out on the table. “I’m a pimp,” he said. “I’m a pimp, okay? My wife doesn’t know. I don’t sleep with the girls. I wouldn’t look at another woman. I just…I just couldn’t let my wife and family find out. That’s what I thought this was about. That’s why I ran.”
Brian’s eyes widened. He leaned over to Cassy and whispered, “How didn’t we know about him?”
Adrian stared back at them and rubbed his tongue against his teeth. No previous charges against him and he wasn’t on the “Red List”–a comprehensive list of known pimps both in and around the North West area. On his papers, no indication of what he was doing.
“Bit convenient, isn’t it? This whole family sob story?”
“Like I said, I know how it looked, but I guess I just got scared. I dunno. I’ve not lived here for long. It’s just the money…since the cuts. We had to earn somehow. My children and my wife…I had no choice. I needed to keep it on the low, y’know?”
“Where did you live beforehand?”
“Edinburgh. Only been here a few months.”
Edinburgh. That’s why there was no trace of any potential previous wrongdoings–he’d be in the Scottish system. Brian took a note to remember to contact the Scottish Police. He reached into his pocket for the pictures of Nicola Watson and spread them out in front of Adrian. One of her as a child, on a swing. Another from a school party, smiling with her beautiful big eyes. And another, purple veins protruding inside her dying eyes. Her neck, painted with bruises like a piece of Expressionist art.
Adrian groaned and looked away as Brian pushed the images in front of him. “You’re like one of these charities. Showing us all the sob stories in Africa to try and get some sort of emotion…”
“Did you ever see Nicola Watson around Foster Road?”
Adrian shook his head. “She’s not one of my girls. I’d know her if she was. And I haven’t seen her before.”
“Which makes things all incredibly convenient once again, doesn’t it, Mr. Priles?”
Adrian plucked at his trousers. “Can I see that solicitor now?”
“Tell me about your clients,” Brian interrupted. “Any strike you as the murdering type?”
“No,” Adrian said, loudly. “I work with better, respectable men. Men that treat women well; men that just want a break, you know?” He looked at Cassy as he spoke.
“No, I don’t,” she said in a monotone. “But carry on, anyway.”
“Well, yeah…My clients, they aren’t the sort of men that would want their families to know. So I try to keep things discreet. Keep things respectable. They’re…I guess they’re a bit like me, really.” He shuffled in his seat, his gaze twitching around the room.
The heat of the room was beginning to get to him. Price still hovered around the door, red-faced, a ticking time bomb.
Brian placed the picture of the black car in front of Adrian. Adrian shifted his gaze away from it and stroked his hairy forearms.
“Right now, this is all we have. A black car that left the scene of the crime around the same time as Nicola Watson’s death. If you’ve seen this car before, you can help us. Otherwise, I don’t know what to make of you. You’ve still not told us where you were when the crime occurred.”
A bead of sweat dripped from Adrian’s moustache. “Can I see that solicitor now?”
Brian tossed the photograph of the car in his face. “They’re on their way. Adrian, have you seen this fucking car or not?”
Price shook hands with somebody outside. Shit. Time was almost up. He had to get it from him. He was so close. Price walked towards the door.
“Adrian, have you–”
“Yes,” Adrian exploded, his eyes bulging out of his skull. “Yes, I…It’s my client’s. It’s my client’s. Just, my wife. Please–my wife. Don’t tell her about this. I’m begging you.”
Price leaned in through the door. “McDone, an urgent word, please.” His face was purple, his voice more subdued than usual.
“One sec,” Brian said, waving a finger in Price’s direction and turning back to Adrian. “A name, Mr. Priles?”
Adrian was whimpering. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms and looked around the room at everything that wasn’t Brian’s eyes. “We don’t go by real names. It’s anonymous. It protects them.”
“McDone,” Price repeated.
Brian pretended he hadn’t heard Price’s voice and moved closer to Adrian. He could feel his defences falling. They were so close.
“A description? What was he like? How often did you–”
“McDone, get the hell out of that chair and get over here right now,” Price said. “This man is entitled to legal advice. That’s an order.”
Adrian’s jaw snapped shut again.
Brian lowered his head into his hands and sighed. Adrenaline raced through his skull. He turned to Cassy, subdued, and raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “You’d think they didn’t want us to fucking solve this thing, wouldn’t you?”
Brian threw his chair to the other side of the room. Adrian folded his arms and sat upright for the first time. Price’s face was the colour of a dark grape now, and his lips quivered.
“You stay in here with him for now,” Brian said to Cassy. “I’ll be back in a sec. Say hello to his solicitor for me.” He followed Price out of the door.
He’d been so close–so close to getting more out of Adrian. “Why did you have to do that, Price? I don’t get it. We were so close, and–”
Price squared up to Brian. “If you’ll shut your noisy trap up for two seconds, I�
��ll tell you. Now follow me, and zip it.”
Brian nodded reluctantly and walked with Price towards the computers in the main office. Colleagues stared at him. Whispered about him. Price stopped at the third computer and pointed his finger at the screen. DC Peters sat beside it. He fumbled around the keyboard and hit the space bar as Brian slumped forward against the desk.
“I just don’t get what could be more important than–”
“Just watch,” DC Peters said.
The date was marked in the bottom right corner of a video. 27/12/12. 1:34 a.m. A week before the murder. Brian sighed. Probably just another loose lead.
“Wait, I thought you said there was no CCTV coverage for this…”
He spotted a figure in the bottom of the screen with his hands in his pockets, scuffling around. A recognisable blue cap on his head. Adrian.
He picked himself up from the desk and shook his head at Price. “No, we know he’s just a pimp now. I got that from him. So if you’ll let me–”
When he turned his eyes back to the screen, he saw the black car, arriving in the distance. Adrian looked up at it.
“That’s…that’s the–”
“The car,” DC Peters finished. “But what’s more interesting is who gets out of it.”
Brian’s knees weakened when the man shut the door and walked towards Adrian. He looked over his shoulder and scratched the side of his head before shaking Adrian’s hand and giving him something. Then he looked over his shoulder again and walked towards the door on the left.
Brian was still. A fuzziness floated around his stomach. Price chewed at his chapped lip.
“Where did you…?”
“It just so happens that Foster Road isn’t the CCTV blind spot we thought it was after all. Have a look at this.” Price placed an A4 print in Brian’s hands. Brian’s eyes widened.
“BetterLives shares an office building with the CCTV control for West Preston. It’s a private firm called CityWatch–basically, the council outsourcing so they can sit on their arses and get paid for doing nothing. And this photographic evidence also shows our friend from the Foster Road footage entering the CityWatch offices the morning after Nicola Watson’s murder.”