Your average person on the street didn’t know what this documentation looked like. They didn’t know that warrants had barely changed in twenty years. What if they went to the house with this one? Would Thea even bother to look, to turn the page and check the date? Who cares if it was illegal? If they found the gun, surely the end would justify the means? Surely?
A few hours on, and Kate had a sickening feeling in her stomach. They had checked every single inch of the room, scouring it for loose bricks, for anything a gun might be hidden behind. Kate had pushed and pulled but yielded no more than a bad back and the horrible knowledge that she had been very, very stupid. Yates was stood in one corner of the basement, Briggs crouched in another. They had found nothing.
‘What now?’ Briggs asked. ‘Search the rest of the house?’
Kate shook her head. ‘Time to leave.’
They drove back to the station in silence, Briggs at the wheel of the old Skoda, Yates in the back. The other two took their cue from their boss’s silence, exchanging looks via the rear-view mirror. As they entered the main doors, Kate saw the chief’s secretary beckon her over.
‘He wants to see you,’ she whispered. ‘Best go up now.’
‘I figured,’ Kate replied, grimly.
The chief inspector sat back in his chair and drummed his podgy fingers on his desk.
‘I was having a good day, DS Munro. A quiet day. And then what happens? One of my detectives tells me your entire team is out and about and I think, I wonder where they’ve gone?’ He stared at her, then bent forward, picking up a small stress ball and giving it a good squeeze. ‘I told you not to go digging, didn’t I?’ he said. In front of him, Kate stayed silent. ‘And I said no to searching the house. And yet, where did you go?’
Kate pressed her lips together.
‘You went to the house and poked around in their basement.’ He shouted the last few words, and Kate winced. ‘Didn’t you?’ he bellowed.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, you bloody did. What did you think would happen?’
‘I thought we would find the gun,’ Kate said, quietly.
‘And what then? What then, DS Munro?’ The chief hurled the stress ball across the room, where it hit the wall and fell behind a filing cabinet. ‘You find the gun, you don’t have the proper paperwork, and a rock-solid fifteen-year-old conviction is challenged. Or – or! – you don’t find the gun, conduct an illegal search, the press end up gettting wind of it and bang on my door. And – and! – a fifteen-year-old conviction is challenged. Fuck!’
Kate stood in front of him. He was right, of course. And she knew it.
‘I told you not to dig.’
She nodded.
‘And now we’re faced with this shit storm. I don’t want Professional Standards investigating. Christ, I hate those guys.’ He took a deep breath, brow furrowed. ‘And how does this make me look?’ he asked her, and Kate blinked. ‘I was involved in that case, and now my own detectives are trying to fuck up the conviction? I’ll be the laughing stock!’
Kate opened her mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again. She didn’t give a shit what people said about Jennings; surely it was more important they got the bad guys off the street? But she knew she’d made a massive mistake. She’d probably be suspended; she should be after what she’d done.
The DCI sighed, placing both of his hands on the desk, palms down. ‘Can you just make yourself scarce for a while? Don’t rock the boat. Don’t get into any arguments until I’ve at least had a chance to smooth things over. If we’re lucky, PR can sort it out, pretend it was all normal and above board, and nobody’s legal team will go sniffing around.’
‘I’m staying on the case?’ Kate stuttered.
‘For the moment. But dial back the investigation. Get Yates and Briggs looking at that arson from Saturday night that everyone’s so excited about. It’ll be fine. No one’s been attacked since, have they?’
‘But guv …’
‘DS Munro,’ he said, a warning in his voice. ‘Do as I say, and be thankful it’s not any worse.’
Kate backed out of the room and stood in the corridor, battling back tears that pricked her eyes. It had been an almighty fuck-up – but something inside her just knew the gun was down there. Except it wasn’t. There was nothing in that basement. So where the bloody hell was it?
Kate took a deep breath outside the operations room, ready to face Briggs and Yates, ready to get back to work. She went to push open the door, as Yates barrelled through from the opposite way.
‘Sarge? Front desk called – said Ryan Holmes is here, and he’s asking for you.’
‘Again?’ Kate was surprised. ‘Did they say why?’
‘Nope. You coming?’
‘Absolutely,’ Kate replied, turning in her tracks, all words from her chief inspector forgotten.
46
‘Why do you think he’s here?’ Yates whispered. Kate and Yates were stood outside the door to the front reception desk, watching Ryan Holmes.
‘Confession?’ Kate said, optimistically. As usual Ryan was scruffy: jeans, trainers, sweatshirt. Grey pallor, bags under his eyes – he looked like he hadn’t slept for days.
She pushed open the door and Yates followed her out.
‘Mr Holmes?’ Kate asked. ‘Would you like to come through?’
He shook his head. ‘No, no, I can’t stop. I need to get to the club. I just wanted to give you this.’
Ryan reached forward and handed her a DVD, the same as the ones he had given them before.
‘Not another fifteen then?’ Yates asked ruefully, taking it from him and putting it straight into an exhibit bag, passing him the declaration to sign.
‘No, not this time,’ he smiled softly, handing it back to her. ‘I’m sorry about that. What you want to see is on there.’ He paused, looking at the DVD in Yates’s hands, then met Kate’s gaze. ‘I can’t turn a blind eye to this any more.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kate asked.
‘I went to see Thea,’ Ryan sighed, his shoulders slumped. ‘She didn’t deserve this. I know what he’s capable of. I can’t stand by and watch it happen again.’
‘Who?’ Kate asked, but he moved away from her.
‘Just watch it,’ he said, and walked quickly out of the police station.
‘Okay, then,’ Kate muttered, looking down at the DVD. They turned to leave but the desk sergeant called them over.
‘DS Munro, this is James Burford,’ he said, pointing to an angry man at the desk, briefcase in hand. When they both looked blank, the sergeant added, ‘Solicitor to Harry Becker?’
Kate’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as the man gestured towards the door.
‘And I’d like to see my client now,’ he said, eschewing any formalities.
‘I’m sorry, we didn’t know you were coming.’
‘Apparently not. And apparently you didn’t take the trouble to find out a wide range of important facts about Harry Becker. Please take me to him now,’ he repeated.
Kate turned and typed in the security code to the main police station, the solicitor following through the door. Unlike Dave Fletcher’s legal representative, this man was smartly dressed in a well-cut suit, complete with waistcoat and bright blue tie. His briefcase was leather and expensive, his shoes clean and shiny. He turned to look at Kate.
‘I’m assuming you’ve checked on him this morning?’ he asked.
‘The custody sergeant will have,’ Kate said.
‘And what was his mental state?’ When she didn’t say anything, the solicitor continued. ‘So you haven’t been getting regular updates? You haven’t had a doctor in to assess?’
Kate stopped, open-mouthed.
‘Why would we need a doctor?’ Yates asked.
The solicitor stopped in the corridor, facing them. Kate suspected this day was going from bad to worse.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Mr Burford said, his forehead furrowed. ‘Yesterday, you arrested my client and he
ld him overnight in a cell with no intention of interviewing him—’
‘We couldn’t risk him destroying evidence—’ Kate started, but the solicitor interrupted.
‘You don’t complete a risk assessment, you don’t request a doctor or any sort of medical professional.’ He stopped and Kate shook her head. She could feel Yates looking at her, questioning.
‘DS Munro,’ James Burford said. ‘What the hell were you thinking? You do not simply hold someone with PTSD alone in a cell overnight. Let alone someone with his family history. Did you even have him on suicide watch?’
‘The custody sergeant would have called—’ Kate started but the solicitor cut her off.
‘Get me down there, now.’
Kate started walking towards the holding cells, her mouth dry. She knew. She knew what Harry had been through, she knew the medication he was on, and yet she had done nothing. But if he was so ill, why hadn’t he said anything when he was booked in?
She increased her walk to a jog, pushing open doors and taking the stairs two at a time, Yates and the solicitor on her heels. She could see Yates on her mobile, trying to call downstairs to custody.
Men don’t, she told herself. Men don’t say anything. They let it eat them up inside, never asking for help, never wanting to seem vulnerable. Then one day … She couldn’t even think it; she wouldn’t let herself imagine what he might have done.
She knew. She knew. How could she have been so stupid?
47
Kate ran into custody, barking at the custody sergeant to open up the cell. ‘Now!’ she shouted, as he hesitated at the door.
The door swung open.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Kate said and stopped, bent in two, her hands on her knees, trying to get her breath back.
Harry was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He sat up as the door opened. He looked like shit, Kate thought. But he was very much alive.
The solicitor walked into the cell, his hand outstretched, making his introductions to Harry. Then he turned to Kate, where she stood speechless, with Yates in the corridor. ‘I need some time,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘And then, we would like to get on with the interview, if you would be so kind. See what evidence you think you have on my client.’
An hour in, Kate fucking hated this guy and there was no doubt as to how he felt about her. He thought she was the epitome of incompetence and, to be fair, Kate could see why.
‘So, you arrested my client on no more evidence than the say-so of a career criminal?’ the solicitor said, sardonically. ‘Who says he saw Mr Becker walking on Southampton Common, in the pitch dark, around the same time that he himself was mugging the victim?’
Kate ground her teeth together in annoyance, her fingers rapidly tapping on the desk, barely keeping her nerves at bay. ‘We have your client on CCTV walking in the area, and his voice on tape making the 999 call.’
‘DS Munro.’ The solicitor shook his head, letting his breath out in a long patronising sigh. ‘You have someone on a grainy black and white video. And a crackling voice recording that could be anyone. You searched my client’s flat and car and found nothing more than a pair of muddy shoes. Not to mention searching a house that has nothing to do with him.’
Kate’s jaw was starting to ache from clamping it shut for so long. She stayed silent, remembering the chief inspector’s words. At this point she should be grateful he wasn’t aware of the illegality of that particular search. And it seemed like Harry hadn’t mentioned their illicit few days together. She couldn’t imagine this solicitor would keep that one close to his chest.
She looked over at Harry. Throughout the whole interview, he’d barely said a word, muttering ‘no comment’ whenever she asked him a direct question. At this point he was letting his solicitor do all the talking for him. He glared at her, his blue eyes fixed on hers.
She took a deep breath. She gripped the edge of the desk, preventing her fingers from fidgeting. It was this, or nothing. It might push Harry to the edge, but it was a risk she had to take.
‘We believe Thea had sex that night,’ she said, embellishing the evidence for the benefit of the interview. Kate saw his jaw muscles clenching, his hands contract into fists. ‘We have DNA from under her fingernails, semen on her dress. We know she was pretending to be Gabi, and we know she fooled everyone into thinking she was her sister. Did she fool you, too, Mr Becker?’ Harry’s mouth opened, then clamped shut again. Kate kept on pushing. She knew he was hiding something. ‘We took your DNA when you were arrested – it’s only a matter of time until it comes back as a match. Did you think you had sex with Gabriella that night, Harry? Were you angry when you found out the truth?’ Kate sat forward in her chair. She knew she was getting under his skin. ‘Did you follow her? Did you catch up with her to teach her a lesson?’
‘DS Munro—’ the solicitor interjected.
‘I did not sleep with Thea. I have never slept with Thea,’ Harry snapped.
‘But you have slept with Gabriella. Is that right, Mr Becker?’
James Burford laid a hand on Harry’s arm, stopping him, and Harry sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘I think we’re done here, DS Munro,’ the solicitor said. ‘Charge my client or release him.’
48
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Thea asked. She glanced across at Harry as she drove, sitting silently in the seat next to her.
He shook his head, staring resolutely out of the windscreen.
Thea had done nothing but worry about Harry since the police picked him up. When she’d had the call from the station, she’d thought it was over, but seeing him now, she wasn’t so sure.
‘Thank you for getting me out,’ he said quietly.
‘It wasn’t me, it was Gabriella,’ Thea said. ‘Well, Mortimer.’ Harry nodded slowly.
‘Are you sure this is such a good idea?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t you come home with me first? Get some sleep? Go and visit tomorrow?’
‘No.’ Harry looked at her. ‘If I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’ Thea paused at the traffic lights, taking in his frown, his stoop, the fragility in his posture. Harry looked like he was collapsing in on himself, his body struggling to maintain normality.
She pulled up at her house and they both climbed out. Harry walked towards her, taking both of her hands in his.
‘You know it wasn’t me, don’t you?’ he said.
Thea nodded. ‘I know, Harry.’
He bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then walked to his car. She watched him pull out of her driveway, mentally castigating herself for not trying harder to convince him to stay.
Because fifteen years was a long time to wait before visiting your father in prison. A very long time indeed.
49
Harry felt eyes on him the moment he walked into the room. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and his shirt stick to his back. The other visitors arriving at the same time as him rushed to their loved ones with kisses and hugs, but Harry felt paralysed, his feet glued to the floor.
He looked up and met his father’s eyes. His dad lifted his hand in a half-wave, then lowered it again slowly. He looked older than Harry imagined he would. His hair was thin and completely grey, his face was lined and he was wearing a thick pair of unattractive glasses. But he gave Harry a hopeful smile and tentatively held out his hand as Harry approached. Harry shook it, the first touch he had had from his father in nearly fifteen years. His hand felt rough, like fine sandpaper. They sat down, facing each other across the worn table top.
‘I couldn’t believe it when they said you were coming,’ he said. ‘And here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ Harry replied. His mouth felt dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He took a sip from the cup of water in front of him.
‘How did you arrange it so quickly?’ Harrison asked.
‘Good solicitor,’ Harry said, then paused. ‘They
said you haven’t got much time left.’
‘No.’
They sat in silence. The room was featureless, humming with conversation from the other tables around them. The prison officers hovered at the edge, looking bored, their arms crossed in front of their chests. Harry fidgeted on the hard plastic chair.
‘I’m sorry you’re here,’ Harry blurted out. He stopped, feeling his throat narrow and his eyes get hot.
Harrison breathed out. ‘That’s not your fault.’
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘Why are you here?’ Harrison asked. ‘I mean, I’m glad you are, so glad you are, but why now? What changed your mind?’
‘Thea was attacked.’
‘I heard. Is she okay?’
‘They arrested me.’
Harrison gasped. ‘But they’ve let you go, right? They don’t think you did it?’
Harry shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. But they kept me there overnight. Locked in one of their crappy little cells.’ He looked down at his hands, threading his fingers together. ‘And it was awful. I couldn’t sleep. I kept on thinking of you, locked in here. One night, and the walls …’ Harry shuddered. ‘I thought I was going crazy. And you’ve been here for all this time.’
‘It’s okay, Harry.’
‘But it’s not, is it? All that happened. We shouldn’t have …’ Harry shook his head, stopping himself, aware of where he was, who was around them.
His father took his hands and held them in his. Harry remembered growing up, watching his dad mend a broken toy, screwdriver in those big hands, reassuring him that it would be okay, that he’d fix it. And now here they were, in the same situation. Except this time nothing could be repaired.
‘You have people to look after you, right?’ his dad asked.
‘Yes, the twins.’
Harry saw an expression pass over his father’s face. A flicker of concern, or something more. ‘What?’ He pulled his hands away from his father’s.
Harrison looked at him. ‘Don’t you think it would be good to get some distance? Get away from that house and everything that happened?’
Ask Me No Questions Page 19