‘Tell us who Eamon is and we’ll forget we found it.’ Dales tried to expedite the situation.
‘I’ve never seen those drugs and I don’t know Eamon. Jeez, don’t you people listen?’
‘Then you’re all coming in for it.’
‘You what? What do you want me to do with my child?’
‘You’re gonna have to make some calls,’ said Dales, ‘either that or we can keep him at the nick.’ It wouldn’t be a popular idea with whoever was sitting in the office and had to look after him, but it was an option.
‘He’s not going anywhere near a police station. Where’s my phone?’
‘Is it one of these?’ Hayward held up four mobiles, all in clear exhibit bags.
‘What you taking those for? I need them.’
‘Drugs, phones, don’t pretend you don’t know how this works, Moretti. Which one’s yours?’
She hesitated before pointing to the white iPhone. Hayward was about to pass it to her when Sarah stopped him.
‘I’ll hold it. Who do you want to call?’ She held the phone by the corners and pressed the power button through the exhibit bag. If this was the phone they were looking for, Sarah didn’t want her explaining her prints away on a childcare call. Moretti gave her the code, 7699, and Sarah held the phone to her ear whilst she made the call. They waited a short while for her babysitter to arrive.
Moretti was silent on the way back. People that knew the game often were. Booking them into custody took a while and, as all three requested the duty solicitor, there would be a delay before interviews started. Mavenswood custody was on the ground floor of the police station. It was convenient, drop the prisoner off and head upstairs to the CID office to prepare written disclosure and an interview plan. As with all things convenient and useful, it was going to change. Planning permission had been granted for a much larger custody centre in an industrial complex in the middle of the county. More cells, more space and a modern look, but a twenty-minute drive from Mavenswood nick.
Sarah sat at her computer and opened her solicitor’s disclosure template whilst Dales made the tea. It would be a simple two-sentence document. Warrant conducted at 12 Tower Road; drugs and phones seized. Your client will be asked to account for why the drugs were in her house and who the phones belong to.
She’d been taught a planning method during her PEACE level-two training course. PEACE stood for Plan, Engage, Account, Close and Evaluate. PEACE interview training had been brought in back in 1993 and marked a move from interrogations, focused on obtaining the admission or ‘cough’, to investigative interviews, working towards a detailed and thorough account. They’d taught her to plan using timelines, with separate boxes for each event in the suspect’s account, write out the points needed to prove the offence and keep a space for notes. Producing a strong plan was good practice, but wasn’t needed for an offence like simple possession. Proving it in this case wouldn’t be easy. Hayward had found the powder between the sofa cushions and being out of sight allowed for a blanket denial of any knowledge. She typed a few key questions onto the template and left the rest of it blank.
‘No necklace.’ Dales put the green tea down on the desk and stayed standing. ‘The girls’ handbags were full of cash. Stopped in after a night on the game, I expect.’
Sarah flicked through the file and pulled out the CCTV still from the Oxlaine. It was a high-quality image, far better than most of the grainy CCTV pictures she’d seen; the only trouble was it didn’t show much. It was distant, dark and didn’t show a shot of the woman’s face. ‘I’m still convinced. I’ve asked the local beat bobbies to do reassurance visits on Tower Road. The neighbours may able to tell us about any suspicious activity going on around number 12.’
‘I’d say it’s her.’ Joel stood over her shoulder and commented on the CCTV still. ‘I doubt a jury could be sure of it though.’
‘One step at a time.’
‘PM results came back from the hanging. Pathologist said he’d been strangled first with a ligature of some sort, then hung. They found finger marks on his neck, which they expect was Enderson trying to fight the killer off. There were abrasions on the skin, caused by the ligature moving up and down, and the damage to the hyoid bone was at an angle, suggesting the assailant was pulling on it from behind in an upward motion. MCT are reviewing the file and are likely to take it on.’ Joel sounded a little disappointed at the last part.
‘Wow. They letting you stay on the case?’
‘Hopefully. Just waiting to find out.’
Twelve
‘You have the right to free and independent legal advice. Your solicitor, Mr Bells of Bells and Foster, is present. He’s here to provide that legal advice. Are you happy you’ve had enough time to consult with him prior to the interview?’ Sarah glanced down at her notebook whilst delivering the introduction. She knew it off pat, but felt safer having it in writing in front of her in case of a momentary memory lapse. The tape whirred and clicked as she went through the introduction. Dales sat next to her, pen in hand, ready to jump in and ask any questions she missed. She’d watched him conduct two interviews and this was her first chance to lead. He’d be watching her closely as part of her assessment, something she tried to forget about.
They’d managed to secure the largest interview room in the custody suite, but having four people in it still felt like a squeeze. One of the other rooms had been updated to discs and video recording; however, this one left them with cassette tapes and audio only.
Moretti looked at Mr Bells, who nodded, before answering. ‘Yes.’
‘Still,’ Sarah went on, ‘if you feel at any time during this interview you need further time to consult with your solicitor, you have that right. Just let me know and I’ll stop the tape and let you do so in private.’ Moretti nodded again. ‘Mr Bells is not here to answer questions for you, but may interrupt in certain circumstances regarding something I've asked.’
Moretti nodded.
‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say, may be given in evidence. What that means is—’
‘I know what it means, let’s just get on with it.’ Moretti shuffled in her chair and folded her arms. That morning she’d been a loud-mouthed pain. Sarah understood why. She wouldn’t have been happy with anyone waking her young child up either, especially the police looking to cart her away. Whatever Mr Bells had said to her in their private consultation, must have involved a lot of placating and a lot of telling her not to shoot her mouth off once the tapes started rolling. Moretti’s shuffles seemed like attempts to distract herself from opening her mouth.
‘Well, I’m still going to explain it to you, so I’m clear exactly what your understanding is.’ Rules were rules, after all. ‘You can stay silent, but if you do, the jury may draw an inference against you. What that means is, if you fail to answer my questions today and this matter goes to court, and you tell the court a full version of events, the judge may direct the jury to question your honesty. They may ask why you didn’t tell me the same version of events here and question whether they believe you.’ Moretti looked at the wall and twirled her hair.
Mr Bells tapped his client on the arm. ‘That rarely happens.’
Sarah continued. ‘And the last part means just that—anything you say may be given in evidence. This interview is being recorded and may be played or, more commonly, typed up and read out in court.’ Moretti nodded as she spoke. ‘Do you understand what I’ve said? Have you any questions before we start?’
‘My client won’t be answering any questions today. I have advised her to answer no comment to every question posed.’ Mr Bells had been a solicitor for a while. Sarah had met him once before whilst back in uniform. Outside the interview room he was a very charming and relaxed man. Once the tapes rolled, he was all business. She knew the animosity would be purely professional—they both had jobs to do—but it didn’t make it any ea
sier to deal with. Dales had told her the best way to handle solicitor’s comments or questions was to answer directly back to the interviewee. Engaging with the brief led to confrontational arguments which only served to alienate the suspect further, and being interviewed at a police station was a pretty good way of doing that in the first place.
Sarah wrote ‘no comment’ in her notebook beneath the time, date and a list of persons present. ‘You have been arrested on suspicion of possession of drugs. We attended your house this morning and executed a drugs warrant. Your house was searched and we recovered an amount of white powder we believe to be cocaine.’ Sarah held up a small bag of white powder. She wouldn’t know what it was until it’d been verified by the lab, but suspicion was enough to ask the questions. ‘Tell me about those drugs.’
‘No comment.’
‘Who do they belong to?’
‘No comment.’
‘Are they yours?’
‘No comment.’
‘Have you seen them before?’
‘No comment.’
‘Do you live at 12 Tower Road?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that your house?’
‘No comment.’
‘These drugs were found there. Why were they there?’
‘No comment.’
Sarah had a knack for coming up with questions on the spot. ‘No comment’ interviews weren’t as devastating as most suspects thought. A suspect interview was simply an evidence-gathering tool, the result of which would be considered alongside all the other results prior to any charging decision being made. If everything else pointed towards the suspect's culpability, and they refused to provide an alibi in interview, the Crown Prosecution Service were more likely to bring charges against them.
‘What did you intend to do with those drugs?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you intend to give them to someone else?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is my client being interviewed for possession or possession with intent to supply?’ Mr Bells piped up as Sarah’s questions went a little off topic.
‘Have you ever given drugs to anyone else?’ Sarah and Moretti made eye contact for the first time. She felt the end of Dales pen dig into her thigh.
‘I’m not answering that.’ Moretti shuffled in her chair, folded her arms tighter and kicked the table leg.
‘If you’re going to ask any more questions regarding the supply of drugs, I must request that my client is formally arrested and provided with the details of the suspected offence in accordance with PACE.’ Bells was right. In order to ask questions about supply, Moretti needed to be nicked for supply. Sarah wasn’t about to do that – tying Moretti to Hargreaves’s body was thin at best. She also wasn’t about to let that flicker of guilt go without a little more probing.
‘You have a child. Do you know how harmful these substances can be to a child?’
‘Shut up about my kid, yeah.’
‘Remember my advice. Stay calm and answer no comment to all questions.’ Solicitors often had a tough time controlling emotional clients. Sarah had seen it before, and was counting on it again.
Sarah held the packet of drugs up again. ‘This was found in between the cushions of your sofa. Within easy reach of a curious child. If these aren’t yours, I know I’d like to know who was bringing something into the house that could harm my son.’
‘You saying I’m a bad mum?’ Moretti hit the table with hands.
‘You’re upsetting my client with needless assertions about her competence as a parent.’
‘Cocaine can contain significant impurities, deliberately or otherwise, that can, in the worst cases, kill adults.’ A glimmer of remorse from Moretti told Sarah she was onto something. ‘What would happen if you took something you didn’t know was poisoned and the worst happened?’
‘Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Or if someone else did? Someone you know. Someone who had been given cocaine, none the wiser as to exactly what was actually in the bag.’
Moretti’s eyes reddened. Sarah was getting through.
‘It wasn’t what you think.’ Moretti mumbled through gritted teeth.
‘Who is Eamon? Are you Eamon?’
‘Let’s stop this farce and have a private discussion.’ Mr Bell’s voice showed his frustration.
Sarah addressed Moretti directly. ‘Your solicitor has suggested taking a break for a further consultation. The decision to do that is yours and not his. If you want to, please let me know.’ Sarah offered, hoping she’d decline and just keep going. They were having a conversation that Mr Bells, despite his proximity and keen attention to its content, had no idea was taking place.
‘I’d like to talk to my solicitor please.’
Sarah waited by the custody sergeant’s desk. The custody block was small and outdated. The three sergeant’s desks were raised above standard head height, preventing unruly suspects from lashing out and injuring the staff whilst being booked in. Custody was rarely quiet. Checks on detainees had to be made and recorded at very specific times, food offered and prepared, an inspector had to conduct welfare and detention reviews and a range of visitors, from solicitors to appropriate adults, had to be managed. Weekend night shifts, not to mention bank holidays or any other time locals liked a drink, were the worst. The faint smell of vomit and sweat-drenched clothes never left the cells. Catching the waft as she waited reminded her of her uniform days. Bringing in obnoxious drunks after a town-centre roll around had an appeal that had only lasted so long.
Dales returned from the toilet and joined her. She stood on her toes and tried to look past the sergeant’s desk and through into the back office. ‘Sarge?’
Sergeant Smith came out to the desk. ‘Sorry. Busy back there updating the spreadsheet.’
‘If it’s not on a spreadsheet, it hasn’t happened. It’s the same upstairs,’ said Dales.
‘As if updating the custody logs wasn’t enough. We’ve got to email an Excel document over to the bosses at the end of each shift detailing everything from who visited custody to when anyone takes a shit.’
‘Keeps the bean counters employed,' said Dales.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Gents. Sarge, we’ve just come out of interview with Moretti, cell six. Further legal consultation requested.’
‘Something else to record. Thank you, Gladstone.’ He smiled. ‘How’s life in CID? Keeping those chairs warm?’
‘I would be, if I didn’t spend all day carrying around empty files just to look busy,’ said Sarah, playing into the desk-warming detective stereotype.
‘I see Dales has taught you all his tricks. What prompted the move from Major Crime, Steve?’ He typed the update on his computer.
‘Fancied a change of pace. You can only spend so long in a place like that.’ The two men exchanged looks. That wasn’t the impression Sarah had of the Major Crime Team. The unit was often affectionately referred to as Dead Man’s Shoes—people didn’t tend to leave. ‘Let’s have a chat about the interview, Sarah. We’ll be in interview room two, give us a shout when they emerge.’
Dales switched on the lights in interview room two and they sat down. Sarah wondered what Moretti and Mr Bells were talking about next door. Her questions had hit a nerve, possibly a nerve linked to events at the Oxlaine, possibly something else entirely.
‘Just wanted to find out if you’re doing what I think you’re doing.’ Dales opened his empty notebook.
‘You’ve not written anything?’
‘There was nothing to write.’ He wrote interview discussion at the top of the page. ‘Good work in there. Risky, but good work. Think she supplied Hargreaves?’
‘Yeah, I do. She might be willing to talk about it. Maybe that’s why she asked for a break.’
‘Maybe. I’ve known Bells for years. He was new back when I was. We had some pretty awkward interviews together. Became a nice bit of sport for a while.’
‘Do you
think I was a bit too pushy?’ Sarah was concerned that she'd gone a little too far off topic. Too much of that, could deem an interview inadmissible
‘Sometimes you have to get a little creative. You didn’t get flustered at her refusal to answer. Many young DCs do.’
‘Young?’
‘In the professional sense. And the general life sense, of course.’
‘Forced compliments don’t count.’
‘Then don’t squeeze them out of me.’
‘I did nothing of the sort.' Sarah moved the discussion back to the interview. 'Right, let’s run through the plan. I’ve asked all I want about the drugs we found today. I’d say it’s unlikely we’ll get a possession charge unless we get some prints on the bag. It wasn’t out on display, so if all three clam up in interview, we’ve got nothing to tie anyone to it.’
‘Pretty accurate assessment.’
‘Bells is likely to reinforce his advice, so it’s unlikely she’ll open up about supplying Hargreaves. Of course, I could be adding two and two together and getting five. I doubt Sergeant Smith would accept me arresting her for supply based on her bust line and an emotional interview.’
Knock Knock.
The door opened and Sergeant Smith leant in. ‘Brief wants a word?’
Mr Bells walked in. ‘Sorry for the delay. She’s rather emotional in there.’
‘Your charm not working, Bob?’ Dales moved to the next chair to allow him to sit down.
‘I’m not the sweet-talker you are, Steve.’ Mr Bells sat back and opened his A4 jotter, keeping his notes just out of their view. ‘I didn’t know you were tutoring? Major Crime not all it cracked up to be?’
‘Moving around keeps us young. How long you been working Mavenswood now? Twenty-five-odd years?’
‘Long enough to know when two detectives aren’t telling me something.’ He looked at Sarah. She felt a burn of panic in her chest. Solicitors still intimidated her. They weren’t the slimeballs some officers took them for, but she was acutely aware of how much trouble she’d be in if she’d crossed the line in an interview. Surely Dales would have stopped me had I gone overboard?
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