by A. J. Cross
Seeing the squad car approaching at speed, he headed for it. Jones and Kumar got out. Both sound lads if you didn’t let Jones get started on his favourite topics, one being the infiltration of the force by Freemasons. He was still getting to know Kumar. They were coming towards him.
‘What we got, Sarge?’ asked Jones.
‘I haven’t had a chance to establish any detail.’ He pointed to one of the paramedics emerging from inside the car and started towards him. ‘He might tell us.’
Watts halted a small distance away. Holding up his ID, head lowered, he peered inside the car. Male figure in driving seat. Upright. Unmoving. Eyes closed. Watts moved quickly to the car’s passenger side. A female. Slumped to one side. Head towards the passenger door. Dark hair lying across face. He straightened, his eyes lingering on them. Both very still. Too still.
He looked at the two young officers. ‘Gloves and shoe-covers, now. Keep out of the paramedics’ way. Be ready to secure the scene as soon as they leave.’ With a brief nod towards the petrol station, he added, ‘When you do, make it a big area, including that forecourt over there. SOCOs and forensics are on their way.’ The two officers headed back to the squad car.
Watts took a second look inside the car. One of the paramedics was shining a small, intense light on to the female’s face. Watts’ eyes drifted over it. She looked bad. He started at the paramedic’s sudden, insistent voice.
‘Hello? Molly Lawrence? Molly, can you speak? Can you move your hand?’
No response.
On the driver’s side of the car, his colleague straightened. ‘This one has to come out. He needs to go. Now.’
Watts looked from one to the other. ‘Give me the general picture.’
‘Not yet established but the driver looks like he’s sustained a serious head injury. We could use some help here.’
Watts raised his hand to Jones and Kumar who came at full speed and helped to bring stretchers from the ambulance to the car. The unconscious male was carefully lifted on to one and moved quickly to the ambulance. In the light pooling from the ambulance’s headlamps, Watts was staring at the vacated driver’s seat, the leather slick and wet, more wetness pooled on the seat. His attention moved to the female being brought out of the car. He looked down at her. Her hair fell away from her face as she was laid on a stretcher, her skin pallid, clammy looking. He looked at her hands, coated with thick, congealing matter. A blanket appeared and was placed around her. He watched as she was taken to the ambulance. Its doors secured, it moved away, lights flashing. He pulled out his phone, rang headquarters.
‘I’m at Forge Street. Can you confirm that forensics are on their way?’ He glanced at his two officers. ‘Yeah, we’ll secure it till then.’ He cut the call. ‘They’ll be a few more minutes getting here.’
‘What do you think, Sarge?’ asked Jones.
‘Possibly a carjacking which turned really bad, unless we learn otherwise.’ He headed for his vehicle, got inside, rang the emergency services and asked to be put through to the ambulance call-takers.
‘This is DI Watts, headquarters, Rose Road. I’m at an incident I responded to forty-five minutes ago at Forge Street in the inner city. One of the victims, a female, made an emergency call.’ He picked up the rapid click-clack of computer keys followed by the call-taker’s voice as she read details from a screen. Watts nodded. ‘That’s the one. The two victims are now on their way to hospital. Tell me about her call.’
‘According to what I’m reading, she was in a really bad situation. Unable to give specific details as to her exact location, which was identified via her mobile service provider, along with her name: Molly Lawrence.’
‘You’ve got a recording of the conversation.’
‘As always.’
‘Send it to me at headquarters as a matter of urgency. Mark it for DI Watts’ attention. Thanks.’
Tuesday 4 December. 2.45 a.m.
The crime scene and surrounding area was flooded with intense white light which was doing nothing to improve the look of it. Watts headed to two SOCOs suiting up beside their van. ‘What do you know about what’s occurred here?’
‘Only that there was an emergency call from one of two victims,’ said one. ‘We’ll do a scene walk-through. Adam’s on his way. He should be here soon, roadworks permitting. What can you tell us?’
‘As you said, two victims, one male, one female. The woman’s name is Molly Lawrence. She made the ambulance call.’ He pointed at the Toyota now encircled by bobbing blue-white tape, more tape demarcating an extended area. ‘Both attacked inside that vehicle. Both unconscious. Significant blood loss. Paramedics referred to a serious head injury to the male.’
Watts watched as they headed for the tape carrying lights, went under it, under more tape and on to the immediate area around the Toyota, closely followed by two more officers. One raised a still camera which began emitting whines and clicks, the other slowly, methodically videoing the ground around the car. After a couple of minutes, she stopped, raised her arm, then finger-pointed downwards to an area below and slightly beneath the car. Pulling on shoe covers, Watts headed for the white-lit area of ground and watched the forensic officer’s gloved hand reach for something, her colleague producing a plastic evidence bag. She held up the item and placed it carefully inside. Watts looked at it through the plastic. A watch.
A forensic officer came towards Watts, pulling on a white scene suit. He pointed to the car. ‘I want a closer look.’ Another joined him, a small, high-spec video camera in one hand, in the other a high-intensity UV light source, protective goggles pushed high on his forehead. He looked inside the car. ‘There’s massive blood loss in here. I’ll start by recording its location. With a bit of luck, there might be some which later proves not to belong to either victim.’
Watts pointed into the interior. ‘The male was the driver.’
The officer lowered his goggles and activated the light source inside the car. It threw blue on to every surface, tracked by the video camera. Watts watched as it moved over the driver’s seat, seeing again what was pooled there, this time in sharp relief, and whispered, ‘Jesus, Mary, mother of …’
He walked around the car to a SOCO placing a yellow marker next to a patch of ground below the front passenger door. ‘Got something?’
Following a finger-point, Watts crouched and looked at sparkles on the ground. Glass. In the dark and rush he hadn’t noticed that one of the car’s windows was shattered. He directed his question to the SOCO.
‘Broken from outside?’
‘Hard to say, given how auto-glass reacts to breakage. I’m taking a sample.’ The fine tweezers in his hand released a glass fragment into a clear plastic tube. It was followed by two more. ‘If we get a suspect within the next few hours, we’ll compare these with any still caught in his hair or clothing.’
‘Stick with the optimism,’ murmured Watts.
He straightened, then turned to Jones and Kumar approaching. ‘There’s a lot of blood, plus broken glass from the front passenger window.’
They went to the car and peered inside it. ‘This has to be a carjacking gone mega-bad,’ said Jones.
‘That’s my thinking, until something says it isn’t.’
Watts’ eyes tracked the movements of SOCOs taking multiple pictures of the interior and exterior of the car, recalling Brophy’s rattled tone as he himself left headquarters. Now, he had something to be rattled about.
Getting a hand-raise from one of the SOCOs, he looked to where she was pointing.
‘See that?’
Watts lowered his head, following the finger-point to the driver’s pale sun visor, a round, powder-edged hole in it, the surrounding area splashed red.
‘Bullet hole,’ said the SOCO.
Watts stared at it. He hadn’t needed telling. She beckoned again. He followed her to the left-hand rear passenger door, looked inside and down to the carpeted floor, to where she pointed again at a small, shiny, metal object. Watts straight
ened, signalling to Jones and Kumar. They sped to him.
‘A bullet casing,’ she said, moving her finger upwards. ‘Looks like it was fired from the rear of the vehicle towards the driver, possibly missed him and struck the sun visor.’
Applying a fluorescent marker pen to the carpet, she created a bright yellow circle around the casing. A forensic officer arrived to photograph it in situ as she moved to the visor, examined the hole. ‘We’ll leave the bullet where it is until the vehicle is back at headquarters.’
Watts turned to his two officers. ‘Stay here. Write down everything you’re told.’
He headed for the manager of headquarters’ forensics department who had arrived a couple of minutes ago, now intent on an initial examination of the scene. ‘Got any insights, Adam?’
‘Probably none you haven’t thought of.’ He pointed at mounting cloud. ‘This rain is in for the night. The photographic team has got full coverage of this whole area, and a detailed crime scene sketch. The trailer is on its way for the car. You’ve looked inside it?’
‘Yes. A right mess.’
‘When it arrives at headquarters, it’ll be tested for fingerprints. I’ll get the victims’ prints for elimination. Your two officers staying?’
Watts nodded. ‘There could be evidence here that we can’t see. They’ll guard the scene till others arrive to take over.’
‘I’ll leave one of mine in case anything does turn up. I’ll be back here at around seven a.m. with at least six more for a daylight search.’
Watts gestured to Jones and Kumar, tapped his phone, spoke into it, kept it brief. In Watts’ experience, the less detail Brophy was given, the better. ‘Sir, an update on the Forge Street scene. The car is privately owned, reg number …’ He gave it and clicked his fingers to Kumar, who passed him more details. ‘Owner’s name, Michael Lawrence, an address in the Moseley area. Two occupants inside the car, the second a female, identified as Molly Lawrence. That’s about all we know so far.’
Hearing a shout of Adam’s name from one of the forensic team, he cut the call and followed him to the Toyota. One of the forensic officers was holding up an evidence bag, the inside smeared. ‘I’ve done a preliminary examination of the watch found on the ground next to the vehicle. It’s covered in blood so we might get a print from it. I’ve been over the outside of the car, but it looks too wet for any meaningful prints.’
Adam glanced at Watts, ‘Cheer up, Bernard. We’ll examine the whole vehicle, plus watch, and test for DNA.’
They moved away, leaving Watts to his thoughts, such as they were. The bullet hole and casing he’d seen were signalling a possible scenario: a young idiot on the rob, puffed up with the sham power of a gun, possibly on drugs, getting inside the Toyota, losing control of the situation, turning it to carnage. Whoever he was, he needed finding, and soon.
He turned to Jones and Kumar. ‘You two, plus one of Adam’s officers, will stay here till seven a.m.’
‘Sarge,’ said Kumar. Neither looked thrilled at the prospect.
Watts left them and walked away to his vehicle. Inside, chilled to his bones, he reached for an old scarf and blotted rain from his hair and face, aware of a knot inside his chest. It looked to him like somewhere out here among the million-plus population was a youngster, a thief with a gun who didn’t give a damn about anybody and had demonstrated it big time. He took out his phone and checked the time. Four a.m. A swift calculation produced an answer that suited his purpose. He tapped a number and heard Dr Connie Chong’s voice, so clear across six thousand miles she might have been next to him. The clamour inside his head eased.
‘Just ringing to ask how you’re doing, how your mother is.’
‘I’m fine. She’s making good progress. We’re expecting my brother to arrive later today to stay with her so I can leave as planned. I’m due back at headquarters on Monday.’
He said nothing.
Her voice came again. ‘What are you doing, Bernard?’
His eyes drifted over the scene beyond the misted windscreen. ‘Looking at the end of the world.’
There was a brief pause. ‘I see.’ He heard her quiet laugh. ‘So, here’s the thing. Don’t step off because I would really miss you and I couldn’t come looking for you, could I?’
He rubbed his eyes, blinked. ‘I’ll be at the airport whenever you get in. Just let me know a time.’
‘That’s what I like about you, you know. Dependability. See you soon.’
‘Yeah.’
Call ended, he started the engine, wondering if dependability was as boring to her as it sounded to him.
FOUR
Tuesday 4 December. 7.15 a.m.
Chloe Judd lifted the porridge-loaded spoon, her eyes fixed on footage recommended to her by Jonesy now playing itself out on her iPad screen. ‘Watch the flag, Chlo,’ he’d instructed. ‘Keep your eyes on that flag.’ Jonesy was a massive conspiracy theorist. According to him, what she was watching was a forty-nine-year-old con trick. Jonesy was also a known cynic. Her eyes widened. Enthralled, she watched, listened.
‘One small step for …’
The scene moved on, switched to a ticker-tape parade for the years-ago spacemen waving and grinning.
‘Jeez,’ she whispered. ‘How cool, how fantastic is that?’
Seeing the time, she leapt up, dumped her bowl in the sink, went inside the tiny bathroom to brush her teeth. Following a quick rinse-and-spit, she studied her reflection in the small mirror, ran her fingers through her hair and grinned.
‘This is Chloe Judd, ace detective, taking one small step for womankind, and a massive leap as a police officer who doesn’t give a—’
‘Chloe!’ A heavy hammering started up on her door, followed by Reynolds’ voice. ‘Chlo? Come on!’
Grabbing her coat and bag she left her flat, followed him to his car and got inside. He was now staring at her, open-mouthed.
‘Say nothing,’ she advised.
He pointed at the radio. ‘There’s some breaking news involving DI Watts. He’s your boss, right?’
She listened, absorbed the newsreader’s words, her eyes widening. ‘Holy sh—!’
Inside his office, Watts re-started the emergency recording, ignoring Brophy’s mutterings as the two voices drifted around the low-lit room a third time: ‘Go ahead, caller. What’s your emergency? … Caller? Hello?’
Another voice, also female, this one resonating with fear and pain, her words punctuated by sobs.
‘I … I can’t … Oh … somebody, please help us …’
‘Caller, can you hear me?’ A brief pause. ‘What’s the nature of your emergency?’ The silence built. The operator’s voice came again, insistent now. ‘Which emergency service do you need?’
‘Ambulance …’
The ambulance call-taker spoke next. ‘Hello, ambulance, is the patient breathing?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘… I feel … it hurts.’
‘Can you tell me exactly what’s happened?’
‘… I’m … don’t know … There’s … blood.’ A shaky intake of breath. ‘… Blood all over my … hands.’ Her voice trailed off again.
‘Can you give me your location?’ Another pause, this one of several seconds. ‘Where are you?’
‘… Don’t know … He took our …’ Her voice faded, came again, fearful, gasping. ‘He might come back … A … man. Please. You have to help … please …’ Her last word trailed off to a whimper.
‘Stay on your phone. What’s your name?’
‘Molly.’
‘Can you describe your location, Molly?’
Watts listened to the operator inform a colleague that the caller is on a mobile phone. A deep groan brought her back on to the line.
‘Molly? Who is there with you?’
‘… Lost … an … awful place.’
The words were followed by the sound of weeping. Watts stared at the floor, waiting for the d
istraught voice to come again. It didn’t.
‘Stay with me, Molly. Molly, are you there? We have your location. Help is on its way.’
The recording ran on, the call-taker continuing to offer reassurance, followed by the first sound of approaching help.
‘Molly? Molly! The ambulance is almost with you. Molly …?’
The room fell silent. Watts took his first full breath in the last two minutes. Brophy looked across at him. ‘This is bad.’
‘It is.’
‘You were at the scene. What do you think?’
‘Probable double shooting in the commission of theft.’
Brophy was at the window, his back to Watts. ‘I’ll tell you what this is. Anarchy of a degree that wouldn’t be tolerated at Thames.’
Watts had heard more than enough about Thames Valley since Brophy’s arrival here. More than enough of his view that in comparison, Birmingham was a lawless zoo. Brophy turned to him.
‘As and when the press gets wind of this, you’ll give the official line: zero tolerance of any offence involving a firearm. Got it?’ He headed for the door. ‘And you and I need to have a clear understanding about this investigation, given that it has all the features of inner-city auto-crime. As I said, the investigative approach is zero tolerance of firearms. Clear?’
Watts tracked him, thinking that Brophy had probably never delivered an original line in his entire career. Reaching the door, Brophy turned. ‘But, there’s still a need for caution.’ Aware of the potential contradictions among Brophy’s words, Watts got to his feet.
‘I’ve seen what was done to the Lawrences. We need to find this shooter as a matter of urgency.’
‘That requires discussion, tight planning. My office in one hour.’
Watts watched the door close on him, knowing that Brophy was hotfooting to confer by phone with the chief constable. He resumed writing his notes on what he had seen of the aftermath of the attack, adding the warning he’d just given to Brophy about dangerousness. After a minute or so, he heard the door open, anticipating it was Brophy, back with more conflicting instructions.