by A. J. Cross
‘The weekend. She’ll be in on Monday.’
She glanced back at him. ‘Are you missing her, Sarge?’
In the process of clearing the table of everything except the six carjacking files and the case notes he’d made at the scene, he looked up at her.
‘One more question like that and I’ll personally see to it that you’re back at Tally Ho for the next six months.’
She grinned. ‘Got it. I went through a lot of carjacking files when I worked on some recent cases. I don’t recall one which involved somebody being shot.’
‘There’s a first for everything.’ He looked around, not finding what he was hoping for. ‘That reminds me.’
He reached for the phone, rang the squad room. ‘Is Reynolds there?’ He waited. ‘Anything on the search I requested, Reynolds?’ He listened, nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He put down the phone. ‘No carjackings involving a firearm or replica in the last decade. Depending on how desperate we get, I might tell him to go further back.’
He reached across for the envelope Adam had given him, opened it, slid out sharp-focused black and white images. Judd came to where he was standing. He scrutinized each one, passed it to her. Having looked at those of both victims, she laid them on the table, transferred her attention to others of the general scene.
‘I see what you mean about the area. It’s gone straight to the top of my avoid list.’
‘Which is unfortunate, Judd, because that’s where we’re going now. To get a closer look while there’s still some daylight.’
FIVE
Tuesday 4 December. 2.30 p.m.
His head full of the case, he watched Judd pick her way across the open area, avoiding holes and chunks of crumbling concrete. She looked up. ‘This is grim! No houses, no apartments and you wouldn’t want to live here anyway, because you’d probably be mugged or worse on your way—’
‘Judd.’
‘I know. Stop talking.’
Taking more careful steps, avoiding water-filled holes and scattered rubble, she came back to him. ‘More to the point, how did a couple like the Lawrences end up here?’
‘They would have hit all the traffic diversions and single-file access I did last night, similar to those we just came through. They must have taken a wrong turn. I know inner Birmingham, but it took me all my time to find my way. Even the ambulance had its work cut out getting here through the traffic.’
‘Where were they going, the Lawrences?’
‘Home to Moseley, according to Mike Lawrence’s mother. She’s confirmed the hospital appointment her son and his wife attended yesterday afternoon, after which they dropped in briefly for a family visit, then went to dinner at some place in Newhall Street.’ He glanced down at her. ‘If you like “salubrious”, you’ll approve of Newhall Street.’ He took a few steps, nudged a chunk of concrete with his foot. ‘They could have avoided the inner city when they drove home from that restaurant. I’m presuming they went in the wrong direction fairly early on.’
‘You’re always telling me that presuming is a bad idea.’
‘It can be, but the indications are that that’s what happened. It had been a workday for both of them, followed by the hospital appointment, the family visit, then dinner. They were probably tired, missed the road for home, hit the roadworks and ended up in this hellhole.’
He watched her mooch across the taped-off area, past SOCOs and uniformed officers still searching for something, anything, no matter how small, and on to the abandoned petrol station. She was now heading back to him.
‘How did he get here?’
‘Who?’
‘The gunman.’
‘Like Adam said, there’s no indication.’
‘Got any investigative theories?’
Watts looked in the general direction of the Bristol Road intersection. ‘This place is some distance from where the carjacking series occurred, but it’s walkable. Right now, I’m not ruling out a link. Whoever did them might have decided to escalate his operation. If he’s local he’d know about the road chaos, might have anticipated lost or confused drivers ending up here. That’s what he would have wanted. Potential victims looking lost and confused.’ He took a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket and handed it to her. She unfolded it. It was a map. He pointed out some of its features.
‘We’re here, and not too far in that direction is housing, just about visible, see? And beyond that the Bristol Road interchange.’
She looked up and nodded.
He continued, ‘No need for a car. It’s close enough to walk here without attracting any undue interest from other locals who might have been about, then get the hell out of here and he’s home.’
‘Sounds neat,’ she said. ‘You’re ruling out that he drove here?’
‘I’m ruling out nothing.’
‘See that, Sarge?’ He looked in the direction she was pointing. ‘A convenience store.’
He narrowed his eyes through the growing murk at a lit sign, put on his glasses. ‘Twenty-twenty wins every time. I know that place from way back. Its owner is an optimist or insured to the eyebrows. I want to talk to him.’
They quickly covered the distance and entered the small shop, sidling through aisles crammed with stock. One or two customers glanced at Watts, took in his height and casually left their baskets and the shop for urgent appointments they’d just thought of. A little man in a white, long-sleeved, Islamic shirt topped by a padded gilet suddenly appeared, both hands raised.
‘Mr Watts, sir, what a long time it is I don’t see you!’
‘How’s it going, Abdul?’
Abdul’s face lost its pleased expression. ‘You are here about that truly awful event which happened.’ He raised his hands again. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’
‘This is my colleague, PC Judd. That’s what we’re here to find out.’ His eyes drifted around the shop. ‘Still in business, Abdul. Doing well?’
Abdul’s face sobered. ‘For now. My wife wants me to sell up. She says, too dangerous.’
‘She might have a point.’
Abdul gave a quick headshake. ‘No, no, Mr Watts. I have good clientele here. Good people. OK, one or two I don’t like, but most others very good, very nice.’
Watts moved towards the door and peered out. ‘Where do they come from?’
Abdul joined him, pointing. ‘Over that way, mostly.’
Watts looked at distant housing, beyond it two blocks of medium-rise flats, like teeth jutting from otherwise empty gums. ‘A lot of older people over there with no transport, Mr Watts. They need Abdul’s mini-market.’
Watts turned back into the shop. ‘Had any trouble here, recently?’
‘Not in the last twelve months.’ He turned, called towards the back of the shop. ‘Nigel!’
The massive individual who appeared gave Watts that rare experience of looking up at another human being. Judd’s mouth dropped open. He gave her a swift nudge. ‘Afternoon, Mr …?’
The man stared down at him. ‘Nigel will do,’ he said, in a tone which sounded like an invitation to make something of it.
Abdul proudly eyed him. ‘Nigel is in charge of security for Abdul’s mini-market. Very good worker, very good.’
‘You work here every day, Nigel?’
‘Yes. Not to a fixed routine. I vary it, but mostly I’m here early and late.’
‘Dark mornings, dark evenings, Mr Watts. No trouble since Nigel came.’
Aware that Nigel’s eyes hadn’t shifted from him, Watts reached inside his jacket for his notebook. ‘We’re interested in yesterday, Monday, the third. You were both here?’
‘Yes.’ Nigel’s eyes were still fixed on him.
‘You know what’s happened in Forge Street?’
No response from Abdul nor his security operative.
‘Did you see anything?’
‘Nothing,’ said Abdul. ‘Too far away.’
Watts studied Nigel, waiting. ‘How about you?’
Nigel shook
his head.
Watts waited some more. ‘Did you hear anything?’
Nigel and Abdul exchanged looks. Abdul nodded to Nigel, who said, ‘What sounded like two shots at around nine twenty, nine thirty.’
Watts wrote down the time, then frowned at it. ‘You sure about that?’
‘Thereabouts, give or take.’
‘Neither of you looked out? Went out?’
‘Do we look like fools?’
Watts thought he had a point. He took out a card, handed it to Abdul. ‘If you think of anything else, hear anything from the locals, give me a ring.’ Abdul looked at the card, nodded.
Watts gave Nigel an appraising look. ‘You work out?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where?’
‘Sidney’s Place. My dad owns it.’
Now seeing the family resemblance, Watts’ face cleared. ‘How is your dad?’
‘Like a butcher’s dog.’
‘Tell him DI Watts sends his regards, and that I might be seeing him.’
He and Judd left the shop and walked back to the Forge Street scene, which was still showing signs of forensic activity.
‘That’s a useful fix on the time of the shooting, Sarge.’
‘You might think so, Judd.’
She frowned up at him. ‘You don’t?’
‘The two shots they heard seem too early to me.’
Judd was silent, then said, ‘How many shots are fired in the city per night, do you think?’
‘My optimistic side says very few. It’s possible they heard a car backfire. Or fireworks.’ He took out his phone. She listened. He was onto Jonesy in the incident room.
‘Request city centre CCTV footage as a matter of urgency. All possible vehicle routes from Newhall Street into the inner city and the Forge Street area.’ He ended the call. ‘Let’s hope that turns up something.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Almost four thirty. We’ve got somewhere else to be, Judd. The home of Christy Williams, the sixth victim of the Bristol Road interchange carjacking series on Friday the thirtieth of November. She’s expecting us.’
‘Why her?’
‘Because she was physically injured, but more to the point, she claims she saw a gun during the attack on her. Even more to the point, the Lawrences were shot just three days later.’
She studied him as he reversed the BMW. ‘You stressed, Sarge?’
He was thinking about a criminologist and academic he knew and how he might approach this investigation.
‘No. Just considering all possible angles.’
4.50 p.m.
They stepped inside the overheated Kings Heath terraced house, Ms Williams’ partner leading the way along the hall, his voice low.
‘I need to warn you, she’s still a bit rocky, not dealing very well with sudden, unexpected movement, particularly on her left side.’ He stopped, slowly opened a door. ‘Christy? It’s Detective Inspector Watts and a colleague.’ He stood to one side. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said quietly.
Going inside the room they were hit by a wall of heat, a gas fire blazing. Watts introduced himself and Judd to the thirty-year-old woman with long blonde hair wearing a heavy red sweater.
She looked up at them. ‘Sorry, I know it’s hot in here, but I can’t seem to keep warm.’
‘It’s not a problem.’ Watts glanced at her heavily bandaged left hand propped up on a cushion.
She gave him a shaky smile. ‘I never realized how inconvenient it is having only one usable hand.’
He took out his notebook. Judd did the same. He kept it simple. ‘We need your account of what happened, Ms Williams.’
She nodded. ‘I reported it to the local police when I got home. They rang this morning to tell me you’d want me to go through it at some time.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I left my office which is just beyond the mosque on Friday afternoon. It was raining. Getting dark. I put my briefcase on the passenger seat … I don’t usually do that. I won’t do it again, ever. I joined the dual carriageway, turned right at the traffic island and followed it down to the Bristol Road. I was preoccupied about some work I had to do at the weekend.’ She gazed at the fire. ‘The traffic was bad. Really heavy. As I reached the lights, they changed to red. I pulled up close behind the car in front of me.’ She looked at Judd. ‘After I reported it, two officers came here. I was advised not to pull too close in future …’ She paused. ‘So, there’s room for manoeuvre if needed.’
She looked down at her bandaged hand. ‘I was just sitting there, waiting for the lights, when I sensed something, a movement close to the passenger window, a dark shape. That’s when the side of my car sort of exploded.’ She took a couple of breaths. ‘Glass flying everywhere, hitting my hair, wind and rain coming inside the car onto my face and … suddenly, an arm appeared.’ She looked across at Watts. ‘Crazy, I know, but without thinking, I reached out, grabbed my briefcase.’ She took another deep breath. ‘It was really nice. Mulberry.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Watts.
‘I gripped the briefcase, felt him pull at it. That’s when I saw it. The gun. At least, I think it was a gun.’
Watts sent Judd a quick look. She sat forward, keeping her voice low. ‘Christy, how sure were you at the time that it was a gun?’
‘I don’t know … eighty per cent? He was holding something. He used it on my hand. Something heavy, like metal. The next thing, my hand felt like it was on fire. He shouted at me and then … he was gone, just disappeared.’
‘He shouted. Can you tell us about that?’
‘He said something like, “That’s one easy way to get yourself killed, lady.” I think that’s what convinced me it was a gun.’ She looked up. ‘I keep going over and over the whole thing. I’m sorry. I can’t be one hundred per cent it was a gun, but it’s what I thought at the time.’
Watts allowed a short pause. ‘In your witness statement taken shortly afterwards, you said you believed he was armed.’
‘That’s right. I actually thought that he had shot me in the hand. The whole incident lasted seconds but … I didn’t hear anything like a shot.’ She looked at her hand. ‘At the hospital I was told that he had struck my hand very hard with something heavy. They were worried that there might be some long-term damage but I can move my fingers a little now, see? I’m hoping that it’ll be all right.’
‘Can you tell us anything else about this man that isn’t in your statement?’
‘I’ve thought about it. I didn’t see his face but I can tell you that he was strong. My briefcase was crammed full, really heavy, but he pulled it through the car window as if it was nothing. He sounded confident when he spoke. I watched him run. He was agile. He moved like a young person.’
Inside the BMW, Watts looked down at his notes. ‘The picture I’m getting of the person she described is confident.’ He looked across at Judd. ‘And confidence suggests what?’
‘He’s done it before.’
‘Five previous times would do it, wouldn’t you say?’ He started the engine. ‘The question now is who is he, closely followed by, did he have anything to do with what happened to the Lawrences?’
SIX
Wednesday 5 December. 10.15 a.m.
Hit by a combination of heat, sweat and testosterone, Watts came inside the gym and found himself surrounded by machines, weights and rippling muscles. Tensing his own abs, he waited for the short, muscular man heading towards him.
‘Allo, Mr Watts. Here for our special offer, an introductory try-out?’ He gave Watts a once-over. ‘Have to say, you’re looking a lot trimmer, a lot fitter than when I saw you twelve months back. Come on. I’ll give you the tour.’
‘Thanks, Sidney, another time. I’m here about the incident in Forge Street on Monday night.’
‘Guessed it. Our Nigel told me he’d seen you.’
‘Got anything for me? Anything that might involve carjacking?’ Watts followed him to a table heaped with towels, then waited as he started folding them.
‘Might
have. Somebody from five or so years back. Young fella. Used to come in here, regular, and then he didn’t.’ He glanced up at Watts. ‘Carjacking is what he was sent down for. Don’t ask me for an address. I don’t know any details.’
‘I’ll settle for a name.’
‘Jonah Budd.’
As Watts left the gym his phone rang. It was the hospital, informing him that Molly Lawrence had regained consciousness an hour ago. ‘Thanks. Somebody will be there in fifteen minutes.’ He phoned Judd.
‘Molly Lawrence is conscious. Go to the hospital. Have a word with the staff. Ask if she’s well enough for you to see her. If she is, introduce yourself to her. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He made a second call, this time to the scene, spoke to one of the officers there.
‘Any progress?’
‘No, Sarge. We’re still searching but this whole area is a mess of rubble, holes—’
‘Keep at it.’
He got another call, this one from Jones to tell him that the major incident room in its basic form was up and running.
‘Good. Tell everybody that the first formal briefing is this afternoon at two.’
Wednesday 5 December. 11 a.m.
‘Mrs Lawrence is conscious but she’s still heavily medicated,’ said the doctor, ‘so it’s very possible she’ll drift off again.’
‘I won’t stay long,’ said Judd. ‘I’ll introduce myself and let her know that we’ve begun our investigation into what happened to her and her husband.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Knowing that something is being done has to be good for her.’ He beckoned to a colleague who approached them. ‘This is one of the nursing team caring for Mrs Lawrence.’ And to the nurse, he said, ‘PC Judd is part of the police investigation. She’d like to see Molly and offer her some reassurance that the police are doing all they can.’
Judd followed her. ‘Is Mrs Lawrence aware of what’s happened to her husband and herself?’
The nurse stopped at a door, lowered her voice. ‘Her mother was here for most of yesterday. Earlier this morning she told Molly that they had been shot, that her husband had been very badly wounded, but not that he had died. She did tell her that her pregnancy had ended. She did it as well as anyone might, given the circumstances.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve worked in this ICU for eight years and I can’t recall a case that’s had such an impact on staff here.’