by A. J. Cross
Her hand on the door handle, she looked directly at Judd, her voice now a whisper. ‘I haven’t seen any real indication that she’s absorbed what her mother told her. She hasn’t spoken about it to any of us caring for her. We were anticipating she would ask questions but she hasn’t. Not even when her mother-in-law came in to see her very briefly.’ She sighed. ‘It’s terrible, what’s happened to them, but of course she’s not even begun to process it. My impression is that she thinks her husband is going to walk in here to see her.’
‘Were you on duty when they were brought in?’
‘Yes. That’s when I was assigned to Molly’s care team.’
‘Has she asked you about her own injuries?’
‘No. That’s another of our concerns. She knows she’s injured but she doesn’t seem to be making a connection between that, her pregnancy and what’s happened to her husband. We feel desperately sorry for her. She’s been quite agitated since she regained consciousness, telling one of my colleagues that she had to leave, that she had a gynaecological appointment.’ Seeing Judd’s face, she added, ‘Molly’s in good hands here. We anticipate her being with us for a little while. We have a bereavement specialist on site. We’ll involve her as soon as the time looks right.’
‘Has she had any other visitors, apart from her mother and mother-in-law?’
‘No. She wasn’t well enough.’ She pushed open the door.
Judd followed her inside, keeping her voice low. ‘Detective Inspector Watts is on his way. He should be here soon.’
The nurse nodded, went across the room to the bed, leant over its occupant and returned to Judd, whispering, ‘She’s asleep. I’ll inform the desk where you are. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’
She left the room. Judd felt suddenly vulnerable, out of her depth. She went quietly to the bed, the woman lying there barely making a shape under the covers, her eyes closed.
‘Mrs Lawrence …? Molly?’
Getting no response, she turned away, went to the window and looked out, willing Watts to arrive soon. She turned as the door opened. The nurse was back.
‘Any luck?’
Judd shook her head. ‘She’s sleeping.’
The nurse leant over the bed, lightly pressed the slim hand lying on the covers. ‘Molly?’ she said softly. ‘Molly, there’s a very nice young police officer here to see you. Her name’s …?’ She looked at Judd.
‘Chloe Judd.’
‘Did you hear that, Molly? Her name’s Chloe. That’s nice, isn’t it?’
Judd slowly approached the bed, looked down at wavering blue eyes fringed with dark lashes. ‘Hello, Mrs Lawrence,’ she whispered.
The woman looked up, eyes drifting to the nurse who quickly moved over to her.
‘I’m here, Molly. I’ll help you up.’
The nurse reached for a keypad. Judd watched as Molly Lawrence’s upper body was slowly raised a few centimetres. Sending Judd an encouraging look, saying that she would be close by if needed, she left the room.
Judd was again at a loss. ‘Mrs Lawrence? … I’m here to let you know that we, the police, are doing all we can in respect of … what’s happened.’
‘What happened?’
Wrong-footed by the two words, searching for a fitting response but not finding one, Judd went with: ‘It would be a big help if you feel able to talk to me.’
She waited, her eyes fixed on the small dual fans of dark lashes. When no response came, she quietly walked away, had reached the door when the voice came again.
‘I remember … him.’
Judd was back, keeping her voice low. ‘Who, Molly? Who do you remember?’
‘The man … He said, “Don’t look at me”.’
She saw Molly’s eyes squeeze closed, watched her chest rise and fall. Come on, Sarge, come on, a voice pleaded inside her head.
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘He said, “Hand me your valuables. Put them … inside your bag. Give it to me”.’
‘He gave you a bag?’
‘No. My handbag.’ She gave a long, wavering sigh. ‘“Now pass me the bag … nice and slow”.’ She squeezed closed her eyes, agitation rising in her voice. ‘He was angry. “Where’s the other phone?”’ Judd felt another surge of unease, willing the nurse back here. Molly Lawrence was now staring up at Judd.
‘I gave him Mike’s phone. Told him I didn’t have mine … I had to keep that phone … to ring … for help. I had to.’ Her voice almost disappeared. ‘Had to. But I couldn’t move … hurt so much … took ages to make the call … too long …’ Tears sprang from her eyes, her hand tugging at the drip fixed to the back of her other hand, pushing at the covers.
Shocked by the suddenness of it, Judd tried to calm her. ‘Mrs Lawrence? Mrs Lawrence. You need to lie still!’
On a quick surge of relief, Judd saw the nurse coming inside. Quickly approaching the bed, her hand moved to an array of lit buttons above it, then onto the drip. She laid her hand on Molly’s shoulder.
‘Easy, Molly, easy.’
‘His voice … Something about his voice when he said some words …’ Her breathing was rapid now. ‘He said, “Watches”. He didn’t say it properly.’ Her eyes huge, she gazed up at Judd, at the nurse now pressing a red call button. ‘He … he had … a … lisp.’
Judd just caught the final word.
Seemingly oblivious to the nurse’s hand on her shoulder, Molly Lawrence struggled upwards, grimacing, her hand against her side. ‘His … coat. Thick. Big star on … back.’
The doctor Judd had met earlier was suddenly there. Molly Lawrence looking up at each of them, her face awash with tears, her voice anguished. ‘It took him … just seconds to … ruin my life …’
The nurse held her hand, looked across at Judd, her eyes moving in the direction of the door. Judd took the hint, fled to it.
Watts was pacing outside the room. He looked up at her. ‘What’s happened? I was told not to go in. What’s going on in there?’
Judd leant against the wall, running her hands through her hair. ‘That was the most useless I’ve felt in my whole life. She just started talking, then without warning she got really upset.’ Judd leant forward, hands on her knees, taking deep breaths. ‘It was the suddenness of it.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She described the man who shot her and her husband. Something about a bag she had to put some things into, like their watches, and that he got angry about a phone. She says he was wearing a thick coat with a star pattern on the back. She also said she couldn’t move after he shot her – it took a while for her to call for an ambulance … too long, she said.’
‘You didn’t write all this down?’
Judd gave him a sharp look. ‘What do you think!’
‘Sounds like she was trying to describe one of those Puffa-type jackets the kids are all wearing. Did she say anything else about him?’
‘Yes.’ Judd straightened, some of her colour coming back. ‘She said he had a lisp.’
The nurse came out of the room. Watts went to her. ‘Any chance we can talk to Mrs Lawrence later today?’
‘Sorry. We’ve had to sedate her. You need to leave it a day or so. I’ll keep you informed as to how she is in the meantime.’
They left the hospital, Judd looking out of the BMW’s passenger window. ‘She never mentioned the gun. She never mentioned it firing or anything.’
‘Have I mentioned a forensic psychologist mate of mine, Kate Hanson, who used to work with me in the Unsolved Crime Unit?’
Judd looked away. ‘You mean, Dr Hanson who knew everything, had nerves of steel and never got anything wrong. You’re on about that Hanson?’
‘What’s eating you?’ He glanced down at her, the effects of what had just happened inside the hospital still evident on the young face. ‘I was about to say that Hanson told me a thing or two about memory. About how it acts to protect people from trauma. It sounds like what you just saw was Molly Lawrence starting to join t
he dots, which was tough on you, tough for her, but it’s what the investigation needs. Did she mention any direct violence?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Cheer up. You can report it to the first formal briefing at two o’clock.’
She looked out of the window. ‘We’re already half an hour late.’
2.45 p.m.
The incident room was filled with officers and technology, the double doors into the next room standing open. Watts was picking up that unmistakeable mix of edginess and mounting excitement that came with the start of a major investigation.
‘Welcome to the first formal briefing of the Lawrence investigation. Judd and I have come straight from the hospital. Mrs Lawrence managed to say a few words, which Judd will tell you about.’ The door opened and Brophy came inside.
Watts looked at the waiting faces. ‘Anything yet on CCTV from the possible routes taken by the Lawrences that night?’
‘Requested, sir.’ Miller pointed at the terminal in front of her. ‘There are two potential routes from the Newhall Street restaurant to Forge Street. There would have been more but for diversions and road closures.’
‘I want that information. At this early stage, I’m not ruling out that what happened to the Lawrences was the result of an incident of road rage. When it arrives, we’ll examine it for visuals of the Lawrences’ Toyota obviously, but more than that, we’ll be looking for indications of them being followed, any sign of a possible incident involving the Lawrences’ vehicle and any other. I’ve already requested CCTV of the specific area where they had dinner. I want Automated Number Plate Recognition checks on any vehicles of interest.’
‘On to it, Sarge,’ said Jones, turning to a computer. Watts looked from him to young Reynolds and an older officer, Gillespie, drafted in from the inner city. ‘How’s the victimology going?’
Gillespie’s eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him. ‘We’ve been on to the employers of Mr and Mrs Lawrence, who’ve provided names of colleagues, plus others known to be friends of theirs.’ He looked up at Watts. ‘You want them contacted?’
‘Hang on to the details for now. There’s more urgent inquiries I want done first.’
Watts’ eyes settled on Reynolds. He was looking stressed. A situation like this had to be a challenge for somebody hardly out of training. His attention moved to somebody else not that much further along. She looked as though she’d recovered from her experience at the hospital.
‘Judd’s going to give you the information she got from Mrs Lawrence.’ He sat on the edge of a table, arms folded, as Judd stood, eyes fixed on her colleagues.
‘Mrs Lawrence is still very unwell but she managed to provide some detail.’ They listened as she read from notes she’d made on the way back to headquarters. ‘She’s confirmed that their attacker stole their valuables. You know that forensics have a watch which was recovered at the scene. Mike Lawrence’s phone was also taken. I’ve had a quick word with forensics, who already have the number. They tried ringing it, but it was switched off within the inner city at nine p.m. on the evening of the attack. As you know, Mrs Lawrence managed to make the emergency call. She’s described their attacker’s voice and appearance to me, that he spoke with a lisp and was wearing a thick jacket with some kind of star pattern on the back.’ Fellow officers exchanged looks as Judd continued, ‘DI Watts has information relating to one of the victims of the Bristol Road carjacking series.’ She passed her notes to Miller as Watts stood.
‘We can’t rule out a connection to the Lawrence attack, so those six November cases remain ours. The sixth victim sustained a serious injury to her hand. She believes she saw a gun during the attack on her. She’s described her attacker as young, agile and confident. This investigation will focus on both the carjackings and the shootings. An inner-city gym owner has suggested a name for the carjackings: Jonah Budd. Budd already has form for it.’
He looked around the room. ‘Kumar? I want Budd’s full conviction record and social reports, plus his contact details, soon as.’ His eyes moved over all of them. ‘This major investigation has to stay aware of the possibility that somewhere in this city there’s a young, armed offender who is prepared to use violence in the commission of theft. You all know the inner city, the Bristol Road interchange which was the scene of those six attacks, and Forge Street where the Lawrences were attacked. They’re geographically close. The carjack victims lost personal stuff: handbags, briefcases. We’ve got few details as yet of what was taken from them, but as soon as we get them, I’ll let you know, although theft appears to be the motive because Mr Lawrence’s watch was found just beneath the car where it was dropped.’ The room was silent, all eyes on him. ‘Whoever shot Mr and Mrs Lawrence appears to place a low value on human life. Our prime concern has to be that he could do it again.’
He pointed at several officers. ‘I want the five of you out there, meeting and talking to local residents, keeping it low-key, with your listening heads on.’ He gave all of them a direct look. ‘It’ll come as no surprise that Mrs Lawrence is very unwell. The hospital has asked that we wait to talk to her again.’ He watched facial expressions change. ‘I know. It’s frustrating but that’s how it is. They’ll keep us updated as to her progress over the next few days. That’s it for today. Carry on.’ He hooked a finger at Judd.
With a glance outside at the press which looked to have increased three-fold, they went downstairs to Watts’ office.
‘Blinds, Judd.’
He listened to them swish closed, his own words about the low value placed on the Lawrences’ lives reverberating inside his head. He unlocked a cabinet, took out a file. Time to get moving on what he wanted. Bringing it to the table, he opened it, located what he was looking for, turned to the CV’s last two pages, Judd’s voice coming at him, as he looked down the long list of professional expertise, two items in particular snagging his attention.
Geographical Profiling. Trauma.
‘… And you had them keen as anything up there, Sarge … What’s up?’
‘I’ve been wondering how long I dare leave it before getting in some help. Now I know. I’ve got a phone call to make.’
‘To somebody with some particular savvy?’
He frowned. ‘Where’d you get that from?’
‘Just sensed it.’
He pointed his index finger. ‘Then, sense this: keep it to yourself until I’ve made the call and had a chance to square it with Brophy or you’ll be at Tally Ho till you’re thirty.’
He took out his phone, tapped the number. His call was answered. His brows shot up at the female voice. ‘This is Detective Inspector Watts. I need to speak to Dr Will Traynor as a matter of urgency.’
‘Hold on, please … Dad!’
Watts’ fingers drummed the table. They stopped as Traynor’s deep, pleasant voice sounded in his ear.
‘Hello, Bernard.’ Watts noted the lack of surprise. Maybe Judd wasn’t the only one with a sixth sense. ‘Your current investigation is all over the media.’
‘It’s why I’m ringing. I could do with your help on it. All I’ve got so far is a likely connection between a series of carjackings at the Bristol Road interchange and the Lawrence shootings in a hellhole otherwise known as Forge Street.’
‘Is this call at Chief Inspector Brophy’s instigation?’
‘No, mine. Can you be here at seven thirty tomorrow morning?’
‘Yes. I’ll need to leave no later than ten.’
‘Thanks for coming on board, Will.’
‘Send me all the data you have.’
Watts glanced at Judd. ‘On its way in the next two minutes.’
He eyed his phone, the connection already broken. Where Traynor was concerned, ‘cool’ didn’t cover it. Judd was looking at him, waiting.
‘Traynor’s in.’
She raised both fists high. ‘Yes.’
‘Email him copies of all we’ve got, while I think how best to persuade Brophy that we need him.’
SEVEN
Thursday 6 December. 7.25 a.m.
Desk phone clamped to his ear, Watts eyed the clock, listening to Brophy’s summation of Will Traynor’s contribution to the murder investigation back in the summer. ‘I grant you he’s got specialist skills and he’s good at what he does’ – Watts waited for the kicker – ‘but during a lot of it he was an emotional mess.’
‘He had problems, sir, but he also brought his professional expertise, insight and investigative experience to that case which did a lot to crack it for us. Officers here rate him. I’ve seen him a couple of times since and my take on him is that—’
‘You’re talking socially, not work-wise?’
‘He’s really together now.’ He listened to Brophy’s demands for further reassurance. ‘Yes, I do think he’s got a lot to offer the investigation, or I wouldn’t be suggesting it.’ He looked up as the door opened and grinned. ‘Sir, I think you’ve made a wise decision.’
He replaced the phone as the tall, fair-haired, smiling man in the grey suit came inside.
‘Hello, Bernard. Have your powers of persuasion worked?’
Watts went to him, his hand outstretched. ‘Good to see you again, Will. Your arrival’s well-timed. You’re officially in.’
Seeing him again, Watts reflected that in terms of looks and build, Traynor had pulled all the aces. Watts’ own inheritance included height from his father, plus a downside: his mother’s heavy facial features. ‘You look well. Been on holiday?’
‘Ten days in the sun with my daughter which is now a distant memory. I’ve read all that you sent me. Any big developments?’
‘I wish. I’m directing this investigation on the basis of a potential link between an inner-city carjacking series in November and the Lawrence shootings. Beyond that, I know nothing.’