by A. J. Cross
Traynor raised his hand to all in the room and headed to the door and out. Miller quickly followed. Watts tracked her, saw her look up at him, saw Traynor’s face, pleasant in response as he turned and disappeared from view. He left the room, thinking back to when he and Traynor had worked together back in the summer. Despite all that had been said during the briefing, his spirits rose as he thought how focused Traynor was now, compared to back then.
He came into his office to find Judd already there. ‘I’m parched. Stick the kettle on.’ Getting no response, he looked at her. ‘What’s up?’
‘It was really sad, watching them drive along, both totally unaware of what was going to happen.’
He went to the kettle, switched it on. ‘A word of advice, Judd. Forget the emotional side. Stick to the facts. We’ve now got them on that journey. It’s more than a lot of homicide investigations have at this stage.’ He spooned coffee, then stared down at the two mugs. ‘I’ve wondered myself how they felt during that drive lost through that traffic and the added chaos of the roadworks only to meet even worse chaos, more than they could ever have anticipated.’
Judd eyed him. ‘Is that part of the “facts” you just told me to stick to?’
He poured boiling water. ‘What’s looking increasingly like fact to me is how the Lawrences probably appeared to an opportunistic type watching them from, say, the time they left that restaurant, who summed them up as affluent. If he followed them on their journey into the inner city, he might have observed a bit more about them: “affluent-plus-lost”. If that’s anything like what happened, he would have seen it as his Christmas arriving early.’
‘Opportunistic and armed?’
‘Yes, Judd. Watch the news on the box often enough and it’ll seem like the world and his granny has a weapon. There’s a lot of guns in every city. Birmingham’s no exception.’
The door opened and Jones came inside. ‘I’ve just sent you our notes on the victim interviews relating to the carjackings, Sarge.’ Seeing Watts turn to the computer, he said, ‘Nothing of interest, apart from the one you and Judd visited.’ He grinned across at her. She ignored him. ‘None of the other five could describe their attacker, or referred to seeing any kind of weapon.’
‘No reference to a lisp?’
‘No.’
Watts thought about it. ‘A male with any kind of speech problem?’
‘None of the five confirmed it.’ Jones held out a sheet of A4. ‘Kumar’s sent the contact details you asked for.’
As Jones left, he skimmed them, recognizing a name. He reached for the phone, rang the probation office number and waited.
‘Hello, Leila. Bernard Watts. I’m interested in one of your clientele.’ He picked up the smile in her voice.
‘Really? Which one would that be, from a case load stretching from here to forever?’
‘Jonah Budd.’
‘Oh? Why the interest in Jonah?’
‘His name has cropped up. Is he seeing you regularly?’
‘Like clockwork. Never late. I’m seeing him this afternoon, as a matter of fact.’
‘Can I drop in and see you before he arrives?’
‘No problem. His appointment is at three.’
‘I’ll be there at two thirty.’
EIGHT
Thursday 6 December. 2.35 p.m.
Leaving Judd mutinously gathering investigative data Brophy had demanded, Watts was facing Leila Kendal, absorbing her take on Jonah Budd.
‘Jonah is a young man with a hell of a lot more going for him than most of my clients. He’s intelligent, he attended college, completed a course in physical education and was a regular member at an inner-city gym. Until 2014, when he was arrested for a series of very well-planned carjackings about a mile or so from the Bristol Road interchange. Does any of that help?’
‘It might. How about before or since?’
‘Nothing known before. Since then, he’s stolen cash from some of the casual jobs he’s had, which is why he’s still on my list.’
‘What’s he up to now?’
‘He’s twenty-four, currently unemployed, although our records show him to be “actively seeking employment”.’ She studied Watts. ‘You’re interested in him because of last month’s carjackings plus a double shooting?’ She opened the file in front of her. ‘Jonah is all that I’ve said.’
‘I’m hearing a “but”.’
‘You are. He’s also weak, over-indulged, the youngest by miles of four brothers. The wider family dotes on him and his mother is more than ready to spoil him even further at every opportunity. As a consequence, Jonah continues to lack the impetus to act responsibly. He knows he has a safety net. That his family will support him, no matter what he does. What else can I tell you? His family doesn’t approve of his lawbreaking but the way they deal with him is probably a strong signal to him that, where they’re concerned, he can get away with anything. Like I said, over-indulged.’ She turned a few pages. ‘His sentence for the carjackings was twelve months in Young Offenders. On his release, he looked me straight in the eye and swore he wouldn’t reoffend. Which is always nice to hear, even for a case-hardened realist like me. I’ve already mentioned his subsequent thefts.’
‘Tell me about the carjackings he committed.’
‘There were four’ – she met Watts’ eyes – ‘as far as we know. During the second attack, he struck the female driver on the shoulder with the hammer he’d used to smash her window. He still emphatically denies hitting her, by the way.’
Watts’ interest grew at this confirmation of Budd using a weapon during one of his offences. ‘You’ve known him a while. What’s the bottom line with him, as far as you’re concerned?’
She shrugged. ‘He keeps his appointments with me. He’s always appropriately dressed. He says the right things.’ She paused and looked directly at Watts. ‘And all the time I’m wondering what’s behind the face he’s showing me.’
‘Does he have a speech problem?’ Seeing her surprise, he added, ‘A lisp?’
‘No.’ She checked her watch. ‘He’s probably here now. Do you want to have a word with him?’
Watts stood. ‘I might at some stage, but not today. I know you’re busy but if you think of anything else, learn anything about him that you think we should know, would you email it to headquarters for my attention?’
Reaching the building’s entrance on his way out, Watts heard the receptionist call, ‘Mr Budd? You can go in now.’
He turned and watched a young, well-dressed male get up and head for the room he himself had just left.
Watts jogged to the BMW in an icy downpour. Once inside, he read the information the probation officer had given him on the four carjackings committed by Budd. Seeing again the reference to Budd’s use of a hammer on one victim, he knew he couldn’t discount him for the November cases. Watching crystalized rain run down the windscreen, he switched his thinking to the Lawrence shootings. Shootings which had left a man dead, a woman injured, their child lost. The stakes in this case were the highest. He had umpteen official guidelines for the homicide investigation alone. Despite Traynor’s opinion of a lack of connection between the shootings and the November carjackings, Budd’s name was now tugging at him as a possibility for both, and he wasn’t about to be deflected by a lack of lisp. Not yet, anyway. Watts’ natural caution kicked in. It was still early days for the Lawrence case. He thought back to cases he knew of, in which senior officers got an early suspect in their sights who seemed to fit so well that they ended up blinkered to other possibilities. He wouldn’t go down that road with Budd or any other name that might crop up. But neither would he give up on him until he was satisfied that Budd didn’t figure in either the carjackings or the shootings.
He reached down and pulled his homicide file from under his seat. He created a file for every homicide case he headed, and this one was maintained by Judd. He opened it and looked at the list of every decision he’d made to date, plus copies of every document, witness
statement and evidence find and forensic result, including the known CCTV timeline. None of it had so far provided a specific lead. There was one person who could do that but right now she was in no fit state to tell them anything.
He gazed across at the probation offices. Even though Traynor wasn’t seeing any connection between the November carjackings and the Lawrence shootings, he knew that as a police officer he daren’t ignore even a remote possibility that they might be connected. Ignoring possibilities was as bad as getting fixated. He rubbed his big hands over his face, blinked then shook his head. ‘If anybody ever bothers to ask, I’ll say it’s my job that’s the hardest.’ Connie Chong’s face came into his head. He started as his phone rang. It was Brophy.
‘Sir.’
‘I want an update on the progress of the Lawrence case by tomorrow.’
‘I’ll pull together what we’ve got so far, but—’
‘My office, two o’clock.’
A second call made his scalp tighten. It was Judd. ‘What?’ he snapped.
‘I’ve gone through the CCTV details again, Sarge, and found nothing. I’ve also searched the records Reynolds tracked down on dudes with rap sheets for carjacking over the last decade, plus an additional decade.’
He closed his eyes. Birmingham, UK and the Bronx remained interchangeable for Judd.
‘There’s nothing in any of them that remotely fits our case but they’re in your office if you want to go through them.’
He ended the call and made another. There was something he had to sort out before this investigation got much older.
‘Traynor.’
‘Will, I wanted to say thanks for your views on the carjacking series and the attack on the Lawrences.’
‘You’re welcome, but you don’t agree with them.’
‘At this early stage, I can’t dismiss any potential link. I’m glad you’re working with us again because we need your expertise, but we, you and me, don’t work under the same pressures. I can’t reject the carjacking series as irrelevant this early in an investigation. One of those victims was subjected to violence, plus she believes she saw a gun. The young carjacker I mentioned in briefing, Joshua Budd, was armed with a hammer and used it on one of his victims. I can’t ignore details like that, either. If I do and it turns out that they’re relevant to my two cases, my future in the force, or what’s left of it, could be behind me.’ He paused. ‘I’m continuing to investigate a potential link between the November series and the Lawrence shootings. I wanted you to know.’
‘Thank you. I think it’s a waste of resources but it’s your investigation.’
NINE
Friday 7 December. 1.30 p.m.
Jones and Kumar were talking Watts through their follow-up of all six of the November carjacking victim-witnesses. Jones pointed to printed sheets. ‘We went through each of their witness statements with them. We gave particular attention to the victim you spoke to recently, the one who said she saw a gun. She isn’t one hundred per cent, Sarge, although she’s adamant it was something metal. She said she saw streetlights glinting off it, but that’s all we got from her.’
Sitting back in his chair, Watts looked lost in thought. ‘What about the other five?’
‘None of them had anything they wanted to add or change.’
The two young officers were startled by his sudden straightening, his eyes on them. ‘In time, you’ll both realize that witnesses who are one hundred per cent certain about what they saw are as rare as hen’s teeth. Leave it a few days, then revisit them.’
They left and he stood, his eyes fixed on the folder containing what he had in terms of actual progress to offer Brophy. He pulled it towards him and hefted it in one hand. It looked and felt exactly what it was. Meagre.
Five minutes later, the folder was still closed and sitting between them. Brophy was looking irritated.
‘Let me get this straight: you wanted Will Traynor on this case and now you’re telling me you’re already going against what he’s advised?’ Not waiting for a response, he rolled on. ‘I heard what he said in the briefing. He sees no link between the carjackings and the Lawrence shootings. My question to you is why aren’t you now focusing all of your attention and resources on it? That’s what this category A inquiry was set up to do. That’s the homicide. It’s where the media pressure is.’
Watts was recalling Brophy’s earlier insistence that he shouldn’t drop the carjackings. This was typical straw-in-the-wind-Brophy. He knew that if he accepted what Brophy was saying, dropped the carjacking series and it eventually transpired that there was a link, Brophy would at best merge silently into the woodwork. At worst, he would be on to the chief constable, playing the blame game before Watts even had a chance to contemplate a quick retirement. Blame played a big part in internal policing. Not that Watts cared. He’d been in the job long enough to know that following his instincts, getting on with it, was his one option. Because it wasn’t about internal politics. It was about the victims. All of them.
‘I trust Traynor’s expertise, sir, but as SIO of both cases, I have to continue investigating them until I’m satisfied there is no link.’ His eyes were fixed on Brophy. ‘Unless you’re officially instructing me otherwise?’ Brophy looked away. No chance. Watts took pages from the folder and pushed them in his direction.
‘This is my overview of the intel we have so far, including forensic data, plus a summary of the CCTV evidence of the movements of Michael and Molly Lawrence prior to the shooting. The team is doing a thorough job with the technical equipment now at its disposal, but so far, there’s no leads. I have a potential lead associated with past carjacking offences which I’ll be following up.’
Brophy stared down at his desk. ‘It was monumental bad luck that the Lawrences’ path crossed that of somebody who values human life so little.’ He sighed, then glanced towards the window. ‘What happened to them is horrific, but Mrs Lawrence being pregnant makes it truly tragic.’
Watts saw a brooding expression on Brophy’s face he hadn’t seen before. As to luck, good or bad, Watts didn’t subscribe to it, but he got what Brophy was saying.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How is Mrs Lawrence?’
‘Conscious, according to the hospital, but still very unwell. There’s a record in the overview I’ve given you of PC Judd’s talk with her two days ago. As of eight o’clock this morning, the word from the hospital is that her injuries aren’t life-threatening, that she’s medicated and resting. They’ll let me know when they think she’s up to being questioned.’
‘Good, good … I take it no eyewitnesses have come forward?’
‘No. The available CCTV information suggests that the two possible shots heard by workers at a local convenience store at around nine thirty are too early, although I’ll keep them in mind. Unfortunately, it looks like Mrs Lawrence is our sole witness, so we have to wait until she’s fit enough to talk.’ He picked up Brophy’s muttered ‘Wild West’ and felt his eyes on him.
‘What about carjackers convicted in the past? Any of those known to have used violence?’
‘None of them known to “carry”, sir.’
Brophy gave him an absent look.
‘None of them known to go equipped—’
‘I know what you meant.’
Brophy’s odd mood was unsettling Watts, making him wish for his previous chief, Maurice Gander, with his direct approach and hands-off management style.
‘The November carjacker had detailed knowledge of the area in which he and his accomplice were operating. As Traynor said, he probably lives close to where they were committed. The scene of the Lawrence shooting is no real distance from there.’ He decided to give Brophy what he knew about Jonah Budd. ‘There’s somebody with a carjacking history named Jonah Budd who lives in the area and is known to have used a hammer on one of the female drivers he attacked.’
Brophy focused on him, eyes widening.
‘He struck her on the shoulder. Got sent to Young Offend
ers. He’s on probation for subsequent offences of theft. I’m planning to see him.’
‘Good. What are your plans for interviewing Mrs Lawrence when she’s fit enough?’
‘Like I said, sir, we’ll be guided by the hospital. Will Traynor will talk to her. He’s got specialist skills in communicating with traumatized victims.’ He paused, waited for Brophy to respond. He didn’t. ‘Given the importance to this investigation of getting all the information we can from Mrs Lawrence, we’re lucky we’ve got his expertise. He’s fully aware of the requirements of the PEACE framework.’ He waited, then added a verbal nudge. ‘You know, sir, planning and preparation beforehand, engagement with the witness, followed by obtaining an account, then clarification—’
‘Do you have children, Bernard?’
Wondering where the conversation was going, Watts gave him a direct look, revising a past assumption that Brophy was younger than himself. ‘One daughter, sir.’
‘My wife and I don’t have children.’
Watts made no response to this first personal comment Watts could ever recall from Brophy.
‘Actually, that’s not accurate. We had a son. Kieran. He was given the wrong blood in the hospital when he was born. We watched him die.’
Watts said nothing.
The wall clock ticked on. Brophy straightened. ‘You’re confident about your current investigative direction?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case, carry on. I’m anticipating that the local officers now seconded to the investigation will prove useful.’
‘I’m sure they will, sir.’
Leaving Brophy, thinking that a couple of constables with a working knowledge of the inner city was better than nothing, he returned to his office.
Judd looked up. ‘What did the Bro have to say?’
‘Funny you should ask. It looked like Brophy. It almost sounded like Brophy. It wasn’t. Watch yourself, Judd. There’s body-snatchers in the building.’