by A. J. Cross
He ended the call. ‘Like to know something really interesting which I doubt even you were anticipating? SOCOs are at Westley Country Park. Do you know it, Traynor?’ Getting a headshake, Watts enjoyed the moment. ‘They’re dragging a sizeable pool there, based on information they got from an angler. Care to make a bet on what they’re searching for?’
‘Molly Lawrence’s handbag.’
Monday 17 December. 10.50 p.m.
Watts and Traynor moved over rough paths through heavy tree cover.
‘I’ve shut this whole place down and officers are ready to secure it overnight. We’ll have a quick look and get an early start here in the morning.’
They reached an area of open land dropping steeply to water, Jones heading towards them.
‘We’ve got him, Sarge.’
Jones jabbed his thumb at a male a few metres away wearing a thick coat, waders and a knitted hat with pompom and ear flaps. ‘We got a tip-off he’s been fishing here and he shouldn’t be. His line snagged something. Eventually, he recovered it.’
Watts looked at the darkened scene around them. ‘How did he manage that?’
‘This was earlier, about seven p.m., with a powerful torch, plus’ – he pointed upwards – ‘a goodish moon, before this cloud built up.’
‘He took his time reporting it.’
Jones looked over his shoulder, lowering his voice. ‘According to him, when he first saw the bag, he linked it straight away to what he’d heard on the news about the Lawrence shootings.’
‘And then what did he do?’
‘He threw it back.’ Seeing Watts’ face change, Jones hurried on. ‘He knows he’s not allowed to fish here, so he decided he wouldn’t report it.’
‘So, why’s he still here?’
‘According to him, he hopped it to a mate’s house down the road, had a brandy, some second thoughts and came back. He tried hooking the bag again. When that failed, he called it in—’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Wright, Sarge. Colin Wright. I’ve got all his details.’
They headed for Wright, Traynor murmuring, ‘So far, Mr Wright sounds like one of your public-spirited “types”.’
Seeing them, the man straightened, looking tense.
‘You’re welcome to vote your way, Traynor, but to me he looks and sounds iffy.’
He glanced around for Judd, realized she wasn’t there. ‘I need a scribe … Kumar! Over here.’ As soon as Kumar arrived at his side, Watts gave the nocturnal angler his full attention.
‘Evening, Mr Wright. Detective Inspector Watts. Tell us what happened here.’
Wright gave each of them a nervous glance. ‘It started out as a nice dry evening—’
‘Skip the weather report. I want to know when you arrived, how you arrived, what you did after that and how that’s led to us being really interested in you.’
‘I got here around seven p.m.’ He pointed at a dark-coloured people carrier some distance away. ‘That’s my vehicle over there.’
Watts glanced at it, raised a hand to Reynolds and pointed, watched him move like a greyhound towards it. He turned back to Wright who was now looking very apprehensive. ‘It’s taxed and MOT’d. I know I shouldn’t fish here but where’s the harm?’
‘A magistrate will soon be explaining that to you. Carry on.’
‘I’d just set up here, on my own.’ He looked from Watts to Traynor. ‘I like being on my own. I like fishing. For the solace.’
Watts’ eyes narrowed.
‘I’ve got four kids! I come here for some peace and quiet.’
‘OK, Mr Wright. Get to the point.’
‘I had my line fully out, and I was just sitting waiting and having a quiet smoke.’ He eyed Watts. ‘No, no. Nothing dodgy. I can’t smoke at home. All our kids are asthmatic. Anyway, there I was, waiting and …’ Seeing impatience, he hurried on: ‘Suddenly, the line went taut. Tight as you like. I grabbed up my rod. Gave it a pull. Nothing. Then another. Still nothing. Then, something sort of gave and I thought the line had broken but no, there was still the weight on it.’ Wright was now looking animated. ‘I reeled it in, careful-like, raised the rod which was bent right over and …’ He looked at Watts and whispered, ‘There it was. Swinging from the hook. Sodden. Dripping. The line wrapped around it; the hook caught in it. I pulled it in, reached for it. That’s when I saw it.’
‘Saw what?’ snapped Watts.
‘The pattern of letters on it. Little “G”s all over it. Like they said on the radio. Gucci.’ He pronounced it ‘Gooshey’.
‘What did you do then?’
‘I opened it up and … there was stuff inside.’
Watts stared at him, glanced at Traynor. What this man in his waders and comical hat had just given them was a direct link to the Lawrence shootings. ‘Get the stuff out and have a look at it, did you?’
Wright’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking! I didn’t want to get mixed up in any shootings. I closed the bag up, threw it back into the water and went off to see a friend of mine who lives down the road.’
Watts looked at the water then at Wright. ‘Why?’
‘I was on edge seeing that bag. I didn’t want any part of it, but I’d seen it, hadn’t I?’
‘So, you came back.’
‘Yes. I had a rethink. About what happened to that couple, so I phoned you lot.’
Watts turned on his heel. ‘Be at police headquarters at nine a.m., Mr Wright, to give a statement. Don’t be late.’
‘But I’ve got the school run …’
Watts turned and gave him a look.
‘I’ll be there.’
Wright got into his vehicle and left. Watts watched him go. He started at Traynor’s voice immediately behind him.
‘This is an interesting development.’
An hour later they were still watching the search of the dark pool.
‘If I believe Wright, he’s turned this investigation on its head. If it ever was a robbery, it isn’t now.’ Watts checked his watch. It was well past midnight and he’d called a full briefing for nine thirty in the morning. ‘It’s too dark to find anything now, so I’ll tell them to pack it in—’
A sudden shout brought them to the water’s edge where two officers in waterproofs and watch caps were moving in unison, up to their chests, their arms beneath the icy water, one of which slowly broke the surface, rose into the air, the hand clutching something dark by a long, slender strap.
Watts and Traynor waited as two forensic officers spread white plastic sheeting, watched as one of the search team made it out of the water, a SOCO taking the bag from him in latex-covered hands. Watts and Traynor went to the sheeting. A video camera was raised. They watched another SOCO carefully open the bag and let its contents slide slowly out. The small items were carefully separated. Watts and Traynor got down for a closer look at jewellery, including rings, one with an impressive square stone, an earring which looked similar. What had been done to the Lawrences hadn’t made a lot of sense. Knowing Molly Lawrence’s bag with their valuables still inside had been jettisoned here made even less.
‘Traynor, I’d like you to explain to me what sort of person arms himself, gets into a car, steals jewellery, shoots two people, leaving them for dead, then lobs what he got into a mucky pond.’
Traynor took a pen from his inside pocket, crouched close to the items and carefully repositioned them, absorbing their detail. ‘I don’t know. I’m guessing someone who wanted something else.’ He looked up at Watts. ‘One earring is missing.’
Watts eyed the jewellery. ‘Have a look inside the bag.’
Traynor opened it, inverted it. Nothing fell from it. Watts straightened. ‘I can’t see Wright taking it, leaving the rest, then coming back and phoning us. It looks to me like it got washed into the water. We’ll never find it.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘What’s up?’
‘There’s something here … something I’m missing.’
‘You don’t say. The longer I run this inv
estigation, the more I learn, the less bloody sense it makes, and that, Traynor, is not good.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll shift tomorrow morning’s briefing to the afternoon.’ He looked around. ‘Reynolds!’ The young officer rushed to Watts’ side. ‘Got a job for you. Be at headquarters at nine a.m. to take Colin Wright’s witness statement.’
‘Sir!’
Watts closed his eyes, opened them. ‘When you do, bear in mind that you, as an officer, have the authority in that situation and you use it where necessary. Don’t take any flim-flam, got it?’
He turned to Jones and Kumar standing nearby. ‘And you two Cheshire cats can make yourselves useful by letting the rest of the team know that tomorrow morning’s briefing is delayed to three o’clock, then start talking to the locals back at the scene, like I’ve told you.’ He went to Traynor. ‘I want to talk to everybody who knew the Lawrences. In the morning, I’ll start with Mike Lawrence’s family members. Hopefully I’ll be back at headquarters around one o’clock. I’ll see you then.’
Traynor was looking distracted. ‘That, you will.’
TWENTY-ONE
Tuesday 18 December. 8.45 a.m.
Watts brought the BMW to a halt and looked through the open gates to his left. ‘Let’s hope Brendan Lawrence has got something useful to tell us.’
Judd was skimming her notes. ‘You asked me to phone his sisters. I managed to contact Oona. She described Brendan and Mike Lawrence as very different personalities: Mike much quieter than his brother, Brendan a natural businessman.’
‘Based on?’
‘According to her, he always wanted to be his own boss and he works long hours. She wasn’t sure but she thought Mike might have invested money in Brendan’s business.’
‘I’ve rung him four times, left messages and got no response. When I rang his father, he said Brendan is under a lot of work pressure.’
Judd pulled a face. ‘Join the club.’
Watts released his seatbelt. ‘Let’s get it done.’
They headed for the entrance to the builders’ compound, went inside, Watts pointing. ‘Watch yourself on that pile of wood.’
They continued on to a large, brick-built office, its windows slick with condensation. Watts grasped the door handle, pushed open the door. The man sitting at a desk looked up. As before, the similarity between him and his younger brother was striking.
‘What do you want? I’m busy.’ Watts flipped his ID and Lawrence’s face changed. ‘Ah, I’ve been meaning to return your call—’
‘That’s all right, Mr Lawrence. Assuming you’ve got a few minutes to spare, we can talk now. This is PC Judd who’s part of the investigation into your brother’s murder.’
He stood, then came towards Watts, his hand outstretched. ‘I do apologize for not getting back to you.’ He smiled, took Judd’s hand and held on to it. ‘People assume that building companies are dormant in the winter. It isn’t the case.’ Watts’ eyes drifted over him, a memory surfacing of Mike Lawrence sitting inside his car, quietly dying. They took the seats Lawrence was indicating.
‘Mr Lawrence, we’re doing all we can to investigate the shooting of your brother and his wife, which is why we’re here.’
Lawrence gave them a startled look. ‘I thought it was more or less sorted. That it was an attack on their car by some low-life that went wrong.’
‘We’re investigating a number of possibilities. We’re talking to all family members, friends, colleagues and other associates of both your brother and sister-in-law to see if they can shed any light on it.’
‘I don’t have a clue what happened if it wasn’t what we’ve read in the press.’ He gave Judd a fleeting glance. ‘I don’t think I can be of much help.’ Seeing a frown arriving on Watts’ face, he said, ‘I think I need to put you in the picture about Mike and me. We weren’t close.’ He hurried on. ‘I’m as upset as everyone else about what’s happened. What I mean is we were very different people. Did you know he went to art college? I went straight into the building industry and when I decided I’d learned enough, I started up on my own.’ He sat back, eyeing Watts. ‘I employ fifteen full-time workers, plus seasonal help, all of it producing a healthy turnover.’
‘A costly business,’ observed Watts. ‘Equipment doesn’t come cheap.’
‘You’re right about that, but we’re doing well.’
‘Get some help from the family, did you?’
Lawrence frowned. ‘Is that relevant to your investigation?’ Watts waited. ‘A few hundred from my dad to get me started but that was about it.’
Watts nodded. ‘I know how it is, being born into a big family. Money’s scarce.’
Lawrence’s face was registering impatience. ‘I understand you’ve got a job to do but so have I. As I’ve said, I doubt I can be of any—’
‘Did your brother Mike invest in your company?’
Lawrence stared at him. ‘Hardly. He was still at college when I set up this place.’
‘How about later?’
Lawrence’s eyes settled briefly on Watts, moved away. ‘No.’ He stood, pulled back his sleeve to expose a large wristwatch.
Watts ignored the hint. ‘You’re saying that your brother never invested in your business as a going concern, once it was established?’ Watts watched a lot of thinking going on behind Lawrence’s eyes.
‘I don’t see the relevance of your questions.’
‘Don’t let that worry you, Mr Lawrence, just give me an answer.’
‘I approached Mike for a loan a couple of years back. The usual cashflow problem that besets building firms. I presented it as an investment. He refused, as was his right, of course. It didn’t cause any friction between us, although I’d rather you didn’t tell my parents or anybody else in the family about it. They’ve got enough to think about, right now, and anyway, it’s all history. Mike and I are … were always civil to each other. It wasn’t money, it was more to do with the difference in our personalities which created a distance between us.’
He gave a quick laugh. ‘I’m the boss of a lot of hairy ar—’ He glanced in Judd’s direction. ‘I chase profits, keep my lads in work. My brother spent his working hours drawing nice, coloured pictures of rooms for clients with money to burn.’ His eyes went to his desk and a photograph of a blonde woman. He looked up. ‘I’m explaining the differences between me and Mike. I’m not being critical.’
‘I get it,’ said Watts. ‘What about Molly, your sister-in-law?’
‘What about her?’
‘How’d you get on with her?’
‘Fine. She’s a nice woman, although I haven’t had that much to do with her since she married Mike.’
‘Knew her before, did you?’
‘What? No. I’m just saying that since she joined the family our paths haven’t crossed that often.’
‘Anything else you’d like to tell us about your brother? His friends? Associates?’
‘I already told you, our lives were completely different. I never met any of his friends.’
‘And he never mentioned them?’
‘No.’
As Watts and then Judd stood, Lawrence went quickly to the door to show them out.
Back in the BMW, Watts asked, ‘What do you make of him?’
She looked across at the office. ‘He was happiest when we left.’
‘My take on what we just heard is that he and his brother didn’t get on and the relationship between them is unlikely to have improved when brother Mike wouldn’t stump up the money he needed.’ He started the engine. ‘And I’m not too satisfied as to how he was able to start up a company like this in the first place.’
Judd studied her notes. ‘Brendan Lawrence has a way of looking at a female without actually seeming to look, if you get my drift.’
He glanced across at her. ‘I get it,’ he said, thinking it was a pity her good judgement had let her down big-time a couple of nights back. ‘It’s time we got a different perspective on Brendan Lawrence and his brother Mik
e.’
A half hour’s drive brought them outside a large, white Georgian-style house behind decorative yet sturdy metal gates. Watts nodded towards it. ‘On the face of it, it looks like Mike Lawrence missed a good business opportunity.’
He got out his phone, tapped a number, waited. ‘Mrs Brendan Lawrence? This is Detective Inspector Bernard Watts. I’m outside. I need to talk to you.’
He ended the call, watched the gates drift slowly, quietly open. ‘It’s time you worked for your keep, Judd.’
The woman who opened the door after a short delay looked similar to the one in the photograph on Brendan Lawrence’s desk. Watts held up his ID. She scarcely looked at it.
‘I was just finishing a swim. Come on in.’
Watts and Judd exchanged swift glances as she adjusted the silky robe fully closed, turned and walked barefoot across the wide hall. They followed her into a huge sitting room overlooking a rear garden.
‘Have seats. How about a drink?’
She went to a low sideboard supporting enough bottles to host an impromptu party without disappointing anybody.
‘Not for us, Mrs Lawrence.’
She turned to look at them. ‘Of course. You’re on duty. Well, I’m not, so I’ll have one.’
She gave Judd a second glance. ‘Are you on work experience?’
Notebook in hand, voice firm, Judd said, ‘Your full name, please, Mrs Lawrence.’
‘Gemma Lawrence. That’s with a “G”.’
Watts said, ‘Mrs Lawrence, I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder of your brother-in-law and the attempted murder of his wife.’
She sat on the sofa next to him, the robe sliding open to show tanned, well-shaped legs. ‘We’re talking to all members of the family and—’
‘Poor Mike.’ She raised her glass, took a mouthful of brandy, swallowed. ‘He had everything to live for. Has anybody told you she was pregnant?’
‘We’re aware of that,’ said Judd. ‘Tell us what you know about Mike and Molly Lawrence.’
She shrugged. ‘We didn’t see them that often. Brendan and Mike didn’t have a lot in common and making small talk with an accountant and an interior decorator isn’t my idea of a good time.’ She gazed around the large, square room, at swag curtains, deep-buttoned chairs, pointed to a black leather and wood chair some distance away.