by A. J. Cross
She rubbed her arms as though cold. ‘I’m not sure I want it back.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘I remember afterwards … when he’d gone … I felt for it in my pocket and … it got sticky. From my hand.’
He made a quick note. ‘Is there anything else you want to say about what happened that night?’
He wrote the now-familiar words she had used before when describing the progression of events that night. He could not recall anyone he had worked with who had had such rigidly fixed recall. Focused on his note-taking, he allowed no hint of frustration on to his face. Reaching the point where their belongings had been taken, her voice slowed, then stopped. She added none of the detail she had divulged previously. He looked up at her. She looked away, towards the window.
‘I’m sorry, Will, but I just can’t go there again. We need to finish this. I’m wasting your time.’
Traynor was now certain that he would not gain any additional information from her within a timescale useful to his colleagues, yet he had a professional responsibility towards her.
‘How do you feel about talking to someone who has nothing to do with the police investigation? Someone to help you make sense of what’s happened.’
She looked at him. ‘Who?’
‘The person I have in mind specializes in working with people who have experienced trauma, to help them adjust, to face the future.’
‘Who?’ she repeated.
‘She’s a forensic psychiatrist—’
‘No!’
Her vehemence was unexpected. ‘That’s OK, Molly. It’s your choice. If you change your mind, let me know—’
‘I won’t.’
He looked at her, wondering what might be behind her refusal to cause such a stark response. She turned away from him. ‘I don’t want to do that. I had a friend, years ago. She saw a psychiatrist. She told me it was horrendous. I can’t do it, Will. I’ve been through enough.’ She stood. ‘I’m tired.’
He walked with her to the hall, watched as she slowly climbed the stairs. Mrs Monroe appeared from the kitchen. He had no reassuring words for this woman.
‘I’ll phone you in a couple of days, just to see how she is.’
He drove away from the house, preoccupied with the whole case.
5 p.m.
Inside the incident room all eyes were on Kumar writing up the details Jones was relating. ‘We’ve talked to some of the close relatives, friends and associates of Mr and Mrs Lawrence, specifically to Mike Lawrence’s parents, his brother and his two sisters to try and establish if it’s possible that whoever attacked them knew them. They were really upset by the idea. None of them said anything which suggested to us that Mike Lawrence and his wife were shot by someone they knew.’ He waited for Kumar to catch up.
‘Where did you see Brendan Lawrence?’ asked Watts.
‘His business premises. He said you’d been there, Sarge. We know he’s a person of interest but he didn’t say anything to us that sounded useful. He didn’t look well and he mentioned he was planning to take a few days off. Do you want us to see him again? Maybe at his home?’
‘No.’ Watts looked around the room. ‘Anything else on the Lawrences’ relatives, friends and associates?’
‘Reynolds has made contact with two of his friends, Sarge. A Simon Williams and a Matthew Barnes.’
Reynolds stood, one hand raised, a leftover from the sixth former he’d been in the not-so-distant past. ‘Simon Williams told me that Mrs Lawrence has very few close relatives. Mr Lawrence is from a large family. He said he met Mike Lawrence at college, but contact between them was very limited since Lawrence got married.’
Watts eyed him. ‘You asked why?’
The young officer shook his head.
‘Got any theory on it, Reynolds?’
‘I was thinking that being married and all that, they had other things to do …’ Hearing several low laughs, he looked flustered.
‘What else did you get from this Williams?’
‘He works from home. He’s some sort of designer for a toy company. He lives about four miles from the Lawrences’ house. He doesn’t know Molly Lawrence that well. He said he has no idea why anyone would do either of them harm. He also said that Mike Lawrence had told him that his wife was pregnant.’ He looked up at Watts. ‘He did give me the name of one person Mike Lawrence didn’t get along with: Damien Alphon.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘He said he was one of Mike Lawrence’s work colleagues.’
‘And?’ He waited. ‘What about this other friend, Matthew Barnes?’
Reynolds quickly turned a page, his eyes searching the detail. ‘Matthew Barnes and Mike Lawrence were friends for years, a similar story to the one I got from Williams.’ He gave Watts a quick look. ‘He told me he dated Mrs Lawrence very briefly before she met Mike Lawrence.’
‘And you asked him about that and how he felt about what’s happened to her?’
‘No, sir. It seemed a bit … personal.’
Ignoring more grins and eye-rolls, Watts regarded the young officer, now a beacon of discomfort. ‘You need to start asking the next question. Make it soon because I’m getting older by the minute.’ Some officers were sending sympathetic looks to the hapless Reynolds. ‘Anything else?’ He waited out more page-searching.
‘Yes, sir. I went to Mike Lawrence’s place of work. It’s an interior design company. I asked to see the boss there, a Sebastian Engar, but he wasn’t there. I tried asking a few of the other employees what they knew about Mike Lawrence. They said Mr Engar had told them not to discuss it. That he would provide the police with “all relevant information” at a later time.’
Watts took the notes from Reynolds and looked at them. ‘Very neat, Reynolds. Very clear. Just bear in mind the next time you’re on a visit that you are the police and they give you whatever you ask for.’
‘Sir.’ Reynolds quickly sat.
‘I’ll be seeing Williams, Alphon and Engar.’ Watts searched for Judd. ‘You’ll be on the visits with me—’
‘Sir?’ Reynolds half-rose. ‘Mr Engar’s on holiday.’
‘Nice to know you’re on the ball, Reynolds.’ He picked up a note. ‘A forensic update: still awaiting fingerprint and DNA testing of the gun, DNA testing of Molly Lawrence’s clothing, plus fingerprint analysis of her watch. Needless to say, if any DNA was transferred from her upper body on to her clothes, it’ll be our silver bullet. Not the best analogy in the circumstances, but accurate.’ He paused, glanced at Traynor.
‘Will has an update.’
Traynor stood. ‘I spoke with Molly Lawrence for the third time, earlier today. It’s extremely unlikely that she will be able to supply this investigation with a more detailed account of the attack on her and her husband. She has also declined to speak with PC Judd about the sexual aspect of it. I’m considering a possible change of approach with her. If I decide there’s a chance it could assist this case, I’ll discuss it with Detective Inspector Watts.’
Amid a low buzz of talk, Watts reached for his file. ‘That’s it for now.’
He headed for the door looking irritated, hooking a finger at Jones. Outside the incident room, he turned to him, forefinger raised.
‘You don’t send somebody who’s got about as much nous as a nun at a swingers’ party to do visits you should be doing with him. How else is he going to learn?’
‘Sorry, Sarge. We’re up to here with investigative visits, paperwork, and I thought Reynolds—’
‘Who isn’t “up to here”? What you do is your job, part of which is to have Reynolds with you on visits so he can see how you do it!’ He turned and headed downstairs, Jones following him.
‘There’s another mate of Mike Lawrence’s I haven’t managed to make contact with so far, Sarge. Benedict Sill.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Back in his office, Watts was feeling rattled. Traynor’s admission of what amounted to defeat with Molly Lawrence wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. He looked at the
board, his eyes drifting over what was up there. Brendan Lawrence’s name got his attention. Except for the extra weight, he could almost be a twin of his dead brother. Was this case one of mistaken identity? Were the shootings motivated by a business-related grudge against Brendan, and brother Mike died as a result? In Watts’ experience, builders overcharged, disregarded completion dates and were a pain in the tail. To his knowledge nobody had ever killed one because of it.
He ran his hands through his hair, reached for the desk phone, dialled the number for Sebastian Engar, Mike Lawrence’s boss. After a brief exchange, during which he learned that Engar would be in his office at the end of the week, he said, ‘Please inform Mr Engar that I’ll see him at his office on Friday. I’ll see Damien Alphon at the same time.’ He ended the call as Judd came in.
‘I want you in here at eight in the morning. Thanks to Reynolds’ non-attention to detail, we’ll be seeing Simon Williams and Matthew Barnes, the two mates of Mike Lawrence’s. On Friday we visit Sebastian Engar at his business address where we’ll also see Damien Alphon.’
She was looking keen. ‘How about I go and see Williams and Barnes and you see Engar and Alphon on Friday? Or the other way around. Whatever you want … OK, I’ll be here at eight.’
Within twenty minutes of Judd leaving, Watts had tracked down a phone number for Benedict Sill.
TWENTY-FOUR
Thursday 20 December. 9.50 a.m.
A youngish man with a wispy beard opened the door in response to Watts’ ring. He and Judd absorbed the baggy jeans, flip-flops and ratty-looking sweatshirt.
‘Mr Williams? Detective Inspector Watts and Police Constable Judd. I phoned you.’
Williams stepped back. They walked inside. The place was a muddle, but warm and clean-looking. Williams went ahead of them, moving what looked to be laundry in need of an iron from a couple of chairs. ‘Sorry for the mess, but I’m working to a deadline. Sit down.’
Judd took out her notebook. Watts evaluated Williams. On first examination he looked to be a gangling youth, although he had to be in his early thirties if he was a contemporary of Mike Lawrence. ‘You’ve already had a visit so you know why we’re here, Mr Williams. To talk about Michael and Molly Lawrence.’
‘Yes. Sorry, hang on.’
He disappeared through a door. They waited, picking up a smell of burning, heard a muttered expletive and the sound of a toaster ejecting something. Judd jabbed her pen at a nearby worktable. Watts eyed the large-screen computer, surrounded by what looked to be bits of plastic of various shapes and colours.
Williams was back, grinning. ‘Breakfast beyond saving. It can wait.’ He dropped on to a nearby chair, his face serious. ‘I just can’t get my head around what’s happened to Mike and his wife.’ He shook his head. ‘What a tragedy.’
‘Tell us all you know about them, Mr Williams.’
‘Mike has been on my mind since I first read about it. He was a mild, cool kind of guy, you know? We were students at the same college but following different courses. Mike was into art and design. I was on the digital arts course but we hung around together when we weren’t in lectures.’ He nodded to the table. ‘I design activities.’
Watts glanced at it. ‘You mean for kids?’
‘They’re not toys. They’re constructional. The people who buy my stuff are all ages, from eight to eighty.’
‘I’ve seen them in shops,’ said Judd. ‘Somebody I know who’s into that kind of construction says they’re great.’
Watts asked, ‘You knew Mike Lawrence for quite a while?’
‘It was an on-off friendship, but yes.’
‘Start by telling us about the off part of it.’
Williams looked nonplussed. ‘No, no. I didn’t mean that the way it might have come across. We got on well as students.’ He grinned. ‘Both interested in the pub, women, you know.’ Seeing Watts waiting, he carried on. ‘As I said, we just hung around together. After we finished our degrees, our paths diverged.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens. We still met up occasionally. When Mike got married, that got less, of course, but when we did see each other, it was always a good catch-up.’
‘What about Mrs Lawrence?’
‘What about her?’
‘How much contact did you have with her, Mr Williams?’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean, “contact”?’
Watts sent him a direct look. ‘How often did you see her, where did you see her, who was there, who’s idea was it—’
‘I get it. There’s not much to tell. I met her two or three times, always with Mike, so I didn’t know her that well. Actually, she wasn’t at all what I expected.’
‘Say again?’
‘I knew some of the women Mike had dated. They were’ – he shrugged – ‘straightforward, I suppose. Molly struck me as very serious. Not somebody given to small talk.’
‘And you didn’t see much of her.’
‘I didn’t see that much of either of them once they were married. Mike phoned me a few weeks back to say that Molly was pregnant. He sounded really chuffed. I decided to cool it a bit. They had enough to do and think about.’
‘When was the last time you had direct contact with either of them?’
They waited as Williams appeared to think about it.
‘It had to be shortly after he phoned me. I dropped in at their place one day when I was passing and saw Mike’s car outside. It was the first time I’d been there. It was really nice. All the expensive mod cons.’ He grinned, looked around. ‘No living like a student any more for Mike. Molly was at work. Mike showed me the room they were going to make into the nursery. He had colour charts and stuff …’ Williams looked at the floor. ‘When I heard what happened to them, like I said, I couldn’t believe it. It sounds like they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because of what it said on the news. About the area.’
‘Know it, do you?’
‘What? No. I hardly ever go into the city.’ He indicated the room. ‘This is where I spend most of my work time.’
‘What about when you’re not working?’
‘I tend to stay local. See a few mates.’
‘Are you married, Mr Williams?’
He frowned. ‘No. Not that that’s relev—’
‘Did you and Mike Lawrence have friends in common?’
‘A couple, yes. Matthew Barnes. Benedict Sill.’
Watts’ eyes fastened on Williams. ‘Has there been any contact between you and either of those two individuals recently?’
Williams’ eyes went from him to Judd and back. ‘No, none.’
Watts slow-nodded. ‘Work gets in the way of life, right?’
Williams didn’t reply. His legs jiggled.
‘This Benedict Sill. Where’s he?’
‘I’ve no idea. I can’t provide any details for Matt either. In the past, when I met up with them it would be Mike who arranged it.’
‘Is there anybody else you know who was a friend of Mike Lawrence?’ He watched Williams choose his words.
‘Not a friend, exactly. Sebastian Engar was Mike’s employer. Seb has to be in his fifties but from what Mike told me I got the impression that Seb thought highly of him. So highly, according to Mike, he was planning to hand over the daily running of the company to him when he retired.’
Watts gazed at him. ‘Was he, now? Very generous.’
Williams shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure about that. Mike would have had all the work and you can bet that Seb would have kept his eyes on everything he did. The way I see it, you can’t beat being your own boss.’
‘Mike wasn’t that keen on what his boss was proposing?’
‘I can’t really say, although I told him what I thought about it. Molly was probably keen, but I don’t know that for sure.’
‘Why would Mrs Lawrence have been keen?’
‘Mike told me she wanted him to strike out on his own.’ He shrugged again. ‘Mike was m
uch too cautious for that. It sounded to me like taking over the running of the company from Seb might have appealed to both of them as an ideal compromise, but like I said, I can’t be sure of that.’
‘You know this Mr Engar?’
‘Only from what Mike said. He showed me a couple of photos of the people he worked with and Seb was in one of them.’
‘Anybody else you want to tell us about?’ Watts waited. ‘You’re looking uneasy, Mr Williams.’
‘Of course I am. You’re the police and it feels odd to give people’s names to you, even if they’re people I barely know.’ He looked up to find Watts waiting, his eyes fixed on him. ‘There is somebody else. My impression was that Mike was dubious about him, but I never actually met him. One of Mike’s colleagues. All I know is that Mike didn’t like him. There was some sort of issue between them. From the little Mike said, it could have been jealousy because Seb favoured Mike.’
‘Got a name?’
‘Damien Alphon.’
During a brief face-to-face conversation with Matthew Barnes at the clothes shop he owned, Barnes had supplied Watts with information about Mike Lawrence in terms similar to those provided by Williams. He confirmed some indirect awareness of Mike’s work colleagues, specifically that there was friction between Mike and a co-worker named Damien Alphon. Questions asked about Molly Lawrence hadn’t produced anything informative beyond Barnes’ confirmation that yes, he had very briefly dated Molly Lawrence some twelve months prior to her marrying Mike, and that neither of them had regarded the brief courtship as important.
‘A couple of dates for drinks, another for a meal and that was it. She was really good looking, you know, but not my type.’ Asked by Watts what his ‘type’ was, Barnes had grinned, eyeing Judd.
‘Oh, you know, somebody who’s up for some fun, who likes a good time. Molly struck me as way too serious.’ He grinned. ‘The old “ball-and-chain” type, but Mike seemed happy enough with it.’
By the time they left the shop, Watts’ head was pulsing from what passed for music playing non-stop inside it.