Devil in the Detail

by A. J. Cross

  She shook her head. ‘He was there and then, gone. He ran. Very fast. Away from the car.’ She frowned, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

  ‘Wait.’ She took a couple of steps forward, her eyes wide. Everyone was now looking at her. ‘He was running …’ She whispered, the video cameras quietly whirring. ‘He ran … I don’t know how far … and suddenly, from nowhere, there were some people there. Two, three of them. Younger than him. Much younger. He high-fived one. I watched, heard whoops and’ – she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper – ‘laughs. They were laughing as … my husband was … quietly drifting away from me …’

  Traynor came to her, his voice soft. ‘Molly?’

  She looked up at him, dazed. ‘I just remembered. I just remembered how they were. He had just shot both of us … and they were’ – she shook her head – ‘celebrating. How could anybody do that?’

  Judd reached out to her, held her arm. ‘You did really well, Molly.’

  Getting a nod from Traynor, Watts raised his hand to Miller.

  Molly Lawrence looked up at him. ‘I’d like to see the video sometime.’ She turned and walked away with Miller.

  They came into the office, each of them looking worn. ‘It wasn’t one person,’ said Judd. ‘Not a lone gunman. It was one man and probably some inner-city kids.’

  Watts sat by Traynor. ‘Before the records are searched and I send out all the officers I’ve got, can we trust her memory?’

  Traynor was looking preoccupied. ‘I need to view the video. I’m waiting for a phone call from forensics.’

  ‘What’s Molly like as a person, Will?’ asked Julian. ‘How certain do you think she is about what she’s told us?’

  ‘I’ve only seen her under extreme duress. I don’t know.’

  ‘When you worked with her, she wasn’t confident like she mostly was just now?’

  ‘No.’

  The phone rang. Traynor took the call, ended it. ‘We can look at the videos.’

  On the forensic floor they watched in silence as first one then the other video, differing only in angle, played out on the huge, high definition screen, Molly Lawrence looking calm, her voice firm in the main, a little hesitant at times. The second video ran its course, Molly smiling and beckoning to its operator. The big screen darkened.

  ‘She’s given key information we didn’t have,’ said Watts.

  Traynor gave an absent nod.

  ‘What she’s said changes everything,’ said Judd. ‘We need to move on it.’ She stared at Watts. ‘Sarge, we need every available officer in that area, shaking things up—’

  ‘Let it rest for a bit.’

  Frustrated, she leant on her forearms. ‘I just noticed the way she talked about what happened. It sounded weird at times, like she was describing something that had happened to somebody else.’

  ‘That’s not unusual,’ said Traynor. ‘It probably helped her to stay distanced.’

  Watts’ eyes were still on the blank screen. He had to make a decision on when to flood the inner city with as many officers as he could spare to find the kids Molly Lawrence had described. He agreed with Judd that Molly Lawrence had sounded odd. He had a pretty good idea why.

  ‘I’ve been involved in and seen a lot of reconstructions which I know are different to what we’ve done, but my point is I’ve watched witnesses do and say stuff you wouldn’t believe. Some completely change the accounts they gave, others cry, crack jokes, laugh in odd places, even throw up in one or two cases.’ Judd’s nose wrinkled. ‘You can never anticipate how a person might react, what they might say in that kind of situation, especially if they were both victim and witness. Whatever happened, whatever they saw, they’re convinced that they stared death in the face. Molly Lawrence is your prime example. What do you say, Traynor?’ They waited. ‘Traynor?’

  Julian stepped in. ‘My reading of what we’ve just seen is that Molly Lawrence appears to be dissociating from the experience, right Will?’

  Traynor nodded. ‘When I saw her previously, she was blocking her recall as a means of self-preservation. Today, dissociation seems to have helped her get through the process by keeping her emotionally distanced from what she was recalling.’

  ‘Like, she wasn’t there. Wasn’t part of it,’ said Judd.

  Watts stood. ‘I have to decide what I do about these young types she described.’

  The door opened. An officer came inside. ‘Sarge? Manchester is on the line for Julian.’ He turned to him. ‘You’ve been recalled, Jules.’

  Judd absorbed the four words, watched Julian head for the door.

  At home, Traynor raised the remote a third time, skipped through Molly Lawrence’s arrival, let it run on, watched her directing the officer with the video camera, holding herself together. What they had was brief but better than he had hoped for. The re-enactment had provided what he wanted. Back to the beginning again, he ran the video a fourth time and listened. ‘I expected it to be here.’

  His computer bleeped. He looked at an email response to one he had sent earlier that day, a reply he hadn’t anticipated this close to the holiday period. It was a coroner’s report. He read it twice and activated the video again. Each time the same four words grabbed at him. Handbag … on the floor.

  3.45 p.m.

  Watts went down to reception, immediately seeing the person he was looking for. As always, he was hard to miss.

  ‘Thanks for coming in on a Saturday.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Watts led him into the informal interview room. ‘Have a seat.’

  Watts sat opposite him. ‘OK, Nigel. Let’s talk some more about the shooting at Forge Street.’

  Nigel shook his large head. ‘Sorry, I did what you said, left it alone, but nothing’s come back to me.’

  Watts studied him. ‘You walk that dog of yours regularly.’

  ‘Three times a day.’

  ‘What time’s the last walk?’

  Nigel shrugged. ‘Ten thirty, give or take half an hour. All depends on Abdul and customer flow.’

  ‘You were around Forge Street that night.’

  ‘You know I was.’

  Watts looked him in the eye. ‘You told me you didn’t recall seeing anything except a car with all its doors closed.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How about another night since then? There hasn’t been that many. Think about it,’ he invited.

  Elbows on the table, Nigel rubbed the stubble on his lower face. Watts saw something happening, deep in his eyes. ‘Come on, Nige.’

  ‘That place is always deserted, and for good reason. Anybody who goes down there’s got a death wish – apologies to the woman whose husband got done there but that’s a fact, Mr Watts.’

  Watts lowered his voice. ‘That’s exactly what I think. I also think that the place is no problem for a big lad like you, plus dog.’

  ‘Ha! It’s a bloody shi’itzu!’

  ‘You’re getting my drift, Nige. Much as you don’t like the place, it doesn’t hold any fear for a big lad like you, who’s light on his feet.’

  Nigel nodded. ‘You got that right.’

  ‘I’ll ask you again. What about the few nights since the shootings? You’ll have been out in the area, following your usual routine, you and the dog, walking that street, looking, listening.’ He waited. ‘Come on! I’m turning myself inside out here building the picture, laying it out …’

  ‘There was one time I did see somebody. Two people. But that was a couple of nights before the shootings.’

  Watts stared at him, swallowing hard. ‘Why didn’t you bloody tell us? Tell me everything you remember, and I mean everything.’

  Nigel shrugged. ‘That’s it. I couldn’t see them that well because it was dark and with the street lights being out, it’s black as the ace—’

  ‘What time was this?’

  Nigel puffed out his cheeks. ‘Around nine-thirty-ish, near as I can recall. The shop was quiet. The dog spotted it first. Movement. Arou
nd that abandoned garage. It’s a yappy little sod so I picked it up to quieten it. That’s when I heard low voices. It sounded like a bloke and somebody younger-sounding, a kid, although they were too far away for me to hear what was said.’

  Watts waited, gave him a direct look. ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘Nothing. Just walking slow-like, looking around.’

  ‘Did you get a proper look at either of them?’ Watts sat forward. ‘Come on. I need your head on this, Nige. Start with the bloke. What did he look like?’

  ‘Just a bloke. On the big-ish side, dark hair but that’s just an impression. I wasn’t taking much—’

  ‘Did he look like anybody you’d seen before?’ He waited. ‘Did he move in a way that reminded you of somebody local?’ He watched Nigel’s forehead crease in concentration as he stared down at the table, giving it some thought. Finally, he looked up at Watts, who leant forward.

  ‘No.’

  Exasperated, Watts changed tack. ‘OK, this kid, you mentioned. Did he look at all familiar to you? Was there anything about him that struck a chord?’

  Nigel considered it. ‘Like I said, they were a way off from me.’ His face cleared. ‘I’ve just remembered. He was wearing a baseball cap.’

  Watts was thinking that as an identifier a baseball cap had serious limitations. But Molly Lawrence had described youngsters at the scene and Watts now had a particular individual in mind.

  ‘You know a young kid from your area called Presley—?’

  ‘It wasn’t Presley.’

  Watts stared at him. ‘Hang on. How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Huey brings him into Abdul’s shop occasionally. It wasn’t Presley. He’s too tall. Too thin.’

  Watts sighed. ‘Carry on. Tell me what this pair were up to.’

  ‘I’ve told you. We watched ’em, me and the dog. They were just wandering around, talking and then’– Watts sat forward, shoulders bunched – ‘they took off.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘They went.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  Watts sat back. ‘Did you see or hear anything as they went?’

  ‘Like what?’

  He glared at Nigel. ‘My hair has nearly reached my shoulders in the time we’ve been sat here! The sound of a vehicle! Anything.’

  He looked at Watts. ‘Now you mention it, I did hear something like that, but it was quiet, not much to speak of …’ The big face split into a grin. ‘Now, I’m thinking it might have been one of those electric jobs, or diesel, like a taxi? Like I said, they took off, the bloke first in the direction of a slip road that leads on to the main thoroughfare. The other one, the kid in the baseball cap, hung around a bit then took off in the same direction.’

  Nigel had gone, Watts was heading for his office, Nigel’s statement in his hand, his head full of one question.

  If this wasn’t robbery, why in God’s name would one person and a kid, or any number of kids, set out to kill an interior designer and his accountant wife?

  10.05 p.m.

  Huey Whyte was relaxing, drink in one hand, roll-up in the other, eyes half-closed. Letisha lifted the remote to the television. ‘Why’d you bother with that depressing crap?’ he murmured.

  ‘I like the news and, in case you’ve forgot, this happens to be my place.’

  She sat up, raised her face to the ceiling. Huey pulled his woollen hat over his ears, hunched his shoulders. ‘Presley! You get out o’ that bathroom now, and get to bed!’ She shook her head. ‘You need to talk to him. He spends too much time messin’ about.’ She pointed to the television screen. ‘Look. That murder is on the news again. The one where that couple got shot.’ Huey’s eyes were already on footage of church doors, people coming outside, a preacher-type shaking hands with them. Letisha pointed again. ‘That could be the mother and father of one of them …’

  ‘If you listened, you’d know.’

  ‘I don’t need no listenin’. See? It’s obvious. Father, mother and … some other relatives …’

  Huey was picking up the news voiceover. ‘Earlier today, the Lawrence family attended a service for their murdered son at their local church: Mr Lawrence’s parents, his two sisters and—’

  Huey came upright, eyes riveted on the screen, ears closed to his sister’s voice. The screen changed to another news item. He sat back unseeing. He’d already had one brush with DI Watts about that gun. Now he was anticipating a second. It would all come out. He would be in deep— He got a poke in the ribs.

  ‘I said, do you fancy a taco, or some o’ that chilli rice?’ He was on his feet, reaching for his coat. ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Out!’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sunday 23 December. 9.30 a.m.

  Restlessness had brought Watts into headquarters. He needed to decide on the best way of responding to what Molly Lawrence had told them which didn’t include going mob-handed into an already touchy area of the inner city. Going through message slips left for him, he stopped at one timed at 10.20 p.m. the previous evening, an unnamed caller wanting to speak to him. He rang the number. A cautious-sounding male voice responded.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘This is DI Watts. I’m looking at a message you left me last night.’

  ‘About bloody time.’

  Watts frowned. The voice was familiar. ‘What’s up, Huey?’

  ‘I might have information for you.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘The shooting of that couple.’

  Watts’ eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t say. Is this the same Huey Whyte who denied knowing anything? Make it snappy. I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘Before I give you what I’m ringing about, I want some guarantees.’

  Watts laughed. ‘Get real.’

  ‘I’m serious. I’ve got life sorted, see. I don’t do nothing, trouble-wise, you hear what I’m saying? I’m living mostly at my sister’s. I help her with Presley. He’s sharp, Mr Watts. He’s got a future and I want—’

  ‘We all have “wants”, Huey. Mine right now is for you to tell me why you’ve phoned.’ He waited out the long pause.

  ‘I don’t watch the box but my sister had it on last night. The news. About that shooting. I saw somebody. If I tell you, you’ll know that that business with the gun you’re interested in is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Is that a fact? Tell me what you’ve got.’ He reached for messages he hadn’t yet read, picked up one, read it, let it drop, reached for more.

  ‘I recognized him.’

  ‘Recognized who?’

  ‘That Lawrence bloke. Not the one that got shot. His brother.’

  Message slips fell from Watts’ hand.

  ‘He’s a builder. He looks a bit older, a bit heavier than I remember, but it was him all right, you hear what I’m sayin’? I had a bit of business with him, nine, ten years back. His firm was doing a lot of refurbing in the area back then. He was looking for a plasterer.’

  ‘And being a graduate of HMP The Green in just that subject, you said, “I’ll do it, Gov”. So what?’

  ‘So, he needed something else. He must have asked around. He comes to me. Says he needs to make a purchase. A shooter.’

  Watts’ head was racing. ‘Say that again, and slow.’

  ‘He asked me to get him a gun.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You already know about that Russian piece. I told you I didn’t have it no more. That’s where it went. I sold it to him for five large.’

  ‘You’re telling me Brendan Lawrence paid you five hundred quid for that gun?’ Huey didn’t respond. ‘Did he say why he wanted it?’

  ‘Yeah. Security. Told me his house was secluded and his old lady nervous.’ There was a pause. ‘Look, I want to get off my phone and I don’t want to see you hanging around my family, asking no more questions—’

  ‘I want a statement from you.’

  ‘No! You’ve got it all. That’s it.’

  Watts looked up
as the door opened and Judd came in. ‘Get real, Huey. You made an illegal gun sale. That gun has been used in a homicide and I don’t care how long ago it was that you had your hands on it, I want everything you know about Brendan Lawrence and that gun.’ He waited out a long pause, feeling Judd’s eyes on him. ‘Look at it this way. Kids like your Presley need stability. You cooperate on this and there’s a possibility you’ll be around to make sure he has some. Get yourself here. Somebody will be waiting to take that statement.’

  Ending the call, he went to one of the filing cabinets, searched the files, dragged one of them out, found what he was looking for. He phoned the incident room. Kumar’s voice sounded in his ear. ‘I’m expecting Huey Whyte here to make a statement. Give it an hour. If he’s a no-show, you and Jones get over to this address. It’s another of Huey Whyte’s occasional boltholes. He sold Brendan Lawrence the gun that was used on his brother and sister-in-law.’

  ‘You want us to bring Whyte in, Sarge?’

  ‘Not yet. Just don’t let him out of your sight if he leaves that location.’

  He ended the call, then looked at Judd who was waiting. ‘There’s somewhere you and me need to be.’

  23 December. 1.15 p.m.

  They drove between the familiar wrought-iron gates, along the curving drive and stopped near to several parked cars. ‘Looks like a Sunday family gathering,’ he said, recalling similar events in his own background, minus the ritzy backdrop.

  They got out, walked towards the front door. It was opened by Brendan Lawrence. He was looking tense. ‘DI Watts and PC Judd, Mr Lawrence. Apologies for dropping in on a weekend. We’ve met before, very briefly.’

  Lawrence shook his head. ‘Sorry, this isn’t convenient. My family’s been through the wringer during the last few days and my parents and my sisters are here for lunch. They don’t need any more upset …’

  ‘It’s you we want to talk to, Mr Lawrence.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I’m guessing you’d prefer it to be in private.’

  The colour leaving his face, Lawrence stepped back. They went inside. Gemma Lawrence appeared from one of the rooms off the hall, saw Watts and Judd.