“You’re the doctor. You suffocate people so easily, and you seem to know exactly how to extract information, except it didn’t work so well with the old lady.”
Starr sat up. The ugly Briton beside him could use a syringe full of oxalic acid.
“So let’s give you another try when it gets dark tonight. I want to see you get the diamonds and give your...what was she, a fellow doctor, a colleague, a partner?” He rubbed the stubble on his face. “Let’s give her the same treatment. Suffocate her. See if she bangs at your knees like the old hag.”
Udo uttered a low, guttural sound. “Kann ich...”
“Vielleicht,” Murdock answered. “Perhaps you can have the female doctor. Only after we get the diamonds.”
“You do not have to say anything,” Sudbury intoned. “But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” He looked at both of them closely. “Is that clear?”
“Yeah, we’ve just been given our Miranda rights, British style,” Lucy replied.
They were patted for weapons and handcuffed with straps of clear, plastic Tie-rap. Officers crowded together in close escort as they walked past a gathering of onlookers with flashing strobe lights and video cams. The Sky News team closed in for a quick pan of the guilty faces.
“I’d wave to the gallery,” Lucy wisecracked, “except you guys have my hands tied.”
No one responded. One of the escorts gave her a puzzled, stone-faced look.
“Ah, well,” she mumbled.
A Vauxhall Astravan painted in the checkerboard pattern of the Sussex Police sat against the curb, engine running. The paint scheme looked as though a kid with crayons had gone berserk. Yellow, Day-Glo squares were overlaid against colors of royal blue. Red chevrons were splashed around the rear bumpers.
Inspector Sudbury slid the door of the van open and O’Brien and Lucy were positioned onto the hard, rear bench seat. They were clicked into the seat belt restraints and the doors were closed.
“Check out the way this this is painted,” O’Brien said. “I feel like I’m in the back of a Good Humor truck. Add a bell or two and kids would be running after us for popsicles.”
“At least we’ve still got a sense of humor about this,” Lucy said. Her face had gone bleak.
“That’s because we know we’re innocent.”
“Let’s hope the cops can pick up on that fact.”
Sudbury settled into the front passenger seat and glanced back. “Comfortable?”
“A cup of coffee would be nice,” O’Brien replied. He motioned with his bound hands.
“Yes, well, I’ll see about that at our first stop. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long day so we’ll try to be as pleasant as possible.”
Low clouds formed over the cold water of the Channel as they were shuttled from one location to another. They first stopped at the Brighton-Hove district facility where fingerprints and photographs were taken. Lucy called her brother while O’Brien called the barrister, a man named Lloyd. Their passports and personal items were tagged and sealed in an envelope. Thirty minutes of procedures were crammed into three hours, which did not surprise O’Brien. He’d often heard cynical military officers offer the same remark when referring to anything governmental.
They were left un-cuffed in a small, bare room with one table and a few chairs. At one time the walls had been painted institutional white, but were now yellowed with age and nicotine stains. The stink of rancid cigarette smoke permeated the room. They’d have to knock down the walls to get rid of the smell, O’Brien guessed. You couldn’t just paint over something like that. A single barred window looked out on an adjacent building. Rain streamed down on the outside of the glass.
Sudbury brought in lunch shortly after twelve noon. “Fish and chips, everyone.” The inspector placed the platters in front of them and stood back. “You Yanks all like ketchup so I brought a bottle.” He withdrew a small plastic container from his coat pocket and placed it in front of Lucy. “Something to drink, now? Sodas, coffee?”
“Coffee would be nice,” Lucy said. “And I’d like a bit of cream in it, if you don’t mind.”
“We call it white,” Sudbury said. “I’ll bring it to you white.” He looked at O’Brien.
“Just black,” O’Brien responded. “No cream.”
“Righto, then.”
O’Brien inquired casually, “So, if you’re the good cop, who’s playing the bad cop today?” The smell of fried fish in hot oil hit him. He tasted a potato fry and decided fish and chips beat cold cereal for the first meal of the day.
Sudbury said, “There are no bad cops here. We’re all British Bobbies, authorized by the Queen.” He creased his brow. “Actually, the investigation is being taken out of our hands. Since the crime took place at Gatwick Airport, the Chief Constable in Crawley is now going to be in charge along with CID—that’s the Criminal Investigation Department. They’ll be doing the debriefing this afternoon.”
“The process does seem to be moving slowly,” Lucy said. She picked up the ketchup and squirted her fries.
“That’s because we’ve been gathering information all morning on you folks. It’s rather time consuming...and Miss Amudsen—”
“Call me Lucy, for God’s sake. And I’ll call you Ramsey. Okay?”
The inspector drew back several millimeters. “That’s a bit informal for us around here.”
“So?” Lucy said.
The man appeared puzzled. “Right, then. Address me as Ramsey, if you like…Lucy.”
“Glad we got that cleared up,” she said.
“Now…ah, Lucy, we’ll need a quick blood test from you. You can certainly contact your solicitor over this. In fact, we expect you to confer with legal counsel.”
“And the reason for my blood test would be…?”
O’Brien answered for him. “I’m guessing there was blood at the scene of the murder that did not belong to the victim. And this will obviously have a bearing on us.”
“That’s quite perceptive, Mr. O’Brien.
“So why don’t you want Daniel’s blood type,” Lucy asked.
“Because they already know what it is,” O’Brien said.
“Again, very perceptive,” Ramsey said. “In fact, we know quite a bit about you now, Mr. O’Brien. We know your military background and the fact that your blood type is A-Positive.”
“So take my blood,” Lucy said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Sudbury fingered his bald spot. “If I might add, I rather doubt you’re the ones responsible for this murder. I’ve seen plenty of guilty people in my career, and you don’t fit with them.”
“I’m O-Positive,” Lucy informed him. “That help?”
“We’ll just need official confirmation, but thanks.” Sudbury stepped to the exit. A lock mechanism buzzed and the door swung open. “I’ll have coffee sent in.”
“Hold on,” O’Brien said. “What blood type was found on that poor lady?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the evidence, but let’s say that it was a very rare blood type.”
The door closed with an electrical click, and Lucy picked up her fork and cut away a large chunk of the cod. She dabbed a corner in ketchup and took a bite. After a moment her eyebrows went up. “Daniel, this is good.”
“You’re not getting mine, Lu. I’m hungry too.”
“I’m not even looking at your plate.”
“Yeah you are.”
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “You think the blood is from Starr?”
“Yeah, from his leg wound.”
Lucy shook her head. “What a total, murderous, thieving, lying, cunning, fucking asshole.”
Lucy sucked the tip of her finger a short time later. They were on the road again. This time they splashed back and forth along motorways for several hours, occasionally stopping at nondescript buildings for reasons that O’Brien could not determine.
> “That pinprick still hurt?” O’Brien asked.
“It never hurt, Daniel. I just had a drop of blood well up. Thought I’d lick it off.”
“Still hungry, I see.”
She flipped him a bird.
Sudbury advised them to make no further statements until their counsel met them at the Sussex police headquarters. They reached the town of Crawley in the late afternoon.
“The headquarters of the Sussex Police Department,” Sudbury informed them as the guard waved them into the gated parking compound.
Three brick structures were inside a protected perimeter fronting a small quadrangle. Parking was on the open side of the square, but Sudbury’s caravan pulled up to the front entrance of the largest building. A handful of uniformed police and an army of onlookers in dark suits met them.
“CID is already here,” Sudbury mumbled to himself and the others. “Those are the chaps wearing suits.”
O’Brien and Lucy were ushered into a nondescript holding room with a worn couch and several hard-backed chairs. Their plastic handcuffs were removed and they were left alone with the door ajar. O’Brien paced the floor for a moment and took a seat in one of the chairs. Lucy sat on the couch.
He squeezed his eyebrows together with thumb and forefinger. “I feel like I’ve gotten you into all this mess, Lucy.”
“We talked about it, Daniel, back in Fortaleza over dinner that night. I agreed to this trip just like you did.”
“Yeah...”
“It’s not your fault. No one knew about any of this at the time. Even Gina was fooled.”
O’Brien frowned. “Actually, I’m worried about her. It’s beginning to get a little late in the day, and I definitely don’t like the fact that she’s there alone.”
“Aren’t Charlie and Jenny supposed to check in on her, and how could those thugs ever find that apartment? That’s assuming they’re still after us.”
“I don’t know, but I’d feel better if I could give her a call.”
“Why don’t you ask Ramsey? He seems like a nice enough guy.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’ve got to stay positive, Daniel.” Lucy sat up. “And speaking of late in the day, I think they’re trying to starve us.”
“All this forced dieting is doing you good, Lucy. You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
She sucked in a breath, held her mid-section tight, and ran her thumbs around the inside of her waistband. She exhaled noisily. “I’ve gotten my figure back, but if this is what it takes...”
“Then it’s not worth it,” O’Brien finished.
“Maybe, and maybe not. You don’t know a thing about women, Daniel, what we’ll do to lose a few pounds.”
“So now we have another mysterious delay,” O’Brien said. He swung his shoulders back and forth and stretched his legs in a runner’s bend.
A buzzer sounded at the door. Sudbury stepped into the room and left the door ajar. “I see you’re keeping the blood moving. That’s a good man.” He looked at Lucy. “Sorry for all of these hang-ups, but everyone wants in on the debriefing, so we’re in the process of gathering around. One would expect everything should run smoother, especially at headquarters.”
“Inspector, Lucy and I have a friend remaining overnight in the apartment,” O’Brien said. “Perhaps you could get in touch with her, make sure she’s all right?”
Sudbury said, “You might be able to do that yourself in a bit. I—”
“They’re ready inspector.” A neatly dressed man poked his head into the room.
Sudbury glanced sideways. “Not yet, John. Let’s give their solicitor a few minutes with his prospective clients.” He turned to O’Brien. “We’re going to debrief you and Miss Amudsen together and there’s a video we want you to watch, but first you get some time with your lawyer.” He stepped back and scanned the hallway. “Mr. Lloyd is coming now.” The inspector looked at Lucy. “And by the way, your brother’s waiting for you in the visitor’s lobby on the other side of the entrance. Let’s hope we can get these charges dropped and you both can go home.”
“Eric!” Lucy brightened.
“And here’s your lawyer,” Sudbury said.
Lloyd came into the room in an unhurried manner and introduced himself. The man was in his early forties and thin as a whippet. His hair was charged with gray streaks and cut in a full dirty shag like a rock star’s. “So you’re Charlie’s cousin.” He made it a statement.
“On our mothers’ sides. We had some fun times as teenagers over here. Charlie’s a great guy.”
“That he is,” Lloyd replied.
Lloyd wore a gray Herringbone jacket with leather patches at the elbows, and this over a light-blue, Henley cotton shirt with no tie. He blinked slowly, as if re-computing at every closure.
He took one of the hard chairs and scooted the legs around to face Lucy and O’Brien. “Okay, let’s have it on. And please call me Peter.”
They told him the story, starting with the suspicions before they ever left Brazil. They left out the part about the diamonds.
After a short time he excused himself to make a phone call. “Well, they’ll never charge you with anything involving that airplane,” he told them upon returning a few minutes later. “Someone’s already flown it out of here.” He looked at his watch. “According to the airport authorities, the 737 departed four hours ago for Germany.”
Lucy looked at O’Brien. “Now we’ll never really know.”
“We know,” O’Brien replied. “But even so, we’ve got other things to worry about now.”
“If you’re telling the truth, the rest of your story doesn’t sound particularly incriminating,” Lloyd said. “I would advise that you repeat what you’ve told me to whatever panel they’re assembling. Just like in the American system, they have to prove your guilt. You’re innocent unless they can do that”
O’Brien stood. “If you’re ready, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with. Lucy?”
They moved to the elevator accompanied by Sudbury and several men in civilian dress. Lucy moved her hands back and forth over her wrists. “No handcuffs anymore, Ramsey? I kind of liked it that way.”
Sudbury coughed. “Miss Amudsen.”
On the third floor a young attractive woman ushered them into a large rectangular suite with subdued lighting. A projection screen blanked the wall at one end of the room. Seated behind an inlaid oak conference table were five men in expensive suits. Each had a bit of gray in his neatly trimmed hair.
O’Brien, Lucy and Lloyd took high-backed chairs across the table from the man in the center. A brass plaque identified him as Chief Constable Nevins. He wore a dark suit, and a crisp, white shirt with a gold tie. O’Brien took note of his own clothes. They still seemed soiled even though he had eventually sink-washed them in the apartment.
The door was closed and Sudbury faded into the back of the room. The Chief Constable cleared his throat and read a short summary of the charges and arrest procedures. He adjusted his half glasses and allowed his gaze to linger on them individually.
O’Brien stared back calmly. Their innocence was undeniable—to themselves. He hoped the others would see it that way.
“Anything to add before we take your statements?” the constable asked as he adjusted his glasses once again. The spectacles looked like a stage prop.
Lucy started and glanced at O’Brien. “I do have a request,” she said.
“Then would you mind, for the benefit of the panel, stating that request.”
“Oh, God,” O’Brien mumbled under his breath.
“I asked your customs agents to put in a word for me at Virgin,” Lucy said. “No luck there, I guess. But how about one of you gentlemen? I’m an excellent pilot.”
A stir of movement rippled along the table. Constable Nevins showed not a glimmer of a smile. “For now, Miss Amudsen, let’s just deal with our facts. We’ve talked to the agents and they confirm your interest in employment at Virgin Airways, but I’m sure you real
ize we’re not an employment agency, and you are here today for much more serious concerns. I hope you understand that.” He coughed discreetly into a closed fist and adjusted his tie. “Now, after you left customs you entered the Airport Authority building along with a third party?”
“Doctor Gina Andreotti,” O’Brien said. He repeated most of what he’d told Lloyd, and ended with the departure on the train.
The room was momentarily quiet after O’Brien finished speaking. The constables shuffled papers and shifted in their seats.
Nevins focused on O’Brien. “Actually, our security cameras in the airport and train station have recorded most of what you’ve told us, including your kick from the train door. The chap you sent flying is Perry Murdock and he’s currently wanted by Sussex police on a number of charges.”
“It was self-defense,” O’Brien replied.
“Rightly so, and a good thing. Murdock has been in prison twice, just so you know.” Nevins leaned forward and addressed the man at the far end of the table. “Stan, would you roll the video.”
A black and white view of the entrance apron and parking area in front of the Airport Authority building appeared on the screen. The quality was excellent and O’Brien’s eyes widened as the image of Gary Starr jumped into focus. He could feel Lucy shudder.
“Our security cameras picked up these three men entering the building thirty minutes after you arrived. According to the customs officials and the passport documents the man in shorts with the dark beard is known as Gary Starr. I assume you know this man?”
O’Brien nodded. “We brought him in from Liberia with us. He was the managing physician at the clinic down there, at least that’s what we were led to believe.”
The Chief Constable took off his glasses. “We don’t really know who he is. The real Gary Starr was a physician in Austin, Texas. He died four years ago.”
“Shit, Daniel.” Lucy said forcefully. “I told you.” She slapped a hand on the edge of the table.
“Told him what, Miss?” One of the other men posed the question.
“About my opinion of Starr, or whoever he is.” She reclined in the chair and folded her arms. “I...knew him briefly.”
Errand of Mercy: How far do you run, and where do you hide? Page 21