“I loved you so much.”
But it wasn’t the man anyone would have expected who’d uttered the romantic words, and when Aaron Foster saw Jake’s glare in reply, his small eyes moistened and he froze in shock. Had he really thought that a declaration of love could make things right again? The next shock was bigger. Annette watched as Jake drew himself up in his chair and stared straight into his ex-partner’s eyes, with no emotion in his own but hate.
“For your sake you’d better hope that they send you down for twenty years, because I’ll be walking again soon and then you’re dead. And unlike you I won’t fail.”
As Foster’s mouth opened and tears streamed from his eyes, Jake swung his chair around, waiting for a stunned Annette to scramble to her feet and open the door. Then they exited, leaving a broken Aaron Foster in their wake.
****
Ewing’s Steel Works. Portadown, County Armagh. 4 p.m.
Benas Rimša drained his mug and then rose to his feet in the small kitchen that sat in the corner of the factory floor. He liked his job and he liked his workmates, something he hadn’t expected to happen when he’d arrived in Northern Ireland four years before. It wasn’t that he’d expected to hate things, just that he honestly hadn’t known what lay ahead. There had been mixed reports of migration to the UK in the Lithuanian village where he’d been born. Men who had left and returned complaining of racism and inequality, more content to live with the limitations that they’d quit years before. But it hadn’t put him off. He’d had Gabija and the baby to think of, and he’d wanted the promise of more money to give them a better life.
It hadn’t been plain sailing. Poor English, shabby lodgings, and three or four temporary jobs that had almost made him turn tail and go home, but finally they’d settled and were happy. He and Gabija had jobs now and Lukas was in his first year at nursery school.
His gaze swept around the kitchen. Fat Joe was in the corner, moaning about wasting five pounds on two scratch cards and another ten on the Lottery the night before. Edith, or Mum as everyone called her, was fussing about the state of the teapot and saying that no-one ever cleaned it out properly except her. And he, Benny was his nickname, was returning to his machine after a satisfying fifteen minute break. OK, he wasn’t George Clooney but life was all right, or maybe a childhood living in hardship had just made him appreciate it more. Either way he smiled cheerfully as he yanked open the kitchen door, donning his gloves and returning to his allocated spot in the casting room.
It was a skilled task, steel casting, and it earned him twenty pounds an hour. Enough to buy a small car to go for runs on Sundays; Tyrella Beach was tomorrow’s choice. He loved the sea even in the winter months, which they didn’t really experience in Ireland no matter how much the locals complained about the cold. They should try a winter in Lithuania then they would really know what ‘Baltic’ meant.
As he reached for the lever to swing the scoop of hot steel towards the mold, no-one could explain what happened next, just that the metal container’s seal opened above his head, releasing the molten liquid over his back and face. Fat Joe heard the screams and moved as fast as he could, but the sight that greeted him made him shut the door in Mum’s face, determined to save her from a trauma that she couldn’t aid.
He watched as hot metal raced across the factory, igniting everything in its path and sealing equipment to the floor by its melting feet. Ceiling extinguishers and foam sprays solidified it into a shapeless pool, leaving Benas dead and the whole factory asking what could possibly have gone wrong.
Chapter Four
High Street Station. 2 p.m.
When Craig and Liam arrived to interview Richard Jamison, Annette and Jake were in the staff room as Craig had asked. As Liam went to boil the kettle Craig spotted Annette’s still stunned pallor and beckoned her out into the hall.
“How did it go with Foster?”
She shook her head silently. He knew she would speak once she’d gathered herself so he carried on talking about other things.
“We’re here to see Jamison, although God knows what he’ll give us. He’s hardly going to say ‘yes, I did it, Officer’.”
Annette shook her head again and he carried on.
“Davy and Ash have found something interesting; although it’s not particularly relevant to this case. We’ll see what they come up with.”
He was scraping the barrel and in danger of reporting on Andy’s date and Nicky’s wedding hair-do when Annette finally found her voice.
“It was dreadful, sir.”
Craig nodded. “We knew it wasn’t going to be nice. Did Jake get very upset?”
Her eyes widened. “No! That’s just it. He wasn’t upset in the way we’d have expected, he was furious. At first anyway, then he turned venomous and basically threatened Aaron’s life!”
Craig raised an eyebrow, surprised, although not altogether unsympathetic. He’d want to kill Aaron Foster as well if he were Jake, although he mightn’t have threatened him openly.
“Did he mean it, or was it just anger speaking? It is the first time Jake’s seen Aaron since his attack so it’s understandable that he’s hostile.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps… although it sounded less like temper than a definite promise. It really wasn’t like Jake. I actually hope for Aaron’s sake that they put him away for a really long stretch.”
Craig grimaced. “You know the sentencing laws. It’ll likely be twenty and out in ten. Either way, hopefully Jake will have moved on by the time he gets out.”
“That’s if Foster even gets convicted in the first place.”
Craig reached for the door handle. “That’s why I want you and Liam to interview him again at length. I know he confessed but I want it watertight.”
He opened the door and waved her in, greeting Jake with a cheerful grin.
“Good to see you, Jake. Looking forward to some hard work next week?”
Jake nodded grimly in return.
“You’ll be paired with Reggie for a while. You should enjoy that; he’s an old hand.”
Jake answered politely, but his expression was still dark.
“As long as I’m not just typing reports, sir. Although anything would be better than day time TV.”
Craig laughed. “I know. I was bored out of my head on suspension. There are only so many cookery programmes you can watch.” He nodded towards the door. “OK. Liam and I have an interview to do and I think you’ve had enough for today. Annette will bring you up to date on the new case when she takes you home.”
Liam gulped down his tea and Craig shook his head. “Bring it with you, and bring me a coffee as well. I have a hunch we’ll need something even stronger with Ronald Lewiston in the room.”
He left the room still thinking of the darkness in Jake’s eyes.
****
Richard Jamison sat perfectly still while the detectives watched him through the viewing room glass. Still that was but for the occasional slow sweep of tanned hand through his still-full grey locks, smoothing them from their clear foreheaded origin to the nape of his neck, where they almost, but not quite, brushed the collar of his cashmere coat. It would have been redundant to price it; everything about the businessman looked expensive, so why should his clothes have been any less.
Craig wasn’t interested in the details. Jamison had money, and it was that fact, and the fact that he made no attempt to disguise it that raised the third doubt in the detective’s mind. The first two had been there since the murder was reported. A guilty man would have tried to conceal his phone number when he’d called the police, that’s if a murderer would have made the call at all.
Still, doubts weren’t facts and Jamison looked far too smug to be innocent of everything in life, so Craig thought for a moment longer before nudging Liam for a pen and paper and scribbling down a note. He handed it to Jack and pocketed Liam’s pen, earning him an indignant “here now”. Craig ignored it in favour of nodding Jack towards the door.
&n
bsp; “Call Annette on that number, Jack, and ask her to get back to the scene and chase up the rest of the interviews.” He gestured at the glass. “We’ll wait here until you get back.”
He turned to stare at Jamison again. He was far too still. Not a whisper to his lawyer and not even a nervous swig of tea. Just perfectly straight backed posture, despite the fact he must have known for ten minutes that they were there. Liam broke the silence.
“He looks like he’s got a poker up his a-”
Craig cut him short with a glance, speaking quietly, as he’d done since they’d entered.
“This room’s not completely soundproofed.” He moved towards the door. “Outside please.”
As they moved to a safe distance he resumed speaking. “OK. What’s your impression?”
Liam frowned for a moment before answering in a tone almost as quiet as Craig’s; redundant now that they were so far away. Craig didn’t point the fact out. Liam’s normal volume gave him earache up close, so he was quite enjoying the peace and quiet.
“I think…” Liam glanced around him furtively before continuing. “I think he’s a slime ball. And what’s with all that hair? He’s looks like an old rocker.”
Craig rolled his eyes. “I meant your impression of his guilt or innocence, not of his personal style!”
“Oh.” The D.C.I. screwed up his face, thinking, and after a moment he sighed regretfully. “He didn’t do it.” He added hastily, before Craig could reply. “But I bet he’s done something criminal.”
Craig nodded. “My thoughts exactly. He didn’t kill anyone. No murderer would reveal their phone number; plus why would Jamison have given his real name?”
Liam’s face said he was having second thoughts. “On the other hand…if it was his mobile that made the call-”
Craig turned abruptly towards reception, pushing open the connecting door just as Jack reappeared.
“Where are Jamison’s personal effects?”
“In the safe. Why?”
“We need to see them.”
“Now? I thought you were about-”
“Now, please, Jack.”
The sergeant shrugged and led the way into his office, opening the safe and spreading Richard Jamison’s possessions across the desk. Liam looked puzzled.
“Here, why didn’t the wife take them with her, seeing as she wasn’t held?”
It was a good question, and one that added yet another doubt in Craig’s mind.
Jack shrugged again. “Maybe she didn’t think that they’d incriminate him.”
Craig donned a pair of latex gloves. “And maybe Jamison didn’t ask her to take them because he didn’t think so either. Probably because he’s an innocent man.”
Liam shook his head immediately. “Here, I wouldn’t go that far, boss. There’s bound to be something that we can nail him on.”
Craig smiled. “Spoken like a true cop. Don’t worry, Liam; Jamison’s a dirt bag and I’ve every intention of interviewing him as if he’s guilty. The pressure might make him cough to something else-”
Jack had been staring at them quizzically but now he cut in. “When did we decide that Jamison wasn’t the murderer?”
Craig was already rifling through the personal effects so Liam caught the sergeant up. As he finished explaining Craig lifted Richard Jamison’s mobile phone. It wasn’t password protected, another thing in the businessman’s favour, so he turned it on and scrolled through the outgoing calls. After a few seconds he stopped and squinted at the screen. Jack decided to risk a quip.
“Do you need specs, sir, or is that a squint of disbelief?”
“The latter.” He angled the phone so the others could see. There on the screen, at nine-ten p.m. on December 18th, was an outgoing call to nine-nine-nine. He would check, but he was sure that it would match the exact time Stranmillis Station had received the informer’s call. The call had definitely come from Jamison’s phone.
Liam said what they were all thinking.
“So he kills yer man and then phones it in from his own mobile, which he then makes no attempt to dump? No way.”
Jack gawped at the handset. “He didn’t even lock it, or try to delete the call history. Even I know how to do that, and I can’t work a flipping DVD!”
Craig considered the options. If Jamison hadn’t made the call, and he was pretty sure that he hadn’t, then how had it appeared on his phone? It was one for Davy, so he used the landline to call him and set it to speakerphone. The analyst smiled as Craig described what he needed; between Ash’s hunch and now this, he might just have enough to keep him busy till Maggie got off for the Christmas break.
“OK, chief. S…Send it over and I’ll take a look at it, but first impressions are that his mobile was probably hacked.”
Craig was surprised. “Can a phone get hacked?”
“Anything that has an internet connection can, and even some that don’t. You can plant a virus on a phone using Bluetooth if you’re close enough. Then once you’re in, you can mess with the software, plant files, w…whatever.”
Liam snorted loudly and removed his old 2G mobile for everyone to see. “That’s why I have something simple.”
Davy couldn’t let the opening pass. “That’s not why you have something simple.” Before Liam could work out if he’d been insulted the analyst signed off. “I’ll check it out as soon as I get it. Bye.”
He clicked off just as Liam said “You cheeky pup -”.
Craig waved away his deputy’s indignation, frowning. Hacking was a word he was hearing a lot nowadays; were Jamison’s possible phone hack and his earlier discussion with the analysts linked? It was something to ponder later, but for now they had a man to quiz about a murder so he led the way back to the interview room, parking Jack on the other side of the glass on his way.
As he opened the door he caught a jerked movement and murmuring that said Jamison’s earlier stillness had almost certainly been for their benefit. He must have heard them leaving the viewing room and reckoned that it was safe to relax.
Craig didn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it.
“Don’t feel that you have to be quiet for us, Mr Jamison. We can wait outside if you’d like to continue your conversation with your brief.”
His only answer was a sudden bloom of sweat on Jamison’s brow and Ronald Lewiston straightening his papers into a pile. Craig shifted the spotlight to the solicitor.
“Perhaps you would like to say something, Mr Lewiston? You’ve seldom been short of words in the past.”
Lewiston curled his long upper lip. “I have nothing to say to you, Superintendent, and neither has my client.” He narrowed his gaze. “Except that he wishes to know why you interrupted his legitimate travel plans and what ludicrous charge you’re about to trump up.”
Craig pulled out a chair and nodded Liam to do the same. When they were seated he scanned the men’s faces slowly before locking eyes with Jamison. As Liam switched on the tape and ran through the formalities, Craig’s unblinking stare began to have an effect. Jamison’s poised stillness became less contained, with several small but noticeable shifts in his chair and a sweep of the hair that turned into an aggressive rake. Craig encouraged the movement by raking his own hair, slowly at first and then again and again more quickly, causing Jamison to do the same.
Liam smiled inwardly, knowing exactly what Craig was doing and watching its effect, and then the confusion on Lewiston’s face as his client became more agitated without the police seemingly having done a thing. Suddenly Craig stopped raking, throwing Jamison off balance. Before his composure returned the detective slipped in the question guaranteed to tell them everything they needed to know.
“Why did you do it, Mr Jamison?”
Richard Jamison lurched forward in a most undignified way. It was more of an effect than even Craig had expected.
“I didn’t!”
Craig’s speech speeded up. “Didn’t what?”
“Murder anyone.” Jamison swung towards Liam. “L
ike he said to the tape.”
Craig leaned forward, matching Jamison’s insistence with his own. “But you did something, didn’t you?”
Lewiston shook his head quickly. “Don’t answer that.” His eyes frantically asking how things had got out of his control so fast. But Richard Jamison wasn’t listening.
“I’m in business!”
“What sort of business?”
What made Jamison stop speaking so abruptly the detectives could only guess at, but the magnate suddenly clammed up, as if the mention of business had triggered some automatic secrecy response known only to accountants and executives. Whatever had caused it Craig knew the questioning was over for the day.
He watched, smiling to himself, as Ronald Lewiston hurriedly packed his client’s emotional excess into his briefcase, knowing that he was calculating how much damage had just been done. To cover his concern Lewiston asked a question.
“I presume, as you have no evidence to tie my client to this murder, that you’ll be setting him free now, Superintendent. With a public apology.”
Craig pushed back his chair and stood up, prompting Liam to do the same. “Nice try, but you presume wrong, Mr Lewiston. We have evidence that is being processed now, and even more that is being collated. Plus, your client has shown that he’s a clear flight risk, with the means to travel anywhere in the world. We’ll be detaining him pending inquiries and in the meantime he’ll be returned to his cell.”
With that the detectives exited and as they entered the corridor Craig allowed himself a grin. Richard Jamison wasn’t guilty of murder, but whatever business he’d been involved in had suddenly acquired a very nasty smell.
The Talion Code Page 11