To distract herself from her hunger, she started singing a nursery rhyme that her mother used to sing.
‘There was a gypsy who had a long nose
She was asking how to shorten her nose!
She was told to buy some butter
Put it on her nose, and then
Cut it with an axe!’
28
Jokubas Liepa was bored, too. When Jerry looked at him through the spyhole in his cell door he was elaborately picking his nose and frowning at what he had managed to excavate.
‘Right,’ Jerry said to the duty officer. ‘Let’s have him out of there before he starts digging his brains out.’
The duty officer opened the cell door and Jerry stepped inside. ‘Mr Liepa?’ he said, with exaggerated politeness. ‘If you’d be so kind as to accompany me to the interview room, we’re all set up to ask you a few pertinent questions.’
‘I did not order Herkus to put down his foot,’ said Liepa. ‘I would not have been such reckless.’
‘Well, you can explain that when we formally question you,’ Jerry told him. ‘Your brief’s arrived, so we’re all ready to go. Laurence Shipman from Shipman and Bridges. He’s not exactly cheap, is he? I bet he charges you a ton just to say good morning.’
PC Jonas was waiting outside the cell, and between them he and Jerry escorted Liepa along to the interview room. DI French was waiting there, talking to an urbane-looking man in a dark blue three-piece suit. He had shiny dyed-black hair, this man, severely combed back, and a large bland face with piggy eyes.
‘How are they treating you, Jokubas?’ he asked, as soon as Liepa sat down.
‘They should not have arrested me,’ said Liepa, staring at Jerry. ‘I have done nothing wrong whatsoever.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not the way we see it,’ said DI French. ‘You and your associates set out on an expedition with the deliberate intention of stealing clothes which had been donated to Cancer Research in their official bags and which therefore had already become the property of Cancer Research. This expedition was carried out under your direction and therefore you were ultimately responsible for the theft of every bag regardless of whether you physically picked it up yourself.’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ put in Laurence Shipman. ‘My client Mr Liepa was simply being given a lift by one of his acquaintances, and he was not aware when the vehicle stopped momentarily that another of his acquaintances had removed a bag of clothing from the doorstep of a nearby house.’
DI French opened up a plastic folder on the table in front of him. He picked out three sheets of a witness statement that were stapled together and held them up.
‘We’ve already interviewed Mr Herkus Adomaitis who was the driver of the vehicle in which your client was a front-seat passenger. We’ve also questioned Mr Ignas Gabrys who was in the rear of the vehicle and who took the bag of donated clothing from the said doorstep. Both men independently stated that your client was the instigator and organiser of this expedition to steal Cancer Research bags, and that the sample act of theft of one bag was carried out with his full knowledge and approval.’
Jokubas Liepa banged the table with his fist. ‘And you took notice of what those bastards said to you?’ he protested. ‘They are just stupid people – thick as shit! They can’t even read or write! They are not even in UK legally, so of course they will say anything so that you don’t send them back to Lithuania! And so what if one bag of old clothes was taken? What was it worth? Hardly nothing at all! This is all ridiculous!’
‘My client is absolutely right,’ said Laurence Shipman. ‘Neither of the two gentlemen you are talking about can be considered to be reliable witnesses. And the value of what Mr Gabrys took was minimal. Come on, detective inspector, let’s be realistic. Offenders who steal far more than a bag of old clothing are usually let off with nothing more than a caution.’
‘Excuse me, Mr Shipman,’ said Jerry. ‘This wasn’t just a case of nicking some second-hand sweaters. In the process of arresting your client and his monkeys Police Constable Stephen White lost his life, and as you very well know your client has been charged with manslaughter.’
‘Well of course I was coming to that,’ Laurence Shipman replied. ‘My client deeply regrets the death of the officer involved, I can assure you. He can’t even begin to express how sorry he is. However the fact remains that he was only a passenger in the vehicle which struck and killed the unfortunate officer, and he is firmly of the belief that the driver’s foot slipped on the accelerator pedal and that the officer’s death was nothing more than an accident. A regrettable accident – but an accident nonetheless.’
‘This is true,’ put in Jokubas Liepa. ‘How can you accuse me of killing this policeman when I am not even sitting in the driving seat? That is like accusing me of killing somebody who is knocked down by a bus, when I am doing nothing more than sitting up on the top deck reading the paper.’
DI French nodded, as if he agreed with what Jokubas Liepa was saying. But then he picked up the witness statement again, and waved it slowly from side to side.
‘The problem is, Mr Liepa, that your driver Mr Adomaitis has said in his sworn statement that you ordered him to put his foot down and run the officer over. Your exact words were, Eik, nugalėk bustardą!’
Jokubas Liepa furiously shook his head. ‘That is craziness! He’s lying to you! He’s lying through his dirty teeth! All he wants to do is save his own skin!’
‘Well, that’s as may be,’ said DI French. ‘But Mr Gabrys claims that from the back of the van he heard you give the very same order to Mr Adomaitis – Eik, nugalėk bustardą – word for word – and as I mentioned the two of them were interviewed independently.’
‘My client has nothing further to say at this juncture,’ put in Laurence Shipman, very smoothly. ‘Obviously he will be challenging the veracity of these two statements. As he suggested, Mr Adomaitis and Mr Gabrys are clearly anxious to mitigate their own culpability for PC White’s demise. The two of them may well have had the opportunity to concoct this story between them before they gave you their statements. It certainly sounds like it.’
‘And your Lithuanian accent, it’s rubbish!’ said Jokubas Liepa.
‘My apologies, Mr Liepa,’ said DI French. ‘But you’ll have plenty of time to give me some Lithuanian elocution lessons, won’t you, while you’re waiting to go up in front of the court.’
‘I’ll be applying for bail, naturally,’ said Laurence Shipman, tucking his papers into his £2,500 Berluti briefcase. Jerry noticed that his fingernails were manicured, and shiny.
‘Good luck with that, Mr Shipman,’ DI French told him, closing his plastic folder.
Jerry was beginning to realise how much DI French was relishing this prosecution. If he had been able to charge Jokubas Liepa with nothing more than stealing charity bags, there would have been only a slim chance of him winning his longed-for promotion. But if he succeeded in getting him sent down for the manslaughter of PC Stephen White, that would be a different matter altogether. He would be regarded as a minor hero – not only in Tooting but the whole of the Met.
*
After Jokubas Liepa had been returned to his cell, Jerry made his way upstairs to the canteen for a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. He had only just sat down, though, when Jamila came into the canteen and crossed over to his table, looking intensely worried.
‘What’s up, skip?’ he asked her.
‘That blue velvet jacket’s turned up again.’
‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
‘No. Some young girl’s wearing it, or perhaps I should say that the jacket’s wearing her. She’s stabbed some fellow in the neck and cut his thing off.’
‘His thing? You mean his— ?’
Jamila nodded. ‘He was lucky not to bleed out. They’ve taken him to St George’s for emergency surgery.’
‘When was this?’
‘Only about half an hour ago. Willis and Baker went up there, but as soon as Baker sa
w the jacket she gave me a call.’
‘Is the girl still wearing it?’
‘Yes. And I told Baker to make sure that she didn’t take it off.’
The girl behind the canteen counter called out, ‘Jerry! Your sarnie’s ready!’
Jerry stood up and said, ‘Shit. Sorry, love. Duty calls. Castration before bacon. Where are we going?’
‘Pretoria Road, if you know where that is,’ said Jamila. ‘The girl’s still there. She won’t give her full name and she won’t say where she lives.’
‘Bloody hell. This day gets crapper by the minute.’
29
Mindy was sitting in the back of an unmarked police car with DC Baker sitting beside her. There were two other patrol cars parked on the opposite side of Pretoria Road, and five uniformed officers standing in Barry’s front garden talking to DC Willis, including the black WPC who had first rung the doorbell.
Jerry parked awkwardly behind the unmarked car and he and Jamila climbed out. DC Willis came over and said, ‘Hi, Jerry. Definitely looks like another case of your Stuck Clothes Syndrome. But you’re not going to believe what she did.’
‘Well, she cut off his dinkle, didn’t she?’
‘She didn’t just cut it off, Jerry. The paramedics were looking around for it, in case there was a chance it could be sewn back on. But they could find only half of it, and that half of it was fried.’
‘It was what?’
‘That’s right. Fried. And what’s more, it had teeth-marks in it. So I think we have to assume that she was halfway through eating it.’
‘Jesus. Thank God I didn’t have time for that bacon sarnie.’
‘You think it’s another case of her clothes being stuck to her,’ said Jamila.
‘Definitely. We’re not one hundred per cent sure she’s wearing the same jacket as that Marshall girl, but it fits the description. It’s dark blue and it’s velvet and it’s got braid around the buttons. And most of all she keeps insisting that it was the jacket that stabbed him and cut off his dinkle, and not her.’
‘Do we know her name?’ asked Jamila.
DC Willis shook his head. ‘She won’t tell us and she won’t give us her home address, either. She’s got a bag of shopping which she won’t let go of, and that’s come from Budgens which is only just up the road there, so I doubt if she lives very far. The neighbour who called us, Mrs Harris, she’s the local curtain-twitcher. She knows that Mr Williams is on the sex offenders’ register, and so she keeps a beady eye on him. He’s twice been convicted of indecent assault of a girl under the age of twelve, and he still has a month left to run of a six months’ suspended sentence.’
‘What did the paramedics say about his injuries?’
‘Life-changing but not life-threatening. Once he’s out of surgery we should be able to talk to him. I’ve bagged up the knife that the girl must have used to stab him, and the CSEs should be here in a minute. They’ll be able to take dabs off the saucepan in the kitchen and the plate that she used to serve up his willy.’
Jamila said, ‘Let’s go and talk to her. We need to find out where she found that jacket and we also need to know if it’s really stuck to her, like it was with Sophie Marshall.’
She went over to the unmarked car and tapped on the window. DC Baker climbed out and said, ‘I’ve been asking her all kinds of questions but she hasn’t said a word.’
‘OK. Let me try,’ said Jamila. ‘Jerry, do you want to come and sit in the front?’
She sat down in the back seat next to Mindy while Jerry opened the door and sat in the front passenger seat.
‘You don’t have to be frightened,’ Jamila told Mindy. ‘My name is Jamila and this is Jerry and both of us are here to help you. We just need to know why you had to stab that man. Did he try to hurt you?’
Mindy didn’t answer for almost ten seconds. Then, lowering her eyelashes and with her fingers laced together as if she were praying, she said, in a whisper, ‘It wasn’t me who stabbed him.’
‘If it wasn’t you, then who was it? There was nobody else in the house, was there?’
‘Yes.’
‘There was somebody else there? Who was it? Do you know?’
‘Varvara.’
‘Varvara? What kind of a name is that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But it was a woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what are you saying? That this Varvara did the stabbing?’
‘Yes.’
‘So where is she now? Did she run away?’
‘No. She’s still here. But she’s asleep.’
‘She’s still here? Where? I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’
Mindy turned to Jamila and looked at her steadily.
‘Can’t you see her? She’s inside me. She’s asleep and she’s all bunched up but she’s inside me.’
Jamila glanced at Jerry, and Jerry said, ‘Where did you get that jacket, darling?’
Mindy leaned forward and spoke so softly that Jerry and Jamila could hardly hear her. ‘I found it in the park.’
‘Why are you whispering?’ asked Jamila.
‘Because I don’t want to wake up Varvara. She’ll be angry if she hears me talking to you.’
‘So why don’t you tell us your name?’ said Jerry.
Mindy hesitated, and then she spelled it out for them. ‘M – I – N – D – Y.’
‘All right,’ said Jerry. ‘And can you tell us where you live?’
Mindy closed her eyes, as if she were making sure that the presence that she could feel inside her was still unconscious. Then she spelled out her address in Nimrod Road.
‘Nimrod Road, OK,’ said Jerry. ‘And that’s where you live with your mum and dad?’
Mindy shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not any more.’
‘What do you mean, “not any more”?’
Mindy’s eyes filled with tears, and her mouth turned down with grief.
‘They’re dead!’ she blurted out. ‘She killed them! Varvara killed them! And I’m supposed to go home and cook them!’
As soon as she had said that, she jolted, and her head jerked back and hit the seat. She lifted both of her hands like claws and dragged the two sides of her jacket even more tightly together. Her eyes rolled back in her head so that only the whites showed, and she bared her teeth in a grimace that would have been laughable if she hadn’t been convulsing so violently and her feet hadn’t started drumming on the floor like a child in a terrible tantrum.
‘You’re not listening to that stupid girl, are you?’ she hissed at them. ‘What can a girl like that know about death and pain and sickness? How can a young girl understand what it is to die? Kormit – yedinstvennyy sposob vernut’sya k zhizni!’
Once she had spat out those words, she stopped convulsing. Her head dropped forward and she tilted sideways against the car door.
Jamila shook her and said, ‘Mindy? Mindy? Can you hear me, Mindy?’
Mindy didn’t respond, but her chest was still rising and falling, and when Jamila touched her fingertips against her neck to check her pulse, she nodded to Jerry that it felt quite normal.
‘Jean can take her straight to hospital,’ she said. ‘The sooner we get this jacket off her the better. I’ll call Dr Fuller and make sure that he’s available.’
Jerry climbed out of the car and beckoned to DC Baker and to one of the uniformed officers. When Jamila had finished speaking on her iPhone to Dr Fuller’s secretary, she climbed out, too. Mindy remained slumped against the door, breathing harshly with her mouth open, and dribbling.
‘Straight to A&E,’ said Jamila. ‘But make sure they know that Dr Fuller’s coming in specially to take care of her. And tell them in no circumstances to try to take any of her clothes off until he gets there.’
DC Baker and the uniformed officer drove off with Mindy to St George’s, leaving Jerry and Jamila standing on the pavement.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jerry. ‘What she was sh
outing, that sounded like Polish. Something like that, anyway. I’m not very hot on my Eastern European languages.’
‘Yes, Polish,’ Jamila told him. ‘One of my uncles had a Polish business colleague. He kept trying to touch me up and I hated him. But – there’s no prize for guessing where we’re going now. If Mindy had been lying when she told us that her parents were dead, I would have seen it in her eyes.’
Jerry held out his hand and looked up at the clouds. It had started raining again. ‘Do you know what, skip?’ he told her. ‘This has gone way beyond a joke now. How the hell can we arrest second-hand clothes?’
30
The front-door lock of the house on Nimrod Road was only a simple Yale, and Jerry was able to open it with his skeleton key. As soon as they had stepped into the hallway, they knew for certain that Mindy had been telling the truth about her parents. The house was thick with the smell of death – that sweet, ripe, faecal odour that filled their lungs every time they breathed in.
‘Jesus. Forgot the Vick’s again,’ said Jerry, pressing the back of his hand against his nose and mouth.
They looked into the living-room. The curtains were drawn and it was dark and chilly in there. A copy of the Daily Mail was lying on the couch so Jerry went over and checked the date.
‘Blimey, only yesterday’s. If I was going by the Jimmy, I’d have guessed they’d been dead for at least three days.’
They went through to the kitchen. The pale green venetian blinds were closed and one of the taps was dripping. On the counter beside the hob there was a large orange casserole dish, with its lid off, and a sharp kitchen knife lying beside it.
Jamila said, ‘Do you see those? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘Don’t,’ said Jerry. ‘I’m feeling pukish enough already.’
‘Well, me too. But come on. The parents must be in one of the bedrooms.’
Jerry went back out into the hallway and started to mount the stairs. ‘Do you know something? My old dad wanted me to join him in his plumbing business.’
‘Really?’ said Jamila. ‘Why didn’t you?’
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