‘No. I keep bloody telling you. So can I go now?’
‘Oh, yes, you can go. But expect to be back here again, when we know more. Because I’m absolutely certain that we’ll need to talk to you again, and soon.’
Keith Iredale was just going off duty when the call came in from the Duty Inspector. The body of an 83-year old woman found sea at the foot of the stairs in her house, and a young woman had been seeing fleeing the scene.
‘Shit’ said Iredale. ‘Description of the woman?’
‘Young, slim, dark haired. Thought you’d want to know. Does that sound like your thief?’
‘Close enough for jazz, aye. Anything stolen?’
‘No idea, lad. Give us a bloody chance. I’ve declared it suspicious, category two, so SOCO and the Doc are attending. Do you want to take a look? You’re acting SIO, because with the DI and Ian Mann interviewing Taylor on the Frankie Foster shooting we’re a bit short of plain clothes plod, like.’
‘Is Superintendent Hall still on site?’
‘Now that’s why you’re in CID, son. I hadn’t thought of that. Aye, as far as I know he is. You want me to give him a shout as well?’
‘Aye. He may not want to come, of course.’
The Inspector laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? He’ll race you to the bloody car, you just watch.’
In fact Iredale reached reception before Hall, but only by ten seconds.
‘Brief me in the car’ said Hall, running towards the door. He tried to remember the last time that he’d done it, and couldn’t.
‘Crime scene first, boss?’
‘Yes, but just to check that uniform is on its toes. And we need a quick word with the eye witness, just for a fresh description and to see if she can think of anything small and portable that might have been stolen.’
‘Small, boss?’
‘Your thief was running, wasn’t she? So she can’t have been carrying much. Of course even if she was there to rob the place she might not have done so, but let’s see.’
‘What if this old lady just fell down the stairs?’
‘Then why run? And she’s Mrs. Pearson, Joan Pearson. Never just a victim, Keith, remember that. And it makes no real difference if she fell or was knocked on the head. If it’s your thief again then she caused Joan’s death, didn’t she? The CPS can sort out the charges, and we’ll leave the Doc to tell us whether or not force was used. All we can do is place your suspect, Tiffany, at the scene and take it from there.’
‘So I did right? Getting her picked up immediately, and the search team called in right away?’
‘You did, absolutely. You’ve got uniform watching her house until the search team arrives?’
‘I have, aye.’
‘OK, good. Now you’re in charge. I’m just here to observe and advise, but here’s how I suggest you play it.’ They stood in reception and Hall talked, while Iredale listened. The old desk Sergeant smiled and nodded slightly to himself.
Twenty minutes later Iredale had made contact with the uniformed Sergeant who was co-ordinating the house-to-house in Joan Pearson’s street, and he’d been told, quite cheerfully, to fuck off by Sandy Smith. Hall was standing outside, and smiled when he heard Sandy’s booming voice. Mrs. Maureen Wilson lived two doors down, and a glassy-eyed WPC was trying to stay awake in the hot, airless living room when Hall and Iredale arrived.
‘I’m DC Keith Iredale’ said Keith, a little too loudly for comfort, ‘and this is Superintendent Hall. Can we ask you a couple of questions, Mrs. Wilson?’
‘Of course, dear. Sit yourselves down. Now, what can I do for you, Superintendent?’
Both officers smiled, because she kept looking at Iredale.
‘Tell me about what happened when you went round to see Mrs. Pearson’ he said.
‘Well, I was just going round for a natter, really. It was my turn to go there, see. And as I was just about to reach the door this young girl came running out and came past me. Going like the clappers, she was.’
‘You were still on the pavement?’
‘Aye.’
‘And you’re sure that the woman came from Joan’s house? It couldn’t have been the house next door, number 11?’
‘No, it was from Joan’s house.’
‘All right. Now did she touch you? Brush past you, even?’
‘No dear. You’d be after fibres, I expect.’
Hall smiled again.
‘That’s right’ said Iredale. ‘And was the woman carrying anything?’
‘I don’t think so, no. Wait a minute though, maybe she was. A carrier bag, maybe. But no, I’m not certain. It all happened so fast. You can hypnotise me, if you like, to find out.’
‘Don’t worry about that, you’re doing really well. Now, how about items of value? Does Joan have much in the house. Jewellery, anything like that?’
‘She does, actually.’
‘Could you give us a description?’
‘Of what, dear?’
‘Of the jewellery. Joan’s jewellery.’
‘Not really, dear, no. I haven’t seen it in years.’
‘But she keeps it in a jewellery box, is that right?’
‘Yes. On her dressing table.’
‘Good, thanks. So what can you remember about this woman? The one who came out of the house.’
‘She was slim, and young, very young. Certainly under thirty.’
‘What colour hair?’
‘Blonde, I think, and long.’
‘And what kind of clothes? Jeans, that kind of thing?’
‘No, not jeans. Dark clothes though, definitely. Like an office worker.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She just said to call an ambulance. That was all.’
‘And how did she sound? Like she was in a panic, or quite calm?’
‘I don’t know, I couldn’t say. She shouted it out though, if that tells you anything.’
‘How about her accent?’
‘Local, definitely local.’
‘And she ran towards town, is that right? You didn’t see her get into a car?’
‘No, nothing like that. I just wanted to get inside and see if Joan was all right. Poor Joan….’
The old woman’s lined face was wet with tears in a few seconds, and Iredale wondered if it would be too rude to just get up and go, but when he caught sight of Hall already half way out of his chair he knew that it wouldn’t. Or at least, that Hall wouldn’t think so. And that was what mattered to an ambitious young DC who could already hear a clock ticking, loud and insistent, in his head.
‘Tiffany has short, dark hair. Is that right?’ said Hall, when they were sitting in the car.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘OK. Call the search team co-ordinator and tell them that we’re especially interested in any wigs, especially blonde, any reasonably smart clothing and any form of ID or other material that could identify someone as coming from the Council.’
‘Will do.’
‘And Joan’s jewellery box has been checked, has it?’
‘I asked Sandy. She opened it for me. There was some stuff in there, but not much.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Old lady stuff. I don’t know, boss.’
‘OK. We need to know what she had to begin with. Uniform are looking for next of kin?’
‘There’s a daughter who lives up near Carlisle. She’s on her way down.’
‘Good. Right, let’s get back to the station, and get stuck in to Tiffany.’
‘Stuck in, boss?’
‘Certainly. We owe it to Joan to achieve a manslaughter conviction, if that’s justified. But only go at her hard if she denies it outright. She’s probably in a state of shock too, so take it easy at first. Give her some space, let her tell us what happened in her own time. You’ll soon get a feel for that. And you reckon that she’s been trying to go straight, anyway? Really trying, I mean.’
‘I think so, yes. Ian takes the piss, but
I really believe that.’
‘It does happen. Not often, it’s true, but maybe you’re right about her. Ian’s just an old misanthrope, so don’t worry too much about him.’
‘Does that mean that he’s a grumpy old bastard, boss?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact that’s exactly what it means.’
Tiffany Moore didn’t turn her head when DC Iredale and DS Hall came into the room, and she didn’t smile at Keith when he sat down. He was glad about that. He started the tape, and made the introductions.
‘Do you know why you’re here again, Tiffany?’
‘Something to do with an old lady who’s died, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Just a few hours ago. A neighbour found her at the foot of the stairs. Her neck was broken, so she died instantly.’
Hall hoped that Iredale would pause, and he did. Tiffany didn’t comment, and her expression didn’t change. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t relieved.
‘A young woman was seen leaving the premises. Was that you, Tiffany?’
‘No. I was at home this morning. Ask my mum. She’ll tell you.’
‘We have asked your mum, and a formal statement has been taken. She confirms your story.’
‘There you are then.’
‘That’s not how it works, I’m afraid. Your mum is poorly, yes?’
Tiffany nodded.
‘I know what it’s like, looking after a parent who’s come to rely completely on you. Tough, isn’t it? On everyone, I mean.’
Tiffany nodded again, and Iredale smiled at her. It was a few more moments before he spoke again. ‘So look, let me be completely straight with you here, Tiffany. We think it’s you who’s been doing these robberies, and we think it’s you who robbed Mrs. Pearson today. I know you had a story to explain why your fingerprints were on stolen goods recovered from Frankie Foster’s house, but we don’t believe that, and we doubt that a court would either.’
‘That’s really not for you to say’ said the Duty Solicitor, sharply. Iredale ignored him and went on.
‘Maybe Mrs. Pearson just fell while you were there. Perhaps you never touched her at all. Is that how it happened?’
‘I told you. I wasn’t there. My mum told you.’
‘She did. But what happens to her if you’re convicted for this anyway? Have you thought about that? Because if we find the slightest forensic trace of your presence in that house then you will be convicted, believe me. And you know what happens to your mum then, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘She’ll face trial for perverting the course of justice and go to prison, probably for several years. Is that a fair assessment, Mr. Samuels?’
‘That’s an entirely hypothetical question, Detective Constable, and I’m not the one being interviewed.’
‘Of course not, you’re right. But how would your mum cope inside, Tiffany? She has very complex needs, doesn’t she?’
Tiffany didn’t answer. She was thinking, hard and fast. She hadn’t drunk any of that disgusting tea, thank Christ, so there’d be no DNA on the cup. And she’d eaten both of the bloody biscuits too. Every last crumb. And for the first time she’d worn gloves too. That had been her mum’s idea. And they always tried this, the coppers. Try to make your position seem weak, hopeless. But it wasn’t. If it was they’d have charged her already. Tiffany had made her decision, and all she had to do now was to stand by it, no matter what.
‘My mum won’t be going to prison.’
‘Are you sure about that? Look, Tiffany, this isn’t only a robbery case now. Why do you think there’s a Detective Superintendent in the room? This won’t just go away, I’m afraid. So talk to me. Tell me what happened, that’s all I’m asking you. I’m sure we could help your mum, and do everything we can to make sure that she doesn’t go to prison. That has to be worth something to you, surely? I know it would be to me, in your position.’
So they didn’t have anything. Not a bloody thing. Tiffany was sure of it now. She knew better than to trust the likes of this bloke. So what if he had a nice smile? There was probably nothing wrong with his mum at all. And what if she did grass up Taylor? It couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke, but what would happen to mum while she was inside? He could have her mum killed, and no-one would ever know. A pillow over the face and she’d be gone in thirty seconds. Less, probably. Hardly any breath left in her, anyway. No, the risk was too great.
‘I’ve told you. I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. So can I go now, or are you going to charge me?’
Iredale was about to reply when he heard the knock at the door. He glanced at Hall, who nodded. So Iredale suspended the interview, and went out into the corridor. He knew before the Duty Inspector started talking that his news was all bad.
‘Sorry, lad. Doc’s completed his initial examination of the body, and says there’s no evidence that the old lady was pushed, or assaulted. Says he’ll know more tomorrow, but he said that it’s already a racing certainty that he won’t be able to prove foul play.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘There’s more, I’m afraid. Sandy’s been on as well. None of your suspect’s prints on any of the likely surfaces, and although she’s confident that your thief had a brew and a biscuit it doesn’t look like there’ll be any DNA.’
‘Shit. Really?’
‘Seems like your con is no mug, if you’ll excuse the pun. Didn’t so much as touch the tea. And there wasn’t so much as a crumb on the plate.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Aye, lad. It’s bloody annoying when cons are clever. Anyway, don’t shoot the messenger, as they say.’
‘I won’t. Sorry, sir.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I like to see a young copper who actually cares. The day being a bobby becomes just a job, that’s the time to get out. Know what I mean?’
‘I do, thanks. I know exactly what you mean, sir.’
When Iredale sat down again he had no idea what he’d say next. Should he just take a statement, and leave it at that for now? It was the sensible thing to do, there was no doubt about that.
‘Would you like to know what that was about?’
‘Not really.’
‘It was to do with the robbery. And because of what I just heard I don’t have enough to charge you at present, or your mum, come to that.’
‘So I can go?’
‘As soon as I have your formal statement, yes. But you do need to understand what happens now, Tiffany. Because I won’t rest until I know who committed those burglaries, and why that old lady, why Joan, is dead. Every previous case will be re-investigated, every witness re-interviewed. Your whereabouts when every single burglary took place will be established, and then re-checked. Your financial and phone records will be examined. Let me be very clear about this: you aren’t our prime suspect here, you’re our only suspect. We know that you did this, Tiffany. I know it, and I really can’t understand why. What is it that makes you do it? I just can’t work it out at all.’
‘You don’t know me, copper. You don’t know anything about me. You’re just another meddling twat, trying to tell me how to run my life. Why should I take any notice of a word you say? You’re all fucking liars, every last one of you. You can’t change anything, or do anything. Now just let me go.’
Afterwards Hall asked if Iredale really had needed to look after his mum.
‘No, sir, she’s absolutely fine. I just thought it might help. Empathy, like.’
Hall nodded slowly, but didn’t look convinced.
‘Did I do wrong, sir?’
‘It wasn’t true, was it? That’s my only concern. You were on tape, and you said something that you knew not to be true. It just blurs the line a bit. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘You mean she was right? About us being liars?’
‘I didn’t say that, Keith. They all play the victim card at some point, even the real hard men. You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s probably justified as well. I don’t doubt that. But it’s
not our concern. Anyway, has Mike Lightfoot been booked in?’
‘Waiting for us, sir. Interview room three this time, just for a change.’
Iredale followed Hall down the corridor. He was pretty sure that he’d just been told off, and he was pretty sure that he’d deserved it.
Mike Lightfoot looked nervous. He started to speak when Hall and Iredale walked in, but the Duty Solicitor put a hand on his arm. ‘Just wait for their questions, Mike, and answer those.’ Lightfoot nodded, and stared down at the table, as if he was trying to read something in its scratched and blotched surface. Hall thought that he couldn’t have looked more guilty if he’d tried, but he knew better than to buy all that body-language baloney. He’d been on a course about it once, years before, when it was all the rage, and it hadn’t helped at all. He’d always found it hard - going on impossible - to spot a liar based on their physical behaviour and demeanour, and he still did after the course. But maybe the cons had been on it as well.
‘You’ve been informed of the death of Mrs. Pearson?’ said Iredale.
‘Yes. She was a client. Really nice old lady, was Joan.’
‘And you know that a young woman was seen running from the house, very soon after the death?’
‘I’d heard. That’s terrible, but I had nothing to do with it. I’m not robbing my clients. Why would I?’
‘And where were you this morning, Mr. Lightfoot?’
‘At work. In the office until about eleven.’
‘And there are people who can vouch for you?’
‘Of course. We have CCTV in the office anyway, just in case any clients get, you know…physical.’
‘Let me ask you again, and please remember that someone has died this time. Do you know who this thief is, the one who may have caused the death of your client?’
Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) Page 12