by Jim Eldridge
‘You described one of the men who attacked you as: about five feet six inches tall, almost shaven head, wearing a black T-shirt with a brown zip-up casual jacket. And with a scar down the left-hand side of his face, from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. Is that correct?’
Jake nodded.
‘Is the man that was discovered dead in your living room that same man?’ asked Edgar.
Jake gulped, then nodded.
‘Please answer for the recording,’ prompted Edgar.
‘Yes,’ said Jake.
‘Yet you say you don’t know this man?’
‘That’s correct,’ said Jake. ‘I’ve never seen him before today. I don’t know his name, or anything about him.’
‘Yet he was found dead in your flat.’
‘That’s right.’
The inspector paused, then said, ‘Did you invite him into your flat?’
‘No,’ said Jake. ‘I’ve already told you, he was there when I got home.’
‘Alive?’
‘No, dead! I’ve told you that already!’
Edgar remained calm.
‘The reason I ask is because there were no signs of a break-in at your flat,’ he said. ‘Which means either the man was let into the flat by yourself, or someone else.’
‘Or he picked the lock,’ said Jake.
Edgar looked questioningly at Jake.
‘You’re suggesting he was burgling your flat?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Jake.
‘And someone killed him while he was doing it?’
‘Possibly,’ said Jake. ‘Or he was killed elsewhere and his body dumped in my flat.’
‘Why would anyone want to do that?’ asked the inspector.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jake again.
The inspector shook his head.
‘It’s not much of a defence, is it?’ he said.
Before Jake could reply, there was a knock at the door, then it opened and a uniformed officer looked in.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said.
He gestured towards the door. The inspector got up and walked over to the uniformed policeman, who whispered something to him. Edgar gave a sigh, and a nod.
‘Tell her I’ll be out in a moment,’ he said.
The uniformed officer nodded, then left, shutting the door behind him.
‘Seems like your lawyer’s here,’ Edgar told Jake.
Jake frowned, puzzled. Lawyer? He didn’t have a lawyer.
‘Keep an eye on him, Sergeant,’ said the inspector. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ He walked to the desk, said, ‘Interview halted at six fifty p.m.’ Then he switched off the recorder and walked out of the room.
Jake looked after him, still puzzled. What lawyer?
He stared across the desk at Sergeant Club. Club returned his gaze, his expression impassive. Jake turned towards PC Omulu, on the chair by the door. The constable also looked back at Jake blankly.
No one’s giving anything away, thought Jake. They think I killed that man and they want a confession. They’re not going to say anything to me that might give me an excuse in court to claim I was pressurised by them. No friendly smiles, no menacing scowls. Nothing. Just blank expressions.
He turned to studying the dark wall nearest to him. There were bumps and creases in the plaster, and he could make out different shapes. Or, at least, things that looked like shapes. And faces. An eye here, then a nose, and a crack in the plaster that could be a mouth. It was the kind of game he hadn’t played since he was a boy at school and the lesson was boring: seeing if he could make faces out of things. A wall. The trunk of a tree. Gravel. He was just starting to see other faces in the dark paint, when the door of the interview room opened and Edgar returned. With him was a young woman in a smart suit, carrying a neat black briefcase. Jake guessed her to be in her late twenties. What there was no mistaking, however, was the angry expression on her face. She strode across the room and stopped by Jake.
‘Sue Clark from Pierce Randall,’ she introduced herself to Jake, her tone clipped and crisp. She looked around the interview room with undisguised disapproval. ‘Do I understand you’ve been interrogating my client without him having any legal representation?’ she snapped at Edgar.
Inspector Edgar bridled.
‘I hardly think “interrogating” is the right word . . .’ he began.
‘Oh. And what is the right word, might I ask?’ demanded Clark. Her voice cut through the air like a whip. ‘It looks to me as if there have been so many infringements in my client’s rights that you’ll be lucky if you stay in your job.’
She’s tough, thought Jake. She’s the one I want on my side. But how did I get her?
‘Now look here . . .’ protested Edgar.
‘No, you look,’ interrupted Clark firmly. ‘As I understand it, my client is just a witness, yet it’s obvious he’s being treated as a suspect. This is not due process. Now, if you don’t want to find yourself a subject of a major investigation, I suggest you release my client.’
‘At the moment he’s helping us with our enquiries,’ countered Edgar.
‘And he will return and continue to help you with those enquiries after he and I have had our discussion about this case,’ stated Clark. ‘Don’t forget, Inspector, we are Pierce Randall. You may have heard of us.’
It was pretty obvious from the unhappy expression on the detective’s face that he had, and it wasn’t good news.
‘Very well,’ he growled. ‘In the spirit of cooperation, we shall release Mr Wells.’ Then he added quickly, ‘But be aware that his home is now a crime scene, and we cannot have that tampered with.’
‘That’s no problem,’ said Clark. ‘Pierce Randall have an apartment Mr Wells can move into for the time being. This is the address.’ She produced a card which she handed to Edgar. ‘But, if you wish to make contact with Mr Wells for any reason before we return, you will do that through me. My contact details are on the reverse side of the card.’
‘Very well.’ Edgar nodded. ‘We would like Mr Wells to return to help us with our enquiries tomorrow morning at nine thirty.’ His tone changed to one of pointed sarcasm as he asked, ‘Will that be all right with you?’
Clark nodded. ‘That is acceptable. We will report here at nine thirty a.m. tomorrow.’ Turning to Jake, she said, ‘Do you have any possessions here?’
‘My mobile and my keys,’ said Jake, his mind still in a whirl at the effect this woman had had on his situation. ‘And my shoelaces.’
‘Let’s collect them and then we can go,’ she said.
Jake got to his feet and followed the lawyer to the door. A uniformed officer opened it for them.
I’m out! thought Jake. Free!
But then the additional disturbing thought returned: who is she? And what is she leading me into?
Chapter 19
There was a car waiting for them in the parking area outside the police station. Not just any car: this was a luxurious-looking Merc with blacked-out windows, the number plates showing it was this year’s model, and standing beside it was a uniformed chauffeur who opened the rear door for them.
Jake got in and sank into the plush leather seating. My God, he thought. I’ve been in hotel rooms that weren’t as comfortable as this!
The chauffeur slid behind the steering wheel and the car moved off. Jake noticed there was a glass panel between the driver and the rear of the car.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
Clark frowned. ‘I thought I’d introduced myself,’ she said.
‘Yes, but who are you? I mean, where did you come from? Who sent you?’
‘I’ll let my principal deal with your questions,’ she said. ‘He’s better equipped for that. My job was just to get you out of there, and then represent you in any further interviews you may have with the police.’
‘Like tomorrow morning,’ said Jake.
She shrugged. ‘A formality,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty confident they won’t be troubling you after that.�
��
Jake regarded her, baffled at her confidence.
‘How can you say that?’ he asked. ‘They found a dead man in my flat, and no sign of a break-in.’
‘We are Pierce Randall,’ she said simply.
Jake shook his head.
‘I’ve never heard of you,’ he said.
‘Very few people have,’ said Clark. ‘The important thing is that the ones who matter have heard of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check my messages, and send a few myself.’
‘About me?’
Clark almost smiled.
‘You’re not our only client, Mr Wells. At any one moment we are juggling many cases.’ She pointed at some magazines in a compartment in the door next to him. ‘You’ll find some reading material there, if you get bored.’
But he didn’t feel like reading anything at the moment. He was still getting used to being trapped as a suspected murderer one moment, and then riding to freedom in this luxury car the next.
The car was silent and smooth; he hardly noticed it was moving. He sat and watched the world go by, while beside him Sue Clark’s fingers were busy with her state-of-the art mobile, reading and replying to messages. Where are we going? he wondered. From the street signs it looked as if they were heading south-east, towards Docklands. Sure enough, soon he saw the new high-rise luxury apartment blocks of Docklands ahead. The new City money. The Merc turned through some side streets, and then pulled up in front of an enormous pair of steel gates. The driver pressed something on the dashboard, and the gates slowly rumbled open. The driver let the car roll through and down a slope. The gates moved slowly shut again after them.
‘Secure parking,’ explained Clark, putting her mobile phone away. ‘It goes with the apartment.’
‘Whose apartment?’ asked Jake.
‘Yours, for the moment,’ said Clark. ‘Remember what the detective said: your own flat is a crime scene. So you’ll be staying here for the moment, until we can get that changed. It should only be for a short while. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get it sorted at tomorrow morning’s meeting.’
The car pulled up into a parking bay. Clark got out.
‘Wait here,’ she instructed the chauffeur. ‘We’ll be back shortly.’
She set off for the lifts. Jake hurried after her.
‘Are we in a hurry?’ he asked, impressed by the fast pace at which she walked.
‘Life is a hurry,’ she said. ‘Every minute that passes we’re one minute nearer to dying. Life is too short to waste it by dawdling.’
She pressed the call button, and the lift doors opened. Again, Jake was met with luxury: the voice-activation which asked for the required floor level; the carpets, the décor. As with the car, Jake reflected he’d lived in worse places than this lift.
They got out of the lift at the twenty-third floor. Once again, Clark set off at a fast pace along a quiet corridor, then stopped at the door of an apartment and keyed in a security code beside it.
‘I’ll give you the codes later,’ she said. ‘It’s a lot more secure than keys.’
Inside, the apartment was everything that Jake expected, after the Merc and the lift: luxury and money, but in a minimalist style. In the living room were tables and chairs made of steel, chrome and glass. The cupboards were hidden in the walls, painted black. The walls were also black, but with large paintings and mirrors hanging to give the apartment colour.
‘Bedroom through there,’ said Clark, pointing. ‘Bathroom. Separate wet room. Kitchen. It’s simple, but it serves.’
Simple, thought Jake. If she thinks this is simple, what would she make of my flat?
‘You’ll be perfectly safe here,’ Clark told Jake. ‘Later, we’ll get some things sorted out ahead of tomorrow morning, but right now I suggest you get yourself freshened up; then my principal wishes to see you. I’ll just let him know we’re back.’
She was walking towards the landline phone on the table, when her mobile rang.
‘Sue Clark,’ she said briskly. Then her tone changed: ‘Mr Munro. I was just about to call you. I have Mr Wells with me . . .’
The caller didn’t allow her to finish. He had obviously told her to switch on the TV, because she picked up a remote control, clicked it, and a TV news channel appeared on the screen. There was a picture of Carl Parsons on the screen.
‘I’ve got it,’ she said.
She increased the volume, and Jake heard the newsreader say: ‘The body has been identified as that of Carl Parsons, a student.’ As Jake watched, his mouth open in shock, the picture of Parsons was replaced by one of Lauren. ‘Police are looking for a woman, Lauren Graham, also a student. They have urged the public not to confront this woman, but to contact the police immediately if they see her. Full details have not yet been disclosed, but we will be giving an update as soon as we know more. In other news . . .’
Clark switched to mute, and the sound vanished, leaving the newsreader mouthing silently. Jake stared at the screen, still stunned by what he just had seen and heard. Parsons dead! The police looking for Lauren! It couldn’t be true! Clark was talking into her mobile.
‘Yes, Mr Munro. I’ll send Mr Wells to your office right away.’ She hung up and turned to Jake. ‘This is a bad turn of events.’
‘Someone’s killed Carl Parsons!’ blurted out Jake, shocked.
‘And they think Ms Graham did it.’ Clark nodded sombrely.
‘Impossible!’ said Jake. ‘Lauren wouldn’t hurt anyone! Least of all Carl!’
Clark moved to her laptop and began to search for postings of the story on the web.
‘Let’s see what there is,’ she murmured. On her screen appeared the photos of Lauren and Parsons. She read swiftly through the accompanying text. ‘His body was found in his flat three hours ago,’ she said. ‘He’d been dead for about an hour.’ She allowed herself a small smile. ‘At least you’re off the hook for his murder. Being in a police cell is the best alibi there is.’
Jake hurried over to join her and read the text over her shoulder as she scrolled down. Parsons had been stabbed. There were signs of a struggle. The police had received 999 calls reporting a disturbance from the flat: shouts and screams. Almost immediately afterwards, Lauren had been seen hurrying away from the block of flats by two separate witnesses. Later, the police arrived and broke into the flat, and found Parsons’s body.
‘Strong evidence against her,’ muttered Clark.
‘Nonsense!’ stormed Jake. ‘It wasn’t her! It was someone who looked like her!’
Clark went to another website where the story was featured. This one had an image of Lauren coming out of the block of flats, with the time in white lettering underneath.
‘CCTV footage,’ said Clark. ‘Someone’s worked fast.’
‘It’s faked,’ said Jake, shaking his head. ‘It has to be!’
‘Or she did it,’ said Clark. She pointed at the image of Lauren on the screen. ‘He’s killed in his flat, and minutes later she’s running away from it.’
‘Maybe that’s what it is,’ said Jake. ‘She’s running away! From whoever killed Parsons!’
‘So why didn’t she phone nine-nine-nine?’
Jake hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe she lost her mobile.’
‘There’s a public phone box not far away, according to this report,’ said Clark, continuing to read. ‘That’s where one of the calls about the disturbance at the flat came from.’
‘Maybe she was in a panic,’ said Jake. ‘Someone was chasing her!’
Clark shook her head. ‘There’s nothing about anyone else seen leaving the flats at the same time. Just Ms Graham.’ She turned to Jake and gave him a look of sympathy. ‘You have to admit to the possibility that she did it.’
‘No!’ Jake told her firmly. ‘Why would she?’
‘Maybe he attacked her,’ suggested Clark. ‘She defended herself, there was a struggle, he got stabbed. She panics and runs.’
A thought suddenly hit
Jake.
‘What was he stabbed with?’ he asked.
Clark scrolled down and they both read the text.
‘According to this . . .’ began Clark.
‘A kitchen knife!’ said Jake triumphantly. ‘The same thing the dead man in my flat was stabbed with!’
Clark looked back at him, questioningly.
‘Don’t you see!’ implored Jake. ‘It’s the same MO, or whatever the police call it. Use a kitchen knife that’s already there so it’s got fingerprints already on it. In my case, my fingerprints. In this case, Lauren’s. She likes cooking. She’d have used the knife to chop vegetables, or whatever.’ He stabbed his finger at the laptop screen. ‘I bet you the same person who killed Carl Parsons killed the man in my flat!’
‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘Which means it’s possible that person was your Lauren Graham.’
Jake stared back at her.
‘That’s ridiculous!’ he said.
‘Is it?’ she asked. ‘What do you know about her?’
‘I went out with her for a long time!’
‘What do you call a long time?’
‘Six months.’
‘And you haven’t seen her for how long?’
‘Until the other day, about two months.’
Clark sighed.
‘Mr Wells, we don’t always know people as well as we think we do. There are millions of cases of bigamists, where the husband or wife didn’t know their partner had another family; people who apparently are respectable people who are actually criminals or killers or spies . . .’
‘Lauren is none of those,’ said Jake firmly. ‘For a start, she wouldn’t have even been involved in this if I hadn’t brought her into it. I phoned her!’
Clark looked as if she was about to say something, then she obviously changed her mind. Instead, she shrugged.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But all I ask is you consider it as an option. Keep an open mind.’
‘No,’ replied Jake firmly, shaking his head.
Clark shrugged again.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Anyway, right now Mr Munro wants to see you.’
‘Mr Munro?’
‘He’s the man who hired me to get you out of jail.’