“I didn’t do it!” He shouted in desperation, tugging against McCall. She held onto him tightly and led him downstairs. The walk of shame, I preferred to call it.
“You’ve lied to us, Mr Harper,” I explained. “You’ll have a chance to explain at the station. You haven’t worked at the medical centre for months, when you so clearly stated in your alibi that you were at work on the night of Gavin Ellis’s death. We found your scalpel stashed behind your sofa.”
“It’s Catherine’s blood.” Jack Harper persisted. “It’s Catherine’s blood on the scalpel.”
“What?” McCall slackened her grip on our static suspect.
“McCall.” I barked at her to watch out, in case Jack Harper made a dash for it. “We can’t trust him until our forensics come back.”
“Please, don’t blame Catherine,” Jack begged. “I won’t talk unless she’s safe with me,” He bargained, pleading with us desperately. He wasn’t concerned that he was suspected of murder, only that Catherine was with him.
“At the station?” I made a deal. “If we bring Catherine with you, will you tell the truth?”
Jack Harper nodded. Crying and shaking from adrenaline.
“Get her dressed, DC Taylor,” I instructed, the constable trying to protect Catherine’s modesty. “She’s coming with us.”
Catherine stayed frozen to the spot, crying. Her long, silken hair flowed like a halo behind her. She was barely dressed in normal clothes, and her dressing gown didn’t leave much to the imagination. Jack peeked back at the young girl, a glimpse of grief coming out to play. McCall bundled the now conforming Jack Harper into the car.
“What in the hell is going on here?” I questioned myself out loud in frustration, massaging my sore head. “DCI Campbell’s going to murder us,” I directed my concerns to DC Taylor, who struggled to console Catherine. His jet black hair was tousled, even more so when Catherine hugged him for solace. It wouldn’t have mattered particularly who was there for her at that moment. She would have hugged them all the same.
Either way, DC Taylor was chuffed. It wasn’t often pretty girls threw themselves at him. I watched on with an inkling of concern. Catherine’s wrapped up in Jack’s web, somehow.
16
DCI Campbell burst through into our office, smacking a desk in frustration at my actions. “DI Cooper, could you explain why I’ve walked into the station to find Jack Harper tossed up like some criminal and a scantily clad girl sobbing into DC Taylor’s shoulder?” he shouted furiously, everyone in the general office watching in hushed whispers.
“Brilliant, isn’t it?” DC Cillian Murphy joined in, about Catherine. “She refused to get dressed!” DC Cillian couldn’t believe his luck, but DCI Campbell was in no such mood. DC Cillian Murphy retreated, hanging his head low.
“You three were supposed to find Jack Harper, not arrest him! Especially not without communicating with me first. We’ve all got phones.” DCI Campbell waved his in the air, his tone furious. “I entrusted you to deal with the situation sensibly, whilst I tied up in the woods. That was a mistake.”
“Jack Harper lied to us. He found out surveillance was posted at his house and made a break for Catherine’s house,” I explained with just as much aggro.
DCI Campbell’s expression was blank.
“The girl outside. Catherine Jones,” I led him outside to the corridor, to show him exactly what I meant. I folded my arms as DC Taylor begged for help. Catherine had smothered him in tears. “There was a scalpel at Jack’s house, which we’ve sent off for forensics to take a look over.”
“I don’t get your point, Cooper.” DCI Campbell snapped, behind on our ordeal.
“Same size as Gavin’s marking, roughly. There was blood on its tip, which Jack claimed to be Catherine’s, but until forensics gets back to us, we’ve no idea whether he’s lying again.” I scratched my eyebrow, under DCI Campbell’s unforgiving glare.
“Again?” DCI Campbell snapped.
“We read his medical files,” I winced, waiting for an explosion. “He lied on his statement and to our faces. He was fired for abusing his power, all for Catherine Jones,” I loosely explained, well aware Catherine could hear. I still wasn’t sure what she had to do with everything and didn’t want her knowing our every move.
“You visited the hospital, even though I told you specifically not to?” DCI Campbell glared at me, chest puffed in anger at the fact I’d ‘defied him.’
My conscience warned me that I had to cover for McCall. I couldn’t risk her losing her career, not when she’d uncovered this information for my own sake, to prove my own stupid point.
“Yes, sir, I did,” I pretended to confess, acting seriously. DC Taylor breathed in nervously. “I had an instinct, and I followed it. I’ll take the suspension, if needs be.”
DCI Campbell didn’t take his eyes off me and stepped closer. He’d enjoy suspending me, I was sure of it. “You’re right.” What? “I should’ve been thorough, and figured this out. Jack Harper’s hiding something, he’s lied to us too many times. He’s the best bet we’ve got so far.” DCI Campbell inhaled, as though he didn’t want to admit the next part. “Well done. All three of you. Including McCall.”
“I’ll be on paperwork if anyone needs me,” DCI Campbell excused himself, retreading tiredly into his office. As he left, I heard him whisper, “I’m too old for all this.”
Catherine Jones cried delicately, and tears skimmed her unblemished skin. Makeup artists couldn’t even have made them as perfect. Her almond eyes stared unblinkingly at the floor, cat-like and pure. She can’t have been older than seventeen. I had no idea how to talk to her or engage her age group in a conversation of this nature.
All I knew was that I had plenty of burning questions to ask.
DC Taylor helped Catherine immensely. They were similar in age, and he had the correct approach, friendly, soft and gentle. He spoke to Catherine as a friend or parent would, one arm around her shoulders supportively. She settled absentmindedly in a chair, a teenager carrying the weight of the world. DC Taylor sat right next to the girl and handed her a wealth of Kleenex tissues.
I cleared my throat to grab their attention. I was the giant in the room and towered above those other two young uns. My sunglasses were still perched atop my strong nose, I realised, and quickly brought them off. Although Jack Harper was an unworthy scumbag in my humble opinion, Catherine was still a frightened young lady. She deserved some form of respect.
“You have a nice house,” I observed tactfully, a bid to get Catherine to open up to us. I mentally noted her body language, something which McCall always urged me to do, but I’d never seen much point in doing that.
Let’s see. Folded arms, head bowed down. Her feet were planted closer together than a normal person’s. She wasn’t relaxed in the slightest, but she’s in a police station, surrounded by pervy officers, excited by even a peep of skin. Who could blame her? Catherine’s fingers fiddled with a small, golden object. I squinted to see it better. A ring of sorts.
DC Taylor hushed her cries in a desperate bid to get some information out of her.
“It’s my parents’ house. They were away for the week,” Catherine managed to explain, wiping her nose by using the back of her hand. Her parents' house.
“Where have they gone?” I asked.
“Away. To Edinburgh. It’s their anniversary,” she explained wistfully. Her voice came out thick and snotty.
DC Taylor shared a look with me. He was uncertain whether they should continue asking the poor girl questions, but this was important work. We may have caught Jack, but we needed more incriminating evidence. Evidence that was not purely circumstantial.
“You’re not going to tell my parents, are you? Please don’t tell them.” Catherine became frantic and jumped back into life. “They can’t ever know. They wouldn’t understand.” She was distressed and had kept secrets from said parents.
“I think your neighbours may do that job for us,” DC Taylor made a valid p
oint and rubbed Catherine’s back to ease her crying.
“How old are you, Catherine?” Again, I studied her body language when she told me her real age.
“Eighteen.”
“What was Jack Harper doing at your house? He was your doctor a couple of months back, wasn’t he?” I stood up tall and crossed my arms.
The teenager didn’t react. I reckoned Jack had warned her that we were onto him and debriefed her on what she should and shouldn’t say. Catherine Jones had a metaphorical filter placed inside her mouth. Her brain physically processed every thought from her brain and sorted them into two categories: speak, and do not speak.
“He signed an agreement—” she mumbled before I cut her off.
“Which kept the news from the press, if Jack Harper removed himself from the premises effective immediately,” I explained. “No court case, no charge. Only recently was that information brought to police attention.”
Catherine appeared crestfallen. “I can’t tell you,” she cried.
DC Taylor shuffled uncomfortably under my intense glare and knew better than to challenge me. He readjusted his blazer around Catherine’s shoulders and allowed me to continue the informal questioning. Their black hair disappeared against one another, forming a weird connection between the two.
“Why did Jack Harper run to you, Catherine? What are you hiding from us? If he’s threatened you, then tell us. He can’t hurt you anymore. We’ve got him.”
I crouched down in front of the youthful girl. She tried desperately to avoid any eye contact, but it all proved useless in the end. I wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Those slim brown orbs attached to mine, full of fear and desperation. We stayed like that for around five minutes before Catherine broke away.
“I’m not saying anything. I can’t,” she said at last. “Whatever I say would be used against him, and your preconceptions of him would cloud your true judgement.” Catherine’s face set in stone. For such an inexperienced lady, she spoke with the wisdom of an older woman.
I sighed, realising this would be difficult enough without the additional complications. I stood up. “I’m not sure of your involvement in all this, Catherine, but I want you where I can see you.”
DC Taylor knew how serious I was about the matter and chose to keep quiet. He made the smart decision.
We had no time to lose. I wanted Jack Harper exposed today, no matter what the consequences may be. For Catherine and her parents’ sake, I only hoped that the newspapers didn’t feel the need to tear them to shreds because of my involvement.
17
McCall
I felt sorry for the young girl. I remembered being that age, When I was innocent and without a care in the world. I was a happy young girl, with clear visions of what I wanted my future to hold. Since I was about five years old, I longed to be a dancer, but then I watched The Sweeney. My dad showed it to me one night after ballet practice, and the rest was history. I never looked back.
I wondered what Catherine Jones’s dad showed her to end up involved in an extremely messy situation. Love, happiness, respect? Whatever Jack Harper had them involved in, it wasn’t going to be nice. Most CID officers noticed Catherine right away. She stood out as a naïve and vulnerable soul amidst the chaos.
“Sir.” Finlay got held back by an officer to explain the nature of Jack Harper’s arrest to the custody officer to cover our backs legally, that we were well within our rights to hold Harper in the cells whilst questioning him formally.
“If you’re busy, sarge,” DC Taylor always used my formal title when we met within the station. It always felt strange, as we were on a first-name basis any other time. “I’ll look after Catherine for a while longer. I don’t want any of the others taking responsibility. You know what they’re like,” he explained with a grimace.
“Thanks, John,” I replied quietly, out of earshot, earning a bright smile in return. “Jack’s downstairs, waiting for questioning. I want you to wait on our forensics email for the scalpel, and when they come through, tell us right away. It shouldn’t take long, as it’s prioritized.”
“Yes, Sarge,” DC Taylor, John, repeated.
“McCall?” Finlay’s voice caught my attention, resurfaced from his various duties. He waggled a bunch of paperwork in his hand. We were all fed up of paperwork by now, a downside to being a detective. Forms. Health and safety, statements, reports, arresting officer reports. Forensics, solicitor requests. The list quite literally goes on.
Paperwork already swarmed Finlay up to his elbows when I reached him leaning tall and broad against the front desk.
“Don’t look so serious,” I cracked a smile at Finlay. He was disturbed from his monotonous form filling trance. His deep blue eyes hazed out, going cross-eyed from staring at letters for too long. “We’ve got Jack. He’s the one you wanted.”
Finlay shifted. “I wanted him, yes. But it’s not over. Catherine’s got more to do with this than I thought.”
“Second-guessing yourself?” I pondered.
“No. He’s got a clear motive, and he’s lied to us. Arresting him was the right decision, it gave him a kick up the jacksie. It should give him a reason to talk to us, for real this time. I just don’t know what Catherine’s got to do with any of this.” Finlay scrunched up his face in thought. “But I forgot to say--”
“Thanks?” I helped him out, knowing how he struggled with saying those two words.
“Yup.” He popped the ‘P’. “Finding Catherine Jones meant finding Jack Harper,” Finlay admitted with a small gulp. His Adam’s apple wobbled slightly, and I knew he found that incredibly hard to admit to my face.
“It’s all part of the job,” I glowered modestly. “So long as DCI Campbell doesn’t find out, I’m safe.”
Finlay’s expression changed, and I was baffled as to why. “You don’t have to worry about Campbell. Everything’s sorted,” he finished, with an air of mystery, as you do. I was about to ask him what he meant. “Right-o. Take these.” He plonked a load of paper on my side. Half on his, half on mine.
Every so often, Finlay and I would shuffle cumbersomely, tired of writing. Our hands ached, and the clock ticked. I’d sneak a peek at Finlay every so often, just to see his concentration face. It made me laugh. He pursed his lips, frowned a lot and had a habit of sniffing in the most annoying way possible. One strand of brunette hair flopped into his face the way it always did. I didn’t have any hair gel at my house this morning, so he had styled his hair differently to accommodate that.
A large shadow ran across his strong jawline as he cast it onto my brother’s shirt. It suited Finlay better than it did my brother. Finlay picked up the last two papers from my pile in one swift swoop and shoved them onto his own.
“I’m bored. Jack Harper’s sitting upstairs and we’re stuck filling out inconvenient forms. We’re going up,” Finlay preached, having a change of heart. The previous Finlay returned, attitude and all.
It was quite a relief. Those snobby forms were boring us to death. We’d have been dead before Jack Harper got questioned.
We stalked up to interviewing room two. Number one had already been occupied with a petty criminal of sorts. People had misconceptions about these rooms, especially kids who recently started in the force. These rooms are no bigger than Harry Potter sized cupboard under the stairs. Rackety, dishevelled chairs were practically piled on top of one another. Each time we sat down, you had to squeeze right next to the other officer in the room.
There is only one entrance way which doubled as an exit. Technology was also sparse in this room, with only two security cameras ensuring our safety and a tape recorder sat upon the desk.
“Jack Harper,” Finlay shuffled through our files and sorted ourselves out. I’m smaller, so I always got pushed into sitting nearest the wall. “You’ve had your tea, you’ve been to the bathroom, and you denied your phone call. Let’s get to it, shall we?”
Jack had aged in the last couple of hours. An ancient pallor dusted his
face, sick from worry and nerves. His unflattering shirt had rumpled from sitting down too often. He blinked behind the safety shield of those retro glasses, shamed and unforgiving.
I pressed record on the machine, and proceedings began.
“This is DI Finlay Cooper and DS Kirsty McCall with suspect Jack Harper, for the Gavin Ellis case files. Solicitor present. Interview commenced on Thursday the twelfth of December…” He checked his wristwatch accordingly. “At four forty-five pm.”
Jack watched us both with a glint of fear in his eye. He ran his tongue over his teeth, nervously awaiting any questions which were bound to get thrown his way.
“Do you know who this is?” Finlay slid some photos one by one across the desk to face Jack, starting off easily. Jack looked down and winced at the rather graphic pictures laid before him. They depicted our very first murder scene.
“Gavin Ellis,” Jack replied with uncertainty, throat dry, and in desperate need of another drink.
“He was found early hours on the eighth of December. Gavin Ellis had left home four days before his death,” Finlay added for recording purposes. “What was your relationship with the victim?”
“I, uh, wouldn’t say I had any form of relationship with him.” The solicitor caught Jack’s eye, urging him on. “I knew him briefly, in passing. I didn’t associate with Gavin in the slightest.”
“Let me rephrase this,” Finlay changed his mind, realising that Jack Harper was avoiding saying what Gavin Ellis did to his family. “Who was Gavin Ellis to you?”
Jack began to cry fully and squeezed both eyes shut. His wrinkles protruded ashamedly further into his forehead.
“It’s alright, Jack. Just take your time,” I soothed him. Finlay didn’t agree with the kindness approach, which is why we always got paired together. A spot of the old good cop, bad cop routine.
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