The Lies They Told

by Jay Nadal

  13

  The smell of the wine last night was intoxicating, yet this morning, it added to the nausea that ebbed and flowed through her. The thirst stayed after each slow drink of water, but her head felt fit to crack open.

  It was the same every morning. It always felt like a great idea when she poured herself a glass most evenings, choosing to ignore how crap she would feel the next morning. But in the cold light of day, she regretted every mouthful as she sipped on her bottle of water.

  She stepped through the gates of the car park at the back of the station and made her way to the rear entrance. Karen had seen McQueen ride in before her. She smiled to herself. There was nothing conventional about McQueen’s approach. Most mornings, he rode in on his bike, a 1966 Triumph TR6 Trophy. Why had he picked that one? Because his idol had ridden one. McQueen had gone to great lengths to explain why he had picked it, detailing it was a US import with a Triumph owners’ certificate. It had been fully restored at a cost of twelve grand. When he had first bought it and couldn’t stop raving about it, Karen’s eyes had glazed over. McQueen had explained in detail how the wheels had flanged alloy racing rims, Dunlop gold sealed K70s, and a multitude of other things that Karen had forgotten the moment the words left his lips. To her it was just a bike, a great-looking bike, but for McQueen it was a part of history.

  “Ma’am,” McQueen said as they joined each other at the door. He ran his fingers through his hair to bring it back into some shape, having removed his helmet.

  Even with his hair ruffled, he still looked suave and rugged. If she’d ridden a bike to work, she would have looked like a washed-out cat.

  “Morning, Steve. How’s you this morning?”

  “I’m good, ma’am. How about you? Did you have a good evening?”

  “The usual. Wine, food, and TV. We live exciting lives don’t we?”

  “Some say we do. No two days are the same. We deal with shit, we shovel the shit, and we hate that shit.”

  “So, you love your job then? That’s a ten out of ten on the job satisfaction scale, right?” She laughed.

  McQueen didn’t answer as he laughed at his own assessment.

  “Did you have a good evening?” she asked.

  “Nothing amazing. Like yourself. Just a quiet one.”

  “No hot dates? No raucous sex?” she teased.

  McQueen narrowed his eyes pretending to contemplate. “Is it me or you you’re talking about?”

  Karen’s face flushed red in embarrassment.

  He held the door open for her, and she stepped through, waving at the duty sergeant as they made their way to the office.

  “Don’t tell me, you watched The Great Escape… yet again! What are you up to now fifty, sixty times?”

  McQueen smiled, not rising to the bait. “It’s still a classic, ma’am. I’ll have to get you to watch it at some point. Then you’ll be a convert.”

  Karen shook her head and smiled. “No chance. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great actor, but I’ve been through enough Christmases and still not been tempted.”

  “There’s always a first time, ma’am,” he teased with a wink.

  She enjoyed being around Steve. Perhaps it was his confidence that reassured her. Perhaps it was the secret thoughts she had about him. Regardless, she liked him in much the same way as the others. She had a good team behind her. They trusted her even though she could be forceful and direct in her approach. They worked well together, and other than Brad, it was a strong team.

  The station was a hub of activity as it was every day. Officers filtered in and out of rooms, prisoners were being processed in custody, and the wheels of justice turned slowly.

  Whichever station she walked into, she still got the odd look from officers. And this station was no different. They would glance at her as she walked past. A sneaky look from the corner of their eye. It was something she had never got used to, nor would she. It was the Chinese whispers, and the look of disgust that seemed to be etched in their eyes whenever she was around. It was a blot on her career that had led to all of this.

  She had only been back at work eight months after suspension, riding in the second of two unmarked police cars. The convoy had been ambushed by assailants with baseball bats and sawn-off shotguns. The vicious attack had left two police officers from the front car dead, and led to the subsequent kidnap and death of Anne Woodland. Anne had witnessed an attack on a high-end wine bar that resulted in one member of staff being shot and killed, and the unmasking of the three suspects as they made their getaway. She later identified them, and the case went to court. Anne had been assigned protection and was being transported to court at the time of the attack. The case fell apart after Anne went missing and the woman was later found bound and shot in the head on farmland near Chelmsford.

  Shock and anger rocketed through the station after the incident. Losing police officers in the line of duty was a thankful rarity, and a huge blow to the Met. The incident had cast an unwelcome spotlight on the force, and every officer that served within it. Everyone in the aftermath was vociferous in their condemnation of Karen and her team. She had been the SIO on the case and had withstood searching questions from the Met’s DPS, the IPCC, the Home Secretary and the Commissioner.

  Karen had barely survived the witch-hunt, and the need for a scapegoat. There had been no threat made to Anne Woodland after she had identified the men. But it later transpired that all three men had connections to the Connells, a major London crime family. Whether it was a sanctioned hit by the Connells was unclear, but their name had remained on the radar since.

  In hindsight, greater security measures should have been taken. And they would have been if they had discovered earlier the connection with the Connells. Karen had carried the can and just avoided being dismissed from the force for potential negligence. Instead, she’d accepted a suspension and demotion from DCI.

  Uncovering those involved in the attack remained unfinished business in her mind. It was something that plagued her and would haunt her every day if she allowed it. Since that fateful day, anger and frustration boiled in her veins. Feeling inept at the job she loved left her checking and double-checking every piece of evidence gathered on the cases she oversaw. She would scrutinise suspects, take a hands-on approach to the investigations, and never leave her team to do all the legwork. She couldn’t afford to face another mistake again.

  Never, ever again.

  Karen knew senior officers, and the Commissioner were watching her every move and waiting for the opportunity to justify their lack of faith in her. She was treading a fine line, and the slightest slip-up could signal the end of her career. The way Skelton blew hot and cold provided one more reason to hate the DCI. He was often absent without explanation and flitted between moments of support for her and barbs of condemnation. If there was one person she needed support from, it was him. Feeling alone and isolated, she battled hard to hold on to her place on the force, and her sanity. She wondered if the rumours about her would ever go away. She questioned if the force would trust her again, and she contemplated whether she could fight like this every day, every week and every month until she retired.

  Every single day since the attack, the incident replayed in her mind. The drive from Camden, the van slowing in front of them as they made their way along Agar Grove, the 1960s four-storey council flats that she had stared at as they drove past, and then pandemonium. Both unmarked vehicles were hit from the side as two cars pulled out from parking bays. Everything after that point seemed to happen in slow motion even though it lasted just a few seconds.

  The violence, threats and the confusion played out vividly through her thoughts. Her mind had spun, her attention being pulled in every direction. Men screaming, firearms being waved around, and car windows being smashed with baseball bats. She’d never forget the chilling screams of terrified members of the public who ducked down behind parked vehicles for cover, and the shouts and panic from inside the transport vehicle as Anne was hauled out
of the lead car and bundled away. And then the gunshots rang out and echoed around the surrounding buildings. She recalled the silence that followed, as if someone had muted the sound. Shocked, with hearts pounding, and adrenaline surging through their veins, the remaining officers raced to their fallen colleagues. Her last memory was the screech of tyres shattering the silence as the attackers raced away.

  The wine helped to push those memories back into the dark box that nestled deep inside her mind, and the solitude of her apartment stopped her from feeling claustrophobic and suffocated.

  But one thought kept rushing back, unwelcome and unbidden. She couldn’t control it. How did the attackers find out that the chief witness in a major trial was being transported across town? The details of the journey had been kept secret with just the officers in the cars and their superiors being informed. As far as Karen was aware, they hadn’t been followed, and none of the officers had let slip about the major operation. For the last few years, several intelligence-led operations against a major criminal organisation in London had been thwarted, the intended targets disappearing moments before the police arrived.

  Every opportunity to expose and bring down the Connells had resulted in failure which could only lead to one conclusion.

  They had a mole.

  Someone on the inside had betrayed them.

  14

  The team gathered early as the smell of instant coffee and bacon sandwiches wafted around the room. Being a major investigations team, more than a dozen other officers and support staff were available and present for each briefing. The additional members of the team conducted much of the legwork, reviewing of witness statements, data inputting and cross-referencing on the HOLMES2 system. The data inputters and support staff played a vital role in every major investigation. They input the details of every phone conversation, interview, evidence record and all lines of enquiry undertaken. It was a massive undertaking. An exhibits officer was assigned to the investigation to log every item seized or recovered such as mobile phones, keys, items of clothing, and weapons.

  Karen would always relay the information to those who worked closest to her, and they would work with the remaining members of the team. It wasn’t unheard of for the team to swell to over fifty officers on major cases. And if Karen didn’t make inroads, then the likelihood would be that the team would grow to that size.

  There was the usual rumble of background noise, small pockets of conversation that filtered around the room. Some related to the case, others were personal conversations between colleagues who aired their grievances, annoyances and heartache in life to each other.

  Karen cleared her throat but only those nearest to her sat up to pay attention. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened to a thin line as she scanned the briefing room. She cleared her throat more forcefully this time. “When you’re all finished, we can begin. If it’s not about this case, then have your discussions later. And the next person who whispers under their breath will have to fork out for a tray of pastries for everyone here.”

  There was a ripple of laughter amongst those gathered.

  “Right. Hopefully you’ve had time to get up to speed with the case. We’ve got Jack Taylor dead in the mortuary. I have confirmed the cause of death to be a gunshot wound to the head. There were other health-related issues, which are in the report, but played no part in his death. Our job is to find out who did it.”

  “Ma’am, is Macholl still a lead suspect?” A voice came from the back of the crowd.

  “He’s not been ruled out, put it that way. He’s the last person that we know of who had an altercation with Taylor. All those who attended his birthday bash witnessed it. So, he remains a suspect.

  “We’ve formally interviewed him. Early indications suggest that he had a plausible motive. He believes he was stitched up by Taylor.”

  “Any news from ballistics?” Jade asked.

  Karen confirmed that McQueen would update the team on that point. “I need you to chase forensics and see if they were able to retrieve anything from Macholl’s clothing.” Karen’s mind switched back to the moment when Macholl had stripped to his underwear in front of her, something that had taken her by surprise. And yet she hadn’t felt intimidated by his actions. Her smile attracted looks of curiosity from those gathered around the incident board.

  She jolted back to the present, and stared at the incident board which now included pictures of the crime scene, and detailed images of the post-mortem. She lingered on the images of Taylor’s head.

  McQueen confirmed that ballistics was still doing an analysis on the bullet recovered from the wall. All they could confirm for the moment was identifying the murder weapon as a small handgun.

  A member of the forensic team present at the briefing stood up and offered further details on the processes they would use. Karen thought it would benefit members of the team who had not been involved in firearms incidents before.

  Angela from forensics explained that when a firearm was discharged, it released a cloud of gases and fine particles composed of gunshot residues. The mixture would often contain both organic and inorganic particulates. The organic matter comprised unburnt and partially combusted propellant and inorganic matter produced by hot gases acting on the bullet.

  The team remained silent as heads turned towards Angela, listening with curiosity.

  Angela continued by adding that when released, these fine particles would settle on any nearby surfaces and were easily carried away from the scene.

  “Thank you,” Karen said. “So, I’m hoping we identify some of that residue from Macholl’s clothing, and if so, that would place him at the scene.”

  “What else do you need us to do, ma’am?” Brad asked.

  “I need you to do the usual. Phone records, bank records, and CCTV footage. In fact, CCTV footage is our best chance. We’ve got Macholl at the restaurant. We know Taylor left the restaurant after midnight. And he was probably home around one a.m. Diane didn’t discover him until nearer eight a.m. So, we need to pin down Macholl’s movements between those hours.”

  “I’m checking the CCTV footage from the off-licence,” McQueen confirmed.

  Karen nodded her approval. “And whilst you’re doing that, organise a search for any other CCTV footage from his street. Check the pub, his apartment block, and the other shops in the street.”

  “That could be dozens of hours of footage, ma’am, if not hundreds, if we find enough feeds,” McQueen suggested.

  “Well, you better get started then.” She winked.

  McQueen didn’t groan or throw his pen down in annoyance or show any other signs of dissatisfaction. He nodded, and took it on the chin like the consummate professional he was.

  “I need you all to check and double-check the list of guests. Especially his associates. Track them down and find out as much as you can. I doubt you’ll get much from them. Honour amongst thieves and all that bollocks. But lean on them nevertheless. And if they give you grief, then suggest that they could be charged for withholding information.”

  Jade wafted a sheet of paper above her head to get Karen’s attention.

  Karen nodded in her direction.

  “It’s not the first time that we’ve had something like this, ma’am. I checked the records for a similar MO and a couple of years ago we had another unsolved case in Whitechapel. It was a known drug dealer, shot through the head. He had links to the Connells. The investigating team hit a brick wall, but their informants implied that the victim had ripped off the Connells. Of course, nothing could be confirmed, and they couldn’t find any links back to the Connells. Even some CCTV footage disappeared.”

  Just hearing the name of the Connells sent a shot of adrenaline through her system. Karen stiffened, as her spine tingled. “Okay, Jade. It might be unrelated, but because it’s the Connells, can you look into that?”

  Jade nodded her agreement.

  “Anything else whilst we’re all together?” Karen scanned those present. Some loo
ked bored, others stared at their notepads, and the rest just glared at her solemn-faced. “Don’t look too excited!” she quipped.

  Brad broke the silence. “Oh ma’am, the manager from the convenience store is awake and due for release. We’ve had armed officers stationed with him at the hospital. He hasn’t been able to give us much, other than the assailants were three men, IC1, dressed in black with balaclavas and gloves. He said all of them were heavyset. I’m afraid that’s it at the moment. He sounds pretty dazed.”

  “Okay, Brad. Keep me updated. If anyone needs me, Jade and I will be paying Diane Murphy another visit. Let’s get to work.”

  Karen stood outside the closed door of DCI Pat Skelton’s office, a sliver of annoyance crawling up her spine. He always kept his door shut, choosing to distance himself from those around him. As she had learnt this morning, the DCI had called in yesterday saying he was unwell and feeling sick. Karen had a different view on it. Every time she had been near him, the distinct and unpleasant odour of cigarettes and stale booze had assaulted her nostrils. His gravelly voice, bloodshot eyes and low-hanging jowls, made him look old and weathered. And at fifty-eight years old, he was certainly both of those to look at. He had done his time in the force but had remained on for reasons Karen never understood.

  As she knocked at the door, Skelton shouted, “In!”

  That familiar smell of booze and fags greeted her as she entered his office. He glared at her from the other side of the desk. There was no formal greeting, let alone a smile. Not even a slight baring of teeth. Skelton was dressed in a dark grey suit, with a white open-necked shirt, and a tie loosely hung around his neck. Over the years, his hair had begun to inch back ever so slightly, which now left him with a large forehead.

  Karen stared at the dark heavy circles around his eyes. His eyes gave nothing away as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

  “Karen, I wondered where you were. I understand we’ve got a live one? Is there any reason I wasn’t called yesterday to oversee the start of the investigation? I am the SIO.”