False Witness (John Steel series Book 3)

by syron-jones, p s

  Steel began to answer, just as Captain Brant came out of his office, looking as unfriendly as he usually did after a conversation with the Chief.

  “The boss man wants updates, so what we got?” Brant asked.

  McCall sat back in her chair. Her hard composure had returned. “We think something happened ten years ago and that these men are paying for it. Probably someone is shutting them up.”

  Brant nodded. It was a sound theory, he was glad to have something to feed to the new chief to shut him the hell up.

  “Where’s Tooms and Tony?” Brant nodded towards the pair of empty desks.

  “They are checking out that security guard’s place, to see if something comes up.”

  Brant nodded and looked out across the sea of half empty desks. “Okay, detectives, keep me apprised of any developments.”

  McCall and Steel could see the stressed look on his face. The Chief was obviously squeezing him hard, probably for his own personal gain.

  “We need to find out what happened ten years ago!” McCall’s voice sounded as tired as she looked.

  “No,” Steel replied. “I need to find it and you need to go home and relax. You can catch up tomorrow.”

  McCall smiled and stood up—she wasn’t about to argue. She was beat and an early night would be good.

  Steel looked over to Garry Sanchez, who was sitting alone nursing a cup of coffee.

  “What happens to him tonight?” McCall asked, looking over as two patrolmen walked over to Garry.

  “He’s going home but with a protective detail.” Steel watched as Garry waved at the two detectives with a broad smile and mouthed a ‘Thank you’ at them. John and Sam waved back and watched him disappear into the elevator.

  “How are you getting home?” Steel asked, also getting ready to head on out.

  “Subway, I guess, unless you want to take me car shopping?”

  Steel laughed as she logged off on her computer. “See you tomorrow, Detective.” Steel bowed and walked towards the stairs, and Sam shook her head and made for the elevator.

  *

  Samantha McCall stepped out of the station house into the unwelcoming cold wind that had a nasty bite to it. The sun was almost gone, however the dull light would still remain for another hour or so. She looked around to see if there was a cab approaching but all of them ignored her.

  Sam stood next to a black town car that was parked with a Hispanic man in a driver’s uniform waiting patiently by the back door.

  “Hey, buddy, you know you can’t park there, right?” Sam told him politely.

  The man just smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am, but I was told to wait here and pick up a detective. My boss said that the guy who paid would take the slack.” McCall shook her head. She had a feeling she knew who this cop was. Hell, it had Steel’s arrogance written all over it.

  He was being picked up by a driver while she had no ride because of him.

  “So tell me, who are you picking up? Would it be some arrogant jerk named Steel?”

  The small driver shook his head and shrugged. Suddenly he smiled awkwardly as he remembered he had forgotten to display the ‘passenger calling’ sign and turned towards the front passenger side.

  “Oops, I forgot!” He laughed as he reached inside the car and pulled out the sign and held it proudly as if nothing was amiss.

  “Thanks for reminding me, ma’am, that could have been real embarrassing.” He giggled.

  McCall looked at the sign and her jaw dropped as the small board clearly read Samantha McCall.

  “You’re picking me up?”

  He looked at the sign then back at her. He shrugged and smiled broadly. “Now I am embarrassed. My name is Felipe, and I will be your driver.”

  McCall shook her head and laughed at her own harsh thoughts. The chauffeur got out and opened the back door, but was slightly shocked when she got into the front.

  “Okay, Felipe, I am Samantha. So whose dime is this on?”

  The man shook his head, but his smile remained.

  “Never mind, I can guess. So have you ever taken a fare as far as Canada, Felipe?” Sam’s joke confused the poor man as they both got into the car.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Brian Armstrong, Megan Armstrong’s father, sat in an old but comfortable armchair in one of the rooms that the disused apartment had to offer. He sat alone, reading a book he had found amongst the many that lined a bookshelf to his right.

  The room was small—it was probably once a child’s bedroom or a study before the gangs had taken the building over as a safe house. The whole apartment was sparse in furnishings, a couple of beds or sofa beds—like the one in Brian’s chosen room. All there was were tables and chairs for dining, and a large old TV set—nothing more was required.

  This was, after all, a safe house and not the Ritz. Brian had left the door open, not so much because he needed company—he didn’t. It was more a case of keeping an eye on the others.

  Brian looked up from the pages of his book to see Darius walk in with a plate of hot food: nothing fancy, just some frankfurters and beans, but it was food.

  Darius looked at the book cover as he entered. He raised an eyebrow when he saw it was a book on poisonous insects.

  “Readin’ up on nasties, Teacher?” Darius said, smiling as he handed over the plate and the fork.

  “Got to keep the mind active,” the ex-schoolteacher replied. “Who knows when it will become useful? Besides, out of the many books there this was the most interesting one.”

  Darius nodded and shot a quick nervous smile. He sensed that something had changed in the teacher: he was focused on something and that could be dangerous.

  “So where did you go after we all took different directions to throw the cops off?” Darius asked. “I know Tyrell went looking for his brother but you were gone for some time, man. Damn, we thought the cops had got ya.”

  Brian just stared down at his food and stirred it for a while to cool it, but he never looked up even as he spoke. “Everyone has secrets, Darius, even you. Where did you go? And why the interest? Are you afraid I may have done something rash?”

  Darius felt a shiver run down his spine as the teacher’s cold eyes met his. Darius backed off and shot a quick smile. “Hey, man, ain’t nothing really, we just chatting, that’s all, Teacher. Just chatting.” Darius left Brian to his food and his book. Even though Darius was taller and bigger than Brian Armstrong, he still knew not to mess with him.

  Darius went back into the kitchen where the others were playing cards. Tyrell looked up and saw the concern on his face.

  “You okay, man?” Tyrell enquired. “What happened? Didn’t he like your cooking?”

  Darius looked back at the door of Brian’s room and then back to the others. His smile was insincere and nervous. “No, no it’s cool, it’s just his... It’s okay, everything is cool.”

  Tyrell watched Darius head off into the TV room and close the door. Then his gaze fell on Brian’s door and he wondered what the hell he had said to spook Darius so much.

  *

  Daniel Cruise had been sitting in Interrogation Room One for over an hour. Steel had not rushed the uniforms into picking him up, in fact he had waited an hour before calling it in.

  It was a usual tactic to let the suspect stew, to over-think things. But this time Steel had done it more out of spite than anything. The ex-soldier had noticed that people often did things while they thought they were not being observed that they would not do in the actual interrogation.

  Some would be calm, some nervous. One guy actually got up onto the table and fell asleep a while back. However, what Steel was interested in was the change in body language. Would they stay calm? Or suddenly become defensive before knowing what they were there for?

  Cruise looked good in his blue pinstriped ‘Burberry of London’ suit and he knew it. He sat there with his left leg resting comfortably on his right. Every so often he would calmly brush invisible dust from his left knee, but eve
n more often he would check his Rolex, as if he was late for something.

  Steel sat and watched him through the two-way mirror in the next room, and his gaze did not wane even as McCall came in to watch the show.

  “I thought you had gone home hours ago?” Steel asked her, his eyes still set on his prey, just waiting for a sign of weakness.

  “I did. But I remembered you have my date for tonight.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm.

  “So what do your instincts tell you, John?” she asked. “Is he a bad guy or a good guy?”

  He could smell the fresh perfume and her heels sounded different, more high heels than high boots. He was tempted to look round but the image he had in his head was enough for now.

  “My instincts say he is a lying bastard, but not a killer,” John Steel replied. “He is an editor of a major newspaper so he has it all. Even if the newspaper came crashing down he would still come out with a bank account full of cash. No, he is not a killer, because if he was, then he would lose everything he’s got, and this guy, well, he wants to keep everything he has got.”

  John Steel leaned forwards and stared harder into the room. Once again Cruise checked his watch and Steel smiled secretively to himself. “So when were you two going out? Just so I can get him released in time,” he asked.

  McCall looked at her watch. “Around nine-thirty. It was my idea. We didn’t know when we would be done for the day.”

  Steel nodded in a show of understanding. It was nearly seven and Steel had a bad feeling about his instincts. He stood up and saw McCall for the first time in her going-out outfit: it was a tight black sleeveless dress with a collar to support the top half, which made her figure look amazing. She really did look amazing, but he dared not tell her.

  “Why, Detective you scrub up nicely,” was all he said in the end.

  Samantha smiled at the compliment. She just wished that she was looking good for him, and not the man in the interrogation room.

  “McCall, Sam,” John said quietly. “Will you do me a favour? Go on out, but take Tina with you. Have a good time on me, it’s my treat.”

  McCall suddenly became slightly unnerved by his request. “Why do you want to get rid of me, Steel? Afraid I will watch you shoot him or something?”

  Steel shook his head, an almost sad look on his face. “No. I’m afraid that you will shoot him.”

  Samantha looked at him, puzzled, and crossed her arms almost in defiance. “Do what you got to do, Steel, but I guarantee he didn’t kill anyone.”

  Steel nodded, the same look on his face. “It’s okay, McCall, I believe he has an alibi. In fact I will be shocked if he doesn’t.” Steel walked out of the small viewing area and headed for the interrogation room. Before he reached for the handle he looked back at McCall, who was now sitting on the table ready for the show.

  John Steel was finishing sending a text as he entered the interrogation room.

  “I have been waiting here for over an hour,” the angry newspaper editor began, getting to his feet. “I don’t know what game you are playing, Detective, but by the time I am finished with you you’ll be—”

  Steel put his cell phone away and slammed a large file onto the desk. It made a loud metallic crack.

  “Sit down, Mr Cruise!” Steel yelled.

  Cruise looked at him, shocked for a second that he had actually yelled with such fury. Cruise sat down like a frightened child.

  “So, Mr Cruise. On the night in question you said that you spoke to Edward Gibbs on your office phone, is this correct?” Steel’s voice was calm and soft, as though he was just making general inquiries.

  Cruise looked puzzled at the question and scoffed: “You brought me down here to ask me that? Are you serious?”

  Steel just sat opposite the smug Daniel Cruise, imagining how many bones he could break in the man’s body before someone came in to stop him.

  “Sir, are you saying that these facts are correct?”

  Cruise looked at his watch again. “I want a lawyer. I am not answering any of your ridiculous questions.”

  The detective sat back in his chair and rasped his fingers on the hard surface of the table between them. “You have that right of course, sir, but that will take time and as you are only here to help us with our inquiries I am sure it will be a waste of your time and mine.”

  Cruise looked puzzled for a moment. “Wait, let’s get this straight. So you’re not charging me with anything? I can go?”

  Steel shook his head and smiled. “Sir, you just requested a lawyer, so that means before we do anything you have got to wait for your counsel.”

  Cruise’s face dropped. “Okay, so I don’t want a goddamn lawyer. Can I go now?”

  John Steel rocked on the back legs of his chair for a few seconds. “If that is your wish, I cannot keep you.”

  The newspaper editor stood up, wearing the smug grin once more, as though Steel was one of his employees.

  “However,” John continued, “I will just say we asked you to come down to clear up a matter in a civilised and less public way than we might have done. If we find that you have lied to us we will be forced to do so publicly, by arresting your smug little ass. So if you walk out of that door now privacy is off the table and I will make it my mission to find every little secret you have, every dodgy deal you ever made and, believe me, I will bury you. So please, sir, feel free to leave.”

  Cruise was halfway standing when the lightning bolt of reality hit him. He sat down hard on the chair, his face full of panic.

  “You see your phone records do not show you talking to Edward on your office phone but your cell phone records do,” Steel continued, as if his outburst hadn’t happened.

  Cruise smiled as if there was an explanation, and Steel could almost see the lie that was just about to leave his mouth but he didn’t have time to humour him.

  “Mr Cruise, if you tell me you were in the building when the call came in I will charge you with obstruction and put you in a cell with Brandy, who is a seven foot, three-hundred pound fag just coming down from a bad trip. You should see the size of the man’s feet—and you know what they say about big feet. So the truth, please.”

  Cruise closed his mouth . An embarrassed looked crossed his face. “Look, I went out that night and this girl came on to me. Well, one thing led to another and we went up to her room.”

  Steel got ready with a pen. “Where was this?”

  Cruise froze, and his face turned pale as he realised something. “My phone! You traced it to the area of Edward’s apartment?”

  The detective nodded slowly.

  Daniel Cruise looked distracted, as something came back to him. “It was some apartment building down from some church. I went up to the room to have a good time and the bitch had drugged me. At first I thought it was just a wallet snatch but now—”

  Steel put down his pen and just watched Cruise’s face for any signs of lying. “So why didn’t you say anything before now?”

  The editor looked at Steel, a shocked look on his face. “And what would your partner have thought? That I just go and have sex with anything that has a pulse?”

  The detective noticed him check his watch again. “Well, Mr Cruise, I am glad we could clear that up, I don’t want to keep you from your date with Samantha.”

  Cruise looked almost lost at what he’d said. “I—er—I’m not seeing her until later. I have a—well—another appointment, shall we say.” Cruise winked.

  It took all the strength in Steel’s body to stop him from throwing a punch that would probably rip the jaw off the man. “Well, we wouldn’t want Sam to think you were a two-timing scumbag, but hey, it doesn’t matter, you just told her yourself.”

  Daniel Cruise suddenly looked at the two-way mirror and his jaw dropped as he heard a tap on the glass. The colour drained out of his face as he realised he had blown his chances.

  Steel got up and gathered the paperwork on the desk together. “Mr Cruise, I am afraid you are going to hav
e to stay here until we have had time to check out your story. In the meantime I suggest you call one of those expensive lawyers you probably have on a leash.”

  Cruise took out his cell phone from his pocket, his hands shaking from the ordeal.

  The Englishman walked out of the room with a straight face until he had closed the door behind him. Then he gave an evil grin as he passed the small viewing room and saw the young black janitor mopping the floor of the empty room whilst listening to music on his phone, the end of the mop carelessly knocking into things as he went.

  “Couldn’t have timed it better if I had set it up myself.” Steel grinned happily to himself as he headed back to McCall’s desk, where he found a Post-it note stuck to her computer’s monitor screen: Gone out with Tina, see you in the morning. Sam.

  It was still early in the evening so Steel had decided to check out Cruise’s story for himself. He thought there was no reason to disturb McCall—she had been on the case since it had broken and she hadn’t really had a break, so a girls’ night out was what she needed to help her unwind.

  He had spoken to Tina earlier and asked if she could help by taking Sam out for the night. The selling point was a limo to taxi them around, as well as a table at the hot new restaurant in town called The Blue Bottle.

  John had to hold the smile back as Tina had agreed as if she was under some form of duress, but he had seen the twinkle in her eye as he turned to leave the morgue. John had wondered how long she would have waited until she had called McCall with the news, but he had asked Tina to make the call after she had received a text from him.

  For the time being she was having a good time with a friend and that self-righteous asshole Cruise was in a lock-up, so, in his view, everything was right with the world.

  He had gotten the address of the prostitute from Cruise, as well as a description and her name: Kirsty Tennant. Cruise had described a tall beautiful redhead with a figure to die for and pouting lips.

  Cruise had said that he had met the woman at a bar that was at the end of the street. He hadn’t been able to remember the name of the place, only that it was near to an old church. Steel had come on to the street from Second Avenue and the church stood proudly, with its sandstone walls that stretched up to the tall bell tower.