by Robert Daws
Broderick thought for a moment. Sullivan had arrived on the Rock with the stigma of a difficult hostage case behind her. Her actions had resulted in the successful release of the hostage, but she had disobeyed direct orders from her commanding officer. She had been considered a loose cannon at the Met. Was she really the person needed at this juncture?
‘Perhaps best not to aggravate him too much at this stage, sir,’ Perez suggested.
‘Okay,’ Broderick decided. ‘I’ll let her talk to him.’
Turning to Sullivan, he waved her over.
‘What is it, sir?’ she asked, arriving at Broderick’s side.
‘Jasinski has asked to speak to you. Christ knows why, but I think we should find out.’ Broderick handed his head-set to her. ‘In view of your past experience in these matters, I would request that at all times you take orders from me and under no circumstances fuck up. Is that clear, Detective Sergeant?’
‘As day, sir.’
‘I’ll get another head-set from Pérez,’ Broderick said as he moved off. ‘Don’t engage him until I’m back in the loop.’
Turning to view the scene within the reception area, Sullivan took a deep breath. Why would Jasinski ask to speak to me? If he’s hoping I’ll be a soft touch, then he’s in for a shock, she told herself, placing the head-set over her ears.
The channel clicked. It was Broderick. ‘Okay. I’m here and I can hear everything. Stick to the book and reel the bugger in, Sullivan.’
‘I’ll do my best, guv.’
The channel clicked again and to Sullivan’s surprise she could now hear breathing at the other end. Short, sharp exhalations. It was Jasinski and he sounded every bit as tense as she had imagined he would be.
‘Mr Jasinski …?’ she began.
‘Ah, good,’ the man replied. ‘I will speak with you.’
‘That’s good. That’s very good, Mr Jasinski.’
‘I recognised you. From yesterday. You are very fast. You almost caught me.’
‘But I didn’t, Mr Jasinski.’
‘No. I’m glad. I would not have wished to have been forced to hurt you.’
‘There is no need for you to hurt anyone, Mr Jasinski.’
‘Call me Lech.’
Sullivan could hear a slight change in the man’s tone. Softer. More engaging.
‘If you wish,’ she replied. ‘My name is Tamara, Lech. It’s good to be talking with you.’
‘Can I trust you, Tamara?’ Jasinski asked.
‘Yes. Yes, you can, Lech.’
‘That is good. I need you to know that I do not wish to harm anyone.’
‘That’s good, Lech. That’s very good. I can assure you that, if you let Mr Isolde go free, no harm will come to you either.’
‘I have your word?’
‘You have my word, Lech. All you have to do is put down your weapon and release Mr Isolde.’
‘Cameras?’
‘I’m sorry? What cameras, Lech?’ Sullivan asked.
‘Where are the cameras? TV? I need to know. I cannot see them.’
Momentarily thrown by this, Sullivan looked across to Broderick and Pérez.
‘I can find out for you, Lech. Please give me a moment.’
The channel changed on Sullivan’s head-set. Broderick spoke: ‘The press and TV crews are being held back beyond the cordon, Sullivan. Find out what the hell he’s asking for.’
The channel changed and Sullivan was once more through to Isolde’s captor.
‘At present the cameras are being held back, Lech. I’m sure you understand why.’
‘I understand,’ Jasinski replied, the hard edge returning to his voice. ‘Bring them close. I need them closer.’
‘I’ll have to check if that’s possible, Lech.’
‘Bring them close and I will release Isolde. You hear me?’
This was not what Sullivan had expected. The click in her earpiece brought Broderick’s voice to her.
‘Tell him we’ll bring the cameras closer. He can have a bloody close-up if he wants. Just get him to release Isolde.’
‘Sir.’ Sullivan turned towards the building as the channel cleared. Once again she could hear Jasinski breathing.
‘We’re letting the cameras through, Lech,’ Sullivan told him as she glanced to her left. The press were being allowed through the cordon and were being positioned approximately twenty metres from where she stood. ‘Now will you let Mr Isolde go free?’
‘This is what will happen,’ Jasinski replied. ‘I will come outside with him. When I see the cameras, I will throw down my knife. I will release Isolde and put my hands in the air. I will kneel slowly and lie on the ground with my arms out beside me. Understand?’
‘I understand, Lech.’
‘Then your men will approach, search and bring me to my feet. But – and this is important – you Tamara will be the one to handcuff me and make the arrest. You and you only. I must have your word that it will be so.’
The channel changed on Sullivan’s head-set. Pérez spoke.
‘Once he’s released Isolde, we can do what we like, Sullivan. For a start, we need to check he has no other devices on him.’
‘May I request that, if your men find him unarmed, we do as he asks. Allow me to arrest him. If I give my word, I like to keep it, sir.’
Silence. Finally Broderick’s voice: ‘Tell him it’s a go, Sullivan.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Checking that the press had moved to their new position and had their cameras in place, Sullivan re-engaged with the Pole.
‘Lech, your request has been granted. Exit the building and follow the actions exactly as you described them, and I’ll arrest you in person. You have my word.’
‘We’re coming out,’ the Pole replied.
Moments later, Jasinski and Isolde emerged from the main entrance of the Atlantic Marina Plaza. Isolde’s face was ashen and pale, his expression one of pure fear. Jasinski, too, was showing signs of great stress. As a soldier, he knew he was now at his most vulnerable. Flicking his eyes from one side to the other, he kept Isolde at knife-point and as close to himself as possible. He was only too aware that the police marksmen would attempt to get a clear shot of him. Whether they took it or not was up to fate now. He had to trust that the police would honour their word and allow him to release his hostage without violence.
Ahead of him, he could see Tamara and, further on, several police vehicles with officers behind them. To the side of these he could see the press and TV reporters with their cameras pointed in his direction, recording the event that was unfolding. The time had come. Lifting the hand in which he held the knife high in the air, Jasinski drew it back and threw it several metres to his right. Releasing Isolde from his grip, he stepped backwards and raised his other arm in the air. Slowly lowering himself to his knees he watched as Isolde stumbled and ran towards the police officers before him. Simultaneously, several armed officers left the cover of their vehicles and rushed towards him as he slowly lowered his head and chest to the ground and stretched out both arms at his sides. On reaching him, two of the police officers searched Jasinski’s prostrate body while the others stood to the side, their weapons trained on the Pole.
‘All clear!’ one of the officers announced, while he and a colleague reached down and hauled Jasinski back onto his feet. Holding his arms forcibly behind his back, the same officer looked across to Sullivan and nodded. Without hesitation, Sullivan moved towards them, removing a pair of steel handcuffs from her pocket as she did so. Seconds later she had handcuffed Jasinski and was escorting him towards a waiting patrol car. Turning his head to see his female police captor, Jasinski’s face broke into a wide smile.
‘Thank you, Tamara,’ he said. ‘Dziekuje.’
53
‘The forensic medical examiner’s taking a look at Jasinski now,’ Calbot reported as Broderick and Sullivan sat sipping coffee in the police canteen. ‘She’s already given me the nod to get a psychiatrist and a mental health officer over fr
om St Bernard’s. You’ll have to wait till they give us the green light before you can interview him, guv.’
‘Get yourself a coffee, son, and we’ll see you back in the incident room. The hard work’s just about to begin,’ Broderick replied.
The previous hour and a half had seen Broderick briefing both the commissioner of police – via a conference call to New York – and Harriet Massetti about the events leading up to Jasinski’s arrest. Massetti had been less than happy that the Pole’s request for Sullivan to get involved had been granted. The detective sergeant’s lack of seniority and her turbulent history should, in Massetti’s opinion, have kept her direct involvement in the negotiations for Isolde’s release to a minimum. This was especially true in light of the subsequent media coverage.
‘Jasinski’s a clever bastard,’ Massetti had told her colleagues. ‘He made sure the cameras were on him and then, to maximise potential exposure, he gets a good-looking female police officer to arrest him. It’s a news editor’s dream. Have you seen the bulletins? Sky? CNN? Top story. They’re calling them “Beauty and the Beast”.’
Broderick had argued that, to effect a safe and quick conclusion to a dangerous situation, he had considered co-operation the best course of action. Fortunately the commissioner had sided with Broderick and both had left Massetti to stew on the matter and nurse her injured ankle.
‘By the way, how was Massetti?’ an unknowing Sullivan asked as she and Broderick headed out of the canteen.
‘Pissed off that you’re in the limelight.’
‘I didn’t ask to be, guv.’
‘Take no notice of her. She’s probably worried that someone will want to make a movie about you next.’
‘I could be the next Julia Novacs,’ Sullivan replied smugly.
‘Pig-headed and temperamental, you mean?’ Broderick countered. ‘I’d say you’re typecast already, Detective Sergeant.’
As they walked down the corridor together, Sullivan smiled at what she hoped had been one of Broderick’s rare jokes.
54
Back in the incident room, Broderick and Sullivan’s first job was to liaise with the two Spanish police officers from the Cuerpo Nacional de Policía. To their great surprise, neither of their Spanish counterparts mentioned any reports of the duo’s presence at the scene of the previous night’s murders in San Roque. Either nobody had mentioned them or, if they had, nobody had considered that they might be foreigners. This is good, Sullivan thought. Relations between Spain and Gibraltar are bad enough without me and Broderick adding to them.
The Spanish officers reported that forensics from the crime scene across the border would take time. They did, however, possess an initial pathology report on the bodies of Martínez and Maugham. As with Cornwallis, large doses of Rohypnol had been found in the dead men’s blood. Petechial haemorrhages were also present in Martínez, indicating asphyxiation as the principal cause of death. Several blows to the head were the more obvious cause of Maugham’s demise. The conclusion was that all three men were most probably murdered by the same person. The job now was to prove that the murderer was Lech Jasinski.
As he had been arrested on the Rock, it had been agreed that the main thrust of the investigation would be carried out by the RGP. On this understanding, and taking with them all the relevant facts pertaining to the cases, the Spanish detectives left to return to Algeciras.
‘While we wait on both sets of forensics,’ Broderick told his team, ‘Sullivan and I will do our best to get a confession out of Jasinski.’
‘He gave himself up pretty easily,’ Calbot noted. ‘Maybe he’ll just continue to give it all up.’
‘Well, it ain’t over till the big Pole sings, Calbot. Let’s hope the psychiatrist considers him competent enough to be interviewed.’
‘I wouldn’t worry, guv,’ Calbot said. ‘Jasinski will be back on his medication by now, so hopefully he won’t be too Cuckoo’s Nest.’
A local news bulletin was running silently on one of the computer screens next to where Sullivan was standing. More footage of her taking Jasinski into custody, Sullivan’s name standing out in bold letters in the news story running on a loop at the bottom of the screen. The description of her as a ‘police heroine’ made her feel both uncomfortable and angry. Ribbing from her fellow colleagues had begun almost immediately. Most of it had been good humoured, one or two gibes less so. Massetti was not alone in her disdain for Sullivan’s ubiquitous media presence.
Jasinski was being held in a cell adjoining the custody suite. For the best part of two hours, he had been examined by a psychiatrist, Allana Cosquieri. After consultation with a mental health officer, Cosquieri gave the all-clear for him to be interviewed.
‘Mr Jasinski has been experiencing negative symptoms associated with his condition, symptoms exacerbated by a pattern of reduced medication,’ the psychiatrist told Broderick and Sullivan. ‘He’s also complained of increased headaches and occasional blackouts, some lasting for several hours. Without your recent intervention, he could have expected increased paranoia and dramatic shifts in his emotional state, leading to erratic and violent behaviour. He remains a severe schizophrenic and a possible risk to others and himself. I’ve renewed his medication and believe that that will bring some immediate relief. Therefore I consider him able to sustain interview, but of strictly limited intensity and duration.’
‘How would he act during his blackouts?’ Sullivan asked. ‘Would he be unaware of his actions during those periods?’
‘His history would suggest that to be the case,’ Cosquieri replied. ‘It is a form of amnesia.’
‘You mean he could’ve carried out crimes and then have no recollection of them?’ Broderick pressed.
‘It’s possible. No doubt your questioning will reveal exactly how much he remembers or not.’
‘Or perhaps exactly how much he chooses to remember,’ Broderick added with a touch of irritation. ‘He’s chosen not to have a lawyer present, which suggests he may be confident of proving diminished responsibility for his actions.’
‘If they were his actions, Chief Inspector,’ countered the psychiatrist, moving to the door. ‘Remember, he’s a sick man, and you’ll have to treat him as such, irrespective of the crimes you think he may have perpetrated.’
After Cosquieri left, the two detectives stood in silence for a few moments. Eventually Broderick spoke. ‘I thought things were going too well.’
‘You know what they say, guv – if a case seems to be going too well, it’s usually ’cause it ain’t.’
55
Within minutes of the medical examiner’s departure, Jasinski was escorted across the central quad to one of the newly remodelled interview rooms on the other side of police HQ. Handcuffed to the single table that stood in the centre of the room and watched over by two uniformed police constables, he waited impassively for the next stage of the proceedings to begin.
Broderick and Sullivan did not keep him long. After they took their seats opposite their suspect, the chief inspector switched on the recording apparatus on the table before him and began the interview.
‘Eleven twenty-three am. Interview with Lech Jasinski. Presiding officers Chief Inspector Gus Broderick and Detective Sergeant Tamara Sullivan. Mr Jasinski, you weren’t cautioned at the scene of your arrest due to the heightened precautions surrounding it. I must now tell you that you are under arrest on suspicion of assault against Ms Julia Novacs, the kidnapping of Mr Gabriel Isolde and the murders of Joshua Cornwallis, Eduard Martínez and Graeme Maugham. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not …’
As Broderick continued to caution, Sullivan became aware of a sudden shift in Jasinski’s mood. The blood had drained from his features and the pupils of his eyes had dilated to mere pinpricks. His breathing had once again become intense and rasping.
‘… rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given …’
Suddenly Jasinski slammed his fists down hard upon the table and
exploded in a rage of indignation. ‘You are lying, no? Murder? Murder! I kill no one. You hear me? I kill no one! Nobody!’
The two police constables sprang forward to restrain the furious Jasinski, but Broderick waved them back. The handcuffs securing the Pole to the table were enough to limit the man’s potential to cause harm. Broderick calmly finished his caution and continued.
‘Mr Jasinski, you have chosen not to seek legal representation. In the light of your latest reaction, you may wish to reconsider this.’
Jasinski stopped for a moment, his chest heaving and his eyes ablaze.
‘Get me a lawyer. Now.’
56
Three hours later, in the presence of an appointed legal representative and with a psychiatric nurse on standby outside the room, the interview continued.
‘While admitting the charges of assault and kidnap,’ Jasinski’s rather young and profusely sweating lawyer began, ‘my … er … client most strongly denies any … er … involvement in the deaths of Cornwallis, Martínez and … er … the Englishman.’
‘Maugham?’ Sullivan prompted.
‘Yes … er … Maugham. The Englishman,’ the young man added, puffing out his chest to suggest competence.
‘Yes, he made that clear to us earlier,’ Broderick observed. ‘However, you’ll understand that we must ask Mr Jasinski to account for his whereabouts both yesterday afternoon in Gibraltar and across the border in Spain last night?’
Jasinski’s lawyer nodded his consent.
‘Yesterday afternoon I was here in Gibraltar,’ Jasinski began, flexing the fingers of his large manacled hands. ‘I had come over from Spain the previous night and watched the filming in Casemates Square. I needed to make contact with someone important. Important with the film. I wanted them to know about its lies.’
‘Is that why you broke into Ms Novacs’ villa in Marbella the previous day?’ Broderick questioned.
‘Of course,’ Jasinski replied. ‘I needed to speak to her. To tell her that the film is lies and more lies. She would have understood. I know she would not have been able to continue.’