Jackson eyed the superintendent thoughtfully. ‘Why so generous suddenly? What if I repeat your suspicions to him?’
‘I wouldn’t advise it, Doctor. If he changes his story now, he’ll be digging an even bigger hole for himself.’
*
Chalky was already in the interview room when Jones and Beale returned with Jackson. They watched him on the monitor as he sat swearing at the uniformed constable who was in the room with him. ‘He’s not happy,’ said Khan. ‘He’s claiming wrongful identity . . . harassment . . . false imprisonment . . . and anything else you can imagine. I’ve offered him legal representation, but he doesn’t like solicitors either.’ Jones turned to Jackson. ‘Doctor?’ She nodded. ‘That’s the man I know as Chalky.’ ‘Is he drunk?’ Jones asked Khan. ‘Claims he isn’t. It’s one of his beefs as a matter of fact. He says the women keep hiding their bottles and cans, and he hasn’t had a decent bevvy in days.’ He paused. ‘Apart from a bottle of vodka that the lieutenant gave him yesterday.’ ‘So he admits meeting the lieutenant?’ ‘Not in so many words. He mentioned taking the word of an arrogant bastard officer . . . then a little bit later he said the arrogant bastard had bribed him with a bottle of vodka. I’m assuming he was referring to the lieutenant.’ ‘Mm. Well, I suggest we don’t make any assumptions at this stage . . . except that he’s sober. You’re not going to tell me different, are you, Doctor? He looks fit enough to answer questions to me.’ ‘If you want a professional opinion that you can use in court, then you’ll have to let me examine him.’ ‘That’s not a bad idea. It’ll be interesting to see how he reacts to you. I wouldn’t mind him knowing his card’s been marked by someone who can recognize him.’
*
The smell in the room was ferocious. ‘Don’t you know anything about hygiene, Chalky?’ asked Jackson amiably. ‘You’re stinking worse than the last time I saw you.’
He glared at her. ‘What you doing here? Where’s the lootenant? Fucking bastard conned me . . . gave me his word he wouldn’t let on where I was.’
‘He didn’t,’ she said. ‘It was me who suggested you might be at the squat.’
Chalky spat on the floor. ‘Bloody interfering women . . . Can’t let a man alone . . . Got to be at him all the time. How’s the kid?’
‘Still in hospital but doing all right.’
‘He’s the one they should be talking to. What the fuck do I know? You do a favour for a little toerag and the next thing you’re banged up in the sodding nick. It ain’t fair. I was planning on hoofing it down to Brighton tomorrow...Get me some R&R by the sea.’
‘Let’s hope you still can,’ said Jackson pleasantly. ‘As I understand it, you’re not under arrest.’
‘Amounts to the same bloody thing. Me and the cops don’t see eye to eye on much.’
‘Then the sooner you’re out of here the better. They’ve asked me to assess whether you’re sober enough to answer questions. What’s your opinion?’
He looked at her through narrowed lids, a calculating gleam in his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t know what it feels like . . . Haven’t been sober for twenty years. Can’t answer questions in the state I’m in.’
‘You might find the alternative worse,’ Jackson warned him. ‘You’ll suffer withdrawal symptoms if the police keep you on ice until the alcohol’s out of your bloodstream. You seem pretty alert to me and I’m willing to give them the go-ahead now, but I’m equally happy to test your blood for alcohol if you’d rather delay.’
Chalky held his palm parallel with the table. ‘Shaking like a fucking leaf. It’s alcohol I need. Tell ’em that. I’ll be a damn sight keener to give the bastards what they want with a drop of liquor inside me . . . stands to reason.’
*
Whether by design or accident, Jones allowed Jackson to watch the monitor while Chalky was interviewed by DC Khan and a second detective whom she hadn’t seen before. The door to the viewing room stood open and she stepped quietly inside after a visit to the cells, where she’d found Charles asleep. Two other members of the inquiry team were gathered around the screen, but there was no sign of Beale. If anyone noticed Jackson’s arrival they didn’t comment on it. Most of Chalky’s statements contained long, complaining monologues against the police, bossy dykes, lying officers, ungrateful teenagers and the inhuman brutality of ‘denying a bloke a bevvy’. But in essence his story corroborated Jackson’s and Acland’s in relation to the events in the alleyway and the subsequent drive to St Thomas’s. ‘Do you remember how many bags Ben brought in with him, Chalky?’ ‘Just the two . . . a black rucksack and a Londis carrier.’ ‘And how many did the lieutenant have?’ ‘Reckon he had two as well . . . a kitbag and a duffel.’ ‘Are you sure about that?’ ‘You calling me a liar?’ Khan shook his head. ‘Just getting a few facts straight. Is it true you took the Londis bag? We’ve been told it had cigarettes and alcohol in it.’ ‘What if I did? The kid can’t use it in the hospital. I’ll pay him back next time I see him.’ ‘What about the duffel? Did you take that as well?’ ‘Course not. It wasn’t mine.’ ‘So what happened to it?’ ‘The lootenant took it.’
Khan studied him for a moment. ‘Meaning what? That he never removed it from the doctor’s boot?’
Chalky looked as if he was about to spit on the floor again, then appeared to think better of it. ‘Don’t ask me, mate,’ he said indifferently. ‘I wasn’t looking . . . But the lootenant’s the one that’s got it. It sure as hell ain’t nothing to do with me.’
Khan nodded. ‘That’s pretty much what we thought.’
‘So what am I doing here?’ Chalky asked belligerently. ‘The likes of me have rights, too, you know.’
‘We’re aware of that and we’re grateful for your assistance. You’ve confirmed an important piece of evidence for us. Up until now, we only had the lieutenant’s word that the duffel bag was ever in the boot. The doctor never saw it and, for all we knew, the lieutenant had reasons of his own to invent a bag that didn’t exist.’
Chalky’s black eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown. ‘I ain’t confirming nothing.’
Khan consulted some notes on the table in front of him. ‘Why did you hole up in Bread Street, Chalky?’
‘None of your sodding business.’
‘Did you open the duffel and take fright when you saw what was in it?’
‘I want a lawyer. I ain’t answering no more questions without a brief in the room.’
‘Sure,’ said Khan easily. ‘Do you have a solicitor of your own or would you rather take one of the duty paralegals? If you choose a paralegal, it’ll be a couple of hours before they get here. You’re welcome to sit in this room with a cup of tea and a biscuit until they arrive.’
‘I’ll take a beer.’
‘This isn’t the Hilton, Chalky. We don’t do alcohol.’
He hunched forward over the table. ‘I should’ve tossed the bloody thing in the river,’ he grumbled. ‘Damn near did as a matter of fact. Only took it in the first place because I thought it had a bottle in it. It’s the kid you should be talking to. His head’s fucked.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He’s a vicious little bastard . . . Got his girls to give me a kicking not so long ago.’ Chalky tugged at his matted beard. ‘He didn’t like me telling ’em they’d do better without a good-fornothing pimp living off ’em.’
‘The pimp being Ben?’
‘Right.’
‘So how come you let him sleep in the alleyway with you?’
‘Didn’t know what he was like the first time I met him. All I saw was a skinny kid taking a kicking himself. He told me the guy was a faggot after a rent boy . . . but I reckon it was someone he’d fleeced. Got stuck with him after that. He used the alleyway as a bolt hole whenever he thought people were after him . . . only reason he kept the location to himself.’
Khan folded his hands over his notes. ‘Weren’t you frightened of him after he attacked you?’
Chalky gave a growl of disgust. ‘Him and his bitche
s caught me asleep. Told him I’d break his fucking neck if he tried it again. Didn’t see hide nor hair of him till he turned up that night. The lootenant reckoned he was sick . . . Me, I thought he’d been on the receiving end of another thumping . . . Even more so when I looked in his fucking bag after I’d split with the doctor.’
Khan made what he could of this. ‘The duffel bag? Had you seen Ben with it before?’
‘Wouldn’t make any difference if I had or not. He had it that night . . . and in my book that makes it his.’
‘Why did you hang on to it?’
Chalky flicked him an assessing glance, as if to measure how gullible he was. ‘Because I read the newspapers, that’s why. Do you think a meths drinker doesn’t know what’s going on in your piss-ant world? The army’s not good for much – it drops you like a hot potato when you’ve done your bit for Queen and country – but it doesn’t take you on if you’re stupid. Recognized the name, didn’t I?’
‘Harry Peel?’
‘That’s the one. Put it together with the doctor telling me the kid had a murdered bloke’s mobile in his rucksack . . . and knew I’d shot myself in the bloody foot. I should have stuck with the booze and fags and left the duffel bag alone.’
‘All the more reason to dump it somewhere.’
‘Not if you have a conscience, it isn’t,’ said Chalky in an injured tone. ‘What makes you think I like killers any more than you do?’
‘The fact that you never brought the evidence to us,’ said Khan with a faint smile. ‘I’m betting you thought Ben would pay to get it back.’
Twenty-seven
BEALE REACHED FOR HIS radio as a taxi drew up alongside the transit van. ‘Go,’ he said quietly. He made a note of the time –03.17 – then eased his Toyota door open as Jen Morley emerged from the back of the cab and walked towards the door of her apartment block.
She stopped as two plain-clothes policemen converged from the shadows at the side of the building into the light shed by a low-wattage lamp inside the hall. They moved in front of her to stop her entering, holding up their warrant cards. ‘I have a rape alarm,’ she warned.
‘Metropolitan Police, Ms Morley,’ said one. ‘We’re investigating an attack that occurred last Friday in the neighbourhood of Gainsborough Road and we believe you may be able to assist us by answering some questions. We’re happy to do the interview in your flat or, if you prefer, you may accompany us to Southwark East police station.’
She stared him down with surprising coolness. ‘Do I look as if I’ve got “mug” stamped across my forehead?’ she murmured. ‘I can’t even read your cards from here.’
On instructions not to crowd her, both officers stayed where they were. ‘If you have a mobile,’ said the same man, ‘I’ll give you a number to call so that you can verify our status.’
‘The only number I’ll be dialling is 999,’ she said, removing a slimline device from her pocket. ‘Are you sure you want me to do that?’
‘Indeed, Ms Morley,’ said Beale from a couple of yards behind her. ‘Ask to be patched through to Detective Inspector Beale and you’ll find yourself talking to me.’ He held up his own mobile. ‘We spoke a few days ago if you remember.’
She swung round to face him, then backed away a few steps. ‘You’re too close and you’re frightening me,’ she snapped. ‘I want to go into my flat and make the call from there.’
She looked in better shape than Beale had been expecting – make-up still in place and hair rolled neatly in the pleat behind her head – and he wondered if her client had had his money’s worth. ‘That’s not a problem . . . as long we accompany you.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why would I take three strange men into my flat when I’ve already said I’m afraid of you? Either I go in alone or I’ll sue the Metropolitan Police for intimidation.’
Beale smiled good-humouredly. ‘So you do recognize me?’
She shrugged. ‘Whatever. Any court will agree that it’s unreasonable to surround a woman in the middle of the night when all you want to do is ask her questions. I’ll make an appointment to talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Can’t do that, I’m afraid. Would the presence of a woman constable set your mind at rest?’
He watched her made a quick calculation in her head as she tested her options. ‘Not if it means I have to stand out here waiting for her. I’m cold and I’m tired and I need to sit down.’
Beale held up his mobile again. ‘We can sort this very quickly if you dial 999 now, Ms Morley. I understand your concerns, but we believe you have information that will assist our inquiry.’
‘I don’t even know what inquiry you’re talking about.’
‘An elderly gentleman was assaulted outside his home in Bermondsey last Friday.’
She looked at him in surprised disbelief, her huge eyes widening like a little girl’s. ‘You mean the old chap who was taken to hospital? How would I know anything about that? What time did it happen?’
Her surprise seemed genuine, thought Beale. ‘Midday.’
‘Then I wasn’t even in Bermondsey. I left here at about eleven-thirty to meet a friend for lunch in central London.’
Beale smiled pleasantly. ‘No one’s suggesting you were involved in the attack, Ms Morley. The questions relate to certain items that may be connected to the inquiry. We believe they were in your possession at one time.’
‘What items?’
‘I have photographs to show you.’ He gestured towards the front door of her block. ‘May we come inside?’
There was something very wrong inside her flat, he thought, judging by the way she kept computing different courses of action. She tried a tired smile. ‘I can’t do it tonight,’ she said, placing a slender hand against her belly. ‘I’ve been having really bad period pains for two hours. I’m sure my solicitor would say it’s unfair to question me under those circumstances.’ She offered him the wide, innocent gaze again. ‘I truly am perfectly willing to come to the police station later.’
‘Is that a refusal to cooperate, Ms Morley?’
‘Only on the grounds that what you’re asking is unreasonable.’
‘Then you leave me no choice but to invoke stop and search powers, Ms Morley. DCs Wagstaff and Hicks of Southwark East police station—’
The change in her demeanour was immediate. Her face blazed with sudden fury. ‘That’s a cheap threat,’ she broke in angrily. ‘I’ve given you no reason at all to suspect me of carrying illegal drugs.’
‘A suspect can be stopped and searched on the basis of a tip-off, Ms Morley. Shortly before midnight a man called Lemarr Wilson, also known as Duane Stewart, was taken into custody. He made a statement which leads us to believe you are in possession of a class-A drug. DC Wagstaff will explain your rights before the search commences.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘He gave a very good description of a woman who bought five hundred milligrams of cocaine off him at around eight-thirty last night. He knows you as Cass.’ Beale smiled slightly. ‘You’re very distinctive-looking, Ms Morley. Too distinctive. I saw you myself after you’d made the purchase. That’s what led us to Lemarr Wilson.’
Something like fear flickered in her eyes, but she made an effort to compose herself. ‘I’ll answer your questions at the station. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?’
Beale ignored her. ‘Should a class-A drug be found on your person, Ms Morley, you will be arrested. In addition, your premises will be searched under the extended powers that such an arrest allows.’
‘I can refuse to be searched by men,’ she hissed. ‘You should have brought a woman with you.’
‘You only half know your law, Ms Morley. Nevertheless –’ he raised his hand and beckoned to a passenger in his car – ‘WPC Barnard will conduct the inspection as soon as you’ve placed your bag and the contents of your pockets on the ground in front of you and stepped away from them.’
Jen watched the woman police officer approach and a smile suddenly transforme
d her face. ‘Hi,’ she said with easy friendliness. ‘I’m sorry about this. I didn’t much fancy being patted down by your male colleagues.’
The WPC, who was carrying a small holdall, came to a halt beside Beale. She was a sturdy forty-year-old with fifteen years’ service and she eyed Jen with amusement. ‘Each to his own,’ she said lightly. ‘In your shoes I’d have chosen the men. Same-sex searches are a lot more thorough.’
Beale nodded to DC Wagstaff to read Jen her rights. When the officer had finished, the DI said, ‘Everything on the ground, please, Ms Morley, including the object in your hand.’
Jen uncurled her palm to look at it. ‘It’s only a rape alarm.’ She opened her leather shoulder bag, put the device inside it, along with a tissue from a pocket, then pressed the flap closed and lowered the bag to the pavement. ‘That’s all there is,’ she said, stepping backwards.
The WPC eyed her for a moment, then knelt down and took a square of plastic sheeting from the holdall, which she unfolded on to the pavement. She snapped on some gloves and, using a foot-long grab-stick to hook the strap, she dragged the bag on to the sheeting.
‘Most of these guns are effective through heavy clothing,’ she told Beale, ‘so leather won’t prevent an accidental discharge.’ Avoiding the metal catch, she caught the edge of the flap between the grab-stick claws and flipped it open to expose the contents. ‘It’s definitely a stun gun,’ she confirmed. ‘This one’s called a Small Fry and packs a million volts. The red light means it’s primed and ready to go.’ She leaned away to allow Beale to look over her shoulder.
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