The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  Suddenly he remembered something and shook his head triumphantly.

  “The Doc said there were signs of a fight on Cooke. He had abrasions all over his hands and stuff beneath his nails. And he had bruises all over the place.”

  “No! Ian Jacobs didn’t kill Cooke.” Annette’s denial was so loud that it made her wince and hold her head.

  Liam pursed his lips as if he was teetotal. “The devil’s milk giving you a headache, Inspector? Tut tut.” He leaned forward, his interest in their debate growing. “So why couldn’t Jacobs have killed Cooke? They fought, Cooke was strangled and there was oil on his neck. What more do you want?”

  “I want yelling that someone overheard and…” Annette’s voice tailed off just as her face lit up. “And I want some signs on Jacobs’ hands that he was involved in a fight.”

  With that she was out the door and at the custody desk, reaching eagerly for Jack Harris’ book. Jack lifted the book swiftly above her head.

  “That’s station property. No-one touches it but me.”

  “Sorry, Jack. Can you check something for me? Please.”

  Her tone was so wheedling that Liam would have laughed if he hadn’t been so interested in what she was looking for. Jack was puzzled, not to mention shocked by how glamorous Annette was looking these days. He acquiesced grudgingly.

  “What is it?”

  “Last night, when Ian Jacobs was brought in, he would have been inspected for injuries before he was put in a cell. Yes?”

  Jack stared over his glasses at her. “You know he would. In case he injured himself in custody and accused us. So?”

  “Did he have any injuries anywhere, especially on his hands?”

  As Jack turned his gaze to the book and leafed slowly through the pages as Annette held her breath, willing him to say no. He was less obliging than she’d hoped.

  “Now then…” The sergeant scanned the page in front of him and then turned back to the previous one, prolonging her agony. “Ah, yes, here he is. Ian Jacobs. Prisoner fit and well. Distinguishing marks: small tattoo of Manchester United’s crest on his right upper back…”

  Jack ran through Jacobs many tattoos deliberately slowly, winking at Liam to show that he was winding Annette up. She bit her tongue and waited until he reached Jacobs’ hands.

  “Left forearm, old scar across back of arm, prisoner says it was a work accident three years ago. Right hand, multiple fresh cuts, left hand, bruising on the back of the hand and knuckles…”

  Annette’s heart dropped. Ian Jacobs had cuts all over his hands, they might have come from work but distinguishing them from the marks of a recent fight was a task for Des and John. There wasn’t going to be a quick way of ruling him out. She shrugged in defeat.

  “Has Dr Winter seen Jacobs, Jack? I think he’ll want to see his hands. You’d better bag them.”

  Over forty hours had elapsed since Adrian Cooke had died and it was likely that any evidence under Ian Jacobs’ nails would have been lost, but they had to try. Jack shook his head.

  “He’s not been charged.”

  Liam nodded. “He has now.”

  ***

  Two hours later Ian Jacobs’ hands had been examined and samples taken. John shook his head.

  “It’s hard to say until we get the results, but my feeling is he’s not your man, Liam. The cuts and bruises on his hands don’t match.”

  “How so? He has recent cuts and bruises and there was oil on Cooke’s neck.”

  John shook his head again. “The cuts are recent but the bruises are two to five days old and they’re on the wrong hand for a fight. Jacobs is right handed and they’re on his left.”

  Liam punched the air in front of them in a one-two motion using both hands. “He led with the right and followed through with the left. It’s a common move.”

  “Common or not, Mike Tyson, the bruises’ positions still don’t fit.” John raised a hand to stop Liam’s next objection. “And no, I can’t explain the oil smudge yet, we’ll have to…”

  He stopped mid-sentence and stared at Annette. A few seconds later they said the same words.

  “He was checking his pulse!”

  Liam stared at them, confused, so Annette explained quickly.

  “Let’s say Jacobs’ cuts and bruises come from work; he works with heavy cars all day, there are bound to be a few bumps and scrapes. So, his mum’s taken into hospital as an emergency and in his rush to see her he doesn’t clean all the oil off his hands...”

  John cut in eagerly. “He sees Adrian Cooke unexpectedly on the E.M.U. that night and goes to look for him, probably to have things out about his son. Jacobs finds Cooke all right, but he’s already dead, lying in the blind spot between the two wards. Jacobs reaches down to feel for a carotid pulse…”

  “Hence the oil on Cooke’s neck, but no prints that match Jacobs anywhere else. If Jacobs had fought and killed Cooke barehanded his prints would be everywhere on him, and if he’d worn gloves to do it he wouldn’t have got the oil on Cooke’s neck.”

  John and Annette exchanged a glance then nodded triumphantly. Liam was less impressed.

  “This is all just speculation. We need to check the samples from Jacobs’ hands and he hasn’t even been interviewed yet.” He grinned suddenly. “I tell you what. Missy and I are going to interview him now. How about a wager on what he says?”

  John extended his hand to shake. “You’re on.”

  Annette smacked Liam’s arm. “Missy! When did I become Missy?”

  “OK, Inspector Missy then. Are you in or out?”

  She scowled for a moment then reached into her bag and pulled out a five pound note. “In. Can you stay and watch the interview, Dr Winter? Just in case Liam cheats.”

  John smiled. Liam would fix any bet, given half a chance, but even he wouldn’t do it to land a man in jail.

  “I’ll stay because I believe Jacobs is innocent and because I want to see Marc’s face when he arrives and finds out.”

  ***

  Ian Jacobs lived in a typical suburban semi with his wife Melanie and two dogs. There were toys everywhere, the sort that could only belong to a very small child. A glance at the Jacobs’ family tree gave Craig the answer. Their surviving child, Gemma, was the mother of a three-year-old boy and she was living at the Hotel of Mum and Dad.

  All in all it was an ordinary family home, its level of tidiness around the same as Craig’s own flat. It didn’t look like it housed a murderer, but then murderers were only glamorous and exciting on TV. In real life murder was a humdrum business, carried out by ordinary people with grubby hearts and minds.

  Still, as Craig signalled the uniformed officers to start the search he already knew what he expected to find; nothing. Adrian Cooke may have had oil on his neck and it might well match oil from the garage where Ian Jacobs worked, but it would also match a thousand other garages. Even if they tied it to Jacobs and found a green wool jumper that still didn’t mean he was their man.

  Craig scanned the living room he was standing in as he thought. One oil smudge on a neck that Jacobs had supposedly wrung barehanded? No, he really couldn’t see it. If Jacobs had strangled Cooke in a hurry without wearing gloves, Cooke’s neck would have been covered with oil, not one small smudge. He watched the search for a minute longer then he beckoned the lead sergeant across.

  “Don’t waste too much time on this, John. I have a hunch that he’s not our man.”

  John Daly nodded then turned back to his work, Craig’s words already forgotten. Nice and all as it was of the Super to try to spare them the effort, his men would be searching the Jacobs’ house until there was nothing left to find.

  ***

  High Street Station. 2 p.m.

  Ian Jacobs squinted as he was led into the bright interview room. Jack pointed him to a chair beside his solicitor, set across from Liam and Annette, then he went into the viewing room to join John Winter in his ringside seat. The desk sergeant smiled at John’s excitement; he didn’t watch int
errogations every week like he did. If he did he would soon tire of the endless lies and obfuscations, the stalling tactics of tea and toilet breaks and the oily solicitors paid thirty pieces of silver to get their murdering clients off.

  He nodded at John in the near darkness. “Seen one of these before then?”

  John shook his head and stared straight ahead through the glass. He corrected his shake so that it became a half nod. “Well… once, but it was very short. Just a ‘did you do it? No comment, ten minute thing.’”

  Jack sniffed. “Not sure this’ll be much longer.” He gestured through the glass. “Although that’s Ronald Lewiston he’s drawn as his brief.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s one of the highest paid solicitors in Belfast, slumming it for the day.”

  John gave him a puzzled look. “Why is he? Slumming it, I mean.”

  “To keep his hand in. Word is his practice is going to concentrate on criminal law, so they’ve been told to do some pro bono hours on the shop floor.”

  Jack laughed, quietly so that Annette and Liam wouldn’t be disturbed. They were in the silent, pre-questioning phase, where their body language was designed to unsettle the perp. Annette was lining up a pile of paper topped by the charge sheet parallel with the table’s edge, and Liam was sitting hands clasped and bolt upright, staring unblinkingly at their man. Jack continued.

  “Lewiston is bucking for partner so he’s eager to be seen and make himself felt.” He smiled knowingly. “I bet he’ll do his Clarence Darrow speech.”

  John dragged his eyes away from Liam. “What?”

  “You know, the one with ‘I insist that there is nothing but prejudice in this case’. You wait and see, if he can wriggle it in he’ll do it, mark my words.”

  John was about to say something when Jack put a finger on his lips. “Ssshhh. Liam’s about to start.”

  All that was missing was the conductor and they could have been in a concert hall. Liam drew himself up to his full height and switched on the tape.

  “It’s Wednesday, the 15th of October at 2 p.m. We are in High Street Station. Present are D.C.I. Liam Cullen…”

  Annette spoke next. “D.I. Annette McElroy.”

  The solicitor turned to his pale client and nodded him on to say his name. Ian Jacobs was so white that Annette thought he was going to faint. It meant nothing; innocence or guilt, she’d seen the pallor on both. Jacobs’ deep voice whispered weakly. “Ian Jacobs” It was followed by a booming “and Ronald Lewiston, solicitor. Partner at Cherry and Moss.”

  Liam smiled at the name, certain there was a joke there somewhere. Once the formal introductions were over he poured Jacobs some water from a jug. John thought it was like some bizarre cocktail party where Liam was the host. Any minute now, someone would start chatting about the weather. Liam started talking but it wasn’t about the rain.

  “Do you understand the charges against you, Mr Jacobs?”

  Ian Jacobs nodded mutely and Liam asked him to say it aloud for the tape.

  “Yes.”

  The word sounded faint and tired and more than a little shocked, as if Jacobs couldn’t quite believe that he was there. Annette imagined that he couldn’t. He’d gone to St Mary’s to see his sick mother and ended up on a murder charge. Hardly an average day.

  Liam’s next question was unusual; not only for what he asked but because of how he asked it. He leaned across the desk till he was eye-to-eye with his prey and then he smiled, asking in an almost friendly way.

  “You didn’t do it, did you?”

  Annette’s jaw dropped in shock. She didn’t believe the man in front of them had committed murder but they had to go through the motions at least. Ask the questions seriously and expect to get lied to at least once; it was the way things were done. Liam was breaking tradition by shortcutting his way to the end. Ronald Lewiston looked even more surprised. His mouth opened as if he was readying to expound, then he realised that Liam had just let his client off and he closed it again.

  Jack tutted behind the glass. “Damn. I thought Lewiston was about to give us some Darrow there.”

  Annette’s shock with Liam had turned to a glare and she nudged his knee beneath the desk. When he ignored her she started to ask the questions herself, but even she could hear that she was half-hearted in her interrogation. The more she looked at Ian Jacobs the less she thought that he’d killed Adrian Cooke, but they still needed the questions asked and answered for the tape.

  After ten minutes of Annette asking things formally, gathering background, timings, feelings and Jacobs’ lack of alibi, she stopped. Yes, Ian Jacobs had been on the ward that night. Yes, he’d seen Adrian Cooke and gone to have things out with him; the man had given his son drugs after all. Maybe not the precise tablet that had killed him, but Cooke was drug-dealing scum and if he hadn’t killed Evan then it was purely by chance. He’d be happy to give them chapter and verse on Dr Cooke, happier still if it led to other dealers being locked up.

  “But I didn’t kill him, honestly I didn’t. When I caught up with him he was already lying on the ground.”

  “Where?”

  “Between the wards.” Jacobs’ voice dropped. “He was just lying there. There was no blood. Just… just his eyes were open…staring.”

  “What happened then, Mr Jacobs?” Annette asked the question already knowing what the answer would be.

  Ian Jacobs leaned forward, a cold sweat covering his face. “I knew he was dead but I reached down to check his pulse anyway. At his neck.”

  It was exactly what she and John had thought. As Jacobs said it Craig joined John and Jack in the viewing room and took a seat.

  “How did you know to do that?”

  “I’m a first-aider at work. We have to be trained. There are accidents in the garage sometimes.”

  “All right. But why didn’t you call someone?”

  “Because Cooke was dead and I knew exactly what they’d think – that I killed him.”

  “Did you see or hear anything when you found Dr Cooke? Even the smallest thing might help us.”

  Craig left the room and wandered into the car park for some fresh air. Annette would wrap things up and then Jack would take Jacobs back to his cell under the smug gaze of his brief.

  He shrugged in the cold October afternoon. He was glad that Ian Jacobs hadn’t done it; a family that had already lost a child didn’t need the grief of a criminal trial. Des would confirm that the dirt under Jacobs’ nails was just grime from work and they would release him pending further enquiries. He was pleased for Ian Jacobs but it left them back at square one, with no suspects for either Rudd’s or Cooke’s deaths.

  Craig re-entered the viewing room just in time to see Jacobs heading back to his cell. He was just about to press the intercom to suggest that they met in the staff-room when Annette lifted her papers and whacked Liam over the head. Her hardest thump couldn’t make a dent in Liam’s skull but Craig intervened all the same. His voice echoed round the interview room like a celestial parent’s.

  “Stop arguing and meet me in the staff-room, now!”

  When they entered the untidy staff-room Craig kept the two detectives on their feet while John made the tea. His tone said he was unamused.

  “What was that about?”

  Annette pointed at Liam indignantly. “He practically told Jacobs that we didn’t think he’d done it!”

  Craig glared at Liam. “First, is that true? And second, exactly what did you say?”

  Liam glanced at Annette with a smugness that said ‘when the boss hears, he’ll agree with me’.

  “I said ‘you didn’t do it, did you?’”

  Craig didn’t agree with him, in fact he was furious. “You may not have believed him guilty, Liam, but he had to be questioned properly anyway. Now we’ll have to do it again or the Crown Prosecutors will have our jobs.”

  Annette interrupted, shaking her head. “It’s OK, sir. I took over and asked everything formally. It’s all on the tape.”<
br />
  Craig glanced at John for confirmation. He nodded and dropped a teabag in the pot. “Annette nudged him to shut up and ran everything by the book. Jacobs volunteered that he’d seen Cooke and gone to find him, but that Cooke was already dead when he did. He checked his carotid pulse; the oil smudge matches the position. Des will confirm it but the debris under Jacobs’ finger nails will probably just be oil and dirt.”

  Craig wasn’t appeased. He glared at Liam. “Nevertheless, Chief Inspector Cullen, your behaviour could…”

  He stopped abruptly mid-rant, feeling like a hypocrite. He’d done practically the same thing at Jacobs’ house. He’d told John Daly not to waste too much time on the search because his gut had said Ian Jacobs wasn’t their man. John would have ignored him, just as Annette had done with Liam, but it told Craig something. Experience could make you cocky and careless. Both he and Liam needed a refresher course.

  Liam stared phlegmatically at Craig, awaiting the rest of his tirade, when it didn’t come he smiled, knowing that Craig had done something naughty himself. As John set out the mugs Craig confessed what it was and then followed it up with words he knew Liam wouldn’t want to hear.

  “You and I are going on a refresher course, Liam.”

  Liam’s howls of protest filled the room. Craig let him rant for a moment and then waved him down.

  “Experience and gut instinct are all very well, but they made both of us cocky and impatient today. If it wasn’t for Annette and John Daly we’d be in trouble now.”

  John nodded. “We have to be revalidated every five years. Stops people getting sloppy and keeps you up to date with new techniques.” He sipped his tea and gave Liam a sly glance. “You’ll enjoy it, Liam. It’ll smooth off some of the rough edges.”

  It was Annette’s turn to laugh. “If you smoothed off his rough edges there’d be nothing left.” She turned to the disgruntled looking giant by her side with a curious look. “What made you say it anyway? You went in there betting against Jacobs’ innocence.”