by Mari Hannah
Having decided on a strategy – there were no dissenting voices – Hank began the interview at exactly three p.m., Kate acting as backup. Reminding Gardner that he was still under caution, they got straight down to business. It was time to turn up the heat.
‘During your last interview, DCI Daniels advised you that we have witness statements. One of them alleges that you were involved in a fight with Elliott Foster prior to his death. Although you admit to seeing him at the show, you couldn’t recall seeing him afterwards due to the amount of alcohol you’d consumed that day. Is that correct?’
‘What can I say? I was in a haze, mate.’
‘Really? That’s interesting, because a witness has since claimed that you took photos of your mates holding Elliott down. Do you have anything to say about that?’
‘She’s mistaken.’
‘She?’ Kate raised her eyes, not her head, eyeing Gardner’s brief over the top of her reading specs, a smile developing. She could’ve sworn Moffatt rolled his eyes. Scribbling a note on her pad, she spoke without looking at the prisoner. ‘I don’t recall DS Gormley saying that either of our witnesses was female.’
‘Didn’t he?’ Gardner shrugged, unconcerned. ‘I thought he did, sorry.’
Now Kate looked up.
‘I must need my ears syringed,’ Gardner said. ‘They’re full of wax and my hearing’s not too good.’ The arrogant shit had an answer for everything.
‘Let’s move on, shall we?’ Hank said. ‘You told us yesterday that you don’t own any boots, Liam. What if I told you that, on the day of the show, a man was taking photographs that’ll prove you’re lying. It’s unfortunate for you that the man in question also happens to be a well-respected ex-copper who knows you well.’
‘So where are they – these pictures?’
‘We’re having them blown up as we speak.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Gardner smirked.
There was a tap on the door. Perfect timing. Carmichael appeared. Announcing her arrival for the tape, Kate stood up and approached her. Handing over some A4 stills, Lisa left the room as planned. The DCI turned slowly, eyes on Gardner as she retook her seat. After sharing the photographs with Hank, she placed them face up on the table and slid them towards their suspect.
‘If I’m not mistaken,’ she said. ‘That’s you in the centre, is it not?’
Gardner eyed the stills but kept quiet.
‘Clever how he managed to catch the show flags behind your head,’ Hank added. ‘You look like you don’t have a care in the world. It’ll be a while before you get another day out in the fresh air.’
Gardner gave him a dirty look. ‘I said I was there.’
‘Can I draw your attention to your footwear then?’ Hank tapped the images. ‘These must be the boots you forgot you were wearing.’
Gardner wiped a film of sweat from his upper lip and gave no reply.
‘We got lucky this time,’ Hank said. ‘Both of our witnesses were very observant. They claim that you instigated the fight, you asked your mates to hold Elliott down and you took photographs of them doing it.’
‘Not me.’
‘Well, guess what DCI Daniels found on your mobile phone this morning.’ Hank opened the file in front of him and slid another image across the table. It showed his associates restraining their murder victim on the ground, struggling to keep him still, the graveyard of St Andrew’s Church visible in the background. ‘This image seems to corroborate the fact that our witnesses are telling the truth, doesn’t it?’
Gardner shrugged. ‘I know them but they’re nowt to do with me.’
‘Hmm . . .’ Hank exchanged a silent message with Kate.
She took over. ‘If your mates are holding him down, who do you think is doing the kicking?’ She paused, adding weight to the comment. When Gardner didn’t answer, she feigned boredom and checked her mobile. Disinterested. She texted Carmichael and put the phone in her pocket. ‘No idea? You’re an intelligent guy, Liam. Maybe you could take a punt at who might’ve been using your device. You can’t have lost it. It was in your possession at the time of your arrest.’
‘You’re the detective. You work it out.’
Kate stopped talking – Hank’s prompt to resume.
‘There’s a lot of fingers pointing in your direction,’ he said. ‘I wonder how long before your mates start blabbing. I hope they’re good mates because, believe me when I say one of them is going to rat on you. It’s not going to be a hard sell, is it? They’re as keen to go home as you are. You don’t actually think they’ll take the blame for you with a murder charge on the table, do you?’
Another knock at the door . . .
A second delivery from Carmichael . . .
Hank waited for her to leave again before removing the boots from their packaging. Placing them on the table, he lined them up with the photograph Gardner had just been shown. ‘Would you agree that these boots are exactly the same as the ones you’re wearing in this photograph?’
‘It’s difficult to say.’
‘I can assure you they are. We confirmed it with the manufacturer. You’re a bit of a trendsetter. Did you know that? They’re the very latest technology. Only came on sale three weeks ago.’
Kate was smiling, texting again.
The final knock on the door produced the ash and eyelets from the boots she’d asked Maxwell to destroy by fire. Gardner knew what the ashes were. Moffatt was undecided. Carmichael gave them both a flash of teeth as she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Hank thumbed in Kate’s direction. ‘My boss here is smart, Liam. She had a brilliant idea to buy two pairs of boots and burn one to replicate what you did at home.’
Moffatt looked confused.
Gardner didn’t.
‘Don’t you think that’s clever?’ Hank pressed. ‘I’d never have thought of it myself. That’s why she’s a DCI and I’m a modest DS. Anyway, I digress. Let me tell you the good bit. The eyelets of those boots, when burnt, match the one we found in your BBQ when we searched your property earlier today.’
Gardner’s shoulders dropped.
Kate sensed defeat.
‘So,’ Hank said. ‘I put it to you that following your fight with Elliott Foster, you attempted to get rid of your boots because you were concerned that they would implicate you in a very serious offence. If you’re going to destroy evidence, you should be more careful. If you sweep a BBQ, make sure you get right into the joins or you might miss something.’
Gardner knew he was done for, as did Moffatt. The solicitor hadn’t said a word the whole interview and there was nothing he could say now. Covering his mouth with his hand, he whispered to his client.
‘Listen,’ Gardner said. ‘I can see I’m in the shit. I knew Elliott had died. I didn’t kill him. I admit I gave him a good kicking and that’s why I burnt my boots. I swear I didn’t stamp on him or nothin’. I connected with his face but I had nowt to do with the gibbet.’
55
Kate typed a text message and pressed send:
The case won’t be long. We’re not far away. I have an admission. There’s still time. We still have the booking and you’re off for ages. I’ll be able to disappear for a week before I have to sign off on the file.
The answer was short and to the point:
Use the Crail cottage by all means. I’ve made alternative arrangements. I’ve been to see your dad again too. Wanted to let you know he’s fine. I know you’re busy.
Please reconsider . . .
I’ve made my decision.
I love you.
Kate stared at the screen hoping for more. There was no response.
Beyond her office door, a cheer went up in the incident room. Kate put her mobile on the desk. Seconds later Hank walked in, the din of a riotous MIT celebration leaking in as he opened the door. He stood facing her, a look of triumph in every facial feature. The tension of the past few days had vanished completely.
‘News from the morgue,’ he s
aid. ‘The metal eyelet in Gardner’s BBQ matches the circular marks on Elliott’s face perfectly.’ He held up his hand for a high-five. Kate obliged, trying to engage with his enthusiasm. The good news could never wipe away the bad. In his excitement, he hadn’t noticed that her head was down. ‘We got him, the bastard!’ he said. ‘And this time he’s going to stay got.’
It had been a long time coming. Finally, they were within touching distance of solving the case. It made the text exchange with Jo so much harder to take, their break-up so unnecessary. Behind a calm façade, Kate was inconsolable.
‘What are you going to charge him with?’ Hank asked. For once, he hadn’t picked up on what was going on under the surface. ‘We have sufficient evidence for a Section 18.’
Wounding with intent didn’t cut it for either of them.
‘Depends on Su,’ Kate said. ‘She asked me to give her an hour. She’s conferring with Stanton. I need that post-mortem report before I take it to Naylor.’
‘We let Gardner stew?’
‘That’s the plan.’
There was no need to explain her reasoning. Hank was very well aware that she had enough on Gardner to substantiate a charge. If the clock ran out and she wanted to keep him beyond his detention time, she could go to court and explain that she was investigating a fast-moving murder enquiry involving multiple offenders.
Technically, as soon as she had sufficient evidence to charge, she should do so, but that would mean she couldn’t interview him again in relation to the matter. The fact that she was waiting on post-mortem results was justification to delay. No sensible magistrate would refuse a request for further time to interview suspects. She wanted to charge Gardner and his mates with murder. They were all there. In the eyes of the law they were equally guilty.
Kate and Hank had moved from her office to the station bait room, grabbing refreshments during a lull in proceedings. Carmichael was on food duty. She’d nipped along to Marks and Spencer with a list, bringing a chicken salad for Kate, a hoisin duck wrap for Hank, sparkling water for both. Kate had a wry smile to herself. Hank was much more careful about what he put in his mouth since his wife had taken him back, and he’d lost weight. Sadly, he still ate too fast and talked with his mouth full.
‘How’s your dad?’ he asked.
‘He sends his regards.’
He stopped chewing. ‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘He’s a pain in the arse. Is that any better?’
Hank grinned. ‘He’s not going to croak then?’
‘Not unless I put my hands round his throat and squeeze very hard,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I was tempted.’
‘Perfect. I love a status quo. Change unsettles me.’
Kate laughed.
‘Have you seen Jo lately?’
She nodded, tried to act normal.
‘And?’ He looked at her. He wasn’t stupid. This time her poker face hadn’t worked. He’d cottoned on immediately that the question was unwelcome. ‘What the hell happened this time?’ He could tell something fairly major had gone on. ‘Kate? Kate, talk to me . . .’
She sucked in a breath. ‘She’s ended it, Hank.’
‘What?’ His mouth fell open. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. He seemed genuinely floored by it. ‘Why?’
‘I’m a crap lesbian.’
He laughed out loud but underneath she could see how upset he was.
Kate didn’t hear him disagree. I think we’re done . . .
Now was as good a time as any to level with him. To explain, once and for all, why she’d not come clean – not come out. She’d come very close to doing so in Spain, pulling out at the last minute, her bottle gone. Hank let her talk, dipping in occasionally to cheer her up and raise her spirits. He was the most significant male in her life, the only person she’d trusted enough to open up to.
There was so much he didn’t know about her.
‘Your brush with death forced me to re-evaluate,’ she said. ‘It scared the hell out of me, if you want the truth. I took a long hard look at what’s important. I can’t change the past. I figured I could do something about the future. My leave period was to have been a jumping-off point for that. Atkins’ arrival put the dampers on it. His intolerance is a bloody big reminder of what I stand to lose.’
He waited as she took a moment.
‘I wasn’t entirely honest with you after you sussed out my relationship with Jo—’
‘You don’t say.’ He threw her a brotherly smile. ‘And there was me thinking you were throwing your life away because you wanted to go places. I always suspected there was more to it than blind ambition.’
Kate drifted away to another time, daring to revisit that dark and painful memory she’d kept battened down under lock and key for most of her adult life. Atkins had a lot to answer for. He’d exerted such influence over her. What pained her most was that she’d let him do it. She hated herself for it.
Hank’s voice pulled her back into the room.
‘Is Atkins the reason you were never open?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t mean to be deceitful.’
‘So why were you?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’m a good listener.’
‘He tried it on when I was nineteen, a fresh-faced rookie with hopes of becoming something more. I knocked him back. We fought. Physically.’
‘He hit you?’
‘A push, a shove – nothing more – he came off worse.’
For a man who’d heard it all before, Hank was shocked. That didn’t happen often. Sensitive to her hesitation, he didn’t push for more detail, but bided his time, appreciating how hard it was for her to share her innermost secrets. There was anger too, the majority of it earmarked for Atkins . . . and some, she suspected, winging its way to her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘Jo knows though, yeah?’
Kate shook her head.
‘Why not? It would’ve explained so much. Didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘What? And give him the satisfaction of shafting me? No thanks. He led me to believe that there was no room in the job for people like me, no hiding place either.’ Her voice died to a whisper. ‘I was so traumatized by what happened, I kept my distance from female colleagues for a time. Can you believe that? I was worried that he’d turn against them too, tar them with same brush.’
‘Guilt by association.’
A nod. ‘I’ve spent my career looking over my shoulder ever since, keeping my private life to myself to avoid becoming the butt of jokes for those cruel enough to know better and weak enough to say nowt if they came across bullying in the workplace. There’s a lot of it about. More than you think. Any expectations I had of rising through the ranks had been knocked out of me—’
‘C’mon. Your detection rate alone would’ve got you there.’
‘You believe in a meritocracy?’ Kate gave him hard eyes. ‘You know as well as I do, it doesn’t work like that, especially with guys like Atkins dishing the dirt. The only reason he kept his mouth shut was because I threatened to expose him, via a third party, for what went on in that locker room.’
‘Which you let him get away with—’
‘No, yes, not exactly.’ Kate shut her eyes, the memory pushing its way back into her head. ‘I was young and green. To be honest, I wasn’t going to tell a soul about it, but someone clocking on for the next shift came in and found me in tears, picking my kit up off the floor, stuff that had fallen off the lockers when he was pushing me around . . .’
She was suddenly back in that locker room.
‘It’ll be your word against mine.’ Atkins was in her face, his forearm across her neck, his knee between her legs. ‘Who do you think they’ll believe, eh? So keep it shut.’
As soon as he’d gone, Kate rushed next door to ask the cleaner if she’d heard any of the altercation through the wall.
She shook her
head. ‘No, sorry, love.’
Returning to the locker room to tidy up and compose herself, Kate jumped as the door behind her swung open. Fearing another round of abuse from Atkins, she scrambled to her feet. A female sergeant from the next shift was standing in the doorway in a tracksuit, a bag slung over her shoulder, a badminton racket sticking out the top. She’d come in early to take a shower before the daily parade.
Kate panicked as the older officer surveyed the scene, personal toiletries scattered across the floor. Kate was unable to think on her feet or come up with a reasonable explanation for them being there. There was an accusation in the sergeant’s voice as she spoke.
‘What’s going on here then?’
Kate blushed. ‘Nothing, Sarge.’
She wasn’t buying that. ‘Well, something clearly is.’
She was matronly to look at, reminding Kate of her mum: a kindly face, a wise one, piercing blue eyes. Brown hair, cut short. With twenty-five years’ service in and nearing retirement, she had a reputation for fairness when dealing with offenders and staff alike, and was someone Kate admired. Frightened by the consequences of grassing on Atkins, Kate wanted to avoid a fuss. Only when the sergeant promised not to make an official complaint did she find the courage to blow the whistle on him . . .
‘I have no proof, Sarge. No witnesses.’
‘You have me.’
‘You didn’t see what happened though. It’s my word against his. He told me he has friends in high places. I’m just starting out. Please,’ she begged. ‘I’ll resign if you take it any further.’
‘Kate, think! What if he does it to someone with less backbone than you?’
Little did Kate know those words would return to haunt her.
Seeing her predicament, the sergeant laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and took charge. ‘OK, have it your own way. It’s your fight, not mine. This is what we do. You write up the incident. I’ll have words with him. He won’t like it, but that’s tough. It’ll stay with me, to be used only if it happens again and I need to prove evidence of system.’