Betrayed (Powell Book 4)
Page 7
On many levels, Powell liked Hattie but she was making the wrong decisions in life. Who was he kidding? In his youth, he’d made decisions that now seemed completely inappropriate. His wrong decisions had led to the death of his wife and a multitude of other regrets.
He believed, the wrong decisions shape your life more than the right decisions. The lessons you learn from the wrong decisions, equip you to go forward in life and use experience to make better decisions in the future. Some people do keep repeating the same mistakes but he wasn’t generally one of them.
Hattie was no different to most other people her age. She was looking for answers to the same questions every generation tried to answer. Perhaps it was a phase she would grow out of but Powell wanted to ensure she had the opportunity to come out the other side, both in one piece and not broke.
Whatever her feelings today, there would probably come a time when she would look back on her young life and regret the worst of her foolishness. Hattie was playing with fire by living at the commune rather than living it up in Mayfair and Chelsea.
Powell was driving his own BMW to the supermarket this time as the Land Rover was being used by someone else. Hattie had promised it was a smaller shop than their previous trip so they would be able to fit everything into his car.
It wasn’t much more than a country lane from Tintagel to the outskirts of Haywards Heath town centre so he didn’t drive fast. Hattie seemed less chatty than usual and rather withdrawn, which she explained was due to tiredness. Powell resisted the urge to bombard her with questions and it was a relatively quiet journey.
After less than an hour shopping, Powell emerged from the supermarket with a full trolley. Hattie was carrying an additional bag and between them they had a week’s supply of food for the commune.
He was pleased there was no sign of the two crackheads, who had caused trouble last time. Perhaps they had learned their lesson. Although, they didn’t seem like the type who would learn from their mistakes and would almost certainly spend their life repeating their mistakes.
As Powell approached the car, an instinct told him something was wrong. Something didn’t feel right. The car park seemed eerily quiet. Where were the other shoppers?
He was still trying to analyse exactly what was the problem, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by police officers barking instructions. They had literally jumped out from everywhere.
They all had their arms extended and were holding guns, which were gripped in both hands and pointing at his body. Powell was extremely nervous as he knew how easily a wrong movement could be interpreted.
He hoped these were experienced officers. They had caught him by surprise and he was completely surrounded. There was no escape, not that he had any intention of running anywhere. He hadn’t committed any crime.
Powell placed his hands high in the air and watched as the shopping trolley slowly rolled forward into his very new BMW. He had to fight to control the urge to grab the trolley. Any sudden move on his part wouldn’t be appreciated by the armed police.
Two officers shouted at him to get on the ground and he did as instructed, careful to keep his hands in full view. He could see Hattie doing the same. He said nothing as the handcuffs were applied. They wouldn’t be the people to provide answers. He was gripped firmly by each arm and helped to stand. Then an officer carefully started searching him but there was nothing to find.
Whatever the reason for his current predicament, he knew it wasn’t for something small like an unpaid fine. They didn’t send armed response units to collect payment for parking tickets. Whatever they thought he had done, they had been concerned he might be armed and dangerous.
He suspected he could be in a bundle of trouble but he believed everything would be sorted out down the police station. He just needed to remain calm. There was no point in shouting out his innocence.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw a policeman unlock his car with the keys taken from his pocket. A few seconds later, the same officer stepped back from the car with a bag of white powder in his hand and held it up for all to see.
It hit Powell like a blow to the solar plexus. A more powerful blow in fact than he had experienced in most of his kick boxing training. He glanced at Hattie but she was already being bundled into the back of a police car.
An officer in plain clothes approached Powell and went through the formality of arresting him and reading him his rights. Powell chose to remain silent.
As they pushed him into the back of a police car, he started thinking about what had gone wrong. One thing seemed certain. The Land Rover had been unavailable so he had been forced to take his own car. That surely wasn’t just a coincidence. Scott or one of his henchmen must have placed the drugs in his car. They would only do that if they knew his real purpose for joining the commune.
What he didn’t know was whether Hattie had been part of the trap. Had she placed the drugs in the car? He didn’t think it was likely because she had also been arrested.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
At the police station, Powell was brought before the custody Sergeant, who stood behind a circular, raised desk. Powell confirmed his name and address and was thoroughly searched again by a different officer, than at the supermarket. A further officer stood close by, presumably in case Powell showed any signs of causing trouble.
Powell handed over his few valuables to the sergeant, who placed them in a bag. They then asked him for his belt and checked his shoes but he was wearing a pair without laces. They obviously didn’t want him hanging himself in his cell. The bag was sealed and Powell signed a receipt.
He was asked if he wanted to speak to a solicitor and declined, asking instead for Brian, his friend in the security services, to be informed of his arrest, although he didn’t bother to mention the security services connection. The police wouldn’t take kindly to any perceived interference from that direction.
Powell provided Brian’s number, who Powell was confident would be able to provide more help than any local solicitor. When a solicitor was needed, Brian would be able to recommend someone good.
Powell then had his finger prints taken and a DNA sample taken by putting a swab in his mouth. He was conscious that the results would sit on a database for eternity. It made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. Formalities over, he was escorted to a cell.
There had been no sign of Hattie at the police station, which was surprising and slightly disconcerting. Why wasn’t she being put in a cell? The most likely answer was that she was considered an innocent witness, not a suspect. It was his car and she was just accompanying him on a shopping trip. She hadn’t even known him very long. It sounded like a story that would be easy for the police to believe.
After two hours in the cold cell, he was shown to a small, windowless interview room with a cheap metal table in the middle. The walls were originally white but had turned a shade of grey with time. The lighting was provided by a flickering, fluorescent strip. The room was depressing and cold, which was probably intentional.
He was sat in a chair on one side of the table. Two further chairs sat empty on the other side of the table. It was a strange feeling, remembering the many interviews of suspects, he’d carried out in Northern Ireland. He’d been sitting on the other side of the table in those days.
Powell was left to his own thoughts for twenty minutes, almost certainly a ploy to instil nervousness in the guilty but he wasn’t guilty and there would be no confession.
Two men eventually entered the room and sat down. Powell remained silent. He wasn’t going to be the first to speak.
The man wearing a suit turned on the tape recorder, which sat on the table. His colleague was wearing jeans and an open necked, check shirt.
“I’m Detective Inspector Bates and this is Sergeant Willis,” the suit said. He recorded the date and time of the interview. “Please state your full name, date of birth and current address.”
Powell did as instructed, giving his home address.
“I don’t need a solicitor. I haven’t committed any crime.”
“Then would you mind explaining to me why we found a large bag of what we suspect to be cocaine, hidden in your car?”
“I have no idea how it came to be there. I’ve never seen it before.”
“It will go much easier on you in court if you help us,” Bates urged. “Tell us where you got the drugs and I’ll put in a good word to the judge.”
“You’re not listening to me. They aren’t my drugs.”
“Then how do you explain them being in your car?”
“I have no idea how they came to be in my car. I only know I’ve never seen them before.”
“Look Powell, don’t give me that nonsense. The drugs haven’t magically transported themselves to your car.”
“I can see why they made you a detective.”
Bates continued, completely unfazed by the sarcasm. “You gave your home address earlier as somewhere in Hove. But I understood you were living at Tintagel, a commune near Lindfield.”
“I was staying there temporarily to see if I liked the place. Given today’s events, I think it’s safe to assume I won’t be returning.”
“So are you trying to tell me that someone else at this commune, where you’ve been living, has planted the drugs in your car?” Bates quizzed.
“You work it out. You’re the detective.”
“Would you care to enlighten me with the name of who you suspect of putting the drugs in your car? And why they put them there?”
“Without wanting to sound repetitive, you’re the detective.”
“I am the detective and currently I have what appears to be a watertight case.”
“Your case is like a colander. For a start, I assume you received an anonymous tip off that there were drugs in my car. Secondly, there was another person in the car. Thirdly, my fingerprints are not on the bag containing the drugs. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“We haven’t yet run fingerprint analysis on the bag.”
“Well you won’t be finding my prints because I’ve never seen that bag before, let alone touched it.”
“Tip offs are common in my line of work, especially when a dealer wants to get rid of his competition.”
There was a knock at the door, a man in plain clothes entered, walked up to Bates and whispered something in his ear.
“This interview is suspended at 2.56 pm,” Bates announced into the recorder, climbing to his feet. He nodded for his Sergeant to follow him and hurried to the door.
Powell was concerned. What had been so important? Perhaps Brian had arrived at the police station, revealed he worked for the security services and was making a nuisance of himself. Hopefully, Bates had been summoned to hear he was interviewing someone, who definitely wasn’t a drug dealer. Powell had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, which cast doubt on that idea.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Powell didn’t have to wait long for the two officers to return. He studied their faces as they entered the room but could detect no reason for feeling positive.
Bates turned the recording machine back on and restated the time and who was present.
“I’ve just been informed that a search of your car has revealed a hand gun hidden in the boot of your car,” Bates continued. “I have to ask you again at this point, whether you would like to have legal representation?”
Powell realised the Inspector was protecting his arse. Making sure he had on record that he had offered. He didn’t want his case thrown out on a technicality at some later date.
Powell replied clearly, “I have done nothing wrong so don’t require legal representation.”
Bates took a photo from his folder and pushed it across the table towards Powell. “I am now showing Powell a picture of the gun found in the boot of his car, earlier today.”
Powell glanced at the photo expecting the worst and wasn’t disappointed. The photo showed a gun in the small compartment where the tools for changing a wheel were kept.
“Do you have a permit for this gun?” Bates asked.
“I have never seen this gun before. It’s not mine so obviously, I don’t have a permit.”
“Do you keep your car locked when you’re not using it?”
“Yes.”
“Was your car locked when you went to it this morning?”
Powell pretended to think about it for a minute but knew the answer immediately. “Yes, it was locked.” He was remembering how the keys were left in the pocket of his jacket, hanging in a cupboard where he was sleeping. Anyone could help themselves to the keys and he would be none the wiser, which is exactly what had happened.
“But you want us to believe someone else has gained access to your car and planted the drugs and weapon?”
“My keys were in my jacket pocket, hanging in my room at Tintagel. It would have been quite possible for someone to borrow the keys, plant the gun and then return the keys to my pocket. That would be my explanation for what must have happened.”
“And who exactly would do this?”
“It was probably the same person who provided the tip off and must have mentioned, I may have a weapon. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have used all those armed officers to arrest me.”
“The gun has been sent for ballistic tests. If it has been used in any crime, we will find out.”
“I’m sure you will but even if it has been used in a crime, it wasn’t used by me. I’ve never seen it before.”
“If you are going to continue with this stance, I am going to bring this interview to an end for the time being,” Bates said. “Do you have anything else to say?”
“As you will have discovered, I have no criminal record. However, I am well known to the police in Brighton. I can think of at least a couple of senior offices, who will vouch for my good character. Last year my daughter, who was a very new constable, was murdered while on duty in the town centre.”
“That’s where I know you from,” Willis interjected, speaking for the first time. “I saw you at the funeral. I knew Bella.”
“I’m sorry about your daughter,” Bates said sympathetically. “I know the loss of a loved one can be a terrible blow. Have you been struggling to cope? Has it led to you getting involved with drugs?”
“The two things are not connected. I’ve not had some form of breakdown and turned to drugs.”
“It would be understandable if you had,” Bates persisted. “Is that why you joined the commune? To get away from everything? I’m sure a judge would be lenient, given your history.”
Powell drew a deep breath. “My history, as you put it, has nothing to do with my joining the commune.” He hesitated, uncertain about giving the real reasons for his joining the commune. “I met Scott and Hattie in a pub and they suggested, I pay a visit. It sounded like a good idea at the time.”
“And what is your relationship to Hattie?” Bates asked and the way he emphasised the word relationship, was hinting at something beyond friendship.
“We both live at the commune and I was helping her with the shopping. It’s the second time I’ve gone along to help her with carrying the bags. Everyone at Tintagel has to share the chores.”
“Do you think she put the drugs in the car?”
“I have no idea.” Powell was in a quandary. He was being paid to help Hattie not get her arrested for dealing in drugs. “Have you arrested Hattie?”
“She’s being interviewed at the moment,” Willis answered.
Bates gave his junior partner a withering look. “We’ll ask the questions, Powell.”
Powell was fed up of being on the defensive. “Sometime soon you are going to receive a phone call, telling you I must have been framed. It will come
from someone very senior in the security services.” Powell suddenly had both men’s attention. “I know it will piss you off that they are interfering but I used to work for them and they will vouch for me.”
For the first time, Powell noticed a look of uncertainty on the face of Bates. He leaned forward and switched off the recorder before demanding, “What the fuck’s going on here?”
“I told you. I’m being framed.”
“Do you work for the security services?” Bates asked.
“Not for a long time.”
“Then why would they be able to vouch for you?”
“Because I’ve been of help to them quite recently.”
“I don’t suppose you would want to explain how you helped the security services?”
“Let’s just say it was in an unofficial capacity and I helped find the terrorists responsible for the bombing of the Brighton centre.”
Willis raised his eyebrows and looked at his boss but this time said nothing. Bates gave Powell a long and thoughtful stare without saying anything. Powell met his gaze without blinking.
Bates turned the recorder back on. “I am temporarily suspending this interview.” He gave the time and stood up. “We will talk again soon.”
Powell assumed Bates was intending to do some more digging on his background before they spoke again. At least he had given Bates some food for thought.
Powell knew they were going to have to put him in front of a magistrate within twenty four hours. Given the evidence against him, he recognised he was unlikely to be given bail. The amount of drugs went far beyond what could be explained away, as for personal use.
He didn’t fancy being locked up for weeks waiting for a trial. He needed to be free to find whoever was responsible for his current problems. He couldn’t do that from inside a jail. Brian’s boss owed him a favour and it was time to collect.