THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Harry said. ‘I think you can do better than the silent treatment. Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘I don’t think I want to answer any more questions without my solicitor.’

  ‘Your solicitor? Sounds like you’ve been preparing yourself for this moment, but I don’t think we need to go down that route quite yet, do you?’

  ‘My solicitor’s also my mate. He advised me to call him if you found out about the fight – so that’s what I’d like to do.’

  Harry tried to hide his frustration. A solicitor meant more delays, more time-wasting, and he needed to get on and find out some facts.

  ‘Well, that’s your prerogative–’

  ‘Yeah, it is. Whatever that means.’

  ‘In that case I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station.’

  ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘All I want is to ask you a few questions at this stage. But if you want your solicitor present, then it needs to be done on a more formal basis and you’ll have to come back with us to the police station. It’s up to you.’

  ‘Right. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, then, while I make the call and phone my wife?’

  In the interview room a couple of hours later, Harry sat across from Ken and his solicitor – a large, balding man in his forties who was built like a tank. His expression was more belligerent than Ken’s.

  ‘Okay,’ Harry said, after the preliminaries were done with the recording procedures. ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we? When was the last time you visited The Crown pub, Mr Lazard?’

  There was the slightest of hesitations. ‘Last night.’

  His response took Harry by surprise.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I got there about seven-forty-five.’

  ‘Well – that’s interesting. I was there last night. I didn’t see you.’

  Ken shrugged. ‘Maybe I arrived after you’d gone.’

  ‘Nope. Don’t think so. I got there just after eight.’

  How come no one in the pub had told him?

  Ken hesitated. ‘There’s a quiet room at the back of the pub. I asked Derek if I could use it. Thanks to you, I’ve become a bit of a focus of attention to everyone – I wanted some peace and quiet.’

  Harry let it go for the time being. ‘Can you tell me about the fight you had with Paul Copeland on the evening of Sunday, 13th November 2016?’

  Ken shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell. I don’t usually go in there on a Sunday, but Magz had a friend drop by and I nipped up for a quick one. The man walked into the pub and I recognised him straight away. There was no way I was drinking in the same pub as him, so I approached him and asked him to leave.’

  ‘I was told it was a bit more aggressive than that.’

  ‘Well, what do you think? Wouldn’t you be aggressive in my place? The man put my wife in a bloody wheelchair, for Christ’s sake, and didn’t even have the decency to feel ashamed about it. Anyway, he wasn’t having any of it. Told me to piss off, and refused to leave.’

  ‘So you went for him?’

  ‘I’ll admit I saw red – and I went for him. We had a tussle but were pulled apart by Derek pretty quickly. Said he’d call the police if there was any more trouble. And that’s when the useless piece of shit got his jacket and left.’

  ‘I have a witness who says you left, too, straight after.’

  ‘Yeah, well he’d ruined my day, hadn’t he? I downed my drink and went. I just wanted to get home to my wife.’

  ‘So what time was that when you left?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I was in a state. About six, I reckon.’

  Outside the interview room, Beth and a couple of others were watching through the glass. Turning away, she headed for the door.

  ‘If Harry asks where I am, tell him I’ve gone to get the pub’s CCTV coverage for the Sunday. We never asked for that.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the act of collecting her jacket, Beth looked over to where the phone was ringing on Harry’s desk. Coming to a decision, she walked over and picked it up.

  ‘DC Macaskill…’

  ‘Hi. Is DS Briscombe there?’

  ‘Not at the moment. Can I help?’

  ‘Are you working on the Paul Copeland case?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She straightened some papers on Harry’s desk. Not that she needed to, really. He was so tidy.

  ‘My name’s Joshua Wells. I’m a reporter with the Barnet News. I think I might have some interesting information for you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Beth stopped her tidying and kept her voice neutral. ‘What sort of information?’

  The man laughed. ‘Now that would be telling. I don’t want to overplay my hand. I’m hoping we can come to some sort of deal here, where if I help you a little, you might feel inclined to help me.’

  Beth sighed. They’d wondered when the press would start moving up to the next level, and it was always a gamble knowing how much to involve them.

  ‘We’re not into playing games, Mr Wells. If you’ve got information, you should tell us.’

  ‘I believe you’ve just picked Ken Lazard up for formal questioning?’

  How the hell did he know that? ‘Are you following us or something?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been keeping my eye on him. It might interest you to know that I met up with Paul Copeland on the day he was killed. He had some interesting stuff to say about Ken Lazard.’

  He had Beth’s full attention now but she tried not to sound too keen as she responded coolly.

  ‘What sort of stuff? How come you haven’t come forward before now? This is a murder investigation.’

  She could hear the smile in the man’s voice. ‘I’ve been holidaying in Spain with my girlfriend – had other things on my mind. Do you guys want to meet up with me or not? I ought to warn you that I intend running a story either way.’

  Beth grabbed a pen, coming to a decision. She needed to go out anyway. She could kill two birds with one stone.

  ‘Okay. I’m on my way out now, as it happens. Could you get to The Crown pub in Barnet for, say, midday? I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Okay, you can’t miss me – I’ve got shoulder-length hair, tied back in a ponytail.’

  He was poring over some handwritten notes when Beth walked into the pub. He was in his early thirties and not bad-looking, if ponytails were your thing.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked, standing up and offering his hand.

  ‘No thanks. Lots to get on with. So if we could just get on…?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  He sat back down and gave her a laconic stare. ‘How’s the investigation coming on?’

  ‘These things take time.’ She pulled out her notebook. ‘You say you saw Paul Copeland on the day of his death?’

  ‘That’s right. But before I give you any more, what’s the deal here?’

  ‘There’s no deal, Mr Wells. You’re duty-bound to tell us anything you know, or we can bring you in for withholding information.’

  ‘Josh, please. And don’t give me that. I’ve been around long enough to know what I can or can’t do. All I’m asking is that if you charge anyone, you let me know before it hits the mainstream press. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. In return I’ll tell you what I know now and keep you posted on anything new I might find out. I’d say that’s a good deal from where I’m sitting.’

  His eyes twinkled engagingly at her, charming her despite herself. She sighed. ‘Okay, tell me what you’ve got and I’ll run it past my boss.’

  She looked at him, waiting expectantly, and after a few moments he spoke.

  ‘I had a phone call from Paul Copeland the day he was killed. He told me he had a story for me and wanted to know if he could make some money out of it. I told him it depended how good it was, and stressed that it had to be true. We met up at his flat that morning and he filled me in on his background – how he’d accidentally hit Mr Lazard’s wife
with his car and been imprisoned for it, but had now been released. He told me that the previous night he’d gone to a pub in Barnet and Ken Lazard had been there. Apparently Ken went for him and a fight broke out. They were separated by the landlord, who told Paul to leave.’

  ‘You’re not telling us anything we don’t know, so far,’ Beth said, shaking her head.

  ‘Right. So did you know that after that fight, Ken Lazard followed Paul home?’

  Beth’s gaze sharpened. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Paul told me. He said he didn’t live far away from the pub and walked home. As he opened his front door he apparently heard a noise at his gate and there was Ken Lazard. Paul said he made some weird gesticulation with his hands and told him that he’d better watch his back, because now Ken knew where he lived, he’d be back – and maybe Paul should start getting used to the idea of being in a wheelchair himself.’

  Josh Wells leant back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. ‘I can see you didn’t know that bit,’ he said.

  ‘No, we didn’t. Did Copeland say anything else?’

  ‘Just that the guy had put the fear of God into him. He was quite agitated – wanted me to run the story so that it would be out there in the public domain. Seemed to think that would put the brakes on Ken Lazard not to act on his threats. He also wanted money for the story but I had to tell him that even if we paid something, it wouldn’t be life-changing. He wasn’t very impressed by that – told me that there could be more significant stuff, but in that case he wouldn’t bother coming to the likes of me, he’d go straight to the national press.’

  ‘What time of day was this?’

  ‘Ten-forty-five. My girlfriend and I were leaving for Spain later that day. I didn’t have time to check stuff out so I thought I’d get onto it when I got back. Only, of course, events overtook me. It was only when we got home last night that I read about Copeland being murdered. Do you think Ken Lazard did it?’

  ‘We’re keeping an open mind at the moment. Did Paul say if he was meeting anyone else that day?’

  ‘No, but I know he was frightened of Ken Lazard and definitely worried by the fact that he knew where he lived.’

  Beth dropped her notebook into her bag and rose from the table. ‘Thanks for that. Can you come down to the station as soon as possible to make a formal statement?’

  ‘Sure. Anything to help my local bobby – especially when she looks like you. Cool hair, by the way.’

  His grin was flirtatious and a reluctant smile escaped her lips. Despite the ponytail look, which wasn’t great, he had a certain charm about him – and he probably thought they were a sympathetic match.

  ‘Should you be saying that sort of thing if you’ve got a girlfriend?’

  He shrugged. ‘We don’t go around with our eyes shut just because we’ve got partners, do we?’

  He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his card. ‘My numbers are on here if you get anything new you can pass on, and if you tell me where to go, I’ll call in at the station to give that statement – show you what a law-abiding citizen I am.’

  As they took their leave she waved Josh on, while she stopped to speak to the landlord.

  ‘You gotta minute, Derek?’

  ‘Sure. What’s bugging you now?’

  ‘My partner, DS Briscombe, was in here Monday night, asking a few more questions about Ken Lazard?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We were just wondering why you didn’t tell him that Ken Lazard was here at the same time?’

  ‘He didn’t ask.’

  ‘Well, I’m asking now. I understand he was in a back room?’

  The man hesitated; he was definitely looking uncomfortable now but he gestured her to follow as he led the way to a small room off the main bar. Inside were a couple of tables and chairs and a leather sofa by the fire.

  ‘Who told you?’ Derek asked.

  Beth ignored the question. ‘Is this where Ken was? Was he alone?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was too busy talking to your mate. You’ll have to ask Ken.’

  ‘You know, we wouldn’t like to think you were somehow involved in all this, Derek, but it’s beginning to look like it’s possible, the way you seem to be covering up for him the whole time.’

  ‘Now, hang on. I’ve not lied about anything, and I’ve known Ken for years. I’m not saying he’s not above throwing a few punches every now and then, but I can’t believe he’d murder anyone.’

  ‘Even if that someone put his wife in a wheelchair? Maybe things got out of hand?’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you have CCTV footage of the fight?’

  ‘Yeah. I told your mate I’d dig it out.’

  ‘And have you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’d like to take it back to the station so my bosses can take a look. Do you have a problem with that?’

  Derek sighed. ‘No.’ He walked back into the main bar and rummaged around under the counter, pulling out a plastic carrier bag.

  ‘And what about outside? Have you got footage for that?’

  ‘It’s all there.’

  Thanks,’ Beth said, taking it from him. She gave him a straight look. ‘I still get the feeling you’re holding something back from us, and that’s not a great idea. We might need to bring you in for further questioning. Think on that.’

  Back at the police station, she was disappointed to see that Harry wasn’t around. Should she go to DCI Murray with what she’d learnt from Joshua Wells? She looked through into his office and saw that he was on the phone – and not in the best of moods by the look of him. She saw him pull out a packet of something from his drawer and watched as he unwrapped a piece of gum, popped it into his mouth and started to chew on it energetically. Someone had told her that although he’d quit smoking two years ago, he freely admitted that he was now hooked on the NiQuitin gum instead.

  She chickened out and decided to tackle the CCTV first.

  When Harry loped into the incident room an hour later, she could barely contain her excitement at how the day’s events were turning out, but first things first.

  ‘How did the rest of the interview go?’ she asked, squinting up at him from her seat at the desk.

  He scraped his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve let him go for now. But he’s definitely holding something back from us.’

  She grinned. ‘And I think I know what it is. I’ve been quite busy, mate, while you were doing the fun stuff.’

  She told him about her meeting with Josh Wells and her subsequent conversation with the landlord of the pub. ‘I’ve watched the video footage of the fight and wow, was Ken angry – he’d really have done Copeland some damage, I reckon, if Derek and a couple of others hadn’t stepped in. Mind you, Copeland’s attitude was pretty provocative. I think I’d have been boiling mad in Ken’s shoes, too.’

  And you wouldn’t want to witness that, she thought, remembering the times when she’d completely lost her rag with her brothers when she was younger. Her elder brother in particular had known just which buttons to press and boy, had he enjoyed pressing them.

  ‘Want to take a look?’ she asked, tilting the screen towards him. ‘It’s an old system he’s got and I was able to bring the tapes back with me. He’s got cameras both inside and outside the pub, which has turned out to be very useful.’

  ‘Just let me get a coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  He disappeared off, and she found her thoughts drifting reluctantly back to her brothers again as she gazed absently out of the window. She wished she could rewrite her family history, but she knew that wasn’t an option – you were dealt the cards you were dealt in life, and you had to get on with it. Her father was a bully, lording it over the family with his vicious remarks and even more vicious temper, and as a consequence, her mother had spent her life creeping around on eggshells, terrified of upsetting him. Her two brothers – one older than her, the other younger – had never found the balls to stand up to him either.
Now both of them were following in his path of petty crime, and she was so glad to have got out before she, too, had become a no-hoper. She had Andy to thank for that … and inadvertently, Briony. Poor, vulnerable Briony, who’d been as much a victim of circumstances as she had.

  ‘Right … what have you got?’

  Harry was back, clasping a mug of hot coffee in his hands as he peered down at the screen in front of her.

  She brought her attention back to the screen. ‘Well, you know about this bit …’

  Flicking the switch, she played back the fight scene between Ken Lazard and Paul Copeland. Even though there was no sound, there was no mistaking the taunting expression and actions of Paul Copeland, nor the absolute fury of Ken’s response as he went for him.

  ‘But that’s not all,’ Beth said, when they came to the end of the scene. ‘Take a look at this. It’s the video footage from outside the pub when Paul Copeland left after the fight. I think you’ll find it interesting.’

  Harry leant forward over her shoulder to study the grainy image.

  ‘There,’ Beth said, pointing at a lone figure exiting the pub. ‘That’s Paul Copeland … and this …’ she fast-forwarded the footage, ‘…is our mate, Ken, leaving the pub forty-five seconds later. And look … recognise that red car?’

  Harry nodded. It was the same adapted Volkswagen he’d seen parked outside the Lazards’ house.

  ‘This is where it gets interesting,’ Beth said, ‘because Ken doesn’t stop at his car and get in. He carries on along the road – walking in Paul Copeland’s footsteps – just like Josh said. And definitely looking furtive, if you ask me…’

  She looked up at him, clearly pleased with herself.

  He nodded his head slowly. ‘Good stuff. Do you get to see where they go?’

  Beth shook her head. ‘No. But we’ve requested more CCTV footage to analyse from the council for further along the High Street, which might include the roads leading to Paul’s flat. By the way …’ She looked at him. ‘The landlord at The Crown confirmed that Ken Lazard was at his pub last night when you were there.’

  ‘Well, why the bloody hell didn’t he mention it?’

  ‘Because you never asked, apparently.’