Lost Souls

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Lost Souls Page 18

by Michael Knaggs


  *

  Mags grabbed her mobile off the table at her side, breathing a sigh of relief at the name on the display.

  “Hi. Everything okay?”

  “Hi, Mum. Sorry it’s so late…”

  “It’s only nine-fifteen, Katey, so not really late enough for an apology.”

  “I know you’re just saying that. I’ve always been home well before this since…” Her voice tailed off. “So I know you’ll have been worrying. You’re always telling me that’s part of your job as a mum, remember?”

  Mags gave a little laugh. “Well, I suppose I did wonder.”

  There was a long pause and a catch in Katey’s voice when she spoke again.

  “Look, Mum, is it okay if I stay over at a friend’s tonight? Just for tonight.”

  “Yes, of course, but is something wrong, darling? Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. We’ve just been talking about Jack. I got a bit emotional, that’s all. Will you be okay on your own? If not, I’ll come right back. Just say.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I wish dad was there with you.”

  “I’m fine. Really. Please take care.”

  “Love you, mum.”

  “Love you.”

  They ended the call.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Monday; 21 September

  Harry Waters arrived in Jo’s office five minutes early at 6.55 am. She waved him to sit down and poured coffee from a cafetiere.

  “So how’s the search for the killer – or killers – going?” she asked. “Any leads?”

  “Going down the road to nowhere at the moment. No new leads, which means – unless we pin our hopes on the mystery man in the park – no leads at all. You know the really sad thing, Jo; nobody cares. We don’t have parents or siblings coming forward offering to make tearful appeals to the public for information. No push at all to solve the case apart from us, of course. Not even the Press demanding action and results. I get the impression if we just said, oh, sod it, no-one would bother. How can precious lives become so cheap and meaningless?”

  “Christ, Harry, you’re going to have me crying in a minute.”

  “Me, too. So show me what you’ve got to take my mind off it.”

  “Okay. I do appreciate this, you know.”

  “No problem. Take it away.”

  Jo pressed the Play button and they sat back in their chairs, Harry with an open notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. They listened without speaking to Mickey’s noisy entrance into Cat’s dressing room and the ensuing conversation. Harry’s eyes widened as Mickey revealed he had been in Jack’s bedroom on the night of the party and from that point he leaned forward in his seat, his brow creased in concentration. Jo let the recording run to the end to capture Cat’s concerns after Mickey’s departure.

  “So,” she said, pressing Stop, then Rewind, “did anything leap out at you?”

  Harry frowned. “There was something. Can’t put my finger on it. Run it again.”

  Jo pressed Play again and sat back. Harry remained leaning forward, almost hunched over the machine.

  “Just stop it there,” he said, “and skip back thirty seconds.”

  Jo pressed Stop and the reverse arrow twice. Harry was poised with notepad and pen.

  Kadawe’s voice sounded as Jo restarted the CD.

  “…think I set him up. That I took the stuff in with me and put it in his wardrobe. Well, that is the most fucking stupid thing I have ever heard… Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “To get rid of Jack…”

  “And – same question – why the fuck would I do that? He was just about my best mate. I nearly got myself arrested standing up for him in court. So come on, why?”

  “Okay, Jason, then. To get rid of Jason.”

  “I put eighty-k’s worth of drugs in Jack’s wardrobe to get rid of Jason? Have you any idea…”

  “Stop there!” Harry said, scribbling something on his pad as Jo hit the Pause button. He turned to Jo, holding up the pad with ‘80 K’ written on it.

  “Where did he get the eighty-k from?” he asked.

  Jo frowned.

  “Not sure I understand. He wouldn’t have needed to get the cash up front…”

  “No!” Harry almost shouted. “I don’t mean…”

  And then Jo did understand.

  “You mean the figure of eighty thousand!?” she said.

  “Exactly! That’s the first time I’ve heard that number quoted. We’ve had ‘a six-figure number’, ‘well over a hundred thousand’, ‘getting on for a quarter of a million’… The Express quoted ‘almost half a million’ – God knows where that came from. They were all guesses anyway, but I’m certain there’s been nothing as low or specific as eighty thousand.”

  “And I guess the only means of establishing the real value is through the deal that’s done at the point of sale. And he seems to know exactly how much the stuff in that wardrobe was worth. Now how would he know that?”

  Harry shrugged. Jo got to her feet and opened the door.

  “Tina! In here, please.”

  DS Ramirez entered the room.

  “Tina, I’d like you and the guys to dig for every last reference to the value of the drugs found in Jack’s wardrobe. Statements, transcripts of interviews, what was said in court, newspaper reports, and TV and radio news quotes. And anything on the stuff at Jason’s as well. We need to know whether a figure of eighty thousand has ever been mentioned. Or, if not, something implying that amount – say – ‘over seventy’, ‘nearly a hundred’. Okay?”

  Tina’s eyes widened.

  “Will do, ma-am,” she said. “Can I assume, though, that you believe such a figure has never been mentioned?”

  “That’s right.”

  “In which case, I’m not sure how we’ll know when to stop looking.”

  Jo thought for a moment.

  “Neither am I, Tina,” she said, holding up her hands. “Just look everywhere. And this has priority until further notice over everything else, so the guys can drop what they’re doing now until – well – midday, at least. We’ll waive the eight o’clock meeting, but I’d like an update at noon from you, in here – unless you find something before then, of course. Then if we need to go on after that, we’ll get a further heads-up at the daily meet at four. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tina said. “May I ask…?”

  “Kadawe quoted that amount to Catrina and we need to check where he could have got it from, because if…”

  “Yes, I’ve worked that out, ma’am.” Tina interrupted, with a twinkle in her eye. “After all, I am a detective. But I was going to ask that, if you two are working together, is it okay if we all make friends again out here as well?”

  Jo scowled and turned to Harry.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what she’s talking about, do you, Detective Inspector?”

  “Not a clue,” Harry said.

  Tina gave a sly smile.

  “Our mistake, then. Thank you, ma’am… sir.”

  She left the room and they both gave a brief laugh.

  “I guess my being pissed off must have been showing a little,” Harry said.

  “Possibly,” Jo smiled. “Anyway, Harry, good spot, that eighty-k. I can’t believe I missed it.”

  “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re just the police, don’t forget. We know next to nothing. Eighty-k might be an open secret on the streets.”

  They sat in silence drinking their coffee for a full minute before Harry spoke again.

  “Tell you what, Jo. If – and I still think it’s a very big if – but if there is something in this theory of yours, I reckon right now would be a good time to talk to Billy Wade. He mus
t be feeling just a little scared and vulnerable after what happened on Friday. And with your permission – and your presence, of course – I’d like to interview the little shit again.”

  “Should we perhaps wait until Tina’s done some digging?”

  “Your call, Jo. You decide. You’ve got three days left to square this, and if you want to use up one of them just waiting around, then I suppose…”

  “Okay. Let’s go get him,” Jo said.

  *

  If William Torstein Wade was feeling scared and vulnerable after his close encounter with death, he wasn’t showing it. He seemed relaxed and confident, seated in the interview room looking from one to the other across the table, with just the hint of a smirk on his face.

  “You don’t mind if we record this, do you, Billy?” Jo asked.

  “Feel free.”

  Jo switched on the twin recorders. “Recording of an interview on Monday 21st September. Present Billy Wade, DI Harry Waters and DI Jo Cottrell. Interview commenced eleven-thirty-two am.” She turned to Harry.

  “So we meet again, Billy,” he said. “We talked a short time ago, right? And quite a few times before that.”

  Billy nodded.

  “So first, let’s go over what we talked about last time. You claimed you’d bought some crack off Jack Tomlinson-Brown…”

  “I did buy it. You make it sound like I was lying.”

  “Okay, you did buy some crack which you claimed made you ill…”

  “It did make me ill. Look what is this? I thought I was fucking dying for about a week. The stuff was absolute shit – other guys got ill as well.”

  “So you phoned the police. Why?”

  “Well, it’s not right, is it? He took my money and handed over this… I’m not even sure what it was. All I know is it nearly killed me.”

  “Who are you, Billy, the Wimpy Kid? That’s not how real men settle their differences, is it? Running to the police?”

  “Well, I didn’t do that right away. I followed him home to have it out with him. I was going to make him take the stuff – see how he liked it. But when I got to his house, there were these security guys all over it. They must have been fucking good at their job, mustn’t they…” he gave a little laugh, “… letting all that crack into the house? Anyway, I just got mad and chucked the stuff over the wall. Then I decided to call you. Couldn’t think of any other way to get back at him.”

  “And after that, you came to New Station and we had our little chat, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Harry leaned forward.

  “Listen, Wade,” he hissed. “You’ve made me look a right pillock; and I just hate it when that happens.”

  “Hey, just a…”

  “What you told me,” Harry shouted, “was a pack of lies, wasn’t it?”

  “No it wasn’t. It was exactly…”

  Harry leapt to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him and leaning with his knuckles on the table, his face inches from Billy’s.

  “You lying little toe-rag!”

  Billy almost fell off the chair with surprise.

  “I want a lawyer,” he said.

  “Well you can’t have one!” Harry yelled, glaring wild-eyed at him.

  “I know my rights…”

  “You’re not being charged with anything yet, Billy,” Jo said. “There’ll be plenty of time for lawyers later when you are.”

  “Charged?” he said. “Charged with what?”

  Jo pulled Harry gently away from him. He turned and picked up his chair, lowering himself slowly onto it.

  “The thing is, Billy,” Jo said, “we now know for a fact that Jack didn’t do drugs – take them or deal them. Just listen to the exact words: we… know… for… a… fact…” She paused. “Do you understand? Because you are going to have to tell us the truth now to save your own neck. You see, Jack Tomlinson-Brown is dead as a direct result of being found guilty of dealing crack. Now we know he was not guilty. He was set up. The people who set him up are directly responsible for his death. Obviously, it’s not murder as such, but certainly whoever planned this will be put away for – I’d say – fifteen to twenty years; perhaps get out in ten to twelve… What do you think, DI Waters?”

  “If they’re lucky.” Harry spat out the words.

  Jo paused, staring at Billy.

  “So, what do you say? Are you going to help us nail the guy who set him up, or are we going to nail you for the job?”

  Billy looked from one to the other again, clearly struggling to recover his poise.

  “Look,” he said, his voice steady and calm again, “I told you the truth. I got this shit off him and then…”

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” Jo said. She turned to Harry. “DI Waters, it seems I’m getting nowhere. You tell him.”

  Harry got noisily to his feet again, breathing hard and walking backwards and forwards behind Jo for a while in a show of wrestling with his temper. He circled round behind Billy, who hunched his shoulders and screwed up his face as if anticipating a blow to the back of the head. Instead, Harry crouched beside his chair and spoke into his ear, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “You see, Wade, someone really clever set this up. I mean, it fooled me, and I’m bloody brilliant. Someone arranged for seven guys to phone the police, eight more to tap Jack up for crack where he’d be caught on camera; he set up a network of mobile phones and lists of callers, put a supply of drugs in two different houses, one of which is slightly more secure than Fort bleeding Knox; tipped off the police about them, told all those so-called witnesses exactly what to say in court… I tell you, I admire this person, I really do. I just wish he was on our side!”

  Harry stood up and started pacing the room again.

  “And that’s definitely not you. But I’ll tell you something for certain, Wade. Someone’s going down for this – someone has to – and it might as well be you if we can’t find the right guy. It won’t give us a lot of satisfaction putting the wrong guy away; except, I suppose, it’s another major junkie off the streets. By the way, you still doing the hard stuff, Billy? Keeping the dealers in designer clothes and fast cars?”

  “Don’t do that any more,” Billy said, seeming more relaxed now the shouting had ceased. “Just the fun stuff now.”

  “Really,” Harry said, lightening up and flashing a glance at Jo. “When did that change? When did you start being a good boy?”

  “Ages ago,” Billy said. “When they legalised the soft shit. Made it safer to stay with that.”

  “That would be… let’s see… well over two years ago. That about right?” Harry asked.

  Billy nodded.

  “Well, I’m impressed, Billy.” He squeezed his shoulder. “Credit where it’s due. And you’ve never gone back to a bit of the old crack or brown in all that time? Come on,” Harry chuckled. “I don’t believe you. There’s nothing illegal about taking the stuff, you know.”

  “I know that, don’t I?” Billy said. “But it’s true, honestly.” He smiled. “Just a bit of billy for Billy these days.”

  Harry laughed and took his seat again beside Jo. He turned to her.

  “So what do you make of that, DI Cottrell?”

  Jo smiled across at Billy.

  “I think he’s telling the truth, DI Waters. I don’t think he does do the hard shit any more, and I reckon I believe him when he says he hasn’t for over two years. It seems this young man has cleaned up his life.”

  Billy snorted a laugh of satisfaction.

  “You bet,” he said. The smug expression had returned.

  “Okay, Billy,” Jo said. She reached forward to switch off the recorders, and then paused over the buttons. “Oh, before we finish, just clear up one thing for me, would you?
If you’ve not done crack for over two years, what were you doing throwing a bag of it over Jack Tomlinson-Brown’s wall less than six months ago? And what was all that about him being your regular supplier?”

  Billy’s expression changed, the smirk replaced by wide-eyed panic.

  “Well… I… I …”

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” Harry said, rubbing his hands.

  Billy started breathing fast.

  “Well, that was a… sort of… one-off. Yes, just a one-off, that’s it. Now I remember…”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Jo shuffled the papers in front of her, still looking across at Billy before lowering her eyes to read from the top sheet.

  “These were questions put to you by Detective Inspector Harry Waters in the presence of Detective Constable Alice Grantham when you came to talk to the police some time after you made the initial phone call. The interview was recorded, by the way. DI Waters: ‘Mr Wade, approximately how long has Mr Tomlinson-Brown been supplying you with drugs?’ Answer: – this is you, Billy – ‘Over twelve months.’ Question: ‘And what sort of drugs were they – amphetamines, marihuana?’ Answer: ‘No, heroine and crack.’ Question: ‘By crack, do you mean crack cocaine?’ Answer: ‘Yes’.”

  Jo looked up at Billy again, moving the sheet to one side, and then looking down at the next one.

  “At the trial itself, under cross examination by Council for the Defence: ‘Mr Wade, how long are you claiming that Mr Tomlinson-Brown has been supplying you with drugs?’ Answer: ‘About a year – perhaps a bit more.’”

  Jo looked hard into his eyes.

  “More than twelve months, Billy? That’s a hell of a one-off.”

  Billy seemed unable to speak, gulping in mouthfuls of air as if he was hyperventilating. Harry leant across to him again.

  “Well, Wade. Your turn, I believe. Let’s hear it.”

  Billy didn’t speak for a long time, twitching and fidgeting as if a battle was raging inside him. Jo and Harry waited him out.

  “Look, everything I told you previously was true.” He spoke as if he had been rehearsing the statement. “I do use crack all the time, and I was lying just now when I said I hadn’t touched it for years. Until he was arrested, Jack Tomlinson-Brown – or ‘Jake’ as I knew him – was my regular supplier and had been for at least twelve months. That’s all I’m going to say, and I expect you to let me go, or arrest me and let me speak to a lawyer.”

 

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