“Oh, you know, another murder, nothing staggeringly literary just an idiot with a knife. He doesn’t actually know we know, and that’s the hard bit, walking around there until we have the evidence and can nab him.”
Susan laughed, “’nab’ being a new technical term for arrest?”
“Oh yes.”
“So why are you ringing me? I assume getting a late-night phone call isn’t a social thing?”
“Oh, you know, I get lonely and… no it’s not social. So, do you know a journalist called Jessica Villiers?”
“Err…” a ponder, “no, never heard of her.”
“Interesting, because she’s been following me about this evening.”
“Oh!”
“Any chance you can have a word round the office and see if you can ID her for me. See who in Morthern she’s working for?”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
“Thanks, I better get back to hanging around a guilty murderer.”
“TTFN.”
Grayling clicked her phone off and entered the suspect’s house.
“Another tea?” he said, doing a good job of disguising his nerves.
“I think we’ll be off now thanks. Our colleagues are on-site and will be looking at the fence and the open passages you have running behind your house.”
“Yeah, must have run down those,” he said.
“Quite.” You lying sack of rotten arse droppings. “Maruma, let’s go.”
When the detectives got outside, they walked away from the house and spoke.
“What did you find?” Maruma asked.
“That guy has a record and his prints are on file,” Grayling replied. “As soon as we get an ID off that fence we can come back and arrest him. I mean, if we get someone else’s prints, then we might get lucky and they’ll be on file, but we better stay close. Also, a journalist is following us.”
“Yeah I think you buried the lead on that one. A what and who?”
“I’m going to assume that journalism reference wasn’t some sort of clever joke and move on, anyway, I’m on it, Susan is looking them up. First things first, where’s the nearest coffee shop?”
Maruma held his phone up. “I have an app that shows us every twenty-four-hour McDonalds in a drivable distance.”
“When I get hungry, I will drive a surprisingly long distance for good food. Who am I kidding, for any food!” Grayling realised she was, indeed, starving.
“Then let’s go and sit poised over some special sauce.”
“Come to me nugs, it is late, and I am hungry, and I will lower myself. Into a Welsh mine. Full of chicken.”
“That was amazing,” a young woman said as she boarded the night bus.
“I think that’s the second-best night of my life,” her partner replied, as she also waved a return ticket.
“Oh, and what’s first?”
“Us getting together of course!”
“Correct answer, you are forgiven.”
The couple walked down the bus and sat halfway along, side by side on a two-person seat, and continued.
“The thing is, I can’t tell anyone we’ve been.”
The other woman laughed. “We both came out to hostile parents, and you can’t tell them you’ve been to a nineties tribute night!”
“Well it’s a bit sad isn’t it, people impersonating ex-singers who are probably even cheaper to hire than the impersonators. I mean we danced to ‘Five (And a Half)’. But it was awesome.”
“It was awesome.”
One woman pecked the other on the cheek and laughed.
Behind them came laughter. Aggressive, smirking laughter. The two women turned to look, caught themselves and turned back, but not before they’d seen a group of young men leering at them, all toothy and wide eyed.
“Alright love,” a rasping male voice called.
“Give her a kiss love,” another replied.
More voices. “Yeah, give us a show.”
The two women looked round the bus. A man at the front had started reading his newspaper even more intently, and there was no one else. The pair huddled together, hoping to be ignored, but the group of lads got up and came and sat on the seats round them.
“Give her a kiss, go on.”
“Yeah, stick your tongue in her, go on, have a big snog.”
“Come on, you’ve nothing to hide.”
“Give us a show, we deserve it.”
“Maybe she’ll give me a kiss instead, yeah, let’s straighten you out,” one of the young men surged forward face first, at which point the closest woman slapped him. He tried to pull back but got hit, a stinging blow to the face, and his instinctive reaction was to punch back, and he slammed a fist into her nose.
There was a pause as both sides weighed up what had happened, as the shock sank in, as blood trickled out of her broken nose and down her face.
“Fucking lezzas,” a man said, and the gang stood up and walked to the front of the bus. It pulled over, the door opened, and the men got off, walked down the pavement shouting their jeers at the bus. “Sit on her fucking broken face!”
One woman had her hand to her head, blood seeping through it, as another pulled out tissues to try and stem the bleeding. The man at the front of the bus just read even harder, and the driver, looking in the mirror, put distance between the lads and the passengers.
One of the women pulled a phone out and dialled 999. “Hi, yes, I want the police, I want to report an assault.”
Atkins’ phone rang. The DC was still in his suit, sat in his kitchen eating a meal he’d just done in the microwave. There didn’t seem to be much point changing into civilian clothes for the small amount of free time he now had, so he’d eat, watch some football then go to bed. Which was of course when his phone rang, but he answered it like a kid on Christmas morning because of the caller.
“Hello, Atkins, it’s DCI Wick.”
“Hello sir, how are things?”
“We’ve just had an assault called in, sounds like a hate crime. The MCU are looking into a murder which took place tonight, and I know you’re off-duty, but can you get along and deal with this assault for us?”
“It will be my pleasure sir.” Which was why Atkins, after taking the details went to his fridge, downed an entire energy drink in one go, grabbed a chocolate bar and was out of the door.
He arrived at a casualty unit just as a woman had her nose reset, and they let him into the room.
“Hi, I’m DC Atkins? I’m here to help with what’s happened?”
“We get a detective?” one of the women asked.
“Oh yes,” not to do-down uniform of course, but Atkins liked praise. “Can you tell me what happened?”
The woman with her nose covered waved a hand at her friend to keep speaking.
“We’d been to a 90’s night, and we got on the night bus, like we’d done loads before, and there were some lads behind us, and they got all aggro when they realised we’re a couple, and they started demanding we kiss and shit, harassing us, then they came round us, and one tried to kiss my girlfriend and she smacked him, so he hit her back. Then they ran off.” As she spoke, her voice did not grow weak or faltering, instead with every word she grew increasingly angry and finished with her fists clenched white.
“Can you give me a description of these men?” Atkins asked.
“Ah-huh,” said the woman with a broken nose.
“That’s a yes,” her partner added.
“Okay. So, we will be treating this as a hate crime, owing to the fact they targeted you for your sexuality, and we are devoting considerable resources to that at the moment. So, I will get a full statement written down, and we’ll get you to give our team a description to build some e-fits, and I’ll speak to the driver. Any other passengers?”
“Just some twat who ignored us.”
“Okay…” Atkins started tapping his fingers on the side of the bed the wounded woman was sat on.
“What does that mean?” she asked h
im.
“The buses on the main night routes are all fitted with operational CCTV cameras. There is every chance we’ve got this whole thing on camera.”
“And that helps right?”
“Oh yes, that helps a lot.”
“Mmmmmmmmm.”
Maruma laughed at Grayling’s exaggerated reaction as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You will hate yourself in the morning.”
“Yes, but I will be well fed. Very well fed.”
“More coffee?” Maruma asked.
“Yes, get us filled up please.”
She watched him go, then tidied up the burger boxes in front of them and dumped them in a bin. It was amazing that you could come to a twenty-four-hour café in the middle of the night and find people in it eating. Although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised given she was there herself.
Her phone beeped, and she picked it up.
‘It’s Steve here. Fingerprints on fence match a past record. Jack Wells. Several convictions for assault. As you guessed, he lives in the house on the other end of the fence. Full report on its way to you via email’.
Grayling grinned, replied with ‘Thanks Jobs’ and went to fetch Maruma, but not before he’d got them fresh coffee. Then it was a simple matter of driving the short distance back to the houses.
They left the coffee on the dashboard as they got out, cuffs ready and walked to the front door. There was still a uniformed officer stood there, helping the SOCO officers come and go and keeping an eye on the suspect. Grayling and Maruma walked to him and whispered to him, and he disappeared round the back just in case.
The pair walked inside. In the living room, Jack Wells was sat on the sofa eating crisps with his mother and sister.
“Hello, Mr Wells?”
“Yeah, have you finished? Gonna go now? We got stuff we need to be doing. Don’t see why I have to stay here.”
“Did you go out in the garden at all this evening Mr Wells?” Grayling asked him.
“Nah, it’s dark. Don’t need to water shit in this weather.”
“Right then, Mr Wells, I am arresting you for murder.”
“What the fuck?” He stood up in shock but found himself facing Grayling’s outstretched arm and palm.
“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Please come with us now.” She could see Jack tense up as if he was thinking of making a run for it, which was why there was an officer on the back door, and Maruma at the front.
“I… you got nothing!”
“That is something a lawyer, yourself and I will be discussing soon down at the station.”
“I gotta tidy up first, I got stuff to do,” he protested as panic set in.
“Actually, our officers are outside and will now go through and examine your house. Sorry for the inconvenience to your mum and sister, but it’s best they stay here.” Which was basically why we’d got you in here anyway, and we already seized that knife block in the kitchen that has one missing.”
“I want a lawyer!” he shouted.
“You can have one, of course. The government will provide one if you don’t have your own. Now, please come along.”
“You don’t have to cuff me!”
“I really do.”
Susan rubbed her eyes and looked at her screen. There were a series of notes she had to turn into a story, but first she needed something to wake her up. This morning she’d risen, had a healthy breakfast of what seemed like cardboard slices and got to her desk nice and early… but sod healthy, she needed sugar and caffeine, and there was a coffee shop nearby, which the Star offices probably kept in business. That was why she got up from her desk, and then paused as her phone beeped.
A journalist from a different paper saying no, she had never heard of a Jessica Villiers.
Susan sucked on her lip. There was no one of that name contracted in any way to work for the Morthern Star, and all the contacts she had on other Morthern media had come back the same: never heard of her. Which left one last shot. Susan walked the other way to the front door and peered over the top of a cubicle.
“Hi, Pete,” she said to a man who surely should have retired years ago.
“Hello Susan. You’re in early.”
“Yes, yes I am. Have you ever heard of a Jessica Villiers around here?”
“What decade?”
Oh, yes, right, should have thought of that. “Active now.”
“No, never seen a by-line with that name.”
“Thanks Pete, I’ll bring you a muffin.”
As Susan turned and walked away something flashed in her mind. Obviously, the first thing anyone did these days when confronted with a question was to look it up on the web. Grayling hadn’t, because she’d been in the middle of a murder case, and Susan hadn’t, because she was using her journalist mindset. But what if Jessica Villiers wasn’t local, and a simple Google would reveal her?
Susan went back to her desk, suppressed the desire for cake and coffee because the police tended to be more important, and did a search.
Well, well, well!
Jessica Villiers was on the web. A twitter account in which she narrated her attempts to prove the media was fuelling hate crimes and to get this ‘spiralling gilded hate machine’ noticed and fixed.
Wasn’t Grayling looking into hate crime?
Susan sent a message on her phone, explaining what she’d found to her friend. Villiers wasn’t an enemy, she might even be an ally, and she was certainly following up the same thing Grayling was.
Susan felt a bit robbed of victory, given there’d been no real research beyond some keywords, but hey it was before nine in the morning and she’d already helped the cops, what more could she possibly want.
Oh yes, sugar. Also, where was her sister, time to make a call and get her woken up, but not before the café.
“Hi there, I’m DC Atkins.” The detective had arrived at the bus station and had rung ahead ready to meet with whoever could link him into the CCTV. Management had not just sent a security guard to meet Atkins and guide him through the video, they had actually managed to get the bus driver off a vehicle and round to see him. Atkins shook his hand and decided the technological part could wait; he’d talk to the driver first. They sat down in a small room and both were given chipped mugs of tea. The driver started to down his while Atkins pushed his to one side.
“Do you remember an incident?”
“Yeah, yeah I do. I wanna say there’s not much I could do while driving, and I’m in my sixties, can’t really go and sort a group of lads out, but I did my best.”
“Which was?”
“There wasn’t a scheduled stop, but I paused and opened the doors, I hoped they’d get out and bugger off and they did, left those girls, so yeah. Then I got some distance between us all and went to help. I did my best right? Didn’t I?”
“Yes, you certainly did. Alright, so you’d recognise these lads if you needed to? In a line-up say?”
“Place is rigged with CCTV, you don’t need me, you’ll have it on tape, that’s why we have all the tape fitted.”
“Okay, but in terms of the event…”
“Oh yeah I know the ones. They got on about twenty minutes before. Sat at the back. I know you’re gonna ask if I seen them before, and I dunno. I see lots of people. Those lasses, apparently, they get on all the time. I dunno. But they did get on, these lads, and they sat there laughing like they all do, before they started harassing the girls. Shouting at ‘em and stuff, then hitting them.”
“Did you get a clear look at the assault?”
“No, I have to look back through a mirror. I didn’t see it, only after, her covered in blood, but again it’ll be all over the CCTV.” The mug was placed back on the table, drained and held by someone seemingly immune to temperature. Steam still rose over Atkins’ unwanted cup. He shoved it slightly further away as he thoug
ht he could see a stain down one side.
“Well I’m going to be shown through the CCTV soon; I expect that’ll help me get a description that we can go out and find.”
“Go out and find?” the driver said clearly confused.
“Yes, we’ll have their faces, we need to find them and…”
“They paid with a card.”
“Sorry, what?”
“The group got on and one paid for all their tickets with a card. The account number and stuff’ll be on the records. I thought you knew that?”
Atkins eyes widened. No fucking way had they been stupid enough to tie themselves to a bank account. No fucking way! What were the odds on that? He wouldn’t have bet on them.
The interview room once again had four people in it. Maruma and Grayling occupied one side of the table, pens poised. On the other sat a duty solicitor and Jack Wells, who now wore the clothes he’d been issued when his had been taken for analysis.
After pressing the button and going through the recording speech everyone got, Maruma turned to Grayling, who began the questioning.
“Can you tell me where you were last night?”
“I went out with the lads, in the Crown, had a few drinks, everyone in there’ll vouch for that. Then I went home and was sat with my mum watching TV.”
“I see. We will check in the Crown, but what time did you leave?”
“Closing. Legal closing.”
“Okay, so you’d had a bit to drink?”
“Yeah. That’s not a crime.”
“And you went straight home?”
“Yep. Said bye to the lads.”
“And your mum?”
“Her and me sis saw me whole time, sat in the lounge, watching TV. Ask ‘em. I can even tell you the film we watched.” Like he couldn’t have seen it twenty times before.
“Did you go into the back garden at all?”
“Nah.”
“So definitely no.”
“No.”
“Okay,” Grayling cracked her knuckles, “would you be able to tell me then, why your fingerprints were on the fence panel at the end of the garden?”
“Must have been when I was gardening.”
Gilded Hate Machine Page 10