by Adam Croft
And yet she felt happy. She’d spent a long time agonising over whether or not to push for her inspector’s exams and achieve a higher rank, but ultimately she felt she’d now achieved her perfect balance.
Xav had always been pretty good at reading her, and that was apparent again as he kissed her on the head, their eyes not leaving the television, as he spoke softly.
‘You seem really happy.’
Wendy smiled. ‘I am.’
The TV was showing a documentary about a train accident in Harrow in the 1950s. It was one of those moments where they were both fixed to the screen but neither of them were really watching it — something which was known to both but spoken by neither.
‘What’s brought that on then?’ Xav asked.
‘Alright, Mr Low Self Esteem. Or are you just fishing for compliments?’
‘Oh, well if I’d known it was all down to me I would’ve asked much sooner.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘Charming.’
Wendy laughed. ‘It’s lots of things. And yes, you are one of those things.’
‘I’ve been called worse.’
‘I just feel like everything’s good. Balanced.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘In terms of work and home life, I mean.’
‘Blimey. Well you must be the first police officer to have managed that, then. You should write a book. Then you could give up the day job altogether.’
Wendy chuckled, and tried to pull her attention back to the documentary. It had been on for a good twenty minutes so far, but she hadn’t really taken much notice of it.
Xav, however, seemed a little more distracted. ‘I’ve got to ask,’ he said, after a minute or so. ‘When you say you’re happy as things are, is that your way of saying you don’t want to take the inspector’s exam after all? I don’t mean that negatively. Just asking.’
‘No. I just like spending time with you, alright? For the first time in a long time, I’m happy as things are. Even if you are doing your best to make it wear off pretty damn quickly,’ she joked.
‘I don’t think it will.’
‘What?’
‘Wear off. I think we’ll grow and adapt together, whatever happens.’
To Wendy, this seemed like an odd turn of phrase for Xav to use. ‘What do you mean?’
Xav pulled away from Wendy and turned to look at her. ‘Alright. Would you say I’ve changed at all in the time you’ve known me? Grown or adapted?’
‘You’ve certainly not grown up if that’s what you mean.’
Xav gave her a look that told her to be serious.
‘Honestly? No,’ she said. ‘You’ve stayed the same old you the whole way. And that’s what I love about you.’
He nodded slowly and sat back in the sofa again, his arm around her.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Do you think I’ve changed?’
‘I dunno. I guess we all change to some degree.’
‘But I just said you haven’t.’
‘I know.’
‘But I have?’
‘Not in a bad way, I don’t mean. All I mean is when we first met you were really ambitious and work-focused, and now you’ve pulled back on that a bit.’
‘So?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I didn’t want to be the one who pulled you off track or stopped you achieving your dreams. It’s great that you want to be with me and spend so much time with me, but I’d hate to stop you being you.’
‘Well you aren’t, alright? And anyway, while we’re talking about things not changing or moving on, haven’t you had any news on your house yet?’
Xav’d had his house on the market for quite some time, but viewings had been sparse and there hadn’t yet been any concrete interest from a buyer. Deep down, Wendy suspected there was more to this than met the eye and wondered whether he was secretly trying to hold on to the place rather than committing entirely to her. And it was comments like his a few moments ago which tended to back up that theory.
‘Nothing yet. The market’s slow at the moment, apparently.’
‘Weird.’
‘Why’s is weird?’
‘Because the place across the road was only on the market three days. The new lot move in a week Tuesday.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s virtually identical to yours.’
‘It’s not even in the same town, Wendy.’
‘That’s not the point. If that one sold so quickly, why has yours barely had any viewings?’
‘Because they probably wanted to live in Mildenheath. My house isn’t in Mildenheath. Maybe they were trying to get the kids into a specific school, or be walking distance from work. Give it til a week Tuesday and you can ask them, can’t you?’
‘Alright. No need to get defensive.’
‘I’m not being defensive. I’m just letting you know you’re being unreasonable.’
‘I think maybe you should change agents.’
‘I will do.’
‘When?’
Xav made a show of looking at his watch. ‘I thought I might just wait for them to open up tomorrow morning rather than camping outside their shop overnight, if that’s alright?’
‘You can camp out in the back garden if you’re going to carry on like that.’ Or go back to your place, Wendy wanted to add.
‘Look, can’t we just have a nice relaxing evening enjoying our three-pound bottle of plonk and watching hundreds of people die in a horrific train crash?’
‘Preferable to speaking to me, is it?’ Wendy asked, smiling.
Xav laughed. ‘Something like that.’
16
The next morning brought news that Damian King had been arrested and brought in for questioning. Owing to the seriousness of the investigation and Jack’s general reluctance to let anyone else have even the smallest amount of control over anything, he’d declared that he and Wendy would be conducting the interview.
Enough time had passed between seeing Damian on CCTV inside Fogg’s and him being arrested, which meant they were confident in the questions they’d be asking him.
On the whole, police interviews tended to be far more heavily structured than people thought. Even if the investigation appeared to have a suspect bang to rights, a similar formula was followed each time.
The initial interview was designed to seek basic information, even if far more advanced evidence was already known. This was where they’d ask the suspect where he’d been at the time of the crime, whether there were alibis to that effect, what his connection was. At that point, even if the officers knew for a fact the offender was lying, it was often let go in order to allow the suspect enough rope to hang himself.
The second interview was where the fun kicked in. At that point there’d be a whole host of statements from the suspect they now knew to be demonstrably untrue, and that was the point at which the evidence was unfurled and the suspect’s jaw hit the carpet. While they’re on the ropes, the officers would piece the evidence together in front of the suspect and make a representation to them that it was clear they committed the crime and this was their chance to confess.
It was a structure and technique which had proven successful throughout the years, but there were always situations where it was not appropriate. And Jack Culverhouse had to admit he quite liked to use shock tactics at times.
Up until then they’d had very little on Damian King other than his past form, but now they had evidence he’d been in Fogg’s just a few days before the robbery. He would have had at least a passing knowledge of what was in each of the cabinets. And, of course, he was linked to Gumbert’s chain of petrol stations.
He still didn’t think Damian had done the robberies himself — that would be far too risky, even for someone with his mental capacity, which was only marginally above that of an amoeba. But Jack was certain he was involved somewhere along the line. He just had to figure out which piece of the puzzle Damian King was — and who the othe
r pieces were.
Jack started the interview process and ran through the formalities of Damian’s previous statement. Again, he’d declined the opportunity to have a solicitor present, somehow believing that this would indicate some level of guilt on his part. Jack and Wendy dearly wanted to let him know how much of a bad idea this was on his part, but were quite content to let him be the architect of his own downfall. It was extraordinary how many suspects had watched a couple of telly programmes and genuinely believed the presence of a solicitor would make them seem guilty. It was akin to thinking having a bank account is an acceptance that you’re shit with money, or that taking a train or taxi means you can’t drive.
In any case, it wasn’t Jack and Wendy’s place to tell Damian he was carving out his own shortcut to the Crown Prosecution Service. With any luck the plank would decide to represent himself in court, too.
‘Damian, have you ever been to Fogg’s jewellers in Mildenheath?’ Wendy asked.
‘What, ever? In my life?’
‘Let’s just narrow it down to the last week or so.’
‘Don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember if you visited a jewellery shop in the last week?’
‘I get really hazy with my memory,’ Damian replied, smirking.
‘Maybe this’ll jog it,’ Culverhouse said, passing a blown-up photograph across the desk. It clearly showed Damian inside Fogg’s, looking into a jewellery cabinet. ‘Is this you?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Alright. That’s you.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I just did. What were you doing in there?’
‘What, so it’s illegal to go in a jewellery shop now is it? I don’t remember nothing about that on my parole sheet.’
‘What did we arrest you for, Damian?’ Wendy asked.
‘Dunno, wasn’t listening.’
‘On suspicion of armed robbery and conspiracy to armed robbery.’
Damian shrugged. ‘You can arrest me for all you like. I ain’t done nothing wrong.’
Culverhouse leaned forward. ‘Ah, now you see, that’s just the problem. You might think that’s the case, but the law will take a very different view. You’re linked to the petrol station robberies by virtue of the fact that you had intimate knowledge of the security systems there. And we know the robbers had that knowledge too. You’ve got a criminal record for violent conduct and you were let go from the petrol stations for stealing money from the tills. And, whaddya know, a few days before a local jewellery shop is robbed — in which a woman died — you were at the scene. You can protest your innocence all you like, Damian, but it’s not looking good, is it?’
Damian swallowed. ‘Died?’
‘The owner of the shop fell and hit her head in the commotion,’ Wendy said. ‘She died shortly afterwards.’
Damian’s eyes were glassy. ‘No. I didn’t do nothing. I swear down. Listen, I’ll drop the fucking bravado, alright? But you’ve got to believe me. I’ve got fuck all to do with them robberies.’
‘We’re all ears, Damian,’ Culverhouse said.
Damian took a deep breath. ‘I went in to buy a ring.’
‘What kind of ring?’
‘An engagement ring,’ he replied, his eyes scrunched closed.
‘Didn’t know you were all loved up, Damian. Tell me more.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘I’m afraid we’re going to need a bit more than that, yes. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to just take your word for it and leave it at that.’
Damian sighed heavily and seemed to be genuinely anguished. ‘Look, it’s tough being on a tag, alright? Birds ain’t exactly lining up to be with me at the moment, so I had to try other things.’
‘Such as?’
He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve been going to see this woman. She’s… less picky.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean she’s a fucking hooker, don’t I?’ Damian said, barking through gritted teeth.
Culverhouse had to admit he got more than a slight thrill at seeing Damian so pained and chastened.
‘Just so we’re clear, you’ve found that women no longer find you attractive now that you’re walking around with an electronic tag on your ankle due to the violent crimes you’ve committed, so you took to visiting a prostitute as the only means of getting your end away?’
Damian stared at Jack, clearly wanting to explode but knowing he had no other option than to comply. ‘Yes. If you want to put it like that.’
‘Just a statement of the facts. Where did you get the money from, Damian? Or was she not a very expensive one?’
Damian gritted his teeth. ‘I used some of my mum’s money.’
‘Brave,’ Culverhouse said, with a raised eyebrow. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s not what she meant when she said she was offering you pocket money, but that’s a matter between you and her.’
‘And you were buying an engagement ring for this woman?’ Wendy asked.
‘Oh Christ, yeah. I forgot about that bit,’ Culverhouse said, smiling. ‘That’s the cherry on the cake, that one. Tell us more.’
Damian looked down at the floor for a while before speaking. ‘I like her, alright? We get on. She respects me. I just wanted to respect her back.’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s not for us to comment on, as much as I’d love to,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Now be a good boy and jot her contact details down here so we can go and speak to her.’
Damian bit his lip, then did as he was told.
Once the interview had been terminated, Jack and Wendy left the room and signalled for an officer to take Damian back to his cell. There was still plenty of time left on the custody clock, and they didn’t want to — or have to — risk him doing a runner in the meantime.
‘Fuck,’ Jack said, slapping his forehead. ‘I buggered that right up.’
‘Why? What happened?’ Wendy asked, suddenly concerned.
‘King taking his mum’s money to pay for the hooker. Would’ve been funnier if I’d called it front-pocket money.’
17
Even though it had been clear to Jack and Wendy through Damian’s enormous discomfort and embarrassment that he was telling the truth, ‘He shuffled a bit awkwardly, m’lud’ wasn’t something that’d get past a judge. To that effect, Debbie Weston had looked into his claims using the contact details for the prostitute.
Jack, meanwhile, had only felt his frustration grow at Damian King wriggling off the hook for the second time that week, even when it looked as though he was bang to rights. Either Jack was barking up the wrong tree or King wasn’t half as daft as he looked. Either way, it infuriated Jack.
‘The woman’s known to us,’ Debbie told Jack in his office, reeling off some of her past offences. ‘Nothing much recently, so maybe she’s reformed herself.’
‘Apart from the prostitution, you mean.’
‘Yeah, apart from that.’
‘And what about the back door at Fogg’s? Did you manage to locate the contractor who fitted it?’
Debbie closed her eyes. ‘No. Sorry.’
‘Why not?’
‘It slipped my mind. I’m sorry.’
‘I ask you to make a couple of basic phone calls which could lead us to a gang of armed robbers, and it slipped your fucking mind? It’s not good enough.’
‘I’ve got a lot going on at the moment, what with my mum and everything.’
‘Well your mum’s not on a major incident team, is she? You’ve just had god knows how long off to go and spend time with her. You’ve got absolutely no idea what strings I had to pull to get that allowed. So I’d appreciate it if you could at least manage to do some basic fucking work now you’re back, alright?’
Debbie said nothing, and left his office.
Half an hour later, there was another knock at the door and Wendy came in.
‘What happened with Debbie?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely fuck all. That’s the problem.’
‘
If I can be honest, I think you need to give her some slack. She’s had a tough time of it recently.’
‘And if I can be honest, I think you need to fuck off. She’s a police officer on a major incident team. We’ve all got things going on in our personal lives, but we’re also experienced enough to know we have to leave that at the door.’
‘With respect, you can’t keep talking to people like that.’
Jack looked up at her. ‘Shut up, Knight.’
‘I’m serious. I know you always manage to do it in your own dry, jokey way. And I know we’re all used to it. But sometimes there’ll be someone who’s not in the right place to take it quite so casually. And I think bearing in mind what Debbie’s going through, she’s probably one of those at the moment.’
‘She can handle it,’ Jack replied. ‘She’s been through worse. Was that everything, Detective Sergeant Knight?’
Wendy looked at him for a moment. ‘Actually, no. I wanted to let you know that I took it upon myself to look into the company who fitted the door. We’ve got a name.’
‘What? How?’
‘I sent Ryan down to see if there was any paperwork in the shop’s office. While I was busy consoling Debbie, that is.’
‘What, inside half an hour? How did she even gain entry?’
‘She didn’t need to. There was a sticker on the door, proudly declaring it had been fitted by Supreme Locks & Glazing. So I did a bit of digging and looked up Supreme Locks & Glazing at Companies House to see who the director was.’
‘And?’
Wendy took a sheet of printed paper out of her pocket, unfolded it and placed it in front of Jack, watching a smile spread across his face.
He looked up at her. ‘Got him. We’ve got the fucker.’
18
Jack Culverhouse was grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he marched through into the main incident room and began to address his team.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. And you, Ryan. Detective Sergeant Knight has just come to me with a piece of information I’m sure you’re all going to find just as exciting as I am. If you don’t, please at least pretend you do. In short, it appears that the company who fitted the back door at Fogg’s jewellers — the back door which was so easily breached, and whose security measures seem to have been fed to the robbers — is owned by one Gary McCann.’
