Carlson leaned back in his chair, hand covering his face, swearing softly.
‘Hallo,’ said Amaya.
‘Hi, Amaya. We’re still here,’ said DS Poole. ‘Just a bit shocked. We wondered if it was something like that, but we’d been unable to find out for sure. Tell me what else did your investigations uncover?’
‘We were able to trace some chatter on WhatsApp after the attack. Some boasting and videos. In the early hours of the following morning, there was more chatter as it seemed one of the attackers had gone missing. His friends were searching the city for him.’
‘So you have names and telephone numbers?’ said Carlson, looking excited.
‘Yes and no. The phones were prepaid ones and the names used were not real names,’ said Amaya. ‘The messages were all in English, which led us to believe that the attackers were from England or America. We have many visitors during San Fermin. I still have the transcripts. The case has stayed with me. The one I have not been able to forget.’
‘We all have one of those,’ said Carlson with feeling. ‘Could you send us the transcripts as soon as you can, please?’
‘Señor Carlson, it has been three years. Can I ask why you want to know about it now?’
‘Yes, of course, inspector. Have you not been told? I’m sorry. We have four murder victims. Four young men and we have been able to trace them to Pamplona in 2015, when Miss Warren was in the city. We have reason to believe she may be involved in their deaths but, until now, we didn’t have a connection or a reason. I think you may have given us a motive.’
‘So they are all dying?’ asked Amaya. ‘That’s good. Very good. I will scan and email the transcripts.’
The line went dead and the team sat looking at each other in slight shock at the vehemence in Sub-inspector Etxandi’s voice.
‘Okay, let’s recap what we know,’ said Carlson breaking the silence. Around him jaws snapped shut.
‘If Melissa Warren is too ill to drive or leave her apartment, then could it be her?’ asked Jane. ‘But there’s nothing to stop someone else doing it for her, is there? Either the girl she rents from or this Malcolm Clarke.’
Jessop groaned. ‘I hate to imagine how many Malcolm Clarkes there are in Britain.’
Carlson smiled at him. ‘You won’t have to imagine for long, Timbo,’ he said. ‘You and Jane can start tracking him down. What was the name of the hospital where they met?’
‘The Abbey, sir,’ said Jessop looking back through his notebook. ‘Miss Warren was in the Brunel Ward. That’s the psychiatric unit she was in. I looked it up when we got back.’
Carlson hoped he’d managed to keep the surprise he felt off his face but, judging by Jessop’s forlorn expression, he’d failed. He could not understand what his daughter saw in Jessop. Although he had got to the bottom of the reasons for Jade’s suicide. That was good policing, but sometimes, the boy seemed to be away with the fairies.
‘Well done, Tim,’ he said. ‘Right, well you both know what to do. Carry on.’
Carlson stood to retrieve the ringing mobile from his desk. Tim and Jane made their way back to their own workstations.
‘I see, yes. Thank you for your time.’ Tim Jessop put the telephone handset back in the cradle and stared at Jane Lacey. ‘That was odd.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, looking up from her computer screen.
‘The hospital have no record of a Malcolm Clarke.’ Tim tapped his pen on his desk. ‘Not as a patient, or member of staff, not even as a volunteer.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Jane. ‘I’ve got hundreds from the DVLA. Just need to narrow it down to the age range and location.’
‘Rather you than me,’ said Tim.
‘No, it’s okay,’ Jane replied. ‘They’ve promised me the data in a CSV file. I can filter on postcodes and make the DOB an age range and then filter on that.’
‘Smart alec,’ said Tim.
‘It’s easy really, Tim. You should get some spreadsheet training. It makes data manipulation a lot easier. We don’t have time to go through hundreds of names line by line.’
‘I know,’ said Tim glumly. ‘I just hated maths at school and spreadsheets give me the willies.’
Jane laughed. ‘If you want to get on you’re going to have to get smarter at the job,’ she frowned at him. ‘You don’t want to be a DC forever, do you?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Tim pouted. ‘But I talked with the boss on our trip to Bristol. I was worried he would say that I’m not ready to take my sergeant’s exams yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Jane. ‘I see.’
‘It’s okay. I wasn’t sure if I was ready myself yet. He just confirmed what I suspected already. What’s up, Jane?’ Tim noticed that Jane had paled slightly.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, looking back at her screen.
Despite the deaths of four of their friends and their earlier insistence on police protection, it came as no surprise that Joe Davis and Aaron Hammond were reluctant to help the police with their enquiries,
‘What are you doing to find out who’s doing this?’ demanded Joe Davis as he was helped into the rear of a marked police car.
‘You’ll find out at the station,’ said PC Watson. ‘The DCI wants a little chat, so maybe he has some news for you.’
Davis grunted, but slid into the car. Aaron Hammond was already sitting on the far side of the rear seat and he shrugged in reply to Davis’s palm-up gesture. The two men sat in silence, and PC Watson didn’t speak to them once on the journey. At the station they stepped out of the car and walked up the steps. They were escorted to a side room where they waited for a while until two plain clothes officers, one male and one female collected them. Only when they were separated and taken to different interview rooms did either of them panic.
‘Which one first?’ asked DS Poole.
‘Davis,’ said Carlson. ‘Hammond seemed the calmer of the two from when they were here before. I’d like him to sweat for a bit.’
Poole nodded and they headed for the room, with Lacey and Jessop stepping into the video suite.
Davis was pacing when they walked in and Poole asked him to take a seat.
‘Why am I here?’ he demanded.
‘To help us with our enquiries,’ said Poole. ‘You want to know what happened to your friends, don’t you?’
‘Sure, but I don’t know nothing,’ said Davis.
‘Clearly,’ murmured Poole. He sat down at the table telling Davis to do the same.
DCI Carlson was already seated and was calmly going through the transcripts in the folder he carried with him. He waited until Davis was seated and Poole had switched the recording device on. Poole then delivered the caution, explaining that Davis was not under arrest, that he was free to leave at any time and was also entitled to free legal advice.
‘Do you recognise any of these messages?’ Carlson began.
Davis picked up the sheets of paper and read them through. He placed them on the table and stared at Carlson. ‘No, not seen them before at all,’ he said rubbing his left ear.
‘Are you sure?’ said Carlson. ‘How about this?’
Carlson laid a series of photos on the table.
Davis paled. ‘You can’t prove anything,’ he said, pushing the images away. ‘She was up for anything, she was.’
‘That doesn’t seem to be the case in this set of photographs,’ said Carlson and he removed another set and spread them out on the table in front of Davis. Melissa Warren’s battered and bruised face stared up at Davis and he pushed them away violently. Several fell onto the floor and Poole collected them up.
‘S’not the same person,’ Davis blustered. ‘I’ve never seen that other bird. Never. You can’t pin that on me!’
‘No,’ said Carlson. ‘You’re right. I can’t just now, but the rape kit is being tested in Spain right now and they are going to send us the results in the next few days. I wonder what that will tell us?’
Davis’s face went ashen. ‘What! You think that’s what all this is
about? That’s why me mates are being done in?’
‘I think that there is a very good chance that that’s the case, yes,’ said Carlson. ‘Are you sure that you don’t have anything you’d like to tell me?’
‘No, I ain’t, and woss more you ain’t got my DNA. So, you can take your rape kit test and stuff it,’ blustered Davis. ‘Like I said, that bird was up for anything. She came on to us. Not the other way around. Now I take it since I’m not under arrest, I’m free to go?’
‘You are indeed,’ said Carlson. ‘Stay safe.’
Davis glared at him, swigged the rest of the water and threw the plastic cup into the bin. ‘I’m outta here,’ he said.
Carlson nodded and Davis slammed the door behind him.
Poole removed the blue nitrile gloves from his pocket, put them on, plucked the cup out of the bin with tweezers, and placed it in an evidence bag.
The purpose of leaving Aaron Hammond until after the interview with Davis had been undertaken was to allow him time to fret and worry. However, when he was brought into the interview room and cautioned, he was remarkably cool. He sat in the chair and answered the officers’ questions calmly and civilly, unlike his friend. He too denied having seen the messages before, but he also denied meeting with the girl in the photographs.
‘Joe Davis said you’d all had sex with her after the bull run in Pamplona,’ said Poole, pushing the fresh cup of water closer to Hammond.
‘He may have done. I didn’t spend all my time with them. Sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of time away from the group,’ said Hammond.
‘So, were you the one that they were looking for on the morning of fifteenth July 2015?’ asked Poole.
‘Since I’ve already told you I’ve not seen these messages before, that can hardly have been me, can it?’ Hammond rested his hands on the table, fingers laced together. He regarded the two officers and the camera placidly. ‘I’m not sure that I can help you any further.’
Poole slid across the photographs of Melissa Warren that had been taken by the hospital. ‘What have you got to say about these,’ Poole asked.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘I have never seen this woman before in my life. Whoever did this to her was not me or any of my friends. Have you any more questions or am I free to go?’
‘You can go,’ said Carlson. ‘Don’t go anywhere without letting us know.’
Hammond rose and left the room.
‘Damn,’ said Poole. ‘He didn’t touch the water. He’s a cool one alright. I’d hoped he’d make at least one mistake.’
‘He did,’ said Carlson. ‘He recognised Miss Warren’s face in the post-beating photos. Davis denied knowing her. Even though it was an obvious lie, he denied knowing her. Hammond didn’t even try to suggest that the two sets of photos were different women. That was his mistake.’
Poole turned and grinned at Carlson. ‘You’ve got me,’ he said. ‘I completely missed that. Nice one, guv.’
Carlson, returning the grin, simply said, ‘Old dogs, Poole, old dogs.’
Chapter Forty
1st August 2018
Dr Anders Last’s Office,
Abbey Hospital, Bristol
‘Thank you everyone for coming today,’ Dr Last spread his large hands in a welcoming gesture. Torrie, used to his theatrical style, simply sat relaxed in her chair but sneaked a look at the stunned surprise on the faces of Lissa’s parents. Anders’ untidy office had clearly upset Sandra. She straightened a pile of magazines that she’d removed from a chair before she sat down.
‘Lissa wants to be back at that flat,’ Sandra began, ‘but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I want her home with us.’
‘I understand, but we are here to discuss what is best for Lissa,’ Dr Last reminded her.
‘She gets no visits from that Mal creature when she’s at home with us,’ Sandra protested. Tony reached over and squeezed her hand, but she glared at him. ‘You know it’s true,’ she said.
Her husband nodded, unceremoniously dropped his wife’s hands back in her lap and reclined in his chair. He sighed. ‘We just want what’s best for her. I think separating her from Mal would be good for her, and we can’t do that either at the flat or if she stays here in the Brunel Unit.’
‘Torrie, shall we hear your thoughts?’ Anders Last waved his hand at her and Torrie almost felt that she should stand to give her pronouncement.
Instead she pressed her fingertips together and rested them against her top lip before she spoke. ‘I think Lissa needs to feel safe. That should be our primary objective. She has become increasingly paranoid. She thinks everyone is spying on her. I appreciate that sending her back to the flat is not the best idea but, for her mental health, I think it’s the safest. We just need to ensure that she can control her drinking.’
‘That is what she wants,’ said Tony. He raised his hand and Sandra silenced the protest she was about to make. ‘Look I can take her to therapy, to Alcoholics’ Anonymous, whatever she needs.’ With his face reddening, Tony directed his words to Sandra and she slumped back in her chair.
‘She can still twist you round her little finger,’ she mumbled. ‘Like Torrie I think she needs to stay where she’s safe but I believe that’s with us.’
Anders Last inclined his head towards the last person in the room. The one who had not spoken so far. ‘Graeme?’ he said, his voice so soft that it was scarcely audible.
‘I too am concerned for Lissa’s safety and well-being,’ Dr Jarman spoke quietly but with authority. ‘And for that reason I think she is better off staying here in the Clifton Unit until we can get her drinking under control. Then she can go back to Brunel and work on some of her other issues, but until she has learnt to survive without alcohol, she is a danger to herself and to others. I do not think she is able to help herself currently. Alcohol has become a crutch and with it an increased dependence on this Malcolm character…’
‘But he can get to her in here,’ Sandra burst out. ‘That’s why she should be back in Nunney, in her old room and familiar surroundings.’
‘I disagree,’ replied Graeme Jarman. ‘I am thinking of what is best for her and she needs to be stronger before she is out in the world again. Anders, I am sure that you have an opinion too?’
‘I do,’ replied the psychiatrist, ‘and I agree with you my friend. I do hope we all agree. Lissa should stay here until she completes the twenty-eight day programme after which time we will reassess.’
His words were not met with enthusiasm, but with noncommittal shrugs of agreement, but he tugged on his white coat and strode to the ward to give his patient the news.
Dr Last peered through the window before entering Lissa Warren’s room. She was sat in the armchair staring into the distance but her lips seemed to be moving as if she were talking on the telephone. He knocked on the door and she jumped. Instantly alert for danger.
She nodded at him and he pushed the door open. Once inside the room he sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Lissa,’ he began. ‘You are going to be staying here with us for a little while longer.’
‘I am?’ she frowned at him and ran her hands over her spiky hair. ‘Why?’
‘Dr Jarman, Ms Jericho and your parents think that it would be best for you. For your recovery. You’ll stay here in the Chilton unit until you have overcome your alcohol dependency.’
‘And what if I don’t want to?’ Lissa’s eyes flashed and she dug her nails into the arms of the chair, leaving marks in the faux leather.
‘I am afraid that you have no choice, Lissa,’ Dr Last replied smoothly. ‘If you decline the programme as a voluntary patient then we will have little choice but to commit you.’
‘You’ve got no grounds!’ Lissa spat at him. She stood and stepped towards him.
Dr Last rose too, his height giving him the appearance of authority. ‘You have become a danger to yourself Lissa,’ he said, realising that keeping his voice calm had become an effort. His heart was racing but he knew he could not let her
see his concerns. ‘You will stay in Clifton and you will not receive any visitors.’
Lissa launched herself at him her nails clawing at his face. ‘I must see Mal,’ she cried. ‘I must.’
Dr Last found himself forced against the wall where at least he was able to press the panic strip which encircled the room. He held Lissa’s wrists keeping her nails away from his eyes, straining to hear the sound of running feet in the corridor.
The door burst open and two burly nurses barrelled into the room. The first placed his arms around Lissa’s chest trapping her arms by her side. The second slipped down her baggy trousers and with a practiced manoeuvre, wiped her rear with an antibacterial wipe before thrusting a syringe into her bottom.
‘No visitors,’ Dr Last panted as he slid to the floor.
‘You’re putting me on lockdown,’ whispered Lissa as her eyelids began to flutter. ‘Solitary confinement.’
‘No, just protecting you from anyone who would disrupt your recovery. We’re doing this for your own good Lissa,’ but Dr Last could see that her eyes had rolled backwards and she was breathing evenly. She had not heard him.
Pushing himself to his feet Dr Last instructed the two nurses to place Lissa in her bed.
‘Do you want her strapped in?’ asked the first nurse.
Last shook his head. ‘No, but lock the door. Keep her safe, especially from herself.’
It was dark when Lissa woke. Outside her room the fluorescent light glowed lending a shaft of light into the room. She stretched out feeling the harsh sheets under her palms and fingertips. At least she had not been restrained. Lifting her head she peered at the armchair but it was empty. Then she remembered the doctor’s final words. No visitors. No one would be able to sneak into this locked unit.
She pushed her feet to the edge of the bed and lowered them to the floor. As she rose the duvet fell away and she slipped barefoot to the door. She could see nothing out of the small panel window and she gripped the lever down to open the door. Nothing. Frustrated, she rattled the door but it was firmly locked. Smacking it with the heel of her hand, she moved away, dragged the duvet closer and huddled up in the armchair. Chin on knees, she began to consider her escape options.
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