Blood On the Wall

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Ms Evans.’ Georgiou nodded politely towards the solicitor, and she nodded back. Then he turned to Seward. ‘Sergeant, can we have a brief word, please?’

  With a nod at the uniformed officer, Seward got up and followed Georgiou out into the corridor. Georgiou pulled the door shut, then said: ‘Thanks for last night.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Seward. ‘Just ran you home.’

  ‘You did a lot more than that,’ said Georgiou quietly. He wanted to say more, much more, tell her how much he’d wanted her to stay, but this wasn’t the time or the place for it. Instead, he said: ‘Well done on getting hold of Patterson.’

  ‘It wasn’t that difficult,’ she said. ‘He was at home, in bed. Kirsty and I obviously called on him earlier than he expected. Despite the fact that he must have known we were looking for him, with uniforms knocking on the doors of all his friends, asking for him. I think he’s got the brain cells of an onion.’

  ‘Lucky he has, otherwise our success rate wouldn’t be half as good as it is.’ commented Georgiou. ‘Anyway, you do the interview.’

  Seward threw him a questioning look.

  ‘It’s your collar,’ said Georgiou. ‘I’ll just be there, in the background, listening and watching. Let’s make him sweat.’

  ‘OK.’ Seward nodded.

  They went back into the room, and Seward took her chair opposite Billy Patterson. Georgiou remained standing, keeping his distance, but watching Patterson and Evans. Georgiou could tell that Seward handling the interview while he just observed had unsettled Patterson, even though he tried to hide it beneath an air of sullen bravado.

  Seward switched on the tape recorder.

  ‘Interview began at 08.30 hours,’ she said. ‘Present: Detective Sergeant Seward, Detective Inspector Georgiou, William Patterson, Ms Janine Evans representing Mr Patterson.’ Addressing Patterson directly, she said: ‘Please state your full name and address.’

  The youth shot a glance at the solicitor beside him, as if hoping she would tell him he didn’t need to do this, but she nodded for him to give the information. Reluctantly, sullenly, he mumbled something.

  ‘Would you make your reply louder, please, for the purposes of the tape,’ said Seward.

  Patterson was obviously discomforted by this, like a naughty boy in class who is being told off by his teacher, but when a further look for help towards his solicitor received nothing but another nod, he spoke again, louder this time, his voice strained and awkward.

  ‘William Patterson. 15 Mardale Road, Carlisle.’

  Seward looked down at a sheet of paper in front of her, then said: ‘And that is your full name?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Patterson scowled.

  ‘Then you are not also known as William George Patterson?’ asked Seward.

  A frown crossed Patterson’s face.

  ‘Well, yeah …’ he said. ‘But I don’t use that bit.’

  Seward didn’t respond, but looked at him unsmilingly and said firmly: ‘Please state your full name.’

  Patterson shifted uncomfortably, then said: ‘William George Patterson.’

  Good, thought Georgiou. Start with a small victory. Chip away at that smug, arrogant exterior. Wear him down.

  ‘Where were you at half past four yesterday afternoon?’ asked Seward.

  ‘One moment …’ It was Janine Evans, speaking for the first time. ‘Surely my client needs to be told why he is being interviewed before asking him specific details?’

  At this Patterson gave a smirk. Georgiou could imagine him thinking, That’s it! You tell ’em!

  Seward carried on looking directly into Patterson’s face as she said: ‘Because of the serious nature of the case we are investigating, that information will have to come later.’

  ‘But surely …’ began Evans.

  Seward didn’t let her speak.

  ‘As I said, this is a very serious case with associated investigations coinciding. Consequently we need to decide whether your client will form part of our ongoing investigation, and we need to determine that from his answers.’

  The rush of hard words and the very firm way in which Seward delivered this left Patterson looking bewildered. Aloud, and defiantly, he said: ‘I didn’t beat him up.’

  Calmly, Seward said: ‘For the purposes of the tape, let it be known that the interviewee’s statement was not prompted by any question.’

  Then she looked across the table directly into Patterson’s eyes.

  ‘Tell us about Tamara Armstrong,’ said Seward.

  At this, Patterson looked absolutely bewildered. Georgiou could tell that Evans was also puzzled at this line of questioning, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Seward held up a hand to silence her.

  ‘I must ask you again for your connection to, or knowledge of, Tamara Armstrong.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ said Patterson, obviously completely baffled. Georgiou could imagine the turmoil in Patterson’s brain; a brain that wouldn’t be the brightest at the best of times. Here he was, being battered by official, hard-sounding jargon, police-speak, about something he hadn’t anticipated. He would have had his alibi already cooked up for the time when Georgiou was being beaten up; the times and events rehearsed and held like rote in his mind, but the questions had taken a turn he hadn’t expected.

  ‘What about Mr Han Sun?’ asked Seward.

  Patterson just gaped at her, then turned to his solicitor, who said: ‘Sergeant, I was under the impression that my client was being questioned about an assault …’

  Seward didn’t let her finish.

  ‘We are currently investigating the murders of Tamara Armstrong and Han Sun,’ said Seward. ‘We have reason to believe the assault on Inspector Georgiou is connected with both these murders …’

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ said the youth, getting to his feet, agitated.

  The uniformed officer made a move to step forward and grab Patterson, but Georgiou waved for him to stay where he was.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said Seward crisply.

  When Patterson didn’t sit, just began pacing, Seward said: ‘For the purposes of the tape, the suspect left his chair and refused to sit down.’

  For her part, Evans was doing her best to recover her composure.

  The youth stood, torn apart by what was happening to him, then he sat down and looked at Seward feverishly across the table. All smug defiance was gone from him now.

  ‘This is nothing to do with any murder,’ he said. ‘Parksy said we were just teaching him a lesson.’

  ‘Parksy?’

  ‘Ian Parks.’

  ‘Is this the same Ian Parks that Inspector Georgiou arrested for attempted theft?’ asked Seward.

  The youth nodded.

  ‘My client …’ began Evans, desperate to stop her client from incriminating himself further, but Patterson was having none of it. He’d thought he was being pulled in for attacking a copper. Now he saw himself in the frame for two murders, and that was a different ballgame. He was going to get himself off that particular hook, whatever it took.

  ‘Parksy said we shouldn’t have these people coming into our country and telling us what to do, and beating us up like they owned the place.’

  ‘Which people?’ asked Seward.

  ‘Foreigners,’ said Patterson. Pointing at Georgiou he said, ‘People like him.’

  ‘And the names of the other people involved in the attack on Inspector Georgiou?’ asked Seward.

  The youth hesitated, then turned towards Evans appealingly, but his solicitor had already mentally washed her hands of him. He’d already made a confession of his own guilt, and in her presence, and on tape. He could only make his own situation worse by refusing to name his accomplices. Seward waited, eyes fixed firmly on Patterson, her gaze drilling into his skull.

  ‘They’re my mates,’ he begged, helplessly.

  It cut no ice with Seward, or anyone else in that room. Patterson looked around, as if there was some sal
vation for him, but all he got back was hard looks and blank, unfriendly walls. He was lost, and he knew it. Finally, the youth dropped his head and mumbled something.

  ‘Speak up, please,’ said Seward. ‘For the tape.’

  The youth lifted his head.

  ‘Ian Parks. Denny Goff. Steve Andrews.’

  Seward pushed a pad and pen across to Patterson.

  ‘Write down their addresses, please,’ she said.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Georgiou watched while Seward took down Patterson’s confession and got him to sign it in front of his solicitor, before she despatched the frightened youth to the holding cells in the presence of a constable.

  ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘That was a great interview. You handled him perfectly.’

  Seward held up the handwritten list of addresses that Patterson had given her.

  ‘Next, I’ll send uniform round to these places and bring these three in,’ she said. ‘Or I might go myself, just to give myself the pleasure of seeing the looks on their faces when I tell them their good pal, Billy Patterson, has shopped them.’

  Georgiou shook his head. ‘Right now, I’ve got some new information for the team, and you need to hear it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Richard Little’s gone missing.’

  Seward stared at him.

  ‘What do you mean, missing?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you as we head for the briefing room,’ said Georgiou.

  By the time the two of them reached their destination, Georgiou had filled the stunned Seward in on what Conway had told him about Little, and their suspicions. As they entered the briefing room, Georgiou could see from the shocked expression on the faces of Tennyson and Taggart that they were also having difficulty coming to terms with the possibility that Richard Little was their murderer.

  ‘But … he’s one of us!’ said Taggart, shaking her head.

  ‘He’s also missing,’ said Georgiou. ‘And, as Conway pointed out to me earlier, there’s no one like a copper for knowing how to avoid getting caught.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be the first,’ added Conway sombrely.

  ‘But why?’ asked Taggart. ‘Why would he kill those people?’

  ‘Why would anyone?’ said Tennyson, and he gave a heavy sigh. ‘This is unbelievable!’

  ‘Whether we like it or not, we have to accept that Richard Little is a suspect,’ said Georgiou. ‘We need to check his movements on the nights of the murders. I’ll do that. I’ll go and see his wife, Vera, see what she can tell me.’

  ‘Someone ought to go with you, guv,’ said Tennyson. ‘Remember what happened the last time you went out on your own.’

  ‘Yes, thank you for that, Sergeant,’ grunted Georgiou. ‘But I think I should be safe from attack from Vera Little.’

  ‘Say Richard hasn’t disappeared at all,’ put in Seward. ‘Say he’s hiding in the house and his wife’s protecting him. If he hears you asking questions he might get rough.’

  Georgiou sighed wearily.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Looks like you’re determined to nursemaid me. Conway, you come with me. You know Vera Little better than any of us. You might be able to work out if she’s covering for him. Also, let’s put out an alert for him. No need to state why we’re looking for him, just a missing persons report, Detective Constable Richard Little. Full description to all forces, and ports and airports. After all, he could be anywhere, or trying to get away. Mac, will you deal with that?’

  Tennyson nodded as he made a note on his pad.

  Turning to Seward and Taggart, Georgiou asked: ‘By the way, I meant to ask you before I got clattered the other day: how did you two get on with the film man? Drake?’

  Seward’s face wrinkled in disgust, and Taggart laughed.

  ‘He’s a health hazard,’ said Taggart. ‘If we’re looking for someone who’s fastidious and neat and obsessively clean, then Drake is not our man.’

  ‘But the film he’s making is interesting,’ said Seward. ‘I read the script. It’s about pagan sacrifice.’

  ‘Shades of Diane Moody,’ commented Tennyson.

  ‘What sort of sacrifice?’ asked Georgiou.

  ‘Ripping a body open and reading the entrails,’ said Seward. ‘After the victim’s been ritually killed by crows.’

  ‘Any beheading in it?’

  ‘Only after the body’s been ripped open,’ said Seward.

  ‘Anything about Hadrian’s Wall?’ asked Tennyson, remembering his conversation with Diane Moody.

  ‘No,’ said Seward. ‘Just Ancient Britons. But there’s a nasty feel to it. Gratuitous violence, just to shock.’

  ‘It’s definitely worth a closer look,’ said Georgiou. ‘This Drake character may not be the one we’re looking for, but get a list of everyone involved in the film. Wardrobe, camera, extras, lighting, everyone. And start digging, looking for a connection with the murder victims.’

  ‘They start shooting the film tomorrow at Castlerigg Stone Circle,’ said Seward. ‘The whole crew will be there all in one place.’

  ‘Great.’ Georgiou nodded. ‘A perfect opportunity.’ Turning to Tennyson, Georgiou said: ‘Mac, after you’ve put out the alert for Richard Little, I want you to dig into these attacks by Ian Parks a bit more.’

  ‘Any particular direction?’ asked Tennyson.

  Georgiou nodded.

  ‘I’ve checked the names of the women he attacked.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read out: ‘Mrs de Laglio, Mrs Izmir, Mrs Woycek.’

  ‘Italian, Turkish and Polish,’ murmured Taggart.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Georgiou.

  ‘No, they’re not,’ said Tennyson. ‘I’ve talked to them all. They’re all English.’

  ‘Second or third generation, maybe. But with a foreign name,’ said Georgiou. ‘Just like me.’

  ‘You think these are racist attacks?’ asked Seward.

  ‘Yes,’ said Georgiou. ‘There’s no doubt these women were chosen because they were old and couldn’t defend themselves, and the motive was money … but there’s a racist element here. Like the attitude of Patterson when he was interviewed.’

  A thought struck Georgiou.

  ‘What political party does Maitland represent?’

  Tennyson shook his head. ‘None,’ he said. ‘Independent.’

  ‘Which covers an awful lot of possibilities. Run some checks on Maitland and the Parks family. Cross-check against any right-wing organizations. National Front, BNP, Combat 18, Spear of Destiny, that sort of thing.’

  Tennyson nodded.

  ‘Will do,’ he said. ‘How much time do you want me to give it?’

  Georgiou thought about it. He’d love to nail Maitland as a racist, but right now the murder investigation and the search for Richard Little had to take priority.

  ‘At this moment, no time at all,’ he said regretfully. ‘Let’s forget it until after we’ve nailed our killer and found Richard.’

  Tennyson nodded.

  ‘OK, guv,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ said Georgiou, addressing the whole team. ‘Let’s all go and do some investigating.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Georgiou was walking with Conway towards Conway’s car, when his mobile rang. He checked the name and number on the display screen and saw it was Dr Kirtle, the pathologist.

  ‘Georgiou,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got the results of the tests on the body of Han Sun,’ said Dr Kirtle. ‘There’s something different from the previous two murders.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Traces of a tranquilizer,’ said Dr Kirtle.

  ‘What sort of tranquilizer?’ asked Georgiou.

  ‘Do you want the full chemical name, or just where it’s normally used?’ asked Kirtle.

  ‘The easy-to-understand one,’ said Georgiou.

  ‘It’s the sort used by vets to knock out animals,’ said Dr Kirtle. ‘I’ll be e-mailing my full report over to you shortly, but I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible
.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Georgiou. ‘Thanks.’

  He hung up and told Conway what Dr Kirtle had just told him.

  ‘A vet connection?’ hazarded Conway.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Georgiou. ‘We’ll start checking vets and their supplies later.’

  His mobile rang again.

  ‘We’ll never get to Vera’s at this rate,’ he grunted.

  This time the number on the screen was that of Dan Murphy, the news editor of the Cumberland News. Georgiou grinned to himself; he could guess what this was about. But he liked Dan, so he wasn’t going to just ignore him.

  ‘Dan,’ he greeted him. ‘Let me guess: Jenny McAndrew’s been on to you complaining that I won’t talk to her.’

  Georgiou heard Murphy chuckle, and pictured him sitting in his office at the Cumberland News, leaning back in his chair, a polystyrene cup of strong black coffee on his desk, most of which would remain undrunk.

  ‘You’re into mind-reading now, are you, Andreas?’ said Murphy.

  ‘With a mind like Jenny McAndrew’s, that’s easy to read,’ said Georgiou.

  ‘I hear you got beaten up,’ said Murphy.

  ‘You pick up news fast,’ said Georgiou.

  ‘It is my job,’ Murphy reminded him. ‘Look, Andreas, you and I have always got on, haven’t we? I’ve treated what you’ve told me in confidence when it’s been needed, and put out stuff when you needed it to flush out a crook or two.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Georgiou. ‘It’s a pity your colleague Jenny McAndrew doesn’t follow the same rules.’

  ‘The News and Star doesn’t come under the same remit—’ began Murphy, but Georgiou cut him off with a rueful laugh.

  ‘Don’t give me that, Dan. The News and Star and the Cumberland News are two peas in the same pod. One’s weekly, one’s daily. One’s broadsheet size, one’s tabloid size, but everything in them comes out of the same office.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Murphy agreed, but reluctantly. ‘Look, McAndrew’s new. And maybe she got off on the wrong foot …’

  ‘Maybe?’ said Georgiou. ‘Did you read her piece she did on me?’