“If anyone deserves to see the bastard cornered, she does.”
“Right.”
“Give her a break. She’s given us a hell of a lot.”
“Good.”
Barolli almost collided with Lewis as he walked out. Langton followed him out and held eye contact with Lewis until the door had shut behind him.
“Well?” asked Lewis.
“Last night, I went round to talk to the kids that rent out Daniels’s basement and—”
“You got a result?”
Langton took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “Yes. We’ve got him, Mike. We’ve bloody got him.”
When Anna walked into the office to present Langton with her latest report, he startled her by asking, “You want to be on the arrest?”
She chewed her lips and nodded.
“Good. We’ll pick him up at dawn.”
“Dawn?” she repeated.
“Yes. Go home and get some sleep. It’ll be one hell of a long day tomorrow.”
She was packing up when Barolli passed her desk.
“I hear you’re on the arrest?”
“Yes. He just told me,” she said, embarrassed. “I didn’t, uh…”
She was aware that the pecking order decreed it should be Barolli and not her, but he winked.
“You deserve it. You won’t ever forget your first murder. A word of advice? Watch his eyes. They’re always the giveaway for fear.” He indicated the notice board, their victims’ faces lined up in rows. Anna thought their dark, dead eyes looked different now, somehow.
“They’re smiling,” Barolli whispered, before he walked away.
Chapter Twenty
Anna was unlocking the front door when her neighbor appeared, carrying a bouquet of two dozen red roses. Taking them, Anna thanked her and once inside the flat, tore open the note. Happily she read the words: “Thank you for breakfast. Love, James.”
After she had undressed for bed, she huddled beneath the duvet, holding tightly to a pillow that still smelled of him. Though she doubted she would be able to sleep, sleep she did and so soundly that when the alarm went at four o’clock, she woke to find her bedside light still on.
It was the day they had all been working toward and she found it hard to keep calm. She showered and washed her hair, then dressed carefully in her new suit and blouse, with smart black shoes. As she scrutinized her appearance in the dressing-table mirror, the adrenaline started pumping again and she couldn’t wait to get to the incident room.
At the station, the same feeling was prevalent. She saw that everyone had made more of an effort than usual with their appearance.
While Langton, Anna and Lewis and a uniformed driver took one car, a second car followed with two uniformed officers inside. They headed down Kensington High Street, then turned right into Queen’s Gate. Langton used the radio mike to contact the patrol car behind.
“OK, let him know we’re coming.”
Then he sat back and, with a quick look at the others, switched on the flashing blue light. Sirens started wailing from their backup vehicle and the two patrol cars now sped down Queen’s Gate. As they double-parked beside the residents’ parking bays outside Daniels’s house with the blue lights still flashing and the sirens still wailing, passersby gathered to watch.
“Still inside?” he checked with the surveillance car.
“Affirmative,” came the response.
Langton gave the surveillance officers across the street the all clear and they moved out to return to base. Anna noticed a plain patrol car entering the road from the mews behind Daniels’s house.
The two backup officers stood on the pavement by their cars.
Flanked by Anna and Lewis, Langton moved up the steps to the front door.
“Here we go,” he said.
Langton pressed the intercom bell and they waited.
“Yes?” It was a sleepy-voiced Daniels.
“Police.”
The buzzer clicked to open the front door and the three of them proceeded through it.
After a moment, Daniels opened the door to his flat.
“Good morning, Mr. Daniels,” said Langton. “I have here a warrant for your arrest.”
Daniels took a half step back. Lewis moved forward and held the door wide open. Langton held up the warrant.
“I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Melissa Stephens. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Daniels looked in astonishment at each of them. Anna remembered Barolli’s advice, “Look at his eyes,” but the suspect’s eyes seemed like dark, unfathomable pools.
Daniels walked into his dining room. They followed him.
Anna’s gaze didn’t waver; she was keeping her entire focus on his face.
“Is this a joke?” he said.
For a moment, she saw the glimmer of fear in the eyes, as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. By the time he caught her glance, the fear had gone.
“Anna,” he said softly. “What is all this?”
“Please read the warrant, Mr. Daniels. We are taking you to Queen’s Park police station.”
Daniels gestured helplessly at Anna. He addressed Langton evenly. “I want to call my lawyer.”
“You may do so at the station, sir.”
As Daniels held his hand out for the warrant, he took another step back, almost tripping over a Persian rug. He read the document with an audacious calmness, then slowly glanced over it once more before handing it back. “Well, it seems in order, but you’re making a terrible mistake.” He shrugged. “I’d better get dressed.” Lewis accompanied him.
When they had gone, Langton murmured to Anna, “Cool bastard, isn’t he?”
After a short time, they returned. Daniels was checking his coat sleeve, flicking a small piece of lint from the cuff. Then, flanked by the two men, he headed out of the house, Anna following behind. As the rear passenger door was opened, he gave Anna a slow, appraising look. Langton gestured peremptorily for him to get inside, while Lewis walked round to the opposite door.
“You’ll be going in the patrol car,” Langton instructed Anna quietly, before taking his place in the front seat. He gave the nod to the driver.
Anna watched the car move off quickly, then seated herself in the back of the patrol car next to the uniformed officer. They, too, pulled out quickly to follow in convoy behind Langton.
“They’re bringing him in,” said Moira, hurrying into the incident room.
Jean stood up nervously. “Which interview room?”
“Number two’s been made ready.”
Jean rushed to the window to see them entering the station below. Barolli, desperate to have a look as well, restrained himself, busying himself at his desk.
Anna entered the incident room. They crowded around as she took off her coat.
“Any trouble?” asked Barolli.
“Nope. Apparently he didn’t say a word on the way here. Now he’s calling his brief.”
“What happened when you arrested him?”
“He asked if it was a joke.”
They turned quickly as Lewis entered the incident room. He cautioned: “It’s going to be half an hour or more until his brief gets here, so he’s been taken down to the cells to wait.”
Langton stood outside the cell door while the duty sergeant asked Daniels to remove all items from his pockets. When he was asked to take off his shoes, he sat on the bunk bed, still silent, and carefully unthreaded his shoelaces. Then came the request for his tie, which he rolled round his fist and placed beside the shoelaces.
“Trouser belt,” Langton said softly.
Daniels unbuckled his belt, snaked it through its loops and tossed it onto the bed.
“Once your brief arrives, you’ll be taken up to the interview room. Until then, you will remain in the cell.”
Daniels watched as
the duty sergeant noted everything down on his clipboard. Then he folded his coat neatly and passed it over.
“Can you sign for them please, Mr. Daniels?”
“By all means.” Daniels did a fast, flourishing signature.
“And his cufflinks,” Langton ordered.
Daniels sighed and returned to the bed. He stretched out his arm and tugged at his wrists to unclip a pair of gold twists, which he then held out to the sergeant in the palm of his hand. After they had been added to the list, a uniformed officer outside the cell took the belongings away. Now the sergeant put on a pair of rubber gloves.
“Could you open your mouth, please?”
Langton joined them at this point. Daniels tilted his head back and the sergeant looked into his mouth.
“Lift your tongue.”
The sergeant ran his hands through Daniels’s hair, felt behind his ears and told him to drop his trousers. Langton walked out, discreetly closing the door slightly, as the last section of the body search was completed.
“All clear,” the sergeant said, pulling off his rubber gloves.
Langton glanced over at Daniels, who still stared at the wall ahead of him. While he had not reacted to the indignity of the body search, Langton saw that the muscle at the side of his jaw was working overtime.
When Langton entered the incident room, all eyes turned to him. He quickly summarized the situation in the cell.
“He’s not a happy man, but he’s not giving an inch.” He looked at his watch. “Right, let’s have a summary in my office.”
It was already coming up to eight. Anna doubted that they would go for the interrogation before noon.
Radcliff did not get to the station until a quarter to nine. He apologized, explaining it was due to heavy traffic. In Langton’s office he was made familiar with the charges. At first, he showed no reaction to the development.
He looked over the warrant, then, apparently satisfied, placed it back on Langton’s desk. “On my previous visit, you had nothing but circumstantial evidence against my client. Am I to presume you now have incriminating evidence?”
“Yes.”
“And you are charging him with the murder of—erm…” He couldn’t remember her name.
“Melissa Stephens.”
“Right.”
“We will also be questioning him with regard to a further ten victims.”
“Ten?” Radcliff spluttered.
He unzipped his briefcase and took out his fountain pen from his breast pocket. He noted the time on a small Gucci notepad. “You are holding him here at Queen’s Park?”
“Yes.”
“In discussing these allegations with my client, I will require some indication of the reason why you feel it is necessary to detain him.”
Langton flipped open one of the row of files he had on his desk.
It was a very different Radcliff who followed the custody officer down the stone steps into the holding cells.
Daniels was lying, eyes closed, on the bed.
“Sorry not to have got here sooner,” said Radcliff, somewhat subdued. “Held up in traffic and I’ve been with DCI Langton.”
Daniels eased his legs down from the bed and yawned.
“Alan, we can talk here or, if you prefer, I can ask to be allocated an interview room.”
Daniels stood up and stretched. “Just get me out of here. Full stop,” he said softly.
“I might not be able to do that, Alan. These are very serious allegations.”
Daniels shook his head with impatience, as if he were there for nothing more serious than a parking offense.
“I’ll ask for an interview room.” Radcliff sniffed with distaste. The cell smelled of urine and disinfectant. “I can’t stand these places. They’re claustrophobic.”
Meanwhile, the team waited in the incident room. There was yet more delay as Daniels and his brief were taken to an interview room, where the two conferred in hushed voices. At half past ten, Radcliff asked the uniformed officer outside the room if he could speak to Langton. He seemed controlled, considering the seriousness of the allegations, but was also very pale.
Anna had not yet had an opportunity to speak in private with Langton. When coffee and sandwiches were brought to his office in lieu of breakfast, Anna took the tray from Moira, offering to take it to him. When she opened the door, Langton looked up, irritated by the interruption.
“Anything you need?” she asked.
“Nope, just some peace and quiet.”
When Langton appeared ten minutes later, looking clean-cut and smart in a gray suit and white shirt, the room fell silent.
“OK, everyone, we’ll be starting our interrogation of Daniels at eleven o’clock sharp. I’ve earmarked the files I will require at this time.” You could feel his energy. His eyes were sparkling. “You’ll have to stand by as the press is screaming. I’ve issued a press release to say we are holding Daniels. The phones are going to be hopping.”
When he had finished, Anna watched him conferring with other members of the team. He could hardly keep still; he was pacing around and wisecracking.
According to Anna’s watch, it was ten minutes to eleven when she bumped into him in the corridor. “The brief has said he’s ready,” she volunteered. “They took Daniels back to the cells.”
“Good. Give them the signal to bring him up. It’s interview room two.”
“Yes, sir.”
As she walked past him, he caught her hand. “Did you get something from me?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She smiled at him.
“You want in on the interrogation?”
“Well, er, yes, if it’s possible.”
He touched the sun patch on her shoulder. “OK. It’ll be Lewis and you. Switch at halftime with Barolli, so his nose isn’t too out of joint.”
“Thank you.”
He checked his watch, then looked at her with a soft smile. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
At the newsstands, the first issue of the Evening Standard had on its display board: “Film Star Held for Murder.” The front page carried a picture of Alan Daniels. Next to his photograph was one of Melissa Stephens. Barolli had contacted her parents the night before to give them advance warning.
Flanked by two uniformed officers, Alan Daniels was led along the corridor toward interview room two. Jean had been hovering on the staircase for ten minutes in order to get a good look at him. When he passed her, he looked up momentarily to see her startled, flushed face before she quickly looked away. She hurried back to the incident room.
“I’ve just seen him,” she whispered to Moira.
“You were out there long enough,” Moira said dryly. “What did he look like?”
“He is much better-looking in real life than on the big screen. He’s got these amazing eyes, Moira. And he’s got on this blue shirt that makes them look a really vivid blue.” She blushed. “He looked straight at me.” She bent close to Moira. “Where’s Travis?”
Moira murmured, “She’s in there with them. Barolli’s pissed off.”
Jean sneaked a glance at him. Then she whispered something to Moira, who gasped.
“Two dozen?”
Jean whispered. “Girl in the radio control told me. Red ones.”
“You are kidding me?”
“He sent them to her yesterday afternoon.”
Barolli looked over at them. “What you two gassing about?”
“Nothing,” Moira said, going back to her work.
Jean went to her desk and sat down. The two women exchanged conspiratorial nods.
From a seat by the door, Anna watched Langton and Lewis, who sat together opposite Daniels and his brief. Daniels’s hands were clasped in front of him, resting on the table. The tape was running and the video camera had been turned on. Langton selected the first file. He took out a photograph and placed it facedown on the table.
“Do you, Mr. Daniels, admit that you owned a pale blue 1971 Mercedes 280SL.”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
“Did you arrange for this vehicle to be crushed at Wreckers Limited on the eighth of February of this year?”
“Yes.”
“Could you look at the photograph, please, and tell me if you recognize these seats?”
Anna leaned to her right a fraction to watch Daniels’s reaction. He cocked his head to one side and shrugged.
“Could you please answer the question?”
“They’re car seats.”
“This is a receipt from Wreckers Limited, showing payment for the car seats in the photograph in front of you. They were bought after being removed from your Mercedes and they were subsequently taken to Hudson’s Motors in Croydon.”
“If you say so.” Daniels showed not a flicker of interest, but remained relaxed, his hands still resting on the table.
“So, you agree that these seats are from your Mercedes?”
“I can’t be sure.”
Langton related how the Mercedes dealer who had sold Daniels the car eight months prior to its accident had verified that the seats were from Mr. Daniels’s car, being custom-made in a very unusual blue leather. They retained a complete logbook copy of previous owners and were able to verify that the seats were from his Mercedes.
“If you say so,” Daniels repeated coolly.
“There is also a serial number on the metal rods of the front right seat, 006731.”
Daniels snapped impatiently, “Well, yes.”
Radcliff touched Daniels’s arm. “Mr. Daniels paid for his vehicle to be crushed. So it is most confusing to find the seats had subsequently been sold without his permission.”
“Can we just get on with it? What in God’s name does the fact that those are the seats from my Mercedes have to do with my being held here? If I wanted to crush a brand-new Rolls-Royce, I could afford to do so. What may appear to be wasteful to you was done simply to avoid any inconvenience to myself. I do have considerable wealth.”
Langton took out the photograph of Melissa Stephens. “Do you recognize this girl?”
“No. You asked me this before.”
Langton showed pictures of Melissa’s T-shirt, indicating the missing diamanté stone. A fragment of that missing stone had been found trapped in the stitching on the seat of the Mercedes and had been determined by forensic scientists to have come from Melissa’s T-shirt.
Above Suspicion (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 1) Page 36
