“It’s a foregone conclusion; he was a heavy drinker then.”
“But then he was also a successful businessman. You said so yourself. How did you know about his present circumstances?”
“It was a wild guess.”
“I put it to you it’s a bit more than that, isn’t it? You mentioned his present state of inebriation twice, so I put it to you that you had seen Mr. McDowell recently.”
“No, that is not true.”
“You also seem to be privy to information about certain items that were recovered from McDowell’s home.”
Daniels nudged Radcliff with a sly smile. “This is obviously entrapment. The woman, Travis, told me about McDowell’s condition. She also told me about the handbags they found at his house.”
“Handbags?”
“Yes, you found three of the victims’ handbags. I know that. She told me.”
Langton rewound the tape. “Please listen to the call again.”
Daniels was becoming really tetchy. “This is entrapment.” He turned again to Radcliff. “This tape is rubbish. They probably doctored it.”
“Just listen to the tape recording, please, Mr. Daniels.”
It was played again. Radcliff listened intently; he then leaned to one side to stare at Anna before returning to an upright position, listening and tapping his notebook with his pen. When the tape recording ended, Langton moved the recorder aside and ejected the tape.
“Mr. Daniels, are you prepared to take part in an identity parade?”
Daniels pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am a well-known actor. It is farcical for you to expect to be able to assemble twelve men who resemble me. If you could, my career would certainly be in jeopardy.” He laughed.
Langton couldn’t hold his tongue: “I would say that is a foregone conclusion.”
Anna shifted in her seat. She couldn’t quite fathom why Langton had taken the pressure off the Melissa questioning. She could feel the interview losing momentum and Daniels seemed to feel it, too. He was becoming more expansive and constantly swung his body away from his chair. Sometimes he seemed more interested in what was happening outside as they heard people passing back and forth.
“So you decline to agree to participate in an identity parade?”
Radcliff tapped the table with his pen. “I agree with Mr. Daniels. Owing to my client’s celebrity, the notion of an identification parade is ludicrous.”
Radcliff looked at Langton. “I am confused as to why you wish my client to take part in an identification parade anyway, especially if Mr. McDowell has no connection to the charges relating to Melissa Stephens.”
“But he was connected to the other ten victims. Mr. Radcliff, I believe your client was involved in their deaths. And the very fact that your client knew that three of the victims’ handbags had been recovered from McDowell’s premises makes me suspicious that he, in actual fact, planted the incriminating evidence.”
“Just how do you come to that conclusion?”
Langton drew the tape recorder closer to him again. “Listen to a section of the tape again. DS Travis never makes any mention of ‘handbags,’ plural; she actually says ‘handbag.’ It is Mr. Daniels who uses the plural on the tape. It is Mr. Daniels who, in front of you and as recorded on video, has said that three bags were recovered.”
“It was just an assumption.” Radcliff waved his hand airily. “He knew there were a number of victims you were investigating.”
Langton slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “An assumption? It’s the exact number: not one, or two, but three! He describes McDowell as a drunkard, yet this is a man he supposedly has not seen for twenty years.”
Radcliff was becoming agitated. “Are you telling me that you intend charging my client with another murder, apart from Melissa Stephens? Or perhaps more than one?””
“That is a possibility, yes.”
“How tedious,” said Daniels. “All right, I’ll take part in your parade, but it’s all a terrible waste of time.”
There was a knock at the door and DC Barolli stepped in. Langton duly noted his arrival on the tape. Langton glanced at a note Barolli handed him and the plastic bag that he carried. “I suggest we take a five-minute lavatory break,” Langton told everyone. When Daniels snapped that he didn’t require one, Langton good-humoredly replied that he did. He took the bag from Barolli and produced a baseball cap, which he placed on the table. He noted the introduction of the cap for the tape and held it up for the camera to see. When Radcliff stood up, Langton offered to show him the bathroom facilities.
Lewis passed Anna the note Barolli had brought in. While Daniels watched her, she read the message that McDowell was en route to the identification viewing room, where Barolli had selected a lineup of officers and other station employees of Daniels’s height and build to participate in the ID parade.
Daniels leaned across the table, toward Anna.
“You two-faced little—”
Lewis said sharply: “Mr. Daniels, sit back in your seat, please.”
It was as if the suspect had sensed that something was wrong. He slowly pushed back his chair.
“Please remain seated,” Lewis said coldly.
Daniels eased himself back into his chair as Langton entered the room. “We are ready to take Mr. Daniels to the identification unit.”
“Where’s my brief?” he snarled.
“He will be accompanying you to the suite, Mr. Daniels.”
Radcliff had just splashed cold water over his face in the washroom and was contemplating the murky roller towel with distaste when Langton walked in. “A witness has been brought to the viewing room. I would like you to accompany me there to oversee the possible identification.”
“This is pretty sneaky,” Radcliff said. “I don’t see what you hope to achieve, under the circumstances.” The solicitor ran a small comb through his hair, pocketed it and indicated he was ready to go with Langton.
As the two men headed down the corridor, McDowell, handcuffed to Barolli, walked toward them dressed in prison-issue overalls and a denim shirt. There was a marked improvement in his demeanor. He seemed much more alert.
“Morning.” He grinned at Langton.
“Good morning, Mr. McDowell. Can you come this way, please?” Langton gestured to the viewing room.
The room was small and empty except for two hard-backed chairs.
“Mr. McDowell, you must answer truthfully the questions I am about to put to you. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to look into the room beyond the window and tell me if you recognize any of the men standing in front of you. Take your time. If you do recognize anyone, tell me if this is the same man who approached you outside your place of work in Manchester.”
McDowell nodded.
“Do you understand what I have asked you to do?”
“Yep. Look at the blokes and tell you if one of them was the foreigner what I spoke to. Yes, that right?”
“That is correct.”
Langton pressed the button to indicate they were about to draw the blinds from their side of the wall. The red light blinked.
In the adjoining room, Daniels entered with Lewis. Eight men wearing identical baseball caps stood silent and expressionless.
Lewis handed him a baseball cap.
“Mr. Daniels, you may stand wherever in the line you wish,” Lewis said quietly.
Daniels pulled his cap down over his face and considered the lineup. He chose to stand in the center: four men to his right, four to his left. They were given numbered cards; Daniels had number five.
“Mr. Daniels, can you pull up the collar of your jacket?”
Daniels hitched up his collar to chin level.
Langton saw the red light steady their side, indicating they were set. He gestured for McDowell to draw closer to the one-way glass.
McDowell’s sloping shoulders almost blocked the entire window. He stood, chin jutting out, staring for what seemed like a l
ong time. Langton was disappointed that McDowell was unable to recognize Daniels immediately and was just about to draw the viewing to a close when McDowell turned round.
“Yes, it’s him. Number five. It’s a different baseball cap. That was me problem. But, yeah, I’d say it’s him.”
“Thank you, Mr. McDowell.”
Langton at once turned off the light and drew back the blinds.
While Langton ushered Radcliff out of the room, Barolli waited a moment before leading McDowell back to the cells.
Daniels kept hold of his baseball cap. As he was led back to the interview room, he turned the baseball hat sideways, grinning at his joke. Radcliff snatched it off his head. Langton spoke into the tape recorder to say that they had returned and that the interview would continue.
Langton waited for a moment before addressing their suspect: “Mr. Daniels, I am charging you with the murder of Melissa Stephens.”
“I gathered that,” Daniels said, sounding almost bored.
Lewis passed the folder of the victims’ photographs to Langton, who continued: “I would now like to begin to question you with regard to the murders of Lilian Duffy and of Teresa Booth…”
Two photographs were put on the table.
“Kathleen Keegan…”
A third photograph joined them.
“Barbara Whittle…”
A fourth.
“Sandra Donaldson…”
As Langton was about to present the next victim’s photograph, Daniels prompted, mockingly, “Beryl Villiers and Mary Murphy.”
Daniels raised his body up and pressed his back against the chair. He looked like a coiled snake, thought Anna. As everyone stared, he smiled enigmatically back at them. “Thelma Delray, Sadie Zadine and Marla Courtney.”
Langton laid out all the photographs. They filled the entire table.
Anna was rigid. She could not believe what was happening. None of them could. Lewis glanced at Langton. No one spoke. Radcliff stared at his client, mesmerized by his quiet, expressionless voice.
Daniels reached out his hand to lightly touch each picture. He sighed and began counting. “One, two, three, four.” He cocked his head to one side. “There’s one missing. Melissa; where’s my beautiful Melissa?” He picked up Melissa’s picture and lay it beneath the others.
He started arranging the faces in the order that they had been killed. When he had finished his handiwork, he looked up. “They’re all mine.” He swept the pictures up into his arms and clutched them.
“Mr. Daniels, are you admitting that you killed all these women?”
“Yes.”
Radcliff was shaking, his face drained of color. “Jesus, God,” he whispered.
Daniels stacked the photographs back into a neat pile in front of him. “Ready when you are,” he said softly. He picked up the photograph of his mother, Lilian Duffy.
He pointed at Langton. “No. I don’t want him sitting opposite.” He turned slowly to Anna. “She takes his place. You won’t get another word out of me otherwise. I want her at the table, facing me. That’s the deal.”
Langton and Anna looked at each other, their eyes locked for a moment. She gave a barely detectable nod of her head. Langton returned his attention to Daniels.
“We will take a lunch break. After that, DS Travis will sit opposite you, Mr. Daniels.”
Daniels smiled. “Thank you.” Idly, his fingers stroked the photograph of Melissa Stephens’s face.
Anna’s blood ran cold.
Chapter Twenty-one
Langton asked Anna to meet him in his office. He could tell that she was shaken by Daniels’s request.
“Can you bear it? Facing him?”
She nodded numbly, and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I couldn’t believe it when he admitted the murders. I thought it would take days.”
Langton shook his head. “We’ve too much on him and he knows it. This is just prolonging the agony. I think you and I need to spend lunchtime running through how I want you to approach the interview, and it just might take days, Anna; it’s not over yet.”
“Why do you think he wants me opposite him?”
“I don’t know how his warped mind works. Maybe he thinks you made a fool of him. Whatever the reason, he’s going to relish every minute; he’s that sick and it’s not going to be pleasant. He’ll want to see how you react.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you will have beaten him because this is all about wanting to break you, hurt you.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them to look up into Langton’s concerned face. “Devious bastard,” she said. “Let’s get started, I want to be ready for him.”
Barolli joined Lewis at lunch and was confused to hear that Anna would be in the hot seat from now on. Then Lewis dropped the real bombshell. “Daniels has admitted to all the murders.”
“Christ, all of them?”
“Yeah, including the American ones.”
Word of the confession spread quickly round the incident room. Moira shuddered at Anna’s situation: “It’s like putting a lamb in front of a hungry wolf.”
Jean unnerved them both when she recalled that in the Fred West case one witness experienced a nervous breakdown after listening to the horrific details of his murders and had been unable to continue working.
“She sued the constabulary involved, didn’t she?” Moira remembered.
Barolli and Lewis looked at each other; then all four involuntarily glanced over at the blinds drawn down in Langton’s office, against which Anna’s shadow was just visible.
“God help her!” Jean said. There were brief nods of agreement and they all returned to their separate desks.
The press office had been inundated with calls. A new press release was now in preparation. It confirmed that Alan Daniels was being held for questioning in connection with the murder of Melissa Stephens and was also helping the police with their inquiries in a number of other cases. The Evening Standard was planning blanket coverage of the actor’s arrest for its late edition. Television news programs began assimilating as much footage of Daniels as quickly as they could in preparation for the bulletins that would go out later that evening. Like vultures, the press corps began to gather outside the station.
Langton returned from his lunch break. Anna had eaten lunch at the desk in his office while familiarizing herself with the case files and Langton’s preliminary notes.
“He’s been taken back in. You ready?”
She looked up, nodding. There had been no time for nerves to take hold.
“Do you need to go to the loo?”
“Yes, I’d better.”
“OK, I’ll wait outside the room. Have you got everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Just take it at an easy pace. Don’t let him ruffle you and remember: I’m right behind you if you need me.”
“Yes.”
Langton was stacking the files when she hurried out toward the ladies. She clattered into the cubicle and sat on the toilet, willing herself to pee. She was too tense; nothing happened. She gritted her teeth. “Come on! Do it.”
At last she went. Anna washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. “Watch over me, Dad,” she whispered. Shoulders back, she walked through the door.
Anna was heading up the stairs to the interview room when Lewis appeared: “Good luck!”
“Thank you.”
“That’s from all of us.”
Langton was waiting for her when she turned into the corridor at the top of the staircase. He gave her a smile. “Files are in order on the table. You have to read him his rights again.”
“I know.”
He seemed even more nervous than she was, which in some way calmed her. They walked into the interview room together. Daniels had washed his face and swept his hair back; it looked wet. She avoided looking at him as she sat down.
Langton took his place directly behind her and Radcliff sat down beside Danie
ls. Anna followed the protocol of checking there was a tape in the tape machine and that the video camera was running. She looked at her watch and stated the exact time, the location and the names of those present in the interview room.
When she had finished reading Daniels his rights, he leaned close and said suavely, “You’re doing very well. I’m proud of you.”
She flushed with embarrassment. She spent a few moments looking at the first case file and composing herself, then raised her head to look directly at Daniels. He stared back, unblinking. Though she recalled Barolli saying, “Watch his eyes; wait for the fear,” there was certainly no sign of fear now. If anything, the former Anthony Duffy seemed to be enjoying the unease emanating from everyone else. She began.
“Mr. Daniels, this morning you admitted killing Lilian Duffy. Could you please tell me what your relationship was to the victim?”
“You know what it was, Anna,” he said smoothly.
“I require you to tell me.”
“She was my parent.” His lip curled in contempt.
Anna leaned back in her chair. Faceup on the table between them was the picture of Lilian Duffy. “This photograph: could you tell me who it is?”
“It’s her, obviously.”
“Could you please identify the photograph, Mr. Daniels?”
Then she saw the flash of anger. “It’s Lilian Duffy,” he snarled. “The bitch that gave birth to me.”
Anna supplied the word he was avoiding. “How did you kill your mother?”
“Don’t you mean ‘why’?” He slapped the photograph with the flat of his hand. “Don’t you want to know the motive first?”
She paused. In the silence, Langton pressed against her chair, as if willing her to get on with it.
Daniels continued, seemingly oblivious to Langton: “When I was five, she put me in a bath of scalding water. I screamed. She yelled back how she hadn’t meant to hurt me, how she didn’t know how hot the water was, but the truth is she was stoned out of her mind. She would have noticed the steam rising otherwise. When she lifted me out, there were scalds all over my legs, my back, my buttocks. When they festered, she got someone to take me to the emergency clinic. They called the social workers, who came round to see if I was an abused child. She told them I’d run the bath myself and they believed her. After they left, she slapped me for causing trouble and told me that if I ever said anything to anyone, the next time she would hold me under and drown me. As a child, I was terrified of being bathed.”
Above Suspicion (Anna Travis Mysteries Book 1) Page 38
