DCI Harvey grimly disagreed. “Thomas Kirk made a positive identification on your brother.”
“Yeah, they saw each other in passing over the years. Any criminal could identify him, but that doesn’t prove Jerry to be guilty. It’s impossible.” Marvin shook his head in disbelief at our audacity. “Is this even legal?”
The lawyer started to open his mouth, but before he could stop the interview, I fumbled in search of our defining evidence, the pièce de résistance, the cherry on top.
“We’ve already thought of that, which is why we want to show you this CCTV photograph here. Can you confirm the date in the top left-hand corner?”
The lawyer took the responsibility, his baritone voice reverberating around the pokey room. “It says the 13th of April, this year. The day this young girl called Sarah Carling was supposedly kidnapped.”
Clearly, this solicitor wasn’t aware of the gravity behind our picture and sat back smugly. I don’t think he noticed the cloud of dust that flew out from his tweed jacket. Otherwise, he may have acted like less of an idiot.
Marvin Clark, on the other hand, took longer to display any type of reaction at all. He gripped the table and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the monochrome capture taken from the car park cameras.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered.
Careful to approach Marvin with caution, McCall waited for him to look away from the printout. “Can you identify who this man is? For the tape, we’re still referring to the CCTV snapshot taken from a car park in town. This photograph depicts a man holding Sarah Carling by the wrist, presumably where they stopped off straight after she was taken..”
“That’s my brother,” he whispered, choking on the air itself. “Er, that’s my brother, Jerry. I’d recognise him anywhere, even without seeing his face.” His cross necklace fell slack to the tabletop and hit the surface with a heavy thud.
“What was the plan here? You cover for Jerry and make up the perfect guise that he’s dead so that we can’t question him and don’t even bother to search for his whereabouts?” I suggested, piecing together everything we knew. “Put on a sob story, whilst Jerry does all the dirty work with Sarah? Setup Thomas Kirk as a decoy so that we detectives feel that we’ve failed? Then allow your brother to blackmail us into letting the next exchange of £25,000 happen with the Carlings alone?” The only plausible explanation for all of this. “Jerry wears a mask, so the parents will never know who betrayed them. We weren’t supposed to catch you two whilst you fled the country with an ultimate sum of money tucked neatly under your belts. Am I right?”
Moving agonisingly slow, Mavin covered his mouth with both hands. His clean fingertips stopped the small, ugly tears from running along his cheeks. “That’s my brother.”
He’d ignored everything I just said. An outburst of huge, choking sobs came out of Marvin just when we assumed he’d composed himself.
“Crap.” DCI Harvey caught on to our mistake first. “You didn’t know Jerry was still alive, did you, Marvin?” The enigma of a spiritual yet tough man barely heard her. “We presumed you two were in on this together. After all, you were a partnership for many years.”
“No. I- Sorry.” Marvin’s mouth hung open in a soundless scream of agonising pain and deceit. “I need a minute to--” he sniffed.
The solicitor didn’t waste a second of his precious appointment. “My client requests a moment alone. He’s distressed on account of your… rushed accusations.”
“Of course.” McCall pressed pause on the recording and gave them the appropriate space. “We’ll wait five minutes to continue the questioning.”
Listening to the hushed comforting between the solicitor and Marvin Clark made us three on the opposite side share guilty glances. We truly believed our assumptions were correct. Otherwise, we would have never revealed the gobsmacking announcement that Jerry had faked his own death in such a heartless strategy. We’d been blindsided by our insensitive anger at Jerry that we hadn’t comprehended Marvin had been kept in the dark all along.
“My client is ready to continue,” the senior solicitor tutted at our mistake, enjoying the opportunity to rub it in our faces. “Even though he’s every right to walk out of here right now. Instead, my client is being unnecessarily caring and would like to assist your investigation.”
“God would urge me to do so,” Marvin piped up. “It’s my personal duty to stop the unnecessary sins in this world from taking place. Just because it’s my brother who seems to be the offender doesn’t make it right.”
“Thank you, Mr Clark. We’d like to formally apologise for the offence we may have caused by thinking you were a part of the scheme.” DCI Harvey failed to express our gratitude fully.
Marvin grimaced. “I made my choice all those years ago when I first dissociated myself with the criminal scene. Since God, I have no need to commit those acts of sin. I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I’ve been lied to, but God must have a reason for this life lesson.” His spirituality had returned, unbruised in comparison to the rest of him. “No one but Him is trustworthy. Not even my own brother.”
“What reason would he have for faking his death and taking the new ransom?” I hated to be the insensitive one by nudging the conversation back on track. We had to keep in mind that both Jerry and Sarah were still out there. Time wasn’t our friend, and too much of it had already been wasted here. If we planned to catch Jerry in the act, we had to move quicker than this rate. “Did he mention anything odd before going off the radar a month ago?”
“I’m not sure.” Marvin sounded just as clueless as we, composing himself. “Jerry would speak about living in paradise, just another one of his pipe dreams. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“And his new partner. Who was this woman of his?” McCall tried.
“I don’t know. It was a big secret, and I learned never to question Jerry if he wanted to keep something private. One thing he did tell me, he said the relationship wasn’t right and that it would be deemed inappropriate if anyone found out. He also said that he was in love with her,” Marvin finished.
“And?” DCI Harvey said. “That’s normal in a relationship. There isn’t much point in having a partner otherwise.”
Marvin licked his lips. “Well, that was serious for Jerry. He’d never been in love before. I don’t doubt that he’d do anything to keep it.”
“You reckon that’s what the 20,000 pounds were for?” I asked. “To give Jerry and his partner a new life in secret?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. Clearly, he wasn’t even telling me the truth. He changed when I dropped out of the field and became secretive in a way he’d never been with me before. He was deceitful and rash. Jerry thought he deserved better than the life we were given,” Marvin, with his downcast expression and masculine features, spoke bitterly at the memory.
The lawyer stood up decisively, wiping the sweat that accumulated on the connecting wire bridge of his glasses. Small red marks were indented on either side of his nose from where the plastic nibs had dug in sharply.
“I think we’re done here. My client has told you everything he knows, and there’s nothing that incriminates him.” A sense of victory became the distinctive man, a look that didn’t suit him. “Unless you’re going to keep him here uncharged for a prolonged period of time, we’re free to leave. He’s had a shock and deserves some time to himself. Come on, Marvin.” When the solicitor waved a porky hand in a come hither motion, the converted Christian retreated unsurely after his legal representation.
We didn’t try to stop them. As the lawyer had already mentioned, the charges had been dropped. We’d make fools of ourselves in front of Marvin Clark twice.
Sighing in defeat, we watched the two men walk out of the room, the door closing behind them with a bang. We instinctively jumped at the loud noise.
“Interview terminated, I guess,” DCI Harvey dryly switched the recording off for good. “That was a train wreck.”
“That was a tram, plane,
and car wreck all at once,” McCall corrected.
As we wallowed in an ego dented pity, that stink of insulted pride and damaged hubris, McCall’s work-issued phone pinged.
Ever the nosey bugger, I couldn’t help but ask. “Important?”
“Mm. Rebecca’s gotten a reply from one of the local takeaways. It’s called Spice of India.”
“Great, I’m starving,” DCI Harvey said. “My husband used to order from there when we moved here. For quite a grotty exterior, boy, is their food delicious. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. That’s what I always say.”
“That’s for another occasion. Apparently, they’ve recognised the photograph the constables sent round of Jerry and said they’d be more than happy to help our inquiry.” McCall shuffled excitedly in her seat. “After that interview, I’ll take anything that comes our way.”
DCI Harvey gave a thumbs up. “That’s great. Would you two be alright heading down there now whilst I work with the team from here? Delegation, you see. I know it’s exhausting work--”
Anything beat sitting at a computer screen and going out to trail a lead was always a rare occasion. We all fought to do these excursions, and I wouldn’t let this one slip out of our fingers that easily. The constables would soon swoop in there and get all the excitement if I let that happen.
“We’d be more than willing. I said before that I’d like to check the place out,” I answered on our behalf. “I haven’t been outside in ages, and I’m going stir crazy sitting here.”
21
Via a road atop the underpass, an adjoining gravelled street travelled towards our destination. Although we’d only been in the Volvo for a matter of minutes, I’d fallen into a gentle nap, lulled by the swaying and turning motions of the car. Reminiscent of a baby who couldn’t hold their own head up straight, I kept hitting my own forehead on the window. McCall snorted each time I woke myself up by doing so. With fresh air blasting in through the cracked open windows, McCall tried every tactic possible to prevent from falling asleep too.
The advice, ‘Don’t drive tired,’ clearly didn’t apply to her. Switching our radio over from the crooning lullabies of Dean Martin, some completely alternative, new wave songs blasted onto the tinned speakers. What the stations apparently deemed as music these days was positively awful.
“Sorry. If those slow songs stayed on, I’d veer into the trees,” McCall apologised. I had a feeling the apology was simply for appearances. She didn’t really care that my musical taste sucked. All in her opinion, of course. Personally, I thought my taste reigned superior.
Slow changing scenery of tucked away pubs or fish bars for the tourists made a change from the dreary atmosphere of the office. Being out in the sunlight made us peaceful again, a chance to escape from the sometimes tense and frustrating air that filled the station. There, everything revolved around schedules and phone calls or people wondering whether we’d received their passive-aggressive emails. Out here, there were clouds and clear skies.
“Where did you disappear off to last night, huh?” McCall randomly brought up. “Whilst we were slaving away, you were having drinks in the superior’s office. Where have I seen this before?” She pretended to think long and hard.
Listening to the bursts of ticks that were triggered by the indicator, I sneered. “It wasn’t like that. Strictly business.”
“Oh yeah?” McCall exaggerated in jest. “What sort of business?”
“You already know.”
“Huh?” Acting like she hadn’t heard, McCall kept her gaze firmly on the winding streets ahead of us, loaded with weekend visitors. Judging by the flush decorating her slightly chubby cheeks, my intuition was confirmed.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to pretend. I know that it was you who suggested that I see a counsellor.” Rather than going in-depth about last night’s revelation, I stayed silent.
Sweeping the Volvo around a narrow corner, McCall spoke. “Did DCI Harvey tell you?”
“No,” I told the truth. “Not directly, but I guessed.”
“Ah.”
“McCall?” I stared at the grubby floor mats that neither of us had yet bothered to clean.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Her shoulders drooped in silent relief. Soaking in the roaring engine and newfound peacefulness, all of our slightly awkward energy from the past tricky few months dissipated, replaced with the old mutual tenderness and affection.
Things almost felt normal again.
The Spice of India takeaway smelled like we’d died and gone to heaven. Its mixed aromas and tandoori spice weren’t easily refused, and no longer could we disguise our rumbling stomachs. Although the place didn’t open until evening, a few of their staff had opened up shop purely for our benefit.
They were eager to please too. At one flash of our badges, they were kindly offering pilau rice and bhunas out of their ears. Nobody here seemed to care that it hadn’t long passed early in the afternoon. Anyone looking in would think we were investigating them, and they were trying to sweet talk us in a language they fully understood; food. Who were we to refuse their peace offering?
Already tucking into her mild korma, McCall stood front and centre, conversing politely with the chatty servers. They were happy just to have people enjoying their food.
In hindsight, their spiciest lamb dish wasn’t the proudest choice I’d made, and I had to spend a short while begging for a pint of water or a smidgen of cow's milk. Somebody came up trumps with a carton, and they watched me down it like we were at some kind of freak show. No doubt they’d have a good old laugh later at the detective with eyes bigger than his stomach and low tolerance to spice. When at home, I could handle the heat perfectly fine. The crowd had thrown my tastebuds off, I said to excuse myself.
“Sorry about my colleague,” McCall said in disbelief. “Were you the guy who replied to our email?” She stared directly at a trimmed man, complete with an overgrown, greying beard that Tony’s didn’t even compete with. He’d been the one to welcome us and had lingered like a bad smell since our arrival.
“That’s me,” he bowed. I wasn’t sure whether we were supposed to do the same, so I followed McCall’s lead. Sticking with her usually worked. I could use her as a human shield if my sharp tongue offended anyone. “The man you were asking for, he came in here a few days ago.”
“And he looked like the photograph we sent you?” I didn’t want this venture to be yet another waste of our valuable time. Though come to think of it, we did get a full meal for free, so perhaps it wasn’t wasted at all.
The bearded server did the half-bow again. “Exactly like it.” His pals were cleaning down their equipment and cookers in the industrial style kitchen and barely listened to us. “We have cameras to show you.” He pointed out one which was currently recording us all, and I made a mental note to ignore my meltdown over the spice if we saw it.
“Great.” McCall spotted their computer and started to subconsciously head towards it whilst scraping the barrel of her foil container. “Can we take a look through the footage?”
“Be our guest,” the bearded man assured. I had a weird image of them doing a dance routine like the musicals, takeaway boxes in hand and comical flourishes on the countertops to the song with the same title. “Here, I’ll show you.”
“Thanks,” we muttered and waited patiently for the computer to boot up.
A few passers-by peered into the windows, surprised the takeaway was serving at this time of day. A few of those tried to walk in but were soon turned away by the servers. It was a shame, really. The lunchtime trade needed a takeaway open at these kinds of hours. The entirety of our station would be popping in on our breaks if they did so.
“Ah, here,” the server rejoiced when the prudent piece of tech finally showed some whirring signs of life. “He came here about… four nights ago. Wait.”
For once, we did as we were told. After all, these men had kept us full and fulfilled. Plus, we weren't in the m
ood nor state of mind to answer back. The bearded server located the correct date for us to comb through. He stayed in the middle of us, creating an odd sandwich of sorts, and forwarded their security footage to later on in that specific evening. Frantically trying to play the recording at the correct timing resulted in a few attempts of fast-forwarding and rewinds until, finally, our cheery server had the right place, and we were able to conduct our research.
“There he is!” McCall pointed out the familiar burly frame of Jerry Clark bursting into this very restaurant at dusk four days ago. Nearly knocking their chiming bell off the doorframe in all his vigour, Jerry barely risked a glance upwards. “He’s trying to avoid the cameras again. Clearly, he doesn’t know we’ve sent his photograph around the bay. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have risked leaving the residence at all. Especially not for a trivial thing such as a takeaway.”
“Criminals make mistakes. That’s what works in our favour. It’s probably become second nature to Jerry Clark,” I guessed, having to bend forwards and look past the server between us to talk directly to my partner. “Faking your own death probably includes a lot of hiding and avoidance of cameras.”
“He’s wearing the same cap as before from the CCTV John found in the car park,” McCall noted. “He looks practically the same from behind in both recordings. He must've left Sarah at the place in which they’re hiding out.”
On the footage, Jerry spoke to our same server hurriedly and leaned over the countertop to point towards the steaming food in the kitchens. Even from the recording, Jerry didn’t come across as a very patient man.
“Is the man a regular here?” I said towards the bearded server, who nodded proudly and puffed his slim chest outwards at their returning trade. “Can you remember what he ordered on that night? Was it different from his usual?”
Scrunching his large and defining features in contemplation, probably listing off all the orders he’d taken in the past weeks in his head, the server came to a conclusion.
Abduction in Dalgety Bay Page 18
