‘My client appears to be deaf mute or mentally challenged,’ the lawyer interrupted, ‘which makes any attempt to interview him inappropriate as well as a waste of time for everyone concerned. It is my considered opinion that he needs a psychiatric assessment, not legal representation.’
‘And it’s my opinion that he’s either spaced out on drugs or else he’s putting up a good show of being off his face. We’ll adjourn this interview to allow your client time to sleep it off. After that we expect him to stop messing about, and start talking.’
In the absence of any further information, there was little point in pressing on. They agreed to take a two-hour break while the suspect was returned to his cell. He was led away, still silent. Geraldine followed the custody officer and watched the suspect shuffle into his cell and sit down on the hard narrow bunk. He didn’t protest as the door clanged closed behind him. Observing through the peephole, Geraldine saw him lie down and close his eyes.
‘It’s just a matter of time now,’ Adam was saying when she returned to the incident room. He glanced up as she entered. ‘We’ve got nothing on him yet,’ he told her.
It was frustrating that the suspect had been carrying no form of identification when he had been picked up. Going through his pockets they had found a handful of coloured elastic bands, a packet of chewing gum, a penny, a broken biro, and a single button that didn’t match any of his clothes. Without money, credit card or Oyster card, or even a bus ticket, it was impossible to guess where he had come from. He was unlikely to have been mugged, given that he was armed; he didn’t look as though he had been sleeping rough, and he appeared to be well fed.
‘There’s definitely something wrong with him,’ Geraldine said.
‘Like he kills people,’ Adam replied. ‘We need to get him to talk.’
Geraldine didn’t respond but she was inclined to agree with the lawyer that the suspect was suffering from mental problems of some sort, and was perhaps deaf as well.
‘It’s odd that he doesn’t seem frightened,’ she said.
‘He’s too high to know where he is or what’s going on,’ Adam replied.
A team was watching CCTV footage taken near both murder scenes, searching for a sighting of the suspect. His prints and DNA had been sent to the forensic laboratory where they were hunting for evidence that he had been in contact with either or both of the murder victims. There was nothing more for them to do now but wait for the results. There wasn’t enough time for her to visit the hospital, so Geraldine returned to her desk to reread some of the statements they had received. The atmosphere of elation that had greeted the arrest had faded. The case continued to frustrate them. To begin with they had arrested the wrong man. Now their second suspect was proving awkward. There was nothing to suggest he could be innocent, but unless he spoke it might be difficult to establish the truth. Lies were easier to confound than silence. They had nothing to work with. All they had was the gun, and that might not be enough to secure a conviction.
Two hours later they reconvened. According to the custody sergeant, the suspect had slept peacefully on his bunk throughout the break. He looked dazed, as though he had just woken up, and sat yawning while Geraldine initiated their second interview.
Geraldine leaned forward. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked softly. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. Just talk to me. You can trust me. What is your name?’
The suspect’s pinched face broke into a grin and he nodded his head. ‘Theo,’ he said, in a curiously high-pitched voice.
‘Theo what?’
He grinned. ‘Theo what?’ he echoed.
Geraldine held his gaze. ‘Where do you live, Theo?’
‘Where do you live, Theo?’ he repeated, parrot fashion, imitating her intonation perfectly. On his lips the mimicry sounded weird rather than impudent, as though he was incapable of producing words of his own.
‘Oh Jesus,’ Adam muttered impatiently.
‘Do you live with your mother?’
The suspect nodded his head and his curly hair bobbed up and down. Geraldine wasn’t sure if he meant anything by it.
‘What is your mother’s name?’
‘Mum, mum,’ he intoned anxiously.
‘You live with your mother. What’s her name?’
Theo dropped his gaze and began singing quietly to himself, as though the conversation was over. ‘Around around de garden, around around around around.’
‘What is this?’ Adam burst out. ‘Stop singing and answer the questions.’
The lawyer interrupted. ‘I must insist my client be accompanied by an appropriate adult before he continues with this interview, and that his parents or legal guardians are informed. We don’t know how old he is, and his mental capacity hasn’t been assessed. I insist we stop this now.’
‘We’re trying to find out who’s responsible for him,’ Adam snapped. ‘Has it escaped your notice that we have absolutely no idea who he is? We don’t know where he comes from, and we don’t know who’s responsible for him. Someone’s been taking care of him so let’s start by checking the mental institutions.’
‘We have a first name,’ Geraldine pointed out. ‘That gives us something to work on.’
‘He’s like a child,’ the lawyer said. ‘He doesn’t seem to understand anything. He can’t make any decisions or give instructions, and I can’t be expected to take responsibility.’
Geraldine thought about her niece who had been trained to trot out her name and address from a very early age. She turned back to Theo.
‘Where do you live? Tell me your name and address.’
‘Theo Bates George Berkeley House St Pancras Way Camden London England,’ he replied promptly.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us that in the first place?’ Adam burst out. Sounding exasperated, nevertheless he was smiling.
44
GERALDINE AND ADAM drove straight to George Berkeley House, a large council estate on St Pancras Way in Camden, near Central London. On the way, Adam told Geraldine what he knew about the estate. All sorts of criminal activities were rumoured to take place there, mainly involving hard drugs and gang warfare. The two problems were closely interrelated. Although the police had been summoned on more than one occasion to investigate reports of gun crimes, no one living on the estate had been convicted of any such offence. There had been many busts over the years, but now the police largely left the place alone.
‘It’s a question of containment,’ Adam explained. ‘As long as they keep their problems behind closed doors, the drug squad just keep an eye on the place; keep things under control as far as possible.’
When Geraldine expressed her indignation at his resignation, he laughed.
‘Don’t be naive. This isn’t the Home Counties. You’re in London now. It would take more resources than we can ever hope to throw at the place to clean it up completely, and then the problem would only move elsewhere. At least we know where they are and can keep on top of things.’
‘But are we keeping on top of it?’
He shrugged again. ‘Speak to the drug squad.’
‘But –’
‘Let’s focus on what we’ve come here to do. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than is necessary.’
They drew up outside an ugly concrete building constructed on seven floors, all identical, with narrow windows in its dirty grey walls.
‘I can see why you don’t want to stay here long,’ Geraldine said. ‘It’s not the sort of place you want to hang around.’
‘I wasn’t referring to the place. I was talking about the occupants.’
No one answered the door at the first couple of flats they tried. At the third one, a very old woman opened the door on the chain.
‘Pigs,’ she spat and closed the door again.
Adam and Geraldine exchanged a glance, wondering how the woman had been able to identify them without even seeing them properly.
‘Do we smell different or something?’ Geraldine muttered.
/>
‘More likely we’re different because we don’t smell,’ he replied. ‘Come on.’
The next door was opened by an old man who scowled up at them.
‘What? Theo? The nutter what lives upstairs?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. Can you tell us where he lives?’
‘Upstairs,’ he repeated and slammed the door in their faces.
Everyone seemed to know Theo the nutter. Finally a young girl told them he lived at number sixty-seven, on the sixth floor. The metal lift stank of urine. By the time they stepped out on to the gangway on the sixth floor, Geraldine felt sick.
‘I’m glad we didn’t get stuck in there,’ she said, inhaling deeply.
She followed Adam past a row of dirty front doors, stopping at number sixty-seven.
‘Here we are,’ he said, and knocked.
A woman opened the door.
‘Where you been –?’ she burst out and stopped in mid-sentence, seeing Adam and Geraldine.
She made to close the door but Adam stepped over the threshold.
‘Does Theo live here?’ he asked.
‘What? Ain’t none of your business. Get off out of it.’
‘We need to talk to you, Mrs Bates,’ Geraldine interrupted quickly.
‘Who you calling Mrs Bates?’
‘I’m sorry, I thought that was your name.’
‘You ain’t got no business thinking about my name. Ain’t nothing to you. Now piss off. You got no right poking your noses in here.’
‘Don’t you want to know where Theo is?’ Geraldine asked her.
The woman hesitated. She was thin and scraggy, with a sallow complexion, and would have been quite pretty if her face hadn’t been all out of proportion. Emphasised by her greasy hair being tied back in a rubber band, her high forehead dwarfed her small nose, tiny mouth and pointed chin.
Her cheeks suddenly flushed red. ‘What you done with my Theo?’ she demanded. ‘Where is he?’
She glanced up and down the walkway as though expecting to see him.
‘I think you’d better come with us,’ Geraldine said gently.
‘Did someone hurt Theo? Oh my God, if anyone hurt my kid, I swear, I’ll kill him.’
‘Mrs Bates, or whatever you call yourself, we want you to come with us right now,’ Adam barked suddenly. ‘We need to get moving.’
‘What’s your hurry?’ she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back against the door frame, sensing she might somehow have the advantage. ‘I ain’t in no hurry.’
‘If you want to see Theo again, you need to come with us right now,’ he said and turned away.
‘Wait!’ she cried out, alarmed. ‘I’m coming. I never said I wasn’t coming. Just wait while I get my coat, will you?’
She disappeared into the flat to re-emerge a moment later clutching a large brown handbag and a dirty pink mac. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming. Where we going anyway? What happened to my Theo?’ She pulled on her mac.
On the way down, Geraldine explained that Theo was being looked after at a police station after he had been picked up in possession of a hand gun. She refrained from adding that Theo was a suspect in a murder enquiry.
‘Is Theo your son?’
In the lift, the sallow-faced woman told them her name was Rosa. Theo was her son who lived with her. When they had Rosa safely in the car, Geraldine explained that they were having difficulty persuading Theo to answer their questions.
‘He doesn’t seem to be frightened, but we’re not quite sure how well he can hear us, and how much he understands of what he does hear.’
Rosa nodded without speaking. They drove for a few moments in silence before Geraldine tried again.
‘We haven’t been able to persuade Theo to cooperate with us. If this continues, we will need to recommend him for a psychiatric assessment. Does he suffer from any medical disabilities? Is he on any medication?’
‘You leave my boy alone!’ Rosa snapped.
She seemed insanely defensive about her son, but at least they had a responsible adult to sit in on his interview.
‘We need the name of Theo’s doctor,’ Geraldine added.
‘We don’t need no doctor. I take care of him,’ Rosa said fiercely.
‘I see.’ Geraldine sighed.
Theo’s situation was even sadder than she had realised. Although the young man clearly needed some kind of treatment or support, it appeared his mother wasn’t prepared to allow him access to medical attention.
‘Is he under any medical supervision at all?’ she asked.
‘We don’t need no doctor interfering with him,’ Rosa repeated. ‘I can take care of my son. You leave him alone. Ain’t no one taking him away from me.’
‘We’re not trying to take your son away from you,’ Geraldine reassured her. In the mirror she saw Adam raise his eyebrows at her statement, but he didn’t contradict her.
The justice system would take Theo away from his mother and place him in care; whether in a secure mental institution or a prison cell was for the courts to decide. Either way, his mother wouldn’t be taking him home with her. Geraldine stared straight ahead and didn’t say any more. Rosa was guilty of letting her son roam freely in the community, posing a danger to himself and others. What had happened had been inevitable. Rosa’s misguided motives had led to the deaths of two innocent victims and the incarceration of the son whose liberty she had been so desperate to protect. Despite her evident distress, Geraldine felt little sympathy for her.
45
LENNY SETTLED IN again, like he had never been away. Glued to the football on the telly, he didn’t look up when she entered the living room.
‘Get us a beer.’
‘I ain’t your skivvy,’ she grumbled, but he ignored her.
Muttering under her breath she went to the kitchen. The fridge was empty.
‘We ain’t got no beers,’ she told him, sitting down.
‘Go get some,’ he replied, without taking his eyes off the game.
‘Go yourself.’
‘That’s a bloody nice welcome home, after all I been through, can’t even get a beer. Fucking hell. Might as well still be banged up.’
‘You got me.’
Someone scored a goal and he yelled in chorus with the supporters on the screen. ‘Get in there!’ He turned to her. ‘Go get us some beers.’
‘I ain’t got no cash.’
‘Get it on the card.’
‘I got no credit.’
‘Fucking hell.’ He reached into his pocket and fished around, finally pulling out a twenty quid note. ‘Here. Get us some fags an’ all.’
She took the money. ‘Where you get this?’
‘Mind your own fucking business. Now for fuck’s sake go and get us a beer. The bloody game’ll be over before you move your lazy arse.’
Hiding her anger, Gina hurried off to the corner shop. The more aggrieved she felt, the more determined she was to get what was hers. There was no point running off with nothing. Lenny had given her a ring that could be worth thousands of quid. Impatient to get away from him, she wasn’t leaving without it. That ring could set her up nicely. If he would only tell her where he had taken it, she would go and get it herself, but he was keeping his cards close to his chest. If she tried to wheedle it out of him, he only clammed up and snapped at her to mind her own fucking business.
‘It is my business,’ she had protested. ‘You give it me. It’s mine. I only want what’s mine.’
‘It’s yours when I say and not before.’
He wasn’t even grateful when she got back with his booze and fags. ‘About bloody time. It’s nearly half-time, you dozy bitch. I been watching without a beer or a smoke.’
By the time the game ended he was pissed. She laughed at him for slurring his words.
‘Don’t take much to get you wrecked.’
‘You try being inside for months. Shame no one bangs you up, it might shut your fucking face. Give me some peace for a while.’
Shak
ing with sudden rage he jumped up and swung his fist at her, but she wasn’t smashed and easily dodged out of his way.
‘Get over here.’
‘What? So you can hit me?’
‘I’ll teach you, fucking bitch.’
He made another attempt and lost his balance. This time, one of his flailing arms whacked her on the side of her head, knocking her off her feet. She yelled in alarm. Luckily she landed on the sofa where she lay still for a moment, stunned.
‘Get up, I’ll teach you!’ he bellowed.
For a second she thought about staying where she was, not moving a muscle. With luck he would think he had really hurt her. But she was afraid he was too far gone to worry about that, and if she didn’t move out of the way fast, she would be an easy target. With a screech she flung herself off the sofa and made a dash for the door. She wasn’t fast enough. He got between her and the door and stood, fists raised, poised to hit her. Terrified, she began to cry real tears
‘Don’t hurt me, Lenny, don’t hurt me no more. You really hurt my head.’ She put one hand to the side of her head and winced. ‘It’s gonna be a real big bruise there. Don’t hurt me no more. How about I roll you a joint and we have a smoke? I ain’t nothing but a friend to you, Lenny. Didn’t I come to see you every week all the time you was inside?’
Wisely she held back from adding that Cynthia hadn’t been to visit him in the nick once. Best not to risk antagonising him. He could be touchy about his mother. To her relief, he dropped his hands and his shoulders drooped.
‘I dunno what gets into me,’ he muttered. ‘You ain’t a bad girl. Come here.’
Trembling, she approached and he put his arms round her and pulled her very close, whispering in her ear.
‘I know it don’t mean nothing,’ she said. ‘Let’s have that smoke.’
‘You’re a saint, what you put up with,’ he said. ‘I dunno why you stay with me. A girl like you ought to find yourself a decent bloke, someone what’ll take care of you and not give you hell and get banged up. You deserve better than what I can give you, baby.’
There wasn’t going to be a better time.
‘What you talking about? You’re good to me. You give me that lovely ring.’ She kissed him on his slobbery lips. ‘What you done with it, Lenny? When you giving it to me? It’s mine, because you give it to me, and you got no right taking it off me again like you don’t want me to have it after all, like you decided to give my ring away to someone else.’ She bit her lip, aware it would be dangerous to bring his mother into it. ‘It’s like you said, Lenny, I been good to you, ain’t I? I deserve to get my ring back, don’t I?’
Murder Ring (A DI Geraldine Steel Mystery) Page 17
