Devil in the Detail

by A. J. Cross

  ‘Hey, Sarge!’

  ‘Morning, Judd.’ Looking up at her, he half-rose. ‘What the bloody hell is that?’

  Judd ran her hand through spikey, blonde hair, several of its spikes tipped dark blue, others eye-searing pink. ‘Like it? … Yeah, right, you don’t like it.’ She sat opposite him. ‘The Bro ordered me back today, and am I glad! We had three brilliant days on interview techniques, plus role play and then it was hashtag terminal boredom. I was ready to slit a wrist or acquire a disease!’

  ‘Has Brophy seen it?’

  She ran a hand through her hair again. ‘This? Yep, just now. He went on about my “responsibility to the job”. Surprised you didn’t hear him. He went ape—’

  ‘You choose your moments!’

  ‘Take it easy, Sarge. It’s temporary.’ She watched him head for the refreshment centre. ‘Great, I’m gasping. Three sugars for me.’

  He turned to her, coffee jar in hand. ‘I’ve got enough on, without you turning up looking like your head’s exploding.’

  ‘I heard it on the radio.’ She waited. ‘Can I be on it?’

  Bringing coffee to the table, he put one in front of her, sat opposite, keeping his voice low. ‘You and me need to get some basics re-established. It’s Superintendent Brophy. I’m your senior officer, I’m knackered after working most of the night and I can do without your rattle.’ He watched her dig around in her bag, ‘Just … dial down the volume. Better still, stop with the gabbing altogether while I get my head straight for a meeting with him.’

  She put a finger to her lips, the other hand holding out a small box. He sighed, took it, extracted two paracetamols. She nodded to the machine in front of him, brows raised.

  Index finger poised, he said, ‘Listen. Say nothing.’

  He activated the recording. The words of the ambulance call-taker came again, followed by those of the victim, weighted with fear and pain. He watched her face change as the recording ran on. It ended with a sharp click.

  She looked up at him. ‘Word upstairs is it’s a carjacking turned bad.’

  ‘That’s one possible theory.’

  ‘What are the others?’

  ‘There aren’t any yet.’

  She pointed to the machine. ‘More than one victim?’

  ‘Yes. Her name’s Molly Lawrence. The male in the car is her husband.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Hospital.’ He looked at her. ‘You’ve attended some carjackings.’ He nodded to the recording. ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘From what I’ve seen, they vary, like the one that happened a day or so ago, or the drivers are dragged out of their cars and the vehicles taken, but this … It’s way different.’

  ‘It is. Both of them were shot.’

  ‘Shot?’ She stared at him. ‘If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were having me on.’

  ‘Wish I was. Brophy wants the investigation kept non-emotive.’

  ‘Yeah? I want to be five-eight. Something else that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Here.’ He pushed his written notes towards her, pointed. ‘That’s everything I know so far from observing the scene, the actual vehicle and talking to SOCOs and the forensic team. Read it, ASAP.’

  She took the notes. ‘So, where’s the scene, exactly?’

  ‘Forge Street. On the fringes of the inner city, not far from the Bristol Road intersection. It’s a scruffy brick-and-asphalt hellhole, part of the city the planners developed amnesia for over a lot of years.’

  ‘Off the beaten track, then?’

  ‘More a case of separated by neglect rather than distance. Jones, Kumar and I were there, first with paramedics, then with SOCOs and forensics.’ He took a gulp of coffee. ‘The good thing is there’s a bullet, a bullet casing and a watch—’

  ‘A watch?’

  ‘The motive looks to be robbery. It probably belonged to one of the victims. It’s all in what I just gave you, plus all other known details so far.’

  She nodded, watched him stand, hitch his trousers. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Upstairs to have a word with Jones and Kumar who should be back from the scene by now, then to Brophy to make a few demands, none of which he’ll like. After that, I’ll be in the squad room to talk to officers up there, you included.’

  Having gained nothing from Jones and Kumar which he didn’t already know, Watts was now in Brophy’s office being stared at across the desk.

  ‘If you’re planning to drop those six November carjackings I gave you, think again. They and the attack on this couple have “similar transaction” written all over them.’

  ‘I see what—’

  ‘I want your investigative plan.’ Brophy sat, pen poised, eyes fixed on Watts.

  Here goes, thought Watts. Now for the fracas. ‘I want the Lawrence shootings designated a category-A inquiry.’

  Brophy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Reason?’

  ‘A double-shooting of two people, one of them male, moves the shooter straight to the high-risk category. My thinking is that he’s an impulsive, antisocial type and he’s out there, free to do it again. I want the squad room as the major incident room.’

  Brophy nodded. ‘If that’s it—’

  ‘No. We’ll be using HOLMES so we need more terminals.’ Seeing Brophy frown, he added, ‘Home Office Large Major Enquiry Sys—’

  ‘I know what it means.’ Brophy drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Just a minute.’ He opened a drawer, took out a file and rummaged through it. ‘We sent half a dozen computers over to North Birmingham three months ago for use in that kidnap case which is now finished. I’ll have them sent back immediately. How many can you get by on?’

  Watts met Brophy’s eyes. Having anticipated resistance to all he was now demanding, he realized how rattled Brophy was. ‘Six, minimum, plus we’ll need more space. I want the double doors to the room next door to the squad room opened up.’

  Brophy’s lips almost disappeared. ‘That’s the formal function room!’ Watts’ eyes stayed on him. Brophy sighed. ‘That it?’

  ‘Going back to HOLMES, sir. I’ve asked Sergeant Miller to take a major role in its operation. She’s agreed.’

  ‘Is she any good?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Watts, swallowing his immediate response that Miller was bloody useless, which was why he’d selected her. Almost eighteen months since Brophy had arrived at headquarters and he knew the value of hardly any of the officers there. At least when Gander was the chief, he knew his personnel. ‘Miller’s got a mind like a steel trap for detail. PC Judd’s got a nose for details linkage. I want both of them evaluating leads. The rest of the time, Judd will be with me as part of the direct investigation. I need every available officer on this.’

  Brophy was looking increasingly harassed. ‘My understanding is that the scene of the attack is small and contained.’

  ‘Yes and no. The actual attack occurred in a small area but the scene itself extends once we factor in how the attacker arrived there.’

  ‘A vehicle, is my guess.’

  ‘No forensic indication of that so far. Unfortunately, there’s no CCTV in the immediate area.’

  Brophy sighed, shook his head. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. I want Judd to maintain the decision-making record for the investigation. She did it for the investigation last summer. Her memory is first class.’

  The corners of Brophy’s mouth headed south. ‘Before we know it, PC Judd will be managing this whole investigation single-handed.’ He looked across at Watts. ‘I saw her earlier. She needs a tight rein. She needs to know her place.’

  ‘Sir.’

  If Watts knew of one attribute which Judd lacked, it was a sense of place. ‘Finally, sir, I want four officers on Intelligence, looking for possible new avenues of inquiry as the investigation gets underway. I’ve given Jones and Kumar a heads-up on that.’

  ‘Why four?’

  ‘The other two officers will also be searching for potential angles via victimo
logy re the Lawrences, their families, their social contacts.’

  Brophy looked up at him. ‘Why? These shootings are a clear case of attack by stranger.’

  ‘Yes, but we need to start out flexible.’

  Brophy tapped his notes. ‘I’ll be discussing this with the chief constable so I need to know what I’m talking about here.’

  Fat chance, thought Watts. ‘What I’ve seen so far suggests armed carjacking. I’ll order an historical case search, which could turn up something, but we still keep the victimology angle in mind.’

  Leaving Brophy’s office, Watts went to the squad room. It was now crowded with officers, the talk full of the two shootings. It quietened as he came inside. He looked at each of them.

  ‘We’re getting all we need for a category A inquiry.’

  Amid hoots, shoulder punches and high fives, he pointed across the room. ‘Open those doors. Move six tables into that room. We’re expecting more hardware.’ He searched for Judd, almost missed her. The pink and blue had gone. Her hair looked damp. He raised his hand.

  ‘With me.’

  They went downstairs, passing a fresh-faced young constable on his way up. Watts turned to him. ‘Got a job for you.’

  The constable straightened, pushed back his shoulders.

  ‘Easy lad. I want you to search all carjacking cases in this city which featured a gun during the last decade. Got that?’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Include replica weapons. Whatever you find, get down to the basement, pull out the files and take them to my office.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Watching the ramrod youth continue upwards, Watts was reminded of something he’d become increasingly aware of during recent months. Anybody under twenty-five made him feel tired. ‘He’s new. What’s his name?’

  ‘Reynolds.’

  ‘I hope he’s as keen as he looks.’

  He detoured to the reception desk and the civilian worker in sole charge of it. ‘Candy, I’m off out with Judd. If anybody rings, wanting to talk to me, let me know. You’ve got my number.’ He tracked her gaze to where Judd was waiting. ‘Unless it’s the press. In which case, you know nothing. Got that?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned away.

  He headed from the building to his vehicle, Judd in tow. Inside, he started the engine, looked at the sheets of paper she was holding out to him, recognizing his own handwriting. His notes on the scene from the previous evening. He took them from her.

  ‘That was quick reading.’ He frowned, pointed to large capital letters across the top. ‘What’s “TLDR”?’

  ‘Too long didn’t read. Just tell me what you know, Sarge. If I’ve got questions, I can ask you.’

  Face set, he reversed and headed from the car park, giving her an overview of what he had from the crime scene. He was also reviewing what he had just told his other investigative officers. In truth, he didn’t yet have all that was needed for an upscale investigation. So far, Brophy had been unexpectedly amenable to his demands. Getting the one person he wanted onto this case could lead to a big fight.

  10.10 a.m.

  They were waiting close to the wide doors of the Intensive Care Unit, Watts having refused the family room, anticipating that members of the victims’ families would be inside, full of questions to which he had no answers. One of the unit’s doors opened. A nurse appeared. He and Judd stood.

  ‘Detective Inspector Watts? Dr Harrison, the trauma surgeon, has a five-minute window. Follow me, please.’

  They did, through the doors and across a quiet area to a small room off it. The woman inside it stood and offered her hand. Watts introduced himself and Judd.

  ‘I’m the senior investigating officer for the investigation into the shootings. I was present at the scene when both victims were removed from their vehicle and brought here by ambulance.’

  ‘Then you’re already aware how serious their situation is.’ Harrison glanced at her watch. ‘I apologize for having to rush this, but family members of both victims are waiting for me. I can confirm the victims’ names: Michael Lawrence and Molly Lawrence, a married couple. Mr Lawrence, twenty-seven years old, an interior designer; Molly Lawrence, twenty-three, a finance manager.’

  ‘How are they generally? When do you think we’ll be able to talk to them?’

  Harrison gave Watts an evaluative look. ‘You’ve just missed the neurosurgeon.’ She paused, then lowered her voice. ‘I regret to have to tell you that Mr Lawrence died thirty minutes ago. Mrs Lawrence remains sedated. She’s suffered extreme trauma.’ Watts stared at her, Molly Lawrence’s terrified voice in the emergency call starting up inside his head. He took a card from his top pocket, handed it to her.

  ‘When there’s some news, I’d appreciate a call to either of those numbers.’

  Harrison looked at it, then up at him. ‘In case I wasn’t clear when I referred to the trauma to Mrs Lawrence, in addition to being shot, there’s another issue. She was four months pregnant.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Now, I need to talk to the relatives.’

  Walking from the room with them, she kept her voice low. ‘Mrs Lawrence was a patient of this hospital in regard to her pregnancy. It’s my understanding that she attended here yesterday afternoon accompanied by her husband for a pre-natal check-up … She is, of course, no longer pregnant.’

  They watched her divert to a room on the other side of the ICU, picking up muffled voices and sobs as she opened the door and went inside. Watts and Judd continued on in silence along several long, shiny corridors. At the end of one, she pointed to a sign indicating the way to the pre- and post-natal departments.

  ‘Shall we talk to the people there about Mr and Mrs Lawrence?’

  ‘Not now. I want to see whoever’s in charge of security here to request CCTV footage from around the time of the Lawrences’ appointment yesterday, which I’m hoping includes their arrival and or departure from this site.’

  They headed to the ground floor. Watts went to the inquiry desk. After five minutes a security officer appeared, listened to Watts’ request, made a note of it. He would have relevant footage located and delivered to headquarters as a matter of urgency.

  They walked out into the damp December cold. ‘Tragic, isn’t it, Sarge?’

  ‘It is.’

  Gazing down from the hospital’s high vantage point at heavy traffic, phone to his ear, he said, ‘Adam, I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes to have a look at the physical evidence you’ve got.’

  Twenty minutes later, they approached headquarters. Judd pointed. ‘Look!’

  ‘Sod it!’

  He glared at the half a dozen heavily-clad, loitering figures around the entrance. ‘Zero eye contact, Judd.’

  ‘I know.’

  Barely slowing, he drove between the gates and parked close to the building’s entrance, ignoring shouts of his name. They went inside. Brophy was in reception looking edgy, his eyes on the gathering outside.

  ‘You’ve seen them?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Get out there now and tell them you’re SIO of the Lawrence investigation. Give them nothing else. No names. No details.’

  ‘I’ll be holding a press conference at some point, sir, but right now it might be best if you speak to them. Given the gravity of the case.’ His eyes drifted over Brophy’s uniform. ‘They like a bit of brass.’

  Having searched the words for slights and not locating any, Brophy tugged at his uniform jacket. ‘You’re right. I’ll keep it to one brief announcement.’ He eyed Watts. ‘With more to come soon.’

  Inside the forensics department on the third floor Watts and Judd pored over a report, Adam talking them through it.

  ‘There were no useful fingerprints on the outside of the car. Same story for footprints. The ground around the car was too damp, too rough. No usable shoe prints inside, but a lot of fingerprints, as you might expect. They’ll all be examined. It’s likely that most belong to the victims, but we might get lucky.’ He caught Watts’ look. ‘I know
. Always a dream of mine at this stage of an investigation.’

  ‘How often does your dream come true?’

  ‘Not as often as I’d like.’

  Adam reached his gloved hand inside a clear evidence bag, carefully removed the watch Watts had seen the previous night. He placed it on a small, round pad, where it sat, mired with dark red stains. ‘Citizen. Not high-end, but a good make and worth taking. Or so the Lawrences’ attacker must have thought, prior to dropping it and it landing just beneath the car. It belonged to the husband, Michael Lawrence.’

  Judd was frowning at it. ‘How can you be sure?’

  Adam reached for it, turned it over.

  She read aloud, ‘“To our darling son. Happy 21st. Mum and Dad.”’

  ‘We got nothing useful from the smudged partial on the face but we’re testing it for DNA. We don’t know what went down during the shootings, but it’s possible the gunman sustained an injury.’ He reached inside a shallow plastic container, brought out a small, lozenge-shaped item, flattened at one end. ‘The bullet recovered from the driver’s sun visor. No prints. Having seen the vehicle, I’d say it was fired from the rear seat, but that needs verification. When Dr Chong is back, I’ll be asking her to assist with that, just to be sure.’ He reached for another container. ‘This is the bullet casing found on the car’s rear floor. Again, no prints. Whoever shot this couple has some basic savvy.’

  Watts considered Adam’s information alongside what he himself knew of young impulsive, antisocial types. Forethought rarely coexisted with impulsivity. He couldn’t say never. ‘Is the bullet telling us anything about the gun?’

  ‘Not yet. We’ll be taking expert advice on that. There’s still a lot of work to do on the car, but that’s all we have, so far.’ He handed Watts a bulky manila envelope. ‘Forensic report, plus copies of all scene photos.’

  Back in Watts’ office, Judd went directly to the Smartboard, powered it up, took a red pen and began listing the forensic detail supplied by Adam. ‘When is Dr Chong back?’