Devil in the Detail

by A. J. Cross

  It was late by the time he came into his office and took out the notes he had made during his second meeting with Molly Lawrence. Reading through them, he saw how much more information she had provided than previously. They now had the reason why the Lawrences had stopped in Forge Street: the Toyota’s intermittent fault. They also now had a more detailed picture of their attacker: a large male, much of his face concealed, a deep, rough voice, poor personal hygiene. He read the words Molly had used to describe how she hid her watch and phone. Given the situation she and her husband were in at the time, it suggested Molly Lawrence to be a woman of considerable spirit. It could have gotten her killed. He hoped that that spirit was about to reassert itself and help them find the man who attacked them. He reached for the crime scene photographs, his eyes moving slowly over the Toyota’s interior. He looked up, his eyes fixed straight head. He was recalling a specific quality of her delivery, a certain hesitancy. A carefulness. Whether his impression was founded or not, Watts needed to know.

  SEVENTEEN

  Friday 14 December. 5.30 p.m.

  They were seated around the table, Judd next to Julian, their attention fixed on Traynor.

  ‘How did she do, this time?’ asked Watts.

  ‘Her defence mechanism is still distancing her from a lot of what happened that night, and she began with the same progression of events she’d indicated previously.’ He pointed to the information he had added to the Smartboard. ‘But now we know how the gunman happened to see their car. They had stopped because of car trouble.’

  Julian looked at him. ‘Is it possible he saw it parked while they were having dinner?’

  Judd searched papers, located a CCTV image, held it up. ‘This is the on-road parking where they left it but theirs wasn’t captured.’

  Julian took the image from her. ‘It’s possible somebody tampered with it while they were inside the restaurant. If that’s what happened, it probably wouldn’t have attracted undue attention, given the darkness and the heavy city traffic. When they leave, he follows.’

  Watts left the table and returned with the half-full cafetiere, his eyes on Traynor. ‘Molly Lawrence told you that when Mike Lawrence saw the gun, he raised his hands. That could have made the shooter jittery.’

  ‘That’s Molly’s perception of the situation,’ said Traynor. ‘It may not be a full or even an accurate explanation although, as you can see, she was very accurate in her description of the items stolen from them.’

  ‘She didn’t give any detail of the actual attack on her and her husband,’ said Julian.

  ‘No.’ Traynor paused again. ‘But you need to know that I noted a hesitant quality within her recall which makes me think she is purposefully avoiding certain aspects of the attack.’

  Watts looked at him. ‘Meaning what, exactly?’

  ‘My impression is that she was relatively willing to talk about parts of it, but not others. All I can say right now is that what happened to them that night was as terrifying as it was tragic. To have their safe space invaded in that place, in darkness, would have been shocking and intimidating.’

  ‘Where does that leave you? Us?’

  ‘Offering her more opportunity to talk about it.’

  Judd frowned at her notes. ‘What she’s said confirms that they did what they were told. They handed over their stuff.’

  ‘Mike Lawrence’s watch, yes, but Molly didn’t give hers to their attacker. She slipped it off into the pocket of her coat, along with her phone – the phone she used to make the emergency call. She hasn’t seen the watch since.’

  Judd raised her fist into the air. ‘Atta-girl. Let’s hear it for strong females.’ She turned to Julian. ‘You haven’t seen Molly Lawrence but she’s really small.’

  He looked at her. ‘Small doesn’t preclude strong, Chloe.’

  ‘She said she hid it because she was angry as well as frightened,’ said Traynor. ‘People can react unexpectedly and with spirit in such situations.’

  ‘In my experience, usually the ones who wind up dead,’ said Watts. ‘By doing what she did, she increased the danger to herself and her husband in an already high-risk situation.’

  Traynor looked at the remainder of his notes. ‘We still have no details about the actual shootings.’

  ‘Did she say anything else about the shooter?’

  ‘Nothing beyond what I’ve already reported. I’ll arrange to see her again.’

  ‘Was she very reluctant to give what she did?’ asked Julian.

  ‘Not particularly, beyond the reticence I mentioned, although she still hasn’t referred directly to her husband’s death or the ending of the pregnancy.’

  Watts frowned across the table. ‘What shall I say to Brophy when he starts complaining about delay?’

  ‘That he has to live with it if he wants detailed information without jeopardizing Molly Lawrence’s well-being.’

  Julian stood. ‘In your position, I’d be taking the same approach.’ He reached down for his backpack and opened it. ‘Chloe? I’ve brought some textbooks in. I thought you might find one or two of them useful.’

  She gazed at the books, then up at him. ‘For me?’

  ‘If you want them. Dr Traynor knows his theory, Bernard has his years of experience … I thought you might get something from these. They focus on different kinds of crime and the theories relating to them.’ His brow creased. ‘I hope you’re not offended by my offering them?’

  She quickly reached for the books. ‘No way. Thanks.’

  He lifted his backpack, then looked across at Watts. ‘I’ve got a couple of late lectures to give so I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And to Judd: ‘A few of us from upstairs are having a Christmas night out on Saturday. Come with us, Chloe. Jonesy has the details.’

  She watched him leave, giving her a friendly wave.

  Traynor stood. ‘I have post-grad tutorials in an hour.’ He gathered his notes together. ‘When I see Molly again, I’ll aim to clarify if her reticence is an indication that she’s holding something back.’

  ‘You’ve got no ideas on what it might be?’ asked Watts.

  ‘None.’

  ‘I need to see Molly Lawrence in the next few days. I still haven’t introduced myself to her as SIO.’

  Having given the indexes of Julian’s textbooks a thorough check, Judd slipped them into her bag, then looked up. ‘Julian’s left his jacket.’

  Watts glanced at her, then at the leather jacket hanging on the back of a chair. He shook his head. ‘He probably won’t miss it. Far as I can see, everybody under thirty goes around with next to nothing on. I’ll drop it off—’

  ‘No, I’ll take it on my way home.’

  He watched her grab her bag and coat, plus the jacket and head for the door and out. He shook his head. Since when was Judd’s bedsit between here and Edgbaston?

  Peering through darkness, Judd turned into the wide entrance and drove inside. She stopped the car and gazed at the building ahead. Clearly, it had once been some kind of country house, back when Edgbaston was countryside. Her gaze dropped to the wide entrance. All she had was this address. No way of getting inside. She shoved the car into gear, ready to go home. She would take the jacket back to headquarters in the morning and …

  She turned at sudden headlights, watched the car come into the parking area, recognizing Julian’s small Fiat. Getting out of her car, his jacket in her arms, she walked slowly towards him.

  ‘Chloe, hi!’ He grinned. He pointed at the jacket she was holding. ‘Oh, thanks for bringing it, but you shouldn’t have. I’ve got another.’

  She nodded. Of course, he had.

  ‘That’s OK. I didn’t know where to leave it.’

  ‘Come on.’

  She hesitated, followed him to the entrance and inside the wide hallway. He turned to her. ‘As and when you come again, Charlie here takes deliveries, buzzes visitors upstairs.’ She looked at Charlie smiling behind his desk, then followed Julian to the shiny metal doors of the lift. As and wh
en.

  The doors opened on the second floor. Everything she had seen so far breathed money. Julian unlocked his door. She followed him inside. What she saw was further evidence of it, the layout, the furnishing of the apartment, like nothing she had ever seen outside of a magazine.

  ‘Coffee, tea or something to take the edge off?’ Julian grinned at her. ‘Seriously, how about some tea?’

  She walked across to the wide windows, looked out at an expanse of trees. ‘Your dad doesn’t actually live here?’

  ‘No. He just owns it. Plus, two or three others in the same building.’

  There was nothing in his tone which suggested either pride or complacency. She turned from the view, thinking of her bedsit. She shouldn’t have come here. ‘I just remembered. I can’t stay, I need to go, get home. There’s things I have to do.’

  He looked at her, surprised. ‘No tea? OK, that’s one cup of coffee and now one tea we have to catch up on. I’ll walk you to your car.’

  She got into it, Julian’s ‘See you tomorrow night!’ in her ears and drove away, reminding herself that she was a professional person. Somebody with a future.

  All she felt was poor.

  9.30 p.m.

  Traynor was in his office at home, darkness excluded by a lowered blind. Hearing movement elsewhere in the house, he got up and headed for the kitchen. His daughter was there, her eyes fixed on her phone.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Please. Small juice for me.’

  He poured it, placed it in front of her, took a mug from a wall cabinet and spooned instant coffee, aware that he was under surveillance.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘I know it’s late, but I’ve got work to do, and my understanding of our situation here is that I’m the car-er, you are the cared-for.’

  She grinned. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ She reached for her glass, went to him, kissed his cheek, briefly laid her head against his shoulder. ‘Not too late, OK?’

  He followed her down the wide hallway, detoured to his office, closing the door, his priority always that she should never see the detail of what he brought here from his work. It took him several minutes to read through all he had from his two meetings with Molly Lawrence. He sat back, looked at his notes with a strong sense of dissatisfaction.

  He reached for his phone and rang Watts. ‘Does Molly Lawrence know that the gun has been recovered?’

  ‘Evening, Traynor,’ said Watts. ‘No. That’s still under wraps. I’ve arranged to see her on Monday to introduce myself. Want to be there?’

  Traynor neatened his papers and files. ‘It’s best we keep our roles separate. If you tell me how she is when you do see her, I’ll confirm a date to see her again.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Sunday 16 December. 12.05 a.m.

  Judd eyed the crowd of ‘Christmas-Works-Do’ revellers, feeling tired, wanting to leave the club. She wasn’t having a good time. Having earlier managed to shake off one of the male civilian workers who worked reception at the office, she had joined a group which included Julian. He had bought her a drink and they had chatted. He’d done most of the talking. She had felt inhibited. He had talked a bit about his lecturing job in Manchester and touched on the inquiry he was assisting up there. She’d listened avidly to what he’d had to say about it but had felt insecure without the trappings of headquarters around them. He’d asked her to dance. She’d refused, not knowing why. Except that she was an idiot.

  ‘Another of those?’

  She glanced up at the bartender and away. ‘No, thanks.’

  Looking across the crowd, she caught sight of Julian on the other side of the dance floor, laughing with Candace Jackson, another of the civilian workers from headquarters who earlier had edged between her and Julian. Jackson was shapely and styled herself ‘Candy’. Which told Judd all she needed to know about her. Judd reached for her glass, gazed over it to Candy squirming around Julian, who looked to be enjoying himself. She rolled her eyes. She had to be thirty. At least. She looked away from them, her attention caught by Reynolds’ overenthusiastic antics.

  ‘Hey, Chlo. Fancy a dance?’ She looked up at Jonesy, then away.

  ‘Not in the mood.’

  He looked from her to Julian and back. ‘Come on. We’ve all been working flat out. It’s time for a little R and R.’

  ‘I said no. I’m tired.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m going home soon.’

  He studied her. ‘OK. If you want a lift home, come and find me.’

  As he walked away her focus returned to Julian, now laughing with three officers. And Candy. She sighed, took a gulp of her drink.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She looked up, expecting to see someone she knew. It wasn’t, although she vaguely recalled seeing him during the evening. ‘I’m not dancing, thanks.’

  He took a drink from the bartender and handed over money. ‘Good. Neither am I. I’d rather talk. I’m Sean.’

  She told him her name, half-listened as he described his work for a computer company. Without disclosing the true nature of her own work, the talk between them began to flow. She was surprised when she next looked at her watch and saw that it was well after one a.m. She finished her drink, got down off the barstool, sending a glance across the club, not locating either Julian or Candy.

  ‘Thanks for the drink. I’m going.’

  ‘Where to?’

  She turned to him, her eyes slowly catching up with her head. ‘Look, it was nice chatting, but I’m getting a taxi.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m tired and it hasn’t been the greatest night.’

  He gently touched her arm. ‘I like strong coffee after a couple of drinks. Stay with me and we’ll both have some.’

  She hesitated. ‘If it’s quick.’

  He ordered the coffee and they talked some more. She watched him walk to the other end of the bar and return with two cups. ‘Here you go.’

  They sat and drank it, Judd anticipating he would start with the chat. He didn’t.

  ‘How’s that? Feeling better?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I was fine anyway, but—’

  ‘I’ve ordered a taxi. You’re welcome to share it with me, but we’ll need to get out there and claim it before somebody else does.’

  About to refuse, she had second thoughts. Sean continued making light conversation. She laughed several times.

  ‘That’s nice to hear,’ he said. ‘You looked unhappy.’

  She shrugged. ‘Just pissed off with one or two people.’

  ‘Not me, I hope?’

  She looked at him and saw that he was smiling. A nice smile. ‘One or two people I work with.’

  ‘Ignore them is my advice. My team at work is ninety-nine per cent tosser.’

  She grinned. ‘And you’re the one per cent good guy.’

  ‘Exactly.’ His phone rang. ‘The taxi’s outside. We’d better go.’

  Collecting their coats, they left the club and quickly located the idling taxi. They got inside and Judd gave the driver her address, after which they sat in easy silence for forty minutes, much of it filled with the driver’s complaints about the volume of traffic and the time of year. They looked at each other and grinned.

  Judd sat forward as the taxi slowed and double-parked. ‘This is me.’ She reached inside her bag. Sean stopped her hand.

  ‘Forget the money. I’ll pay him when I get to my place.’

  She looked towards the building and her darkened bedsit window. The evening had been a total downer. All that was waiting for her now was a cold, empty room. He was looking at her, his face concerned.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  She looked at him. ‘Do you fancy more coffee?’

  Carefully exiting the taxi, she waited as Sean paid and the taxi drove away. They stood on the pavement. She pointed. ‘I’m over here.’

  They walked in silence to the main door. She entered the code. It opened on the third try. They stepped
into the hall. He followed her to her door. She unlocked it. They went inside. He looked around, smiled at her.

  ‘This is really nice. Homely.’

  She knelt unsteadily in front of the gas fire, switched it on and stood. He was standing close to her. She laid her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth. During her first ten years, Judd hadn’t known warmth. She didn’t dwell on it. Just accepted that that was how it was. Not for her brothers and sisters. Just her. Until she’d been sent to live somewhere else. And now, she had a life. A proper life. Colleagues she liked who valued her, a job she loved which paid for the bedsit and the car she’d bought a month before. Beyond tired, she let go of the image of Julian’s smiling face.

  Sunday 16 December. 6.50 a.m.

  Eyes squeezed closed, head full of cotton, Judd felt for her phone. Not finding it, she looked at the small travel clock.

  ‘Holy shit!’

  She leapt out of bed, headed for the bathroom. ‘Sean? Sean?’

  The bathroom was empty. She ran her hands through her hair. Sarge had asked her to be at headquarters early this morning and she’d agreed. She looked around, frowned, searched every surface, went to her bag, upended it, watching its contents fall onto the bed. She stared down at them. No phone. No purse. No keys.

  Breath catching in her throat, she ran to the window, dragged open the curtains, looked outside, searching the line of parked cars.

  ‘No!’

  Watts was inside the incident room waiting for results from several officers occupied with calls to a tip-line set up on Friday. One or two looked up at him, shook their heads. Distracted, he headed for Jones whose eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him. He lowered his voice.

  ‘When did you last see Judd?’

  Jones glanced up at him. ‘Around twelve thirty early this morning. Why?’

  ‘She hasn’t arrived and her phone’s switched off. Get over to her flat.’ He turned away, then back to Jones. ‘No need to say anything to anybody else.’