by A. J. Cross
She held out her hand to him, drew him inside, took the plastic bag from him and looked down.
‘I didn’t come alone, sorry.’
‘So, I see.’
‘He’s between families. I have temporary custody. I bathed him earlier. He was really muddy …’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know. I call him “boy”.’
He followed her into the large, warm kitchen filled with good smells. She looked inside the plastic bag and lifted out the bottle. ‘Mmm … Moet. How did you guess it’s my favourite?’
She reached inside the bag again, took out a small soft item with dangling legs. ‘What’s this?’
The dog looked up at it and gave a low whine.
‘It’s a dog toy. It’s actually a mouse but he’ll probably think it’s a dog. I thought he might get lonely at night.’ He reached for it and pressed its middle. ‘See? It’s got a squeaker, but if it’s too loud or he …’ She put her hands around his, her voice soft.
‘It’s all right, Will. Everything’s fine.’
He watched as she took a folded rug off the back of a sofa, opened it out, arranged it in one corner and patted it. The dog looked up at him, then went to her. She stroked its head. It jumped on to the sofa, turned twice and settled down, head on paws, its eyes fixed on Traynor. She placed the mouse beside its paws.
She looked up at Traynor, came to where he was standing, reached for him and gently drew his head down on to her shoulder. She held him, listening to the vast wave break inside his chest. They stood together, her arms around him.
‘It’s OK, Will. It’s all OK.’
Tuesday 25 December, 6.30 a.m.
A long time later, he was lying beside her, at the point of falling asleep. His next conscious movement was sitting upright. He was used to sudden wakefulness. It still happened on occasions when sleep made him vulnerable to memory. Now it was memories of the case which were crowding into his head. Molly Lawrence had her own memories, as did her brother-in-law. He and Watts would be hearing them soon.
‘Will?’
He turned to Jess, lowered his head to her face, her neck, exalting in the contact, the scent of her, the softness. Like a man long deprived of water, he pushed his face against her skin. ‘Sorry, there’s somewhere I have to be. For work.’
She looked up at him. ‘Come back as soon as you can, Will.’
The Aston Martin hummed along the road as the pale sun rose. Traynor watched it, thinking about the power of trauma coming from nowhere, wrecking us physically, scrambling us emotionally, demanding we rethink all we ever believed about life, relationships, time. He wanted to hear again from Molly those she had experienced.
THIRTY-ONE
Tuesday 25 December. 9.15 a.m.
‘It’s going to hit the news today that Brendan Lawrence is here.’ Watts looked at open files covering the table between them, then at the dog lying close to Traynor’s feet. ‘The update from the custody sergeant is that Lawrence is now loudly denying every word he said to us and demanding to be released. I’ll interview him before he is. I want to know how he thinks he’s going to get out of the fix he’s in.’
Traynor reached for the phone, dialled the number and switched it to speaker. ‘Hello, Molly.’
‘Will? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’
‘There’s been a development in the investigation and I wanted you to hear it from me.’
‘What kind of development?’
‘Brendan Lawrence has been arrested.’ He waited out the long silence.
‘I don’t understand. What has he done?’
‘He has told us that he was involved in the attack on you and your husband.’ He waited. ‘Molly?’
‘I don’t know what to … He must have been drinking. He drinks a lot.’
‘I regret having to give you the news but you need to know. As and when we know any more, DI Watts or I will ring you.’
‘Thank you. What happens now?’
He answered carefully. ‘We’re working on your sighting of the two or three young people in close proximity to the scene on the evening of the shootings. We’re going there again later to look around.’ He listened, hearing only her breathing.
‘Thank you for letting me know.’
He ended the call. They looked up as Judd came into the office. Watts stood, then reached for his jacket and his homicide file. ‘I was about to ring you. You’re with me. I want more from Brendan Lawrence.’
With a glance at Traynor, she followed him out of the office. At reception, Watts said to Reynolds, ‘Give Gemma Lawrence a call. Remind her that somebody needs to collect the dog.’
Reynolds reached for the phone. ‘On to it, Sarge.’
They continued upstairs to one of the interview rooms. ‘What’s up with Will?’ she asked.
‘He’s doing some heavy-duty thinking.’ His phone buzzed. ‘Yeah? Right.’ He ended the call. ‘Sod it.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Lawrence’s legal representation has shown up. It’s Lang and Yeo.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘For us, it is. It’s a firm which prides itself on getting its clients off, no matter that they were witnessed at a scene, bloodstained and wielding a chainsaw. Running legal rings around us is their forte.’
He pushed open the interview room door, dropped his files on the table, straightened his tie and reached for the phone. ‘Let’s see if we can run some rings of our own.’
Following a silent eight-minute wait, the door opened and an officer appeared, ushering Brendan Lawrence inside, followed by an austere, immaculately dressed man. He and Lawrence took seats side by side facing Watts and Judd.
Watts nodded. ‘Mr Lawrence, you’ll have brought Mr Lang up to speed on why you’re here.’ Seated next to the pristine Lang, Lawrence was a mess, his eyes red-rimmed and deeply shadowed, a sour odour coming from him. Watts reached out to the PACE machine.
‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of killing your brother, Michael Lawrence and wounding your sister-in-law, Molly Lawrence. I’ll remind you that you’re still under caution. Following your arrest, you made certain statements to me, which I’m going to read to you to refresh your memory and to which you are welcome to respond—’
Lang jumped in. ‘My client is now retracting all that he said to you.’
Watts started reading them. ‘“It wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like it did.”’
‘No comment,’ muttered Lawrence.
‘“I have to tell you what I did”, plus—’
‘No comment.’
Watts’ eyes drilled into Lawrence’s. ‘At the time you made those admissions, Mr Lawrence, you said that you saw your brother’s head. I believe that to be a reference to his injury which places you at the scene of your brother’s murder.’
‘No comment.’
Lang gave a wintry smile. ‘Mr Lawrence is responding to your questions in the way I have advised.’ He opened a slim file and took out a single sheet of A4. ‘This is a medical report on my client, which indicates the time he arrived at hospital where he was treated for significant alcohol intake, plus the treatment he received. All other relevant times are included, plus a brief statement from the attending doctor.’ Watts watched Lang slide it across the table. It was Lawrence’s ‘Get out of Jail’ card. ‘Our position is that when you spoke to Mr Lawrence he was still experiencing the effects of that intake. In consideration of those facts, firstly, I have advised my client that your speaking to him at that time was highly inappropriate and, secondly, if you are planning to bring a case against him, based on the utterances he made, our stance would be that he lacked sufficient cognitive ability at the time to fully participate in any discussion, that those utterances should be viewed as the ramblings of someone who was seriously impaired by gross substance abuses and that it was a serious professional error on your part to place him in that situation.’
Silence drop
ped like a blanket on the room as Lang and Watts sized each other up in a face-off. ‘Is that sufficiently clear as to my client’s position, Detective Inspector?’
‘Crystal.’
‘Good. I’d prefer to avoid lodging a professional complaint against you on his behalf.’ Lang turned to Brendan Lawrence. They both stood. ‘Good day to you, Detective Inspector.’ They watched them go.
Judd stared at Watts. ‘You’re not letting him get away with that?’
‘You heard what he said.’
Traynor looked up as they came into the office and saw their facial expressions. ‘You haven’t charged Brendan Lawrence.’
‘He’s walked, but I’m not done with him.’ Watts sat, his eyes on Traynor. ‘You’ve been doing a lot of thinking and not much saying over the last couple of days, Traynor. I want to know what’s inside your head. All of it.’
They listened as he gave them the details.
‘I don’t believe …’ Judd shook her head. ‘What you’re saying could get Brendan Lawrence and—’
‘How sure are you?’ asked Watts.
‘Brendan Lawrence was there. You trust what I’m telling you, Bernard?’
‘As always.’
‘Good. Because we’re facing a lot of waiting around in the cold, starting late this afternoon as the sun goes down.’
Wednesday 26 December. 3.55 p.m.
In fast failing light, they looked out at the scene, a sharp wind blowing through gaps in glass. ‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Watts. ‘All three of us are risking pneumonia.’
Traynor consulted his phone. ‘Sunset today is fifteen fifty-eight.’
‘What if nothing happens?’ asked Judd.
Watts folded his arms against his thick jacket, feeling cold air rising off the concrete floor. ‘Traynor has already phoned to prime the trap. Let’s hope it works.’
‘Who else have we got, Sarge?’
He pointed. ‘Jones over in that direction, Kumar on that side and Reynolds behind the petrol station.’ Silence built, the vista quickly fading to blackness.
‘The darker it gets, the better it looks,’ she murmured.
Another fifteen minutes and Watts had lost all feeling in both feet. He moved to one side of the window, executing small, silent bounces.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
‘Getting the blood moving. Something you’ll know about in thirty or so years’ time.’
‘I’ll hold a séance and let you know—’
‘Look.’
They did, to where Traynor was pointing at a moving, bobbing light, a dark-clad figure in a baseball cap, moving slowly over the rough ground.
They silently walked out of the building, Traynor in one direction, Judd in another and Watts towards the intent figure oblivious to its surroundings. He continued on, stopped at the sound of a lone vehicle slowly approaching along the potholed street, headlights rising, dipping. The figure also stopped dead, looked up. Seeing Watts, it turned and fled. He followed, hoping Jones was in position, seeing Reynolds speeding towards it. A split second of indecision on its part and Traynor hurtled past Watts and launched himself, arms outstretched. They closed on it. It resisted, flailing and kicking. He increased his hold on it, pushing its head low. As Watts arrived, the baseball cap hit the ground, long, dark hair swirling and swaying, the figure held captive in Traynor’s arms.
‘Hello, Molly,’ he said.
She grew still. He slowly released his hold. ‘Will? Thank God it’s you! You have to help me.’ She looked up at him, touched the long scratch. ‘I’m so sorry, Will. I thought you were him.’
Thursday 27 December. 12.10 a.m.
‘Tell us what you were doing at Forge Street,’ said Watts.
She looked exhausted. ‘Now you’ve arrested Brendan I can finally breathe properly, instead of jumping at every sound in case it’s him.’
‘We’ve released him,’ said Watts.
She stared at him. ‘Why? You said he confessed. He was there. He …’ She lowered her head. ‘I don’t know why you did that, but you’ve put me in a really terrible situation. These last few days he’s been threatening me, telling me not to talk to you about what happened. He said that if I did and he was arrested, he’d say I killed Mike.’
‘Why would he think he could incriminate you?’
‘You don’t know Brendan. It all started ages ago, before Mike and I got married. Brendan was always hanging around, pestering me. I tried to discourage him. He wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to say anything to Mike and cause problems within the family, although I think Gemma his wife picked up that something was happening. He just wouldn’t be put off. If anything, he got more blatant. This was the family I was marrying into. I loved Mike and I really liked his family. Apart from him.’ She sighed, put her hands against her eyes, let them drop. ‘I felt sorry for Gemma. How could I tell her? I didn’t know her that well and I was really worried that Mike’s parents would realize something was wrong.’
She looked across to Traynor. ‘I apologize for not being honest with you, Will. I think you guessed that there was something stopping me from talking. Remember me telling you how Mike pulled the car over when we got to that awful street? That he told me something was wrong with it?’ She took a breath. It sounded like a sob. ‘I had no idea what was going on. I told him to just keep moving. Get us away. He wouldn’t.’ They waited; watched her struggle to hold herself together. ‘That’s when he told me.’
‘Told you what?’ prompted Watts.
‘That he had agreed to help Brendan because Brendan owed a lot of money to some people who had sold him drugs. They were threatening him. His business was in difficulties. Mike said that Brendan was coming to stage a hold-up and take our valuables, that he would claim on our insurance and give the money to Brendan. He told me that he’d already given Brendan twenty thousand pounds but he needed more and there was nobody else he could go to for help.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s one of the things I loved about Mike. He wasn’t a worldly sort of person but he was very caring. I just couldn’t understand his insistence earlier that evening that I wear my diamond earrings to go to dinner. I only ever wore them on special occasions, but I agreed because it seemed important to him. Whoever Brendan owed that money to, it must have been a huge amount.’ She stared ahead. ‘I trusted Mike. I thought we had a relationship that was open.’
She bowed her head. ‘Brendan arrived. He got inside the car, took everything from us and … that’s when it all changed and turned into a nightmare,’ she whispered. ‘I could see that Mike was uneasy. There was something about Brendan. The way he looked. His manner. He drinks a lot but I didn’t smell any alcohol on him. It crossed my mind that he’d taken drugs. I turned to pass the handbag to him. He took it from me.’ She looked up at Traynor. ‘What I told you about the touching was the truth. It was like it was an afterthought on his part. Something he did because he thought he could … I told you about it because I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. Brendan has no morals. Like I said, he was always hanging around, sly with his hands. I should have said something. Made a fuss. I didn’t … because it was really nice to feel part of a large family. But I swear I knew nothing about it until that evening when Mike told me.’ She looked up at them. ‘After the touching, that’s when he fired the gun. At Mike. The sound of it, the smell … and then he leant forward, pointed it at me. I just … sat there. Waiting. Listening to Mike moaning. Knowing it was my turn.’
Despite her ravaged face, Watts wanted more. ‘Why were you at Forge Street earlier this evening?’
She looked at him, tears flowing unchecked. ‘Brendan phoned me when I was in the hospital – told me he’d taken one of the earrings from my bag and left it somewhere at that place for you to find. That it would incriminate me. I asked him how that was possible. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was so worried. You don’t know Brendan. He’s a liar and a horrible, evil person. I wanted to go to the place and look for it but I knew the police were
there, and I wasn’t well enough. When I began to feel a bit better, I was too frightened to leave the house. I told myself that Brendan was lying, like he always does, but when Will told me that one of the earrings was missing, I knew I had to find it. I couldn’t stand the stress of waiting, worrying that it had been found, wondering what Brendan had planned, how he was going to make things bad for me. I was desperate. He said that that earring could send me to prison for killing Mike.’
Watts got to his feet. ‘I want you to wait here, Mrs Lawrence.’
They left her with an officer and went to a nearby room. Watts closed the door, his voice low. ‘We have to get this right, Traynor.’
‘We will.’
‘Your theory’s holding up?’
‘Yes.’
Watts paced, frowning. ‘This is about money. Money and murder.’ He looked up at Traynor. ‘You know Molly Lawrence’s mother pretty well?’
‘I’ve met her, talked to her, so yes, I suppose I do.’
‘I need you to phone her. Ask her about any life insurance that Mike and Molly Lawrence have.’
Traynor glanced up at the wall clock. ‘It’s very late. Or very early. I’ll need to tell her who wants to know.’
‘Do that. We need that information, soon as.’
Traynor got out his phone. The door opened.
‘Sir?’ Watts’ phone rang. He reached for it and listened, then looked up at Reynolds. ‘Mr Lawrence is back here. Is there anybody with him?’
‘No.’
‘Put him in interview room one. Don’t let him leave.’
THIRTY-TWO
Thursday 27 December. 6.30 a.m.
Watts entered the interview room where Lawrence was pacing. He’d looked bad before. Now, he was haggard, looking years older and pounds lighter than when Watts had first seen him. ‘You’ve come alone, Mr Lawrence.’
‘Yes. I want to talk.’
‘That’s good. It’s still my duty to advise that you need—’
‘I want to talk and I don’t want anybody putting obstacles in the way of me doing it.’
