He took a quick peek, noticing logos from BBC News to ITV and Sky Channels. He thought Bex’s plan was foolhardy at best and his role in it caused him pangs of concern. Extroverted detectives might relish the drama of it, but Idris was more comfortable remaining in the background, sifting through the details of a case rather than being at the forefront.
Cynthia Murgatroyd, the police PR spokesperson assigned to this afternoon’s press conference, offered Bex a soothing smile while urging her forward. “Just stick to the facts and you’ll be alright.”
Idris wished that was the advice Bex had offered him.
Bex flicked an encouraging wink in Idris’s direction and then plunged through the doorway after Cynthia, leaving Idris in the quiet, listening to the voracious clamor on the other side of the door.
“Can you tell us what happened this morning?”
“We heard there was an incident at Coldmarsh!”
“Who was involved?”
“Was Griffin Loughborough the target?”
Questions flooded the air. He heard Cynthia’s voice, steady and impassive, say, “One question at a time please for Superintendent Wynter.”
“What happened at Coldmarsh?” a loud voice yelled.
Nerves emphasized Bex’s New York accent, making it thick and percussive against the strident English tones.
“I can confirm there was a shooting incident this morning at Coldmarsh Prison. It happened at 8:35 a.m. this morning. Griffin Loughborough was involved in the incident. A prisoner is currently in custody and will be questioned over his involvement in the shooting…”
Idris moved backwards towards the foyer, circumventing the pressroom until he approached from the public side. Opening the door a crack, he wedged his broad shoulders against the doorframe and used his height to advantage to scope out the room.
Journalists talked earnestly into handheld cameras, some tapped furiously on keypads. He recognized a couple of talking heads from the nightly news programs, before his eyes locked on the blond-frosted feathery bangs of Aislinn Scully. One of the most ambitious of the social media news reporters, she was the face most often in front of Trending News. The social media giant prided itself on breaking stories ahead of television and radio broadcast services.
“…regret that as a result of this incident a prison guard has been killed.” Bex’s voice echoed through the PA system.
Throughout the room, barely larger than a popular doctors’ surgery, voices rose with excitement.
“Has Griffin Loughborough been killed?”
“Will Loughborough still be able to testify at next week’s trial?”
Idris inched closer towards Aislinn. Tall and broad, he earned a few stares and sharp rebukes, which he ignored.
“I am not in a position to confirm or deny that Griffin Loughborough was killed this morning.”
Bex had chosen words set to inflame a media frenzy, leaving journalists mired in uncertainty. To bait the trap, Idris knew Bex wanted to whet reporters’ appetites but not appease them. He chose Aislinn Scully to fulfill the next step. Rabid for a breaking story, she would let nothing stand in her way, least of all a victim’s feelings. If there was anyone who deserved to be stitched up over this case it was Aislinn Scully, he decided.
As Cynthia closed down the press conference, reporters peeled away, eager to get their stories to air.
“That sound bite’s in the bag.”
Idris was close enough to hear Aislinn’s conversation with the man standing beside her. At the same time she spied Idris and recognition dawned in her eyes. Idris gave no sign of acknowledgement, brushing past her.
Aislinn thrust a microphone under his nose. “Any comments, Detective?”
Idris glowered at her. There was no pretense in his antagonism. Aislinn was a nasty gossip monger and her coverage and badgering of his fellow officer Eli Morgan had almost pushed Eli over the edge and cost him his job when his two girls had been kidnapped last year. The fallout had almost ruined Eli’s career. Idris didn’t trust Aislinn one little bit.
“You heard the superintendent,” he responded coolly.
Aislinn put her microphone down.
“So did millions of other viewers. This isn’t exactly a scoop. Trending News prides itself on being ahead of the pack, not one of the pack,” she said tartly.
“Then you’ll just have to find yourself another story,” he said without sympathy.
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” Aislinn eyed him speculatively.
Idris glanced around, doing his best to look shifty. He jerked his head backwards and edged slowly through the crowd, watching the swarm of reporters already bolting onto new stories.
Aislinn dithered, packing up her laptop computer while her cameraman, taking his cue from her, stalled for time as he folded up his monopod and put away his digital camera, letting the drifters disappear.
Bex and Cynthia had vanished discreetly through a doorway at the back of the room several minutes ago. Idris hovered in the aisle. A small knot of bodies lingered, before heading out. Leaving her cameraman behind, Aislinn approached Idris, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Idris felt a faint prickle of sweat dot his forehead. He was as far outside his comfort zone as it was possible to be.
“Are we going to be able to help each other, Detective?”
“This has to be off the record. Unnamed source.” Idris’s voice was gruff with anxiety.
Aislinn nodded. “Of course, no direct quotes. Agreed, provided what you have to share is worth it. Can you confirm whether the star witness against Jack Loughborough in next week’s court case is dead?”
“I saw Griffin Loughborough leave Coldmarsh in a body bag myself.” Idris chose his words carefully.
“Why didn’t the police make an announcement?” Aislinn demanded.
“Are you kidding me? They don’t want to derail next week’s court case. Everyone’s scrambling to pull a rabbit out of a hat.”
“Will the trial be postponed?”
“I don’t know anything about the trial. I’m not involved in that, only the investigation into the shooting.”
“Fair enough. Do you want me to list you as an official source so you can get paid for the tip off?”
Idris recoiled. His heart began pumping as though it was on steroids. Had he just turned into a crooked cop? He glanced wildly around the empty room, but there was only Aislinn’s cameraman, head studiously bent over his phone.
“It’s not a bribe.” Long tapered fingers squeezed his arm for reassurance. “Trending News pays for tip offs that lead to stories. Not much admittedly, but I could label this an exclusive. Unless this is an ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ situation?”
She left the question dangling in the air until Idris replied stiffly, “I’ll let you know when I want the favor returned.”
He didn’t want a bribe, but if he totally refused any compensation Aislinn would begin to question his motives.
Aislinn tossed her head, making her blonde hair swish around her shoulders, and flashed him a dazzling smile.
“Tit for tat it is then.”
She turned to leave the room, gathering her cameraman. Their heads huddled together. Although Idris kept a steady distance between them, Aislinn’s honeyed tones drifted backwards.
“What’s next on the agenda, Troy?”
“Ron wants you to do a piece on Sawyer Starling resurrecting his masterpiece as the tormented Hamlet in a film slated to be directed by Guy Ritchie. He’s dedicating his performance to his wife on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” Troy said.
“For real?” Aislinn squawked, clearly annoyed. “Ron knows better than anyone that good news doesn’t attract viewers!”
At the mention of Sawyer Starling’s name Idris’s feet rooted to the spot.
In his early fifties, Starling was Britain’s premiere Shakespearian actor. He had given numerous performances at royal galas and travelled continuously with The Lord Chamberla
in’s Troupe, the darling of the theatrical world. He was regularly listed as “the cultural woman’s sex symbol” and had won the British Film Industry’s top award for his portrayal of Othello in a movie adaptation of the play.
Idris forced his feet to move, advancing on the couple. Aislinn and Troy’s departure from the room was bottlenecked by the arrival of the cleaners.
Idris pulled his phone from his pocket and pretended earnest interest in his screen while he recorded their conversation.
“Aislinn, Ron’s expecting you to put your usual spin on the news and come up with a spicy angle,” Troy said.
“Of course he does! If anyone can dig up a juicy angle on Sawyer Starling it’s me. I don’t believe anyone in show business stays happily married for twenty-five years without a few skeletons in the cupboard. Come on, Troy, let’s find some dirty laundry to hang out.”
Carved into a stone epitaph, Idris watched them traverse the foyer. Dread stopped his heart from beating. If Aislinn dug deep enough would she discover that he was Sawyer Starling’s skeleton in the cupboard?
Chapter 8
Bridesmead, Tuesday, April 3
When Idris returned to Bridesmead he discovered the Youth Crimes Team office empty. Quinn had headed out to Coldmarsh with Eli Morgan to interrogate Buster Kaufman, the confirmed shooter being held in solitary confinement. Quinn had left a message for Idris to examine the digital footage that had been downloaded from Brian Thrussell’s body camera and two of the cameras in the corridor outside Kaufman’s cell. The forensics crew was sweeping the area.
Shaken by his encounter with Aislinn, he was glad to be alone. But Aislinn’s threat to dig into Sawyer Starling’s life settled heavily against his shoulders. He picked up his phone, his finger flicking through his contact list to rest against his mother’s name. Instead he twitched his shoulders as though he could physically dislodge his disquiet and settled himself to plough through the footage of the prison shooting.
Clicking on the link, he examined Brian Thrussell’s recording. The image started with Griffin’s back, just ahead and slightly to the right of the camera view. He watched the tape through at normal speed, then rewound it and slowed it down just before the shooting, going through the footage frame by frame.
Griffin’s head kept swiveling to the left during their walk as he spoke over his shoulder to Thrussell. Idris pinpointed the moment Griffin spotted something amiss. His head was turned to the side and his eyes clearly widened. His body jerked, placing Thrussell between him and the row of prison cells on the left hand side.
A split second later the guard reacted, turning his body towards the left, opening himself up. The line of vision from his body camera displayed the tip of a yellow nozzle sprouting through the window bars of Kaufman’s cell. Kaufman’s expression was intense; brows furrowed over a hawk-like nose, mouth ripped open in a rictus grin. The gun exploded with a flash, the bullet’s trajectory captured on film.
In slow motion Idris watched blood spurt as the bullet punctured the guard’s chest. His left hand flailed away from his utility belt. Idris wondered if he had been reaching for his pepper spray. Then there was a confused jumble of images as the guard toppled against Griffin, before the camera registered blackness.
Idris switched to the CCTV footage from the two cameras in the corridor, one recording the scene from the front and the other from behind.
The footage from behind showed the bullet striking Thrussell in the solar plexis. A spray of blood and flesh from under his right side revealed the exit point. That must have been when the bullet grazed Griffin’s arm. Idris would need the Forensics report for more detail, but it looked as though the angle of the shot had allowed the bullet a straight path through flesh without shattering bone.
In the footage from the front camera, Thrussell could be seen mouthing the word “help”, but the footage didn’t add any more details of the shooting.
The quality of the CCTV video was more grainy and less clear than Thrussell’s body camera. Idris let the footage run through after the shot was fired, watching as Thrussell tumbled against Griffin. The two of them sprawled in a tangle of limbs in front of Kaufman’s cell. Griffin immediately jumped to his feet and threw himself against Kaufman’s door. Idris could see his hands raised to the bars, but it was difficult to make out any details because of the angle of his body, the distance of the camera and the graininess of the film. He paused the tape. What was Griffin doing? Attacking Kaufman? Prying the gun from his hand? Or was he just so angry that he had wanted to confront the shooter?
Idris resumed play and immediately the area was swamped with guards surrounding both Thrussell and Griffin. There was so much action in the chaos it was difficult to make out the events, but one guard seemed to spray his canister through the bars at Kaufman while the others pulled Thrussell and Griffin out of the corridor.
There was no doubt Buster Kaufman had pulled the trigger on the gun. The question was, had someone bribed him to do so?
Rubbing his eyes, Idris shut down his computer. As soon as he took his mind off the job, Aislinn’s conversation played through his mind and worry tore at him: how deep was Aislinn Scully going to dig into Sawyer Starling’s history? He debated whether he should keep this burden to himself, but he wasn’t the only one it would affect. He was going to have to talk to his mother.
Chapter 9
Coldmarsh Prison, Tuesday, April 3
The interrogation room at Coldmarsh Prison was bare. Two bolted down chairs on either side of a scratched wooden table. Eli Morgan had set up the portable tape recorder on the table, parking the equipment against the wall. The two tapes whirred as Eli offered the usual cautions to the prisoner about his rights during the interview.
Buster Kaufman sat on the other side of the table with his hands cuffed in front of him. He wore a baggy green prison tracksuit. It engulfed his skinny frame. His right knee shook uncontrollably. Crude and amateurish tattoos curled around his forearms, trickled down his wrists and onto his knuckles. His face was clumpy, like lumpy oatmeal had lodged under the surface of his skin, his pallor almost gray.
Beside him the legal aid solicitor echoed the gray tones with his cheap polyester suit and salt and pepper comb over.
“Okay, Mr Kaufman, let’s not beat about the bush. It’s getting late and I for one would like to head home for supper. So, where did you get the gun?” Quinn asked.
“I have advised my client not to answer any questions that might incriminate him.” The solicitor’s tone was almost as vapid as his limp suit.
“You’re telling me Buster Kaufman intends to go through this interview as silent as a bar of soap? Well we all know where bars of soap end up in jail, don’t we, Mr Kaufman?” Quinn fired a glare at the prisoner, but he knew the interview was a losing battle.
Buster Kaufman was a genuine lifer. For killing a police officer in the line of duty he had been served a mandatory whole life order. There was no parole looming in Buster Kaufman’s foreseeable future. So being convicted of another crime meant less than nothing to him. Quinn felt he had no bargaining chips to use with the prisoner.
“Don’t try to intimidate my client.”
Quinn ignored the lawyer.
“If you cooperate with the police I’ll put in a good word to make sure your prison privileges are reinstated when you’re released from chokey and put back in the big bin. How about it, Mr Kaufman? Answer a few questions to get your telly and visitors back. Who was your target, Mr Kaufman? Did you intend to kill prison guard Brian Thrussell?”
He was met by silence. Kaufman stared straight past his shoulder, barely blinking.
“Or did you have a personal beef with Griffin Loughborough? He left you in the lurch at your trial. He walked away with a spent conviction while you’re serving life. You’re bound to feel more than a slight irritation about that.”
With Griffin segregated from the main prison population, their paths should never have crossed, they never should have met face to face. By
all accounts, Kaufman should never have even known Griffin was lodged at Coldmarsh. But the prison grapevine was notoriously well-informed, so it was possible someone had snitched to Kaufman. Was that what had driven him over the edge? Had Kaufman planned the whole shooting for simple revenge?
“I see you’ve got a family, Mr Kaufman. Your lovely wife Naomi and two daughters. Let me see, what are their names?” Quinn pretended to consult his notes. “Oh, yes, Aurora and Harlowe. Very pretty. Must be difficult for them with you in here. Tough to survive on the outside with no protection. Do you care about them, Mr Kaufman? Do you care that you’re no longer on the outside to protect them?”
Kaufman’s eyes stabbed into him.
“We’ll have to interview Mrs Kaufman, see what she knows about this morning’s events. I hope police attention on Mrs Kaufman doesn’t make life more difficult for her.” Quinn’s voice was silky smooth.
“You leave my family out of this!”
“I’ve already asked you not to intimidate my client,” the solicitor’s voice was a shade sharper. “Please stick to asking the appropriate questions.”
“How about it, Mr Kaufman? If you answer our questions, we won’t need to pay a visit to your wife. Now, what was your motivation for shooting Griffin Loughborough?”
Kaufman leaned forward.
“First, tell me, is he dead? Bugger didn’t look dead in the corridor. Looked like he lost the plot, yelling and shouting in my face. He was well and truly alive! But I heard a whisper that they removed the tosser from here in a body bag. Is that true?” he demanded.
“Answer a few questions for me and I might answer one for you.” Quinn kept his voice devoid of expression. “What was your motivation for shooting Griffin Loughborough?”
Kaufman turned his face towards the wall.
“Do you recognize this?”
Quinn nodded to Eli who produced a clear evidence bag, containing a smart phone.
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 23
