by Bill Rogers
‘Drop that gun!’
Her finger squeezed past the point of resistance that acted as the safety catch.
Fast is slow, slow is fast.
His gun was at hip height, still rising.
‘Drop it now, or I will fire!’
She re-sighted, exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
Malacott fell against the fence, the gun spinning from his hand.
Something smashed into Jo’s back, throwing her to the ground. A searing pain erupted in her arm.
Across the water, and around the hills, the final echo of her gunshot faded on the wind.
Chapter 58
Jo closed the door of the Post Incident Suite behind her and sighed with relief. The fire doors swung open and Max strode towards her. Concern was etched on his face. Jo anticipated sympathy and got in first.
‘How is Malacott?’
‘He’ll live. A flesh wound. Straight through his shoulder. In and out.’ Max grinned. ‘You’re either a bloody good marksman or a lucky one.’
‘I’m never lucky,’ she said.
‘What about you, Jo?’ he asked. ‘How are you?’
‘Shaken not stirred. I’ve got a few bruises, and a perfect set of canines on my arm instead of a tattoo.’
He grimaced.
‘I bet that’s painful.’
‘Not to mention the injections in my bum they insisted on.’ She grinned. ‘I bet Malacott’s feeling a bloody sight worse.’
‘You can’t blame the dog,’ he said. ‘It’s what they’re trained to do. They see someone holding a gun who isn’t dressed like Armed Response, they’re going to clamp down on that arm and not let go till they’re told to.’
She tried straightening her arm and winced. ‘They should teach them to read.’
He laughed, breaking the tension.
‘I doubt he’s ever seen an NCA logo before.’
She started to walk along the corridor and lowered her voice.
‘You do know we’re not supposed to confer or compare notes?’
‘We’re not doing. Besides, I didn’t see what happened.’
‘So where were you when I needed you?’
‘The handler fell vaulting that wall and cannoned into me. By the time I’d got up, Malacott was slumped against the fence holding his shoulder, and you were lying there with the dog wrestling your arm. I tell you what though – it’s a good job you managed to get one off before the dog crashed into you.’
There was an uncomfortable silence while they reflected on what might have been.
‘Have they finished with you then?’ he asked.
‘For the time being.’ She shook her head. ‘It was like a rugby scrum in there.’
He knew what she meant. Helen Gates, Simon Levi, the investigator from the Independent Advisory body, a solicitor to represent her, the NCA welfare officer, her Federation rep, someone from the Crown Prosecution Service. It must have felt like the Grand Inquisition.
‘Have they interviewed you yet?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘They took my statement while you were at the hospital. Have they told you what happens next?’
‘They said it’s got to be referred to the Independent Police Complaints Commission. Discharge of a firearm, resulting in wounding. They don’t have a choice.’ She smiled weakly. ‘On the bright side, that drone captured everything. As far as they’re concerned, I’m in the clear. It’s just a formality.’
He pushed the fire doors open.
‘Are they going to let you interview him?’
‘Under GMP procedures I’d have been removed from duty, but since we had the operational lead, Simon Levi argued I was the one that knew Malacott best and I was the SIO, so it was only right that I should conduct the initial interview.’
‘And they agreed?’
‘On condition that Welfare and the police surgeon ruled I was fit to do so – which they did.’
Max grinned. ‘That’s brilliant!’ he said. ‘Andy’s waiting upstairs to help us with the interview strategy.’
Jo stopped.
‘I assumed that Malacott would be drugged up to the eyeballs on painkillers? That his brief would argue that he wasn’t fit to be interviewed.’
‘What brief? He’s adamant that he doesn’t want one. And he’s been passed fit to answer questions, provided we wait till the morning. He insisted that he wants to talk to you.’
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ she said. ‘But first there’s something I need to do.’
Jo opened the door to the St Mary’s Centre counselling room. She had been hoping to find Sally Warburton on her own. To check that she was coping and to reassure her that Malacott would go down, with or without her testimony. She should have expected that Abbie would be there too.
They sat side by side on the sofa, a suitcase on the table in front of them: Sally’s change of clothes. Abbie had her arm around Sally, her head on her shoulder. Jo’s heart lurched. There was more than sympathy in that pose, much, much more. Abbie looked up. Her expression changed in an instant from love to hate. She sat erect and pointed an accusing finger.
‘This is down to you!’ she shouted, her eyes blazing with anger. ‘You’re responsible for what he’s done to Sally. Nobody else. You!’
‘He hasn’t actually . . .’ Jo began.
‘Abbie,’ said Sally, placing a cautionary hand on Abbie’s arm, ‘that’s hardly fair.’
Abbie cut her off. Her finger stabbed the air.
‘He was trying to get at you, wasn’t he? To punish you! He’d made it personal, hadn’t he?’
There was no point in trying to explain. In any case, what could she say? Abbie was right. It was down to her. Now Abbie was shaking with anger and conflicted emotion. There were tears in her eyes. Jo wanted to reach out and hug her, but she was transfixed to the spot by this tide of rage.
‘You promised me you wouldn’t go there again,’ Abbie said, struggling to make her voice quieter. ‘Look at you. This is you. What you love doing. You need the danger. You thrive on it. Well, it was slowly crucifying me. The worry, the fear, and your total bloody obsession with whatever case you were on. There were times when I thought you cared more about the person you were after than you did about me. It’s like you were trapped inside some bloody great paracosm. Well, you’ll never put me through it again, and certainly not any child of mine.’
Jo fled the room.
She stopped outside the door. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing. She suddenly felt cold. She thrust her hands beneath her armpits and leaned against the wall. Only now did she realise what she had lost and how, deep down, she had been hoping that they could sort it out. There seemed little chance of that now.
Chapter 59
It was 9am on Christmas Day. Everyone wanted to get this over so they could put him back in the cells and get home in time for lunch. All of the preliminaries had been concluded. The tapes and the video were running.
‘Mr Malacott, can you confirm that you are happy to proceed with this interview without legal representation?’ said Jo.
‘I’ve already made that clear several times.’
‘For the tape please, Mr Malacott.’
His face was pale and drawn, despite the painkillers. His right shoulder was thick with bandages, his arm cradled in a blue sling. He leaned forward, winced and sat back again.
‘I confirm, for the tape and the CCTV, and especially for Senior Investigator Stuart, that I do not, at present, wish to have legal representation.’
‘And could you confirm that you are happy to proceed with this interview, under the caution I have given you, despite your injury and the medication you have been given?’
‘Let just get on with it, shall we?’ He cradled his right hand beneath his left elbow to add to the support provided by the sling. ‘I confirm that I’m willing to have this little chat with you, notwithstanding your having been responsible for the injury to which you refer.’
There was no way she was going to l
et him wind her up, not today.
‘You are being interviewed with regard to the matters that have already been put to you,’ she replied. ‘Namely, the abduction, unlawful imprisonment and rape of seven named persons, the abduction, false imprisonment and assault of Sally Warburton, and possession of a weapon with intent to kill. We’re not here to discuss the manner of your arrest.’
He intended his smile to come across as charming, but it made him look arrogant.
‘Ah, but you see,’ he said, ‘the manner of my arrest is pertinent to your accusation that I intended to kill someone.’
‘Then why didn’t you drop the gun when you were ordered to?’ said Max, hoping to prevent this turning into a game of ping-pong. ‘And why did you then point it at SI Stuart?’
Malacott ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on her.
‘I was aiming at the dog,’ he said. ‘I was trying to protect you.’
Andy’s voice was in her earpiece. ‘He’s trying to rattle you. This is a distractor, like his use of your given name. Ignore it.’
She knew all that. But he might just be telling the truth. Or had he been trying to protect himself from the dog? Or goading her to shoot him dead? She had been aiming at his chest. That was it. He had gambled on suicide by cop. He was hoping to escape justice, humiliation, the years and years of mindless incarceration. He had known that if she killed him, she would be the one to face the music. She smiled back at him.
‘Don’t rise to the bait,’ said Andy.
Malacott raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise and disappointment.
‘You don’t believe me, Jo?’
They had got it wrong. She was smiling because she knew that there was nothing he could do to touch her now, or any more defenceless young women. Malacott was going down for life, and there was nothing he could do about it. And he knew that. If he was hoping that she would give him the opportunity to argue mitigation, to paint himself as a victim of circumstance, to blame his father, his mother, a genetic aberration, he was going to be disappointed. He was a nasty, evil, egotistical abuser. And she was going to do her best to ensure that was how the world would always remember him.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ she told him. ‘The jury will decide.’ She paused. ‘What do you think they will make of the fact that we have CCTV of you abducting a young woman? That we also have film of you leaving a lock-up in which the same young woman was spreadeagled naked on a bed? That the walls of that lock-up were covered in images of other young women. Images that could only have been taken by the person who abducted them, drugged them and subjected them to the most serious form of sexual assault?’
‘One question at a time, Jo,’ the psychologist cautioned.
She didn’t care – for once it didn’t matter. There was no way that he could wriggle out of this. It sickened her to look at him. Remembering how he had painted himself as a women’s champion. How he had leaned close to an unsuspecting Orla Lonergan at the Say No & Stay Safe seminar, touched her arm, whispered in her ear. Listened as she recounted the horrific experience he had put her through. Fed off her account. Had been spurred on to attack, again and again. She could see him preparing to tell the story he had concocted overnight. Some fantasy about being drawn to investigate the abductions himself. Taking the gun to protect himself. Stumbling across the lock-up. All the evidence being circumstantial. Either that, or some psychobabble to deny culpability on grounds of insanity, diminished capacity or irresistible impulse. Either way, she didn’t want to hear it.
‘Ask him about the tattoo.’
‘Tell me about the tattoo,’ she said. ‘The one across your back. The falcon with a dove in its talons? Is that how you see yourself? Preying on the defenceless?’
‘It signifies nothing.’ His tone was scornful.
Despite her best efforts, Jo found her anger surfacing.
‘Is that why you left those tattoos on your victims? As a pathetic parting shot, a final insult? A reminder that for brief moments in time you had possessed each of them? As if they needed reminding. Or was it just the sad signature of an egomaniac?’
‘Jo, we agreed that wouldn’t work. You need to invite him to explain. You need to employ empathy, not derision.’
To hell with that. She didn’t want to have to listen to his explanation. She needed his admission of guilt. She leaned across, her hand on the switch that controlled the recording.
‘Interview suspended at nine twenty-seven am. SI Stuart is leaving the room.’
She flicked the switch up, and turned to her colleague.
‘I’m sorry, Max. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I’m tired. And it sickens me being in the same room with him.’
She pushed back her chair and stood.
Malacott seemed concerned that she was leaving.
‘Why did you have to contact my sister?’ he said.
He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes, and smiled. ‘When Millennium Woman told me that you’d asked about that article, I knew it was only a matter of time.’
She stared down at him, making no attempt to hide her anger and loathing. ‘Because I sensed that was where it began for you. The abuse, the rape, the sense of power. Don’t pretend that you feel pity for her now, your “little dove”.’ She shook her head. ‘You were never powerful, not like that falcon. You were weak. So weak that the only way that you could feel strong was to prey on those weaker than you. You sicken me.’
She turned her back on him, and went to the door.
‘Don’t you want to know what drove me to it?’ he persisted.
The sneer had gone. Now he was pleading. She turned in the doorway.
‘No. Because it makes no difference to me, or to any of those women you brutalised. And it will make no difference to the jury. You’re not a victim, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself of that. You’ll have the rest of your life to persuade the psychiatrists and the psychologists who’ll view you as a specimen in a laboratory. When you’re dead, they may even slice up your brain and look for abnormalities. But you and I know that they won’t find any. The simple truth is that you had a choice. Nobody forced you. You chose to abuse your own sister. You enjoyed the feeling of power and control. It wasn’t that you couldn’t stop, it’s that you didn’t want to. That makes you an evil monster. End of.’
She turned her back on him, and left the room. She didn’t need to see what Max and those in the observation room were seeing. The sneer wiped away. The utter desolation that replaced it. The pain etched on his face. His body seeming to collapse in on itself.
Malacott was safely locked up in the cells. He had closed down after she left. Neither Gates nor Levi were best pleased, but they already had more than enough to charge him, thanks to the trophy hoard plastered all over the lock-up, and the fact that in his panic he had failed to sanitise the inside of the mask he had worn. And besides, he’d said enough under caution on the way to the station to incriminate himself.
Andy had ventured the opinion that once Malacott realised that Jo would track down his sister, then he must have known that time was running out. Sally Warburton’s abduction had been the last desperate ploy of a man who had lost control, was hitting out, but had no endgame in sight. The plan now was to haul him before a magistrate on the Monday and get him remanded in custody.
‘I spoke to Ram earlier,’ Max told her. ‘I wished him a Happy Christmas from the two of us. He was in the middle of a family shindig by the sound of it, his mother holding forth in the background. He sends you his congratulations by the way. Ditto Andy. He was busy trying to wrap a bike they’ve bought for his eldest. I told him there wasn’t much point. It would still look like a bike, whatever he did.’
Jo smiled wanly. She seemed distracted. She had her phone out and was fiddling with it.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Googling something that’s been niggling me,’ she said.
She studied the response.
Paracosm
: a highly detailed world created by one’s imagination. A fantasy world involving people, places and things that may or may not exist.
Fair comment, she reflected. Except that there is nothing imaginary about the cruel world that I move in. She closed her phone down and put it in her pocket.
‘Are you still going to your parents’?’ Max asked.
She shook her head.
‘I’ve told them I’ll come tomorrow, Boxing Day. I couldn’t face it today. The inquisition or the sympathy.’
They started walking down the corridor towards Reception.
‘How are you going to spend today then?’ he asked. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own, not on Christmas Day. Besides, how are you going to cook a turkey with your arm like that?’
She opened one of the fire doors for him.
‘Get a takeout. Curl up on the sofa and watch the telly. What are you doing?’
He shrugged.
‘I was going to stay with a former colleague in Surrey, another sad singleton. But I feel like you. And there’s no way I’m racing all the way down there in the pouring rain and then having to come straight back on Monday.’
‘Why don’t you join me?’ she said. ‘There’s no point in us moping alone, when we can do it together.’
He grinned.
‘I’ll bring the wine,’ he said. ‘But anyone caught sulking gets to make a substantial donation to the Police Dependants’ Trust.’
Jo managed a smile for the first time that day.
‘You’re on,’ she said.
Chapter 60
Max arrived at midday, clutching two bottles of Cotes Du Rhône and a bottle of champagne.
‘This is getting to be a post-investigation habit,’ he said cheerfully. He held up the bottle of champagne. ‘I wondered about Prosecco, but then I thought sod it! Let’s make it a celebration. You deserve it.’
‘We deserve it,’ she said, taking them from him. ‘Come on through. Put your coat on the bed in there. Sorry there isn’t a Christmas tree, I never got round to it.’
