Settled Blood

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Microphone not tuned in properly.’

  ‘Main act coming on stage?’

  ‘We’ve lost Lisa.’

  Seconds ticked by without further exchange between Carmichael and the man she’d been talking to. Gormley’s anxiety was palpable. ‘Why doesn’t she tell us what’s happening. I think we should go in.’

  ‘No, Hank! Let her do her job. Andy has her covered. I told her I’d wait for her signal and that’s exactly what I intend to do. If it is him, he could make a run for it and seriously hurt someone trying to get away.’

  ‘Not with my foot on his neck he couldn’t,’ Gormley said.

  And meant it.

  ‘One, two . . . One, two.’ The lead singer’s voice boomed out from loudspeakers above Carmichael’s head. ‘Testing. One two, one two.’

  The band began tuning up and suddenly the dance floor was awash with people wanting to get closer to the action. For a moment, Carmichael lost Brown in the crowd and that made her really nervous. She smiled at Freek, pretending she was enjoying herself. He smiled back in a way that made her stomach perform a somersault. She was still feeling unwell and the moving spotlights were doing her head in. She didn’t think she could take him down on her own. Brown was still not in her eyeline.

  It was time to call in the troops.

  ‘They any good?’ Carmichael pointed at the stage. The band were ready to play. ‘I didn’t think much of last night’s shower, did you?’

  Freek shrugged. ‘Were you at the 3D disco last weekend?’

  Carmichael shook her head. ‘No, I missed that. Stuff, y’know.’

  ‘I tell you, it was audio-visual heaven.’ Freek glanced at the crowded room. ‘You think tonight’s busy? Believe me it’s empty by comparison. You just couldn’t move. It was truly awesome.’

  ‘Really?’ Awesome? Coming from the mouth of a middle-aged man, the word sounded ridiculous. Carmichael finished her bottle of water. Freek held up a shot glass, offering to buy her one.

  ‘Vodka, thanks, but only if you join me. What was it you said you lectured in again? Anthropology?’

  Daniels and Gormley were out of the car and running towards the club. At the front door, they showed warrant cards. A few girls in the queue stood back. Others scattered, fearing trouble. The detectives pushed their way in through the crowd, still listening to Carmichael. She seemed to have everything under control, but they needed to get to the bar at the far side of the room and that was proving difficult.

  Fearing they might lose the target, Daniels grabbed Gormley’s jacket sleeve and hauled him back towards her. ‘I need to cover the exit. Why don’t I wait outside and you try your usual on him? He’s so materialistic, it’s bound to work.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  Daniels turned on her heels heading back the way she’d come. Gormley pushed his way further into the club, twisting his body to get through the crowd. As he neared the bar, he saw Carmichael sitting next to Freek. She remained in character as he approached. Gormley had to yell in order to be heard above the din as the music started up.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Do you happen to own a red BMW convertible?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ Freek clearly resented the interruption.

  ‘Registration number, Foxtrot, Romeo, Echo, Three, Kilo.’

  Freek bit his lip, a thin film of sweat visible on his brow. ‘That’s right.’

  Gormley showed ID. ‘I’m sorry to inform you, but it’s been broken into.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Freek put down his glass.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir, madam.’ Gormley glanced at Carmichael, clearly having fun now. ‘We’ve arrested the individual concerned.’

  ‘Is there much damage?’ Freek asked.

  Gormley nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. I think you should secure the vehicle, just to be on the safe side. Please step this way.’

  Freek was already off his seat and walking towards the exit.

  62

  Gormley led the unsuspecting criminal damage victim out of the club. Freek didn’t realize it, but DC Brown was tagging along close behind. As they neared the BMW, Daniels stepped from the shadows holding up ID. ‘Stephen Freek, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. I am arresting you on suspicion of abduction.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Freek craned his neck towards his damaged BMW. He glared at Gormley, who was now holding on to him in a vice-like grip. ‘You bastard! You told me—’

  ‘Never mind what I told you.’ Gormley cuffed his hands behind his back. ‘It’s what you’re going to tell us that matters. I just wanted to be sure we had your undivided attention, sir.’

  They were drawing the attention of clubbers making their way down the street. Brown told the crowd to move away. Daniels thought about contacting the control room for backup when it duly arrived in the form of two panda cars with Durham insignia on the side. They screeched to a halt at an angle, effectively blocking off the whole road, allowing her space to do her job.

  The Durham officer?

  Daniels smiled.

  Peering along the wet road, she held up a thumb of thanks. Car lights flashed, acknowledging her courtesy.

  She turned away. ‘Check his pockets, Hank.’

  Gormley frisked the suspect, seizing a number of items: his wallet, some loose change, a BlackBerry, a set of car keys. He lobbed the keys to Daniels, who radioed in, asking the control room to send a team of crime scene investigators to search Freak’s address, and let them know they could also uplift the BMW for examination back at base.

  Brown and Gormley put Stephen Freek in the back seat of the Toyota, flanking him on either side. Daniels walked along the road to thank her Durham colleague for his help, asking him to arranged a lift for Carmichael who would stay with the vehicle until Northumbria officers arrived to take it away.

  Daniels gave him the keys and went back to the Toyota. Pulling out her mobile, she dialled a number.

  Maxwell picked up on the first ring.

  ‘We’ve got him, Neil. CSI mob are on their way. You can stand down as soon as they get there.’

  Maxwell yawned down the phone and immediately apologized. He sounded relieved to be ending a boring duty keeping obs. She knew the feeling. It would be nice to go home and crawl into a warm bed, but that was hours away for both of them.

  ‘Meet you back at the station?’ Maxwell said.

  ‘No. I want someone brought in for questioning. We’re going to need her statement asap.’ Daniels had reached the Toyota. She timed her words perfectly as she opened the door and got in. ‘Tell him it’s urgent, OK?’

  ‘Tell who?’ Maxwell was puzzled. ‘Boss? Did I miss something? You haven’t told me who I’m supposed to be picking up!’

  ‘That’s right, Bryony Sharp,’ Daniels said casually. With her mobile between cheek and shoulder, she pulled her seat belt across her chest and caught Freek’s shocked reaction in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘That’s assuming she’ll agree to talk to us.’ Maxwell still hadn’t twigged.

  ‘Yep, she’s been really helpful.’

  Daniels rang off, leaving Maxwell to work it out. She drove back to the station making no further comment. After lodging Freek in a cell, she headed straight upstairs to the MIR to debrief the team over a much-needed mug of steaming hot tea. When she’d finished, she picked up the phone, rang the custody suite and asked the duty sergeant to arrange an interview room.

  ‘IR3’s empty,’ he said.

  ‘Fine, we’ll be there in five.’ Daniels put the phone down, turning her attention back to the squad. ‘Right, this is what we do. Andy, as soon as the CSIs are finished with the car, I want you to go through the contents with a fine-tooth comb. Log everything in the system and let me know if you find anything that’ll take us any further. Tell Lisa, when she gets back, same goes with his computer. Investigate the con
tents, let me know what gives. C’mon, Hank, we’ve got an interview to conduct.’

  They drained their teas. Gormley grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and followed Daniels out of the MIR and along a corridor where the two-to-ten shift were about to go off duty.

  ‘Sodding part-timers,’ Gormley mumbled, loud enough for them to hear, smiling at the jeers he got in return. He glanced at Daniels. ‘Still, looks like we’re on the home straight now, eh, boss?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Daniels entered the stairwell and went down two flights to the cell block underneath. She didn’t know why, but something didn’t feel right. ‘He’s not what I was expecting, Hank. I thought he’d be pretty switched on, organized, confident.’

  ‘You sound disappointed.’

  ‘I am in a way.’ She stopped short of the door to the interview room and dropped her voice a touch. ‘He hardly fits the profile, does he? I’m not feeling excited about him. I’m just not.’

  ‘He seems pretty confident to me.’

  Gormley wasn’t fooling anyone. He looked every bit as underwhelmed as Daniels was feeling. He’d been thoughtful during the debriefing session and she could see the doubt in his eyes as he stood in the dingy corridor. Maybe it was tiredness. They were both bloody exhausted.

  ‘OK, I admit it. He’s not what I imagined either. The twat can sense we’ve got very little on him – and we don’t, unless of course you’ve changed your mind about keeping Carmichael out of this.’ He paused for a second. ‘Have you?’

  ‘No. I’m not having that.’

  ‘Well then, if Bryony Sharp won’t talk, we’re up shit creek without a paddle.’

  Daniels looked at the ceiling and sighed.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Gormley didn’t wait for her reply. He pointed at the door to IR3. ‘He looked at a few names on a computer. Big deal! We’ve all done it and, on its own, it’s not enough to convict him. We know it and so does he. So he’s got the upper hand.’

  On that grim note, they entered the interview room.

  Freek was sitting at the table, a uniformed male officer standing to attention a few feet away. Daniels made eye contact with him, flicking her head towards the door. As the constable left the room, she sat down opposite the suspect. Gormley took his seat, the one closest to the wall where he could operate the recording device. Switching it on, he made sure it was working before getting down to business.

  ‘This interview is taking place at the city centre police office. The time is ten-o-five p.m. I am Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley. Also present are Senior Investigating Officer—’ Daniels gave her name. ‘And you are . . .?’

  Gormley pointed to the suspect.

  ‘Stephen Pretoria Freek.’

  ‘I must remind you that you are still under caution.’ Daniels’ eyes travelled over the man, taking in his expensive clothes, a good watch, his relaxed body language: feet apart, hands clasped loosely in front of his genitals, no visible hint of stress on his face. Given the serious nature of the charge he was facing, she found that really disconcerting. She placed a thick document file on the table in front of her with Freek’s name clearly written on the front. There was nothing inside except blank sheets of paper. ‘Do you understand?’

  Freek said nothing.

  ‘Do – you – understand?’

  ‘I’m – not – stupid!’ he said.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Making a cradle with her hands, Daniels put her elbows on the table and gave him what was commonly known in these parts as the Scotswood stare. ‘You have the right to have a solicitor present, but you’ve declined – is that correct?’

  ‘I’ve been arrested for abduction and I’m entirely innocent.’ The suspect met her gaze obstinately. ‘I want to hear what you’ve got to say first.’

  Daniels pushed a rogue hair behind her left ear with her right hand. ‘We have reason to believe you’ve been accessing information from a university computer system for your own ends.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’

  ‘Positive. I’m an admissions executive. It’s my job to access student records.’

  ‘I agree with you.’ Daniels paused. ‘Can you tell me why you accessed the records of Bryony Sharp, for example? She isn’t a first-year student.’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t recall.’

  ‘How convenient.’ Gormley put on the bifocals his colleagues called his sincerity specs. For effect, he glanced at the file with Freek’s name on it. ‘Maybe I can help you out. You see, we have not one but two girls who swear they were drugged by you at the Fuse nightclub in Durham City only last night.’

  ‘I take it you can prove that.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something—’

  ‘Am I?’

  Grinning, Gormley held up a bag of white powder they had found in his wallet.

  ‘Oh that.’ Dipping his head to the tabletop, Freek covered one nostril and hoovered up an imaginary line of cocaine. He shook his head, tutting. ‘What you found was stuff for my own use. So charge me with possession. First offence, I might even get a caution. What d’you reckon, DCI Daniels?’

  ‘For the tape, Mr Freek has just gestured that the white powder found in his possession is some kind of illegal drug.’ Daniels picked up the internal phone. ‘DC Carmichael, bring the package to IR3.’

  Seconds later, Carmichael arrived in the room with a black bin liner. As soon as she walked through the door, Freek recognized her. He tried desperately to hide his discomfort but failed.

  Carmichael left the room again.

  ‘What do you think we’ve got in here?’ Daniels tapped the bin liner.

  Silence.

  ‘It’s your computer. And we’ve done a check on it,’ Daniels lied. The laptop inside was her own. ‘Not so cocky now, are you?’

  Freek glanced at the tape deck embedded in the wall. ‘Turn that thing off and I’ll tell you everything I know in exchange for immunity from prosecution.’

  ‘That only happens on American TV,’ Daniels said. ‘Unfortunately for you, this isn’t 24 and I’m not Jack Bauer. It’s a bummer, I know, but we don’t do bargains – do we, Sergeant?’

  ‘She means you’re in deep shit!’ Gormley took off his glasses. He always did that when they were interviewing. On. Off. On. Off. His arm going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow. ‘You’re going to have to do a lot better than that to convince us you’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Daniels stared at the prisoner. There was little doubt that he’d administered noxious substances to Carmichael and Bryony Sharp without their consent, terrifying at least one of them in the process; two, if she were being honest. Carmichael still wasn’t right. Daniels had known that from the moment she came on duty. But she would be. Eventually. Using her in a covert operation so soon after Freek had dropped her a Mickey Finn had been a calculated risk; one worth taking, as it turned out. In their job, the stakes were high. The ends justified the means. Her DC had done her proud.

  But now Daniels was facing the really hard yards: cracking a suspect who had everything to lose and nothing to gain by talking to them. How would Bright handle him if he were here now? Bully him? Wear him down? Maybe try a different tack, one guaranteed to put the fear of God into him. Really make him sweat.

  A different tack.

  She decided to up the ante. Stop pussyfooting around. ‘You want to thank your lucky stars you haven’t been charged with murder,’ she said.

  ‘Yet!’ Gormley followed her lead.

  And it was working.

  Freek’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Did I tell you that one of the names you accessed on your work computer is now dead?’ Daniels pushed her chair away from the table. She slid down in it, leaning back, crossing her feet, then her arms, her eyes planted on the suspect. ‘Amy Grainger was murdered. But I guess you already know that, don’t you?’

  Freek sprung to his feet. ‘Now look here—’

  ‘SIT DOWN, Mr Fr
eek!’ Daniels waited.

  Freek stayed right where he was. Gormley stood up quickly, his chair making a noise as it scraped across the floor. He moved towards the suspect with an intimidating look on his face, almost daring him to kick off. Probably hoping he would.

  ‘Why don’t you both sit down.’ Daniels kept her eyes focused on the man in custody. ‘That’s better. Now, why don’t you stop buggering about and tell us what you know. You’ve got ten minutes before I put you in a cell for the night. We’ve got homes to go to.’

  Silence.

  ‘Have it your own way . . .’ Daniels gathered up the file in front of her.

  ‘OK! I was being threatened—’

  ‘Course you were.’ Gormley shook his head.

  Freek ignored the dig.

  ‘Who was threatening you?’ Daniels set the file down again. ‘And why?’

  Freek locked eyes with Gormley. ‘You think you’re hard? Do me a favour. You want to see the guys I’ve been dealing with. They’d kill—’ He stopped mid-sentence, realizing what he’d just said. ‘They’re running a brothel in Durham. They leaned on me, wanted details of girls. Nice educated girls with nasty bank balances. Girls they might get on the game. All I did was provide a few names and addresses. That was it. I never did anything more than that, I swear.’

  ‘That’s not what Bryony Sharp says,’ Gormley reminded him.

  Freek looked down at his hands.

  ‘We know all about the prostitution racket,’ Daniels said. ‘Why d’you think we were in the club? But, as I just told you, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. One of the girls your friends were interested in is now dead.’

  ‘They’re not my friends, I told you.’ The suspect was starting to get really agitated. ‘You’re not pinning that on me! I want a solicitor now.’

  ‘Assuming we accept your story, how come these . . .’ Daniels made inverted commas with her forefingers, ‘heavies picked you?’

  ‘They saw what I was doing in the club. They threatened to dob me in if I didn’t cooperate. I figured the girls whose names I gave them would tell them to sling their hook anyway, so what was the harm? I never would’ve done it if I thought they were going to be in danger.’