“No worries.”
“Great. Okay Jo, you know why I’ve chosen you and Pete for this one. If anybody is going to crack, it’ll be this whopper you’re going to be interviewing. So, do your usual assessments at the start Jo, let Pete do the introductions and the first few questions, and then once you know how you’re going to pursue it, play him like a fucking harp.”
“No problem Sir. Oh, before you go, how did we get on with the Cole brothers?”
“No comment.”
“Ah.”
“But at least Wilson’s been talking. It was mostly a load of shite, but its more use than no comment.”
“Right. Speak soon.”
“Good luck.”
*****
Ten minutes later, Daniel Hart was led into the interview room by a custody officer.
“What the fuck is all this about?” He asked as he entered the room.
“Take a seat please, Mr Hart.” Kenyon didn’t look at the suspect, he was staring down at the information that Miller had provided.
Rudovsky was looking at him, she was staring directly at Daniel Hart, trying to read his body language, his mental state, and his general demeanour. She quickly assessed that he was worried.
“You better tell me what the fuck this is all about. I’m not even joking.”
“Were you read your caution when you were arrested?” asked Kenyon, looking up for the first time at Hart.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s what it’s all about.”
“Well it’s dog shit.”
“Okay, well, let’s just read your rights and start the interview, and you can have your say.”
Hart sat down, and started staring straight at Kenyon. He was going for the hard-man routine, staring Kenyon out. The DC read out his rights for the interview, before starting with very general questions.
“Where were you on Friday evening?”
“When was that?”
“Two nights ago.”
“I was in my mate’s car, went for a drive.”
“Your mate, that’ll be Simon Wilson?”
“What if it is? We haven’t done anything.”
Rudovsky felt that she had the measure of this bloke already. She decided to start her work.
“Well you have done something, haven’t you Daniel?” She was smiling in a sarcastic way, and Kenyon knew straight away how she was going to play this. She was going to piss Daniel Hart right off. Her instincts for how to conduct an interview were legendary around the department.
“Ain’t done jack-shit ma’am!”
“Okay, fair enough. But that’s not what your mate is saying.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Hart blew a raspberry.
“Seriously. When we told him about the discovery of your blood at the scene of a murder near Sheffield, he’s definitely put some distance between you both. He’s not describing you as a mate, let’s just put it that way.” Rudovsky was grinning.
Hart looked down at the table-top. That was a pretty devastating comment. It was obvious that Hart’s world had just started spinning, very quickly.
“Blood. What you chatting?”
“Where you fell over a big rock, it had come away from the dry-stone wall. We assume that you tripped over it when you were carting the suitcase containing Curtis Kennedy in the dark.” Boom. Rudovsky wasn’t messing about, and Kenyon looked excited about Rudovsky’s fiery line of questioning.
“Nah…” Hart looked like his whole plan was scuppered. He continued staring down at the table-top.
“Have you got any fresh injuries on your person. Anything that has bled in the last few days?”
“You what… chatting shit.”
“Your mate, Simon Wilson claims that it was you threw the suitcase into the water.” It was a lie. But fuck it.
“You fucking what?” Hart looked furious.
“He says that you lost the plot. And with your blood at the crime scene, you’re absolutely buggered here mate. So, I suggest you ask your family and friends for twenty calendars for Christmas, right up to the year 2037. That’s when you’ll be getting out of Strangeways mate.”
“This is total…”
“Did you not feel evil, throwing that lad into the water, knowing he was going to die in that suitcase?”
“IT WASN’T ME!” Hart leapt to his feet and shouted at the top of his voice.
That looked like a major breakthrough, from where Kenyon and Rudovsky were sitting. Four minutes in. This was a personal best for Rudovsky and she looked suitably chuffed.
“Sit down please, Mr Hart.”
“The only people there were you, Curtis Kennedy and Simon Wilson. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Curtis who chucked the suitcase into the stream, although I must admit, I’ve not checked to see if he was a practising magician.”
There was no response to Rudovsky’s cheerful sarcasm.
“So, if it wasn’t you, it was Simon Wilson. Is that what you’re saying?” asked Kenyon.
Hart was staring down at the table-top again. He started beating out a rhythm with his fingers. Rudovsky wasn’t letting long silences hang. She was determined to capitalise on Hart’s outburst. She thought she knew exactly where Hart’s button was, and she was happy to give it another push.
“It takes a sick bastard to do that. Killing somebody like that, a slow, torturous death.”
“It wasn’t fucking me.”
“We know that you were there. Got your blood….”
“Where are you getting this twenty-stretch from?” asked Hart. He seemed to have regained his composure a little.
“Well, murdering Curtis Kennedy.”
“Which I didn’t do… go on…”
“And causing grievous bodily harm to four DWP workers…” Rudovsky was razor sharp. Her answers were lightning fast.
“What the… you trying to pin that shit on me as well?”
“Er, yeah. Obviously. You were in the car outside the DWP worker’s address in Shaw, you went in the Spar for… what was it again DC Kenyon?”
“Two bottles of Lucozade Sport, and a packet of Doritos. The spicy ones.”
“Aw God! Can’t stand them, give me raging heart-burn.”
“I like ‘em. Packet of them with a tub of salsa. Can’t beat it.”
As Rudovsky and Kenyon talked shit, it was extremely clear on the face of Daniel Hart that he was feeling completely demoralised. He was starting to realise that the police knew for a fact that he was up to his neck in this.
“I think we’ll suspend the interview now, at nine-thirty-
seven.” Said Kenyon, aware that Hart needed a bit of thinking time, to wind him up further.
*****
“Sir, Hart is close to tears. He’s denying that it was him. He’s not denying that it was Wilson. So, we’ve banged him up for a bit of me time. I’m pretty sure he’ll be singing like a canary when we get him back in. Any news from the other suspects?” Rudovsky sent her text message. She hadn’t tried phoning in case Miller was back in an interview with Lenny Cole.
A couple of minutes later, Miller had text back. “No updates from other interviews. The Cole boys know the score, so they’ll be giving us plenty more no comments. Our only hope of a break-through is with your guy, and Wilson cracking. Good work guys.”
“Cheers. Keep us informed please Sir.”
Rudovsky and Kenyon decided to pass the time discussing the facts of the information that was available to them. They could both sense that Miller’s instinct regarding Hart had been right. He was very capable of cracking, he was the weakest link. They just needed to know how to make it happen.
“He’s sat in there now torturing himself, his head will be full of panic, and anger, feelings of betrayal. We need to know how to push him up to the cliff edge, and then give him the idea that he might be able to have a safe landing if he plays ball.” Rudovsky was writing notes as she talked.
“Yeah, but the trouble is Jo, there’s not going to be a safe landing. H
e’s fucked, and he knows it. We can’t promise him anything, because he’s not going to be able to get away from the murder scene. He’s had it.”
“Unless…”
“What?”
“He didn’t seem keen on the idea of taking responsibility for the DWP attacks, did he? What if we make heavy weather of the attacks, and take Curtis Kennedy out of the picture for a bit, that might be a way of figuring out whether he’s the attacker, or if its Wilson.”
“It’s neither of them, Jo. Think back to the CCTV footage of the attacker running through Hyde bus station Jo. Neither Wilson, or Hart are the correct physical profile. Neither are tall and thin.”
“Good point. Hmmm.” Rudovsky thought long and hard about her colleague’s comment. After a minute or so, she spoke.
“That’s still the way in. Let’s tell him that we believe he is the DWP attacker, and that Wilson is going to be released, as are the Cole brothers. That’s going to totally blow his mind.”
“Yes, that’s a good shout Jo.”
“If we keep on and on and on about the DWP attacks, and the fact that he’s facing all this shit on his own, he might just ‘fess up.”
“Yes, totally support you Jo. Good shout.”
Kenyon and Rudovsky set about building a series of questions regarding each DWP attack. They both felt a great amount of pressure, but there was also an element of excitement, too. They both felt that Hart was there for the taking.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Daniel Hart looked like he had been crying in his cell. That was the impression he gave the detectives as he was led back into the interview room just after 2pm. This image was completely at odds with the hard-man persona that he wanted so desperately to portray.
“Right, listen to me yeah? I’m being stitched up here, and I’m not having it. I swear down, I’ve done fuck all wrong.”
This was a good start. But Rudovsky wasn’t about to let Hart call the shots. She was as sharp as ever.
“Yes, well, they all say that Daniel. Come on and sit down, we’ve got some more questions to ask.”
“Nah man, listen to me. This isn’t on. I’m looking at twenty years for sitting in a fucking car!”
Kenyon restarted the recording unit, and reminded Daniel Hart of his rights.
“Okay, so off tape there, you made a comment. Would you like to repeat what you said?” Rudovsky was staring straight through Hart, determined to make him feel as though she considered him nothing more than a piece of murdering scum.
“Yeah, I just said, this is fuck all to do with me. I said I’m not doing twenty years for sitting in a car!” His face was red, and he was angry. The anger wasn’t aimed at Rudovsky and Kenyon though.
“Daniel, as I explained earlier on this morning. Your blood was discovered at the crime-scene, and we have CCTV footage of you and Kennedy together. If you were indeed sat in a car, as you claim, how could your blood have got a quarter of a mile away from the car, in the middle of a farmer’s field, close to where we discovered Kennedy’s body?”
“I can explain that.”
Both Rudovsky and Kenyon laughed. It was part of the game, but Hart didn’t appear to be thinking of the police strategy. He was completely absorbed by a sense of self-preservation.
“Listen to me, if I said that I did help to pull the suitcase, but that was all. That was all of my involvement, what am I looking at?”
“That depends entirely on the judge and jury.” Said Kenyon. “And whether you could prove that what you are claiming, is true.”
“Here’s what I want. You give me full protection, new identity and everything, and I’ll tell you everything.”
“What do you mean by everything Daniel?”
“I’ll tell you everything, about that kid Kennedy, and what happened. I’ll tell you what these DWP attacks were all about. I’ll even tell you who did them. But I’m not going down on my own for all this shit. No way.”
“How do we know that you’re not just talking a load of rubbish?”
“You don’t. But when you hear what I’ve got to say, and you look into it, you’ll know it’s right.”
“You want to go on Witness Protection?” asked Kenyon.
“Yes.”
“Do you fully understand the implications of that?”
“Yeah, well, sort of.”
“Well let me just make something clear. If you sign up for WP, it means that your life as you know it is over. It will mean moving away to a new place, most likely in another country. Usually America.”
“Yeah, well, I’m up for that. I’m telling you, I’ve been sucked into all this by mistake, and I want out.”
“I can’t promise you anything. But I’ll go and speak to my boss, and see what he thinks.”
“Thinks about what? I’ve just told you, I’ll tell you the whole story. Everything.”
“Okay, but can I just remind you that as things stand, you are going to be facing four charges of GBH, plus one charge of attempted assault against the DWP workers, although I think the CPS would agree to attempted murder charges under the circumstances. Plus, you are going to be charged with the murder of Curtis Kennedy. So just don’t start trying to call the shots in here Sonny Jim. It’s you who needs this deal, not us. Do you understand?”
“Yes, just hurry up.”
Kenyon suspended the interview. Rudovsky left the room and called Miller.
“Jo!”
“Hi Sir.”
“How’s it going?”
“Very well. Hart is denying any involvement other than pulling the suitcase.”
“Oh, let him go then…”
“No, seriously. He’s asking for a deal.”
Miller’s voice changed in an instant. “What sort of deal?”
“Basically, he’s going to blow the whole thing up if we agree to stick him on WP.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes Sir. Seriously. He’s shitting himself at the prospect of twenty years. He says if we do this for him, he’ll tell us everything, about Kennedy, about the attacks. The lot.”
“What does he want it return?”
“Not sure. I think he just wants to be charged with helping to pull the suitcase.”
“Okay, deal. But wait for me, I’m on my way over now.”
*****
Miller was out of breath as he reached the corridor where Kenyon and Rudovsky were waiting for him. He was red in the face, and he looked like he’d jogged here from his car.
“Where is he?” Asked Miller, leaving the pleasantries out.
“He’s sat in there Sir, with a custody officer.” Rudovsky pointed at the interview room door.
Miller walked straight in, he gestured Kenyon and Rudovsky to follow.
“Alright?” said Miller, nodding at the would-be gangster who looked more like a scared, nervous year eight who’d been caught with a rucksack full of stolen mars bars.
“Not really.” Said Hart. He looked back down at the table-top which he’d been concentrating on before Miller burst in.
“This is DCI Miller,” said Rudovsky.
“Yeah, I know who he is…” Miller assumed that Hart was referring to the fact that the DCI was a recognisable face, from all of the high-profile cases that he’d investigated through the years. But he’d be wrong, as he found when Hart continued talking.
“…he’s the reason that we’re in this fucking mess.”
This comment made Miller raise his eyebrows. That was pretty random.
“Interview reconvenes at fourteen forty hours, now present in the room is DCI Andrew Miller.”
“What’s happening about this witness thing?”
“Witness Protection?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I can sign that off. And if you’re genuine about only pulling the suitcase, and no other involvement, I can probably convince the CPS that you were made to do that under duress. There probably won’t be any charges, if you can provide quality information.”
T
his news visibly lifted Hart’s mood.
“I’m telling you now, I’ve got the full story.”
“Okay, well let’s hear it.”
Part Four
“Fuck’s sake! It’s getting on top.”
Simon Wilson was sitting in his Range Rover, the engine was running. Both he and Daniel Hart were keeping an eye on Curtis Kennedy. It was dark, but there was just enough light coming through from the garage at the other end of the street, to see what he was up to. Kennedy had been standing in the ginnel behind one of the DWP worker’s houses. All he’d had to do was keep an eye on the occupants of the house, especially the woman. And now it looked like he’d messed it all up, as he came sprinting up the ginnel towards Wilson and Hart.
“What the fuck is going on?” said Hart as Kennedy raced towards them. There was a guy chasing him with a baseball bat, he was swinging it, battering Kennedy as he ran.
“Aw fuck it!” said Wilson as he stepped on the accelerator and drove the car forward, moving the vehicle out of sight of the ginnel.
“Stop! You need to wait for him or Marco will blame us!” Pleaded Daniel Hart.
Wilson slammed on the brake. The Range Rover screeched to a halt.
A couple of seconds later, Kennedy had jumped in and was sat on the back seat. He was crying.
“You fucking tube!” said Hart, as Wilson set off at speed. He raced around the junction at the bottom of the street, and then pressed his foot hard against the accelerator. The Range Rover was moving at speed, heading up the hill past Manor Park.
“What the fuck!” shouted Wilson as the full power of the Range Rover was tested. Within minutes, the car was high above Glossop, ascending the Pennines, negotiating the sharp bends of the Snake Pass at speed.
“What happened?” said Wilson.
“Dunno, some guy just came and started shouting, he twatted me round the head with a bat. My heads killing!”
As the road straightened out a bit, Wilson pulled the car over. It was pitch-black up there, and the twinkling orange lights of Glossop looked a long way away. Wilson got out.
“Come on,” he said to Hart as he jumped out of the vehicle. He went to the boot and pulled out a large plastic suitcase. Wilson then opened the back door and grabbed Kennedy.
The Final Cut Page 31
