by DS Butler
The one that worried him most was a tiny, lame Jack Russell terrier. Ted suspected the puppy’s leg had been injured after getting caught by the wire cage. He watched as it struggled over to him, using its three good legs.
“We’re going to get some grub,” Larry’s voice boomed across the lock-up.
Ted raised a hand. “Right. See you in a while.”
Ten minutes after Larry and his daughter left, Ted wiped sweaty palms on his jeans, opened the puppy’s cage door and scooped him out. He was light and Ted could feel practically every bone as he carefully lowered him into a cardboard box.
“Sorry, matey, it’s just for a little while, just until we get out of here,” he said.
Ted headed over to the cage containing the retriever Larry’s daughter had called Loopy-Lou. He had found a leash in the office, which surprised him as he had not seen one used at all so far. He’d never seen any of the dogs leave their cages.
He opened the cage door and braced himself. She was a large dog, and if she wanted to, she could deliver a far worse bite than the one she’d given Larry’s daughter.
Ted kept his movements smooth and deliberate, talking to her as he edged forward.
“Come on then, Lou; let’s get you out of here.”
The dog didn’t snap at him or make a run for it, both things he had been expecting. Instead, she stood rigid at the back of the cage, watching him with sorrowful brown eyes.
He tried again.
“Come on then, Lou, out you come. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
Still Lou remained trembling and fixed to the spot at the back of the cage. Ted edged his upper body inside the cage. The other dog approached him and sniffed his outstretched arm with interest, but Lou remained stubborn and still. As he eased closer, he felt this was wrong.
No animal like to be cornered.
He pulled himself back out of the cage after freeing the arm of his sweatshirt that had snared on the wire.
Inspired by a fresh idea, he closed the cage and jogged back to the rear of the lock-up, where the supplies were stored. He scooped up a couple of handfuls of the dried dog food.
This time, both dogs in the cage ventured towards him, sniffing at the food and Ted was able to attach a collar and leash to Lou as she ate gently from his palm.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Lou?” he asked, scratching her behind the ears.
Lou was quite happy to leave the cage and trot alongside Ted as he walked. He stopped to glance at his watch and pick up the box containing the injured puppy on his way out.
It had taken longer than expected to get the dogs ready to leave and he hoped Larry and his daughter would take their time over dinner.
Outside, after Ted had locked up and was ready to leave, Lou’s nerves started to show. She wound around his legs and the leash kept twisting, hindering their progress to the car. The puppy seemed to pick up on Lou’s nervousness and Ted could hear his small claws scraping at the cardboard.
They reached the car, and Ted delved in his pocket for the keys. “I’m sorry guys. Just a little bit longer,” he said.
“Where the hell do you think you are going with my animal?” Larry shouted from behind Ted.
In shock, Ted almost dropped the box containing the puppy. He managed to prevent it falling only by lurching to his knees and banging his head on the wing mirror in the process.
Larry towered above him. His bulk was menacing.
“Reckon we should show him what we do to thieves. What do you think, sweetheart?” Larry said to his daughter.
Ted barely registered Larry’s daughter walk forward and take the box from him.
“He was stealing a puppy as well, Dad,” she said, peering into the box before looking up at her father.
Ted couldn’t respond or try to explain his actions.
All Ted could think about was the long, purple scar that ran across Wolf’s torso and how much it must have hurt.
53
Ted sat on the back seat of the unmarked police car.
He had never been so pleased to see police officers in his life. Just as he thought Larry was about to kill him, the cavalry had arrived. But they hadn’t been very interested in what Ted had to say about the dogs.
When the police arrived, his first thought was that somehow Wolf or Alex had realised he was in trouble and called 999. It didn’t take him long to realise that couldn’t be the case.
After the police had taken down his name, they stepped back and conferred in lowered voices. They took him to the station, where they had left him waiting for an hour. Then they told him officers from the City of London Police force would be here to see him shortly.
It was then he knew for sure.
They weren’t interested in the dogs, and they weren’t interested in Larry. It was Ted they wanted.
Ted looked out of the car window, watching the village of Yarnton flash past. They would soon be joining the A40 and heading to London.
The fact that he had been picked up by City of London Police worried him. If it had been animal rights related stuff, it would have been dealt with by the Thames Valley Police force. So he knew as soon as they mentioned they were from City of London that it must have something to do with that John Weston bloke.
Despite all the protests he had attended and all the threatening letters he had sent out, Ted had never been arrested before.
He’d been to a meeting once, where other activists described their interactions with police, discussed strategies and issued handouts describing how to behave in custody. But now, sitting in the back of a police car, he couldn’t remember even one piece of their advice.
Ted shifted uncomfortably and the officer in the front passenger seat shot him a warning look. They hadn’t treated him badly so far. He hadn’t been roughed up, or tripped on the way to the car. In fact, they had been quite friendly and asked him what football team he supported and all that. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that they were trying to get him to lower his guard.
He wished he could remember more about those meetings. He could vaguely recall something about the best response to questioning was to say no comment, or was that just something from the TV? Sod it. Why couldn’t he remember?
The drive to London seemed to take a very long time. So when they finally arrived, Ted was eager to stretch his legs, even if he wasn’t keen to enter the station.
The officers parked up around the back of the station. The driver switched off the engine, got out, walked around the car and opened the door nearest Ted.
“Out you get.”
Ted had to shuffle across the seat in order to get to the door. He stepped out on legs that felt like spaghetti. He staggered and his hip hit the car door.
The officer put out a hand to support him. “Steady.” He kept a hand on Ted’s elbow and escorted him from the car, up the steps and through the building’s entrance. Ted heard the beeping sound as the other officer locked the car behind them.
They entered a white corridor with a wooden bench placed next to the wall on Ted’s left. The officer led him over to the bench and nodded for Ted to sit down, which he did.
Ted chewed at his lip, trying to remember what they had said at those bloody meetings.
There was something about keeping quiet so you didn’t get any of your fellow campaigners in trouble. There was also a solicitor! That’s right. He remembered now. There were a couple of solicitors in Oxford who believed in and supported the cause, and they offered their legal services free of charge in this type of situation. He had the numbers on his mobile. He almost smiled, until he remembered that his mobile was back at Larry’s place.
He let his head fall backwards until it hit the wall with a thud.
The police officer who had driven the police car sat down on the bench, next to Ted.
Ted turned to him. “I really wasn’t involved, you know.”
The officer raised his eyebrows, but before he could say anything, a door opened at the far end of the corri
dor.
Ted got to his feet and followed the officer through the door into a large, square room. There were several people milling about, most of them in uniform. The two officers flanked Ted and led him over to an Asian officer with a precisely trimmed beard, sitting behind a counter.
Ted couldn’t concentrate as the officer explained why he had been arrested. His lips and mouth felt dry. He tried to swallow. It was hot in the room, and he felt a bead of sweat travel down to the small of his back.
The Asian officer looked cool and calm in his short-sleeved shirt. He was talking to Ted now, but it was hard to take it all in. He just heard the words: detention and interview.
Ted was really sweating now, but the advice was coming back to him in bits and pieces. He was supposed to ask for a PACE booklet and a phone call. Maybe he could call Paul or Jayne. They would know the number of a solicitor sympathetic to animal rights activists.
But no, that wouldn’t work. The police would probably trace who he called and that might drag Paul and Jayne into this mess. He would have to cope with the duty solicitor and just hope he didn’t get some Hooray-Henry type, who spent his spare time fox hunting.
He needed to think and formulate a plan, but the custody sergeant was looking at him, waiting for a response to a question Ted hadn’t heard.
Ted nodded, and the custody sergeant seemed satisfied with that. He handed Ted some sheets of paper, headed with the City of London Police logo.
“You have a right to a solicitor. Would you like to see the duty solicitor?”
Would he? Not really. He wished he could remember the numbers of those other solicitors. This wasn’t a simple case of chaining himself to some railings, or liberating some rabbits. The police thought he had something to do with poisoning John Weston.
Why did he contact that journalist? It was a stupid thing to do. Unbelievably stupid. He should have just stuck to attending protests and sending out letters threatening the university’s suppliers and contractors.
The custody sergeant repeated the question.
“Uh, yes, the duty solicitor please,” Ted said.
The custody sergeant nodded. “We will inform the duty solicitor. I am now authorising the arresting officer, DS Mackinnon, to search you. Please rest you hands here.” The sergeant tapped on the counter, indicating where Ted should put his hands.
Ted turned and saw DS Mackinnon snapping on a pair of blue protective gloves.
Ted took half a step back and looked up at DS Mackinnon. He pulled his jacket tight around his midsection. “What? No! I haven’t done anything.”
“Put your hands on the counter please, sir, and spread your legs. Do you have anything sharp in your pockets?” DS Mackinnon’s voice sounded calm and almost bored.
Ted put his hands on the counter, felt DS Mackinnon’s foot against the inside of his heel, and widened his stance.
Ted bit his lip, tasted blood and wished he hadn’t posted that message.
54
After Ted’s arrest, there had been a sense of jubilation at the station. The computer database had struck gold.
Ted Sanders, of 32 Meadow Road, Summertown, was flagged in the system already as the owner of the Freedom for Animals website. A detective inspector from the Thames Valley had called and given DCI Brookbank the good news. Not only did he have Ted Sanders in custody, but Ted Sanders was the spitting image of the graffiti artist captured on CCTV outside the research laboratory.
Brookbank had given Mackinnon the job of collecting Ted Sanders from the Kidlington police station and bringing him to Wood Street for questioning.
Mackinnon would have liked to believe Brookbank gave him the task because Brookbank was slowly warming to him, but he knew really it was only because he lived closest to Kidlington.
When Mackinnon entered the major incident room, officers on the case were congratulating each other, slapping each other on the back and arranging to go for a drink.
DCI Brookbank spoiled everyone’s fun by declaring the work was not over yet, and they still needed to work hard to secure a conviction. Despite the words coming out of his mouth, DCI Brookbank looked as happy as Mackinnon had ever seen him.
DC Leonard put a hand on Mackinnon’s shoulder. “Nice one, Jack,” he said, grinning.
Mackinnon smiled back, but felt a shiver of unease. He tried to ignore it and enjoy the moment, especially as everyone seemed to be acting as if he had single-handedly solved the investigation.
DCI Brookbank sat at the front of the room with DI Tyler, heads over sheets of paper, planning the interview strategy. Charlotte entered the room just behind them.
Mackinnon walked over to her as she shrugged off her coat. “Sorry about calling you off-duty, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“I’m glad you did.” Charlotte said. “What’s the latest?”
“Brookbank’s planning the interview strategy with Tyler. Apparently, they’re planning to go in softly with the first interview, but suggest a couple of things to get him worried, and then leave him to sweat overnight. Then go at him hard tomorrow.”
“Right.” She looked behind him towards Brookbank. “So, did Ted Sanders say anything on the journey down here?”
“Not really, he was going on about how he was protecting some dogs.” Mackinnon said. “That’s how Thames Valley found him. He was stealing a couple, and the owner called the police. So far, he has admitted he knew about John Weston, but says he’s never met him. He denies knowing anything about the poisoning or leaving the note on the car.”
“Forensics?”
“They are running Sanders’ prints against the ones found on the bag covering the note. They’ve got his laptop too, and the techies are checking that.”
Mackinnon caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Brookbank and Tyler were getting to their feet. “Looks like it’s show time. Do you want to go to the viewing room?”
“Yes.” Charlotte said. “I want to see what the slippery sod has to say for himself.”
*
Charlotte and Mackinnon entered the small viewing room behind interview room one. Ted Sanders, the elusive graffiti artist, was sitting at the table, sweating.
He looked different to the man she had seen at the research laboratory, smaller somehow.
Charlotte pulled out a chair. “I guess bringing in Sanders has taken Brookbank’s mind off the fact we didn’t get much out of Dr. O’Connor.”
“We found out he’s a smarmy bastard,” Mackinnon said.
“I think Brookbank already had that sussed.”
There was a sharp rap, followed by a head peering around the door. DC Leonard shuffled in. “Room for one more?”
Mackinnon and Charlotte both moved over so Leonard could enter the room. Shortly afterwards, another two officers came into the viewing room, which was now uncomfortably crowded, but there was no sign of DCI Brookbank or DI Tyler.
Mackinnon went off to see what was causing the holdup, and Charlotte waited in the viewing room, scrolling through emails on her mobile phone.
Fifteen minutes later and tired of waiting for Mackinnon to return, Charlotte set off in search of Brookbank herself.
She passed though the incident room and walked along the corridor to Brookbank’s office. As she neared the office, she heard voices.
Charlotte didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her footsteps slowed as she approached the door.
She heard the word, “jumpy,” and then the words, “let down” and “overreaction.”
Charlotte felt her cheeks burn. They were talking about her, gossiping behind her back.
Before she had a chance to walk away unseen, the office door opened.
Mackinnon stepped out first and she glared at him. Bastard, pretending not to get on with Brookbank, when he was more than willing to bond over a little gossip at her expense.
DCI Brookbank walked towards the door, with two paper folders tucked under his arm. He frowned when he saw Charlotte. “DC Brown,” Brookbank glanced at his
watch. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But, I…”
“Go home,” Brookbank said and walked around Charlotte and Mackinnon, down the corridor, towards the interview suite.
Mackinnon stood in front of her, his face full of fake concern. “I’ll phone you later, let you know how the interview goes.”
“Fine.” She turned on her heel and headed out.
55
Ted sat, hunched over, on top of his mattress in the cell. It wasn’t really cold in the room, but despite the blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he couldn’t stop shivering.
An hour ago, he’d been close to tears, but he held them back. He didn’t want them to see how scared he was.
They kept peering in at him through the spy-hole in the door.
They had taken his fingerprints, taken his DNA by prodding around in his mouth, taken his photograph, and then they kept him waiting for ages in a cell before interviewing him.
When they finally did interview him, it went faster than he had expected. But it was even more frustrating than waiting in his cell. Two different detectives had asked him questions, not the ones who had picked him up, which was annoying as he had to try and explain everything again.
He wanted to talk. He wanted to tell them everything, but they kept stopping him, asking him pointless questions and nodding when he answered them, as if he had said something incriminating.
He asked the duty solicitor why he had to wait so long, and the solicitor told him the police needed time to develop their interview strategy.
So now they were going to keep him overnight and interview him again in the morning. Apparently, he had the right to eight hours sleep, but he doubted he would be able to doze off in this place.
He pulled the blanket around his shoulders and looked towards the door when he heard a sound from the corridor. Each time he heard someone outside the cell, hope grew in his chest, but no one unlocked the cell, so he curled up into a tighter ball.
