by Neil White
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sam.
‘You were rude to an old friend of mine. He has been good to this firm, and good to Helena. I expected better.’
‘If I deal with a client, I am in charge. That’s the rule. You taught me it, Harry. If Jimmy King hangs around, he will want to run the case his way.’
‘There isn’t going to be a case.’
‘The parents are always best left out. That’s the right way, isn’t it?’
Harry was quiet. He knew that was his motto. Control. It was all about control. The lawyer had to be in charge, because the line between lawyer and criminal can be a thin one. If the criminal is in charge, he can pull the lawyer over the line with him. No client is worth your career. That had been Harry’s mantra throughout Sam’s training. Don’t run errands, don’t pass on messages, don’t take anything to them. Stay professional and distant.
And parents were the worst of all, because they controlled the client as well. It didn’t matter how old they were, children didn’t tell the truth in front of their parents.
Harry turned away to look out of the window. ‘At least be polite. For your own sake.’
Sam nodded and then turned to leave the room.
Chapter Ten
Blackley police station was next to the court, so Sam had to run the gauntlet of courthouse drunks and crooks to get there, Luke King tucked in behind him. Sam tried to make conversation, asked him what he did with his life, but Luke didn’t answer.
Sam shrugged and gave up. He had just to advise him, not like him. And the day was getting weird. The old man had been outside the office again, staring at him as he left. If he was still there later, Sam would call the police.
They reached the entrance to the police station. It was an old stone building, with roman window arches and block-effect stone on the corners. Steps went up to double-glazed doors and a bright sign, the old wooden doors and blue lamp long gone. Reinforced glass windows lined the building at pavement level, a faint glow giving the only hint that anyone occupied the rooms below. They were the cells, a line of damp, tiled rooms, with an aluminium toilet and a PVC mattress for furniture.
As they were about to climb the steps, Sam turned to Luke. ‘Are you okay about this? We don’t have to do it.’
Luke didn’t respond.
‘It’s your call, not your father’s. If there’s something you want to keep from the police, then leave.’
Luke looked towards the police station, and then back towards Sam’s office. He saw the group of drunks outside the court.
He turned back towards Sam, and Sam sensed more determination than before. Luke seemed suddenly confident, his eyes less scared.
‘There’s something you ought to know,’ he said.
Sam smiled and shook his head. ‘You’re here as a witness. I’m not going to change anything you’re going to say. I’m here just in case the police think that you’re more than that.’
He shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got to know this.’ He moved closer to Sam and grabbed his wrist. Sam could smell the office coffee on his breath, could see the gloss of sweat on his top lip.
‘I did it.’
I watched Sam Nixon walk by, and I was curious.
I was on the steps of the court, just passing the time between cases, when I saw him, the brightness of his shirt loud in the shadows beneath the old grey buildings. Then I noticed the young man walking alongside him, nervous in a grey suit, the pads hanging off his skinny shoulders. Sam was walking quickly and the young man was struggling to keep up.
As they walked past, I saw Sam glance at me and then walk on. The police station was next door to the court, and I watched them slow down as they got near to the steps.
I was interested. Not many people go to the police station in a suit, and I knew that solicitors didn’t go to the police station as much as they used to do. Police-station runners do most of it now, cheaper versions of the real thing.
I had read the reports, that for lawyers crime no longer pays. It is all about volume, so police-station runners handle most of the police-station work, giving the lawyers the time to go to court. The runners only have one choice to make: whether to advise clients to answer questions or stay silent. The suits are cheaper, shinier, the faces younger, but they are prepared to put in the hours, and they are all billable hours.
‘Look at the cunt.’
I whirled around. It was the drunk from before, Terry McKay.
‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Sam Nixon?’ As a journalist I had learned a long time ago that it was good to listen to anyone who was prepared to talk.
Terry swayed on the steps, and turned to me slowly, his eyelids barely open.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I’m the person you’re talking to,’ I said, ‘so tell me, who’s the cunt?’
Terry turned back to the street.
‘Him,’ he said. ‘With fucking Nixon. Cunt. And Parsons.’ His head bobbed as he talked.
I nodded towards Sam and the young man in the suit, who were now by the bottom of the police-station steps.
‘Who is he?’
Terry turned to face me. I saw that his denim jacket was covered in stains, and the sides of his shoes were splitting where his feet were forcing their way out.
‘Don’t you fucking know, arsehole?’ He launched spittle onto his chin when he said this, as his head bobbed and shook.
I grinned. Drunks like him didn’t bother me. He wanted to talk. The booze had just made him forget how. ‘You tell me, arsehole,’ I said.
Terry stared at me, in that way that drunks always do, concentrating too hard. He swayed and his feet shuffled slightly on the steps as he tried to steady himself.
‘Fucking King’s boy.’ He said it with a snarl. ‘That cunt owes me.’
‘King?’
Terry turned back, his teeth bared in anger. ‘Aye, fucking King. Jimmy King, whatever, bullshit fucker.’ He clenched his fist, looked like he was going to punch something. ‘He owes me, fucking owes me.’
I became alert. I knew of Jimmy King. Local businessman with a bad reputation turned into a pillar of society. Respectable. And his son was being escorted to the police station. Now, there was a story.
‘What’s his name? The son?’
Terry grinned at me. ‘Luke,’ he said slowly, relishing the sound. ‘Remember that name.’
I smiled at Terry and went for a walk, just to see where they were going.
Sam paused for a moment, surprised, not sure he’d heard Luke right. It sounded cold, like they were just words. ‘Don’t tell me any more.’
Luke shook his head, his eyes wide now, staring into Sam’s. ‘No, you’ve got to know. I did it. I killed the girl. And do you know what? I enjoyed it.’
Sam tried to pull away, but Luke’s grip was surprisingly tight, strong.
‘And do you know what else?’
‘Enough,’ said Sam, his irritation coming out in a hiss. ‘I don’t need to know this. Not yet.’
‘I’m going to do it again.’
Sam gave his wrist a yank and pulled it away.
Luke stepped in closer. ‘I’m going to keep on until someone catches me,’ he said, his mouth curled in a grin. ‘How will that make you sleep?’
Sam was stunned, quiet, not knowing what to say, when Luke walked away from him. He was heading for the steps, then he turned around.
‘C’mon, Mr Nixon. It is Mr Nixon, isn’t it? Not Sam?’ He smiled. ‘Catch up. The police want to speak to me.’
And with that, he stepped up onto the last step and went into the police station.
Sam looked around, back at the drunks outside the courtroom. Terry McKay lifted his hand, gave Sam a nod, but there was little warmth in it.
Sam realised then that he had no option. He had to follow his client into the police station. It’s what he did. That had always been his choice.
Harry and Jimmy stood at the office window and watched Sam walk towards the police station wi
th Luke. When they went out of view, the men didn’t speak. Jimmy tugged at his shirt cuffs and turned away. When he sat down, he crossed his legs and waited for Harry to join him. He watched Harry as he went back to his desk. Jimmy’s head was still but his eyes tracked Harry’s movement.
Harry sat down and swallowed.
‘Can we trust Sam?’ asked Jimmy.
Harry nodded slowly. ‘He came from the gutter, so he knows how far the drop is. He won’t want to go back.’
Jimmy scowled. ‘It’s even further for us, Harry, so you’d better be right, for your own sake.’
Harry didn’t respond. He looked down at his desk and clasped his hands together. He didn’t look up again until Jimmy had left the room.
Chapter Eleven
Laura looked through the glass in the waiting-room door. Egan was behind her.
‘Is that him?’ she asked, nodding towards the lanky kid in the bad suit. He had someone with him. A taller man in a suit. Short hair, flashes of grey around the temples. ‘Jimmy King’s boy?’
Egan nodded. ‘That’d be my guess.’ He sounded terse, his plan to covertly observe Luke King thrown away by the unexpected visit. The boy was either playing a dangerous game, or he was innocent. Egan pointed through the glass. ‘And he’s brought his lawyer. Sam Nixon’s not here to carry his sandwiches.’
‘Is Nixon any good?’
Egan smiled. ‘None of them is good. They’re just different shades of shifty.’
Laura looked back through the glass. She knew that most police officers didn’t like lawyers, but she knew something else as well: that when they got into trouble themselves, drink driving or with expenses fiddles, they always went to the trickiest defence lawyers in town.
As Laura looked through the glass, she put Eric Randle to the back of her mind. He had once been arrested for murder, but not convicted. And the scene in the waiting room now made the whole picture look rather different.
‘Maybe it’s not all bad,’ said Laura. ‘After all, not many witnesses come to see the police with a brief. But why come at all? And how did he know?’
Egan’s lips twitched at that. ‘I don’t know, but if there’s a leak, I’ll find it.’
Laura went to press the button to release the security lock, but stopped when she felt Egan’s hand over hers.
‘Let’s make him sweat for a while first,’ he said. He left his hand there.
Laura pulled her hand away, and she saw that Egan was smiling. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Saved by the bell. As she brought it out, she saw it was a message from Jack. ‘Is Luke King there anything to do with you?’
She shook her head and sighed. He didn’t miss a trick.
Sam felt edgy as he waited in the police station. He sat on an old orange seat, hard plastic bolted to a hard tiled floor, and he shifted about as he tried to get comfortable. A bored desk assistant trapped behind glass took details of driving documents as people brought them in. Sam watched her, just to avoid Luke’s conversation. He had been told too much already.
Sam knew he had to get Luke out of the police station, but Luke didn’t seem interested in that. He hadn’t said anything since the confession. Instead, Luke sat silently, the tapping of his foot on the floor the only noise. It sounded nervous, but whenever Sam looked across, the boy looked calm, almost happy.
Sam had told him only one thing: say nothing.
Sam turned around sharply when he heard the door open. It was DI Egan. He looked as he always did, quietly confident. There was an officer behind him he hadn’t met before. A woman, tall, attractive, with shoulder-length dark hair and dimples. Sam hoped that she might discourage Egan from playing games.
Egan strode towards Luke, businesslike, trying to cut Sam out. Sam stepped in front of him.
‘Good morning, Mr Egan.’ Sam drew himself up to his full six feet so that he looked down on Egan. He sensed the other cop standing back.
‘Mr Nixon, it is so good of your client to come down and help us.’ Egan said it with his top lip curled, as if Sam had just pissed on his shoes. ‘We need to eliminate him from an inquiry.’
Sam sensed the unspoken words: Why does he need a lawyer if he’s innocent?
‘Which inquiry?’
‘That doesn’t involve you at this stage. Mr King isn’t under arrest.’
Sam turned round to look at Luke, just to gauge his mood. Luke’s eyes betrayed no emotion. They were cold, precise.
‘If you want to leave, you can,’ Sam said to him. It was a cue, but Sam wasn’t sure that Luke understood it: leave now, while you still have the chance.
‘You do know why your client is here, don’t you?’ said Egan from behind Sam, sounding hostile.
Sam turned back around. ‘You tell me all about it.’
Egan sighed, already tired of the game. ‘We would have come for him anyway. We think young Mr King might have some information in relation to a murder investigation. We were hoping he would help us, so we can eliminate him from our inquiry.’
Sam leaned into Egan, as if to whisper. Egan leaned in too, couldn’t stop himself. Sam spoke quietly, almost a hiss, his eyes wide in mock-excitement. ‘Did you say a murder?’
Sam saw the female officer’s mouth flick upwards in a smile, but she stopped herself when Egan stepped back, his anger flushing its way up his cheeks.
‘Don’t try to be funny, Mr Nixon.’
‘There is nothing funny about being linked with a murder,’ said Sam. ‘Unless you can assure me that my client is not under suspicion, he does not want to speak to you.’
Egan breathed through his nose, his lips twitching, saying nothing. Laura intervened.
‘We’ve received information that your client was nearby,’ she said, and she flashed a quick smile at Luke, disarming, friendly. ‘He might have seen something that could help us. He could be a vital witness.’
Smart answer, thought Sam. Egan looked angry, like he had lost some ground.
‘Hello,’ said Sam to Laura. ‘Have we met?’ He asked because he knew it would annoy Egan.
Laura was trying to look stern as they exchanged details. Sam caught an accent, south of England.
‘I’ve spoken with my client and he has nothing to say.’
‘Except when it comes out of your mouth,’ said Egan, looking at Luke. ‘So why is he here, in his best suit?’
‘Because if he hadn’t come, you would have hauled him out of bed in his pyjamas, probably with a photographer on your tail, just to get your perma-tan on TV.’
Laura looked down, smirking.
‘Look, Inspector,’ Sam continued, trying to sound reasonable, ‘Mr King has nothing he wants to say to you. If you want to make him, you have to depose him at court. But for that you need to charge someone else, so if you want to hear what he has to say, either arrest him or someone else.’
Sam turned around and took hold of Luke’s arm to escort him out of the station. He tried to move quickly, but Egan was quicker, moving fast, gripping Luke’s other arm.
‘Luke King, I am arresting you for murder.’
Sam was shocked. He could tell from the look in Laura McGanity’s eyes that she was too. That was good. It meant that Egan had acted off the cuff. It meant that there wasn’t any evidence against King yet. The custody clock would tick away, and it would put pressure on the police. This was a high-profile arrest, and Dermot Egan had made it without any evidence.
If they had done nothing, Egan could have watched Luke at leisure, covertly. Now he had shown his hand, moved too quickly.
Luke looked the calmest of all of them, almost serene.
Sam stood to one side as Egan cautioned Luke, giving him the usual ‘right to remain silent’ bull. You can say nothing, but if you do, the prosecution will use it against you. Didn’t seem like much of a right to Sam.
As Luke was led away, Sam looked down at his hands. Killer’s hands. Then he looked at Luke’s face.
Luke was smiling.
I moved away from the door of
the police station. Laura had kept her back to me, but I could tell that Luke King had been arrested.
And I knew that Laura was dealing with the murder investigation. I smiled to myself. Now that Jimmy King’s son had been arrested, the story had just got better.
As I walked back towards the court, I saw Terry McKay again. He was sitting on the court steps, receiving a green bottle from one of the others swaying near him. He barely looked up as I stood over him.
