by Adam Croft
Benjamin swallowed. ‘And if it wasn’t him?’
‘Well if it wasn’t him, we’re really in the shit. ‘Cos then the filth are gonna come sniffing around us, you get me? We all got shafted by Freddie Galloway, bruv. All of us.’
Benjamin shook his head. ‘But we’ve had eleven years to do something about that. Why would we wait until the day Headache’s released and do it then?’
Tyrone’s voice took on an edge of anger. ‘Because the moment he pulled that fucking trigger, that changed everything. You know, ever since that day I’ve been shitting myself. Headache could’ve coughed at any minute and told the cops who else was involved. Could’ve cut a deal and got his sentence reduced. But he didn’t. Now, that’s either because he’s a fucking God’s honest geezer or because he knew he was better off biding his time. And even if it’s because he’s Mother fucking Teresa reincarnated, it’s not just him we had to worry about. I know we were careful, but you know damn well our DNA’ll still be all over that place. Do you know what it’s like to be a black guy driving around a town like this, knowing you’re God knows how many times more likely to be pulled over by the cops than a white guy like you? And that if they do a cheek swab, or whatever damn DNA test they want, I’ll be going down for armed robbery just because I forgot to indicate at a fucking roundabout?’
Benjamin knew the feeling all too well, but he didn’t feel that was something he could tell Tyrone right now.
‘So if one of us is meant to have burnt Freddie Galloway’s place down, why would either of us risk leaving our DNA there too? If we were that worried about being caught for armed robbery, why would we throw arson and murder in the mix?’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking too. And it came to me that that might be just the sort of thing someone would do if they wanted to frame Headache. If they wanted to make it look like it was him, getting revenge the same day he got out of prison. If they wanted to make sure he’d keep his mouth shut.’
‘But I don’t get it,’ Benjamin said. ‘I don’t get why either of us would do that.’
Tyrone held Benjamin’s gaze for a little longer than Benjamin would’ve liked.
‘Nor do I, bruv. Nor do I.’
23
‘Come on, just one more,’ Ryan said, standing to take the empty glasses to the bar. ‘We’re all having one.’
‘You’ve all got to be in at eight tomorrow morning,’ Culverhouse said, starting to slur slightly. ‘And so have I.’
‘And we will. That’s hours away yet. Anyway, call it a team bonding exercise. Besides, you’ll have to leave the car at work anyway now, so the walk home and back again in the morning will sort you right out.’
Culverhouse let out a grunt that told Ryan he didn’t necessarily agree but wasn’t going to argue.
With another round of drinks on the table, and thanks given to the landlord for letting them stay well beyond last orders, Ryan wasted no time in getting to the point.
‘A friend of mine was in here the other night,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink. ‘He went on a date from one of those apps.’
Ryan, Wendy and Steve tried to look at Culverhouse to gauge his reaction without making it too obvious they were watching him. He didn’t seem to be responding at all, but was watching the flashing lights on the fruit machine near the toilets.
‘Yeah? How did it go?’ Steve asked, sounding suspiciously enthusiastic.
‘Well, he didn’t go back to his that night if that’s what you’re asking,’ Ryan said, squirming as Steve belted out an elongated, forced laugh.
Culverhouse looked at him. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’
‘Me? Nothing. Why?’
‘No reason. Just remind me not to order whatever that is you’re drinking.’
‘You ever been on one of those?’ Ryan asked Culverhouse, while his attention was back on the table.
‘One of what?’
‘Dating apps. I was just saying a friend of mine’s on one and he’s ploughing through the town like Don Juan.’
Culverhouse raised his eyebrows. ‘Good for him. Should keep the local STD clinic in business.’
‘Ah, come on. It’s only a bit of fun, isn’t it?’ Wendy chipped in.
Culverhouse looked at her, cocking his head slightly. ‘Are you on them?’
Wendy tried to work out the subtext of his question, but she couldn’t. Instead, she decided to answer honestly. ‘Me? No.’
‘Have you seriously never tried them?’ Ryan asked him.
‘Obviously not,’ the DCI replied. ‘Why would I?’
‘Because that’s how things are done nowadays, isn’t it? You don’t need to worry about going out to places and hoping that someone you’re attracted to turns up at the same place at the same time and wants to talk to you. You just browse through, see who takes your fancy and either swipe left or right.’
Culverhouse took a large gulp of his beer. ‘Sounds like a fucking Argos catalogue.’
Ryan considered this for a moment. ‘Yeah, if you like. And if the same person sees your profile and likes you too, they swipe the same way and it pops up as a match.’
‘Then what?’ Culverhouse asked, starting to sound vaguely interested.
‘Then you can send them a message. Get chatting, find out a bit more about each other, meet up if you want to. It’s ideal for people who are busy with work and don’t get to go out and socialise and meet new people.’ She watched Culverhouse for a reaction, but got none. ‘Here, give me your phone and I’ll show you.’
‘Bugger off, use yours,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘I can’t do that, can I? I’ve got a partner. Wouldn’t look too good if I was on dating apps.’
Culverhouse sat back and folded his arms. ‘Yeah, well I don’t particularly fancy people spotting me on there either.’
‘Why not? Almost every person in the country who’s single is on them. Guaranteed. And anyway, you can set it so certain people can’t see you. You can change the settings so only women of a certain age can see your profile, or people from a specific geographical area. It’s safe. Believe me.’
The DCI narrowed his eyebrows. ‘How do you know?’
‘I’m twenty-five,’ Ryan replied, chuckling. ‘It’s how things are done these days. Seriously, just pass me your phone and I’ll show you. You don’t have to make your profile public or anything. I’ll just show you how it works.’
Culverhouse, sensing he wasn’t going to get any peace, fished his phone out of his pocket and slid it across the table towards Ryan.
‘What’s the unlock code?’ Ryan asked, before picking up the phone.
‘The what now?’
‘The unlock code. The pin number.’
Culverhouse shook his head. ‘Haven’t got one.’
‘They always say coppers are the worst with security,’ Steve remarked.
Once Ryan had downloaded and installed the app on Culverhouse’s phone, she opened it up and started to configure it. ‘How tall are you?’ she asked.
Culverhouse shrugged.
‘Shall we say six foot? Most women wouldn’t go for anything under. Sorry Steve. Right. Hobbies and interests. Minimum of fifty characters.’
‘How many letters in “fuck all”?’
Ryan laughed. ‘Not enough. Shall I put travelling and seeing the world, good food, fine wine, great company?’
Culverhouse snorted. ‘Women like six-foot liars, do they?’
‘It’s not about lying. It’s about making a good first impression.’
‘By lying.’
‘By bending the truth slightly. Now. A picture. Sit back, look relaxed and smile.’
Steve let out a huge belly laugh. ‘Hah! Smile! Talk about breaking new horizons.’
‘Fuck off, Steve,’ Culverhouse replied, before leaning back in his chair, casually draping his arm over the one next to him and forcing the most awkward looking grin any of them had ever seen.
Wendy tried her hardest not to laugh, and ins
tead buried her face in her drink.
‘Yeah, try not to force it,’ Ryan said. ‘Just relax your face and think of something that made you really happy.’
Culverhouse seemed to pause for a moment, before finding something in his memory bank. The smile seemed warm and genuine, and left Wendy wondering what could have been the thought that went through his mind at that moment.
‘Lovely,’ Ryan said. ‘That looks great.’
‘Now what?’
‘Now we get swiping.’
24
John Lucas stretched and arched his back as he adjusted to the light streaming into his cell. He’d had a better night’s sleep than he had any right to, sleeping on a tough plastic mattress in a cold prison cell. Then again, he’d got used to waking up to whitewashed brick walls and the clanging of metal doors down a corridor. He hadn’t expected to ever have to hear it again, though.
The hatch in the door slid open as a police officer unlocked it and looked in on him.
‘Not dead,’ Lucas called out, raising his hand.
‘Always a bonus,’ said the officer. ‘Saves me a ton of paperwork. You want breakfast?’
‘I’ll pass if that’s alright. I’m still recovering from dinner. Wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, though.’
‘Right you are. They’ll probably call down for you just before nine, to get you in for interviewing again.’
Lucas nodded and put his head back down on the hard mattress. With any luck, the custody clock would run down and he’d be out of here within a couple of hours. He hoped so. Because he had places to be.
* * *
Despite two bacon sandwiches and three cups of black coffee, Jack Culverhouse could still feel and taste his hangover. It was something most CID officers got used to with time — there was fun to be had trying to work out which symptoms were due to the drink and which were down to sleep deprivation.
‘Morning, guv!’ Steve Wing bellowed, whilst giving Culverhouse a firm but friendly slap on the back. ‘Got some good news for you.’
‘Unless you’re being transferred to the Outer fucking Hebrides, I fail to see how it could brighten up my morning,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘Well, you never know. I took a call from the search teams about ten minutes ago. They’ve got an update on what they’ve found.’
Culverhouse squinted as he tried to force the splitting headache to the back of his skull. ‘Go on.’
‘From the scene, not much. The fire was pretty intense, but all they can say for definite is that the fire started by the front door. They reckon it was done with petrol and a hosepipe with a length of thin rope running through it. Acts as a wick, apparently, and means the person doing it can avoid scorching themselves. Makes it forensically more difficult to link someone to the scene.’
‘So is there anything linking Lucas to it? Or are you just wasting my time?’ Culverhouse barked.
‘See, that’s where it gets interesting,’ Steve said. ‘There was nothing at the scene as such, but when they searched Lucas’s home they found a few things that might interest you.’
Culverhouse was, by now, starting to lose what little patience he still had. ‘Steve, will you fucking spit it out?’
‘Shoes. They managed to gain access to Lucas’s garage, which had a pretty hefty lock on it. There was a pair of shoes in there — size nine, same as Lucas wears — with some mud and grass on the bottom of them. They reckon the type of grass is the same as on Freddie Galloway’s front lawn, and the mud is a pretty close match too.’
‘Pretty close?’
‘Eighty-five percent, they reckon. Could be because the shoes have been worn elsewhere and have been contaminated with a couple of different types of mud. Dunno how it’d stand up in court, but to be honest it might not need to. They also found a jerry can with traces of petrol in the bottom of it. They’re doing analysis on it as we speak, trying to confirm whether it was the same petrol used in the fire. Depends what they can extract from the burnt remains of the house. But that’s not all. The fire officers reckon the curtains and soft furnishings near the front door were splashed with accelerant too, meaning the arsonist would’ve likely needed to have access to the house. Amongst all the tools and stuff in his garage drawers, they found a key. Looks pretty new. They’ve confirmed it matches the lock on Galloway’s front door.’
‘He had a key to Galloway’s house?’
‘Looks like it. There are no prints on the key or the jerry can, but that’s hardly a surprise. There are traces of latex dust which match a box of gloves found in Lucas’s garage.’
‘Excellent. Any DNA on the shoes?’
‘Nothing so far. They’ve managed to get some cotton fibres, probably from the socks he wore, but no hairs or skin fragments or anything like that. You’d expect to find something, but looks like he was careful. There was even latex dust on the laces, showing he likely tied them up whilst wearing the gloves.’
‘Fantastic. Really good work, Steve,’ Culverhouse said, slapping him on the back twice as hard as the Detective Sergeant had done to him a few moments ago. ‘Right. Where’s Knight?’
‘Gone to fetch something from the printer upstairs.’
‘Did you tell her about the forensics?’
‘Yeah, she was here when the call came in. We wanted to wait until you arrived before doing anything, though. Thought you might want to take the lead on this one.'
‘Send her down to the custody suite when she gets back, will you? I think it’s about time we had another little chat with Mr Lucas.’
25
Once Wendy had joined Culverhouse down in the custody suite, they entered the interview room, where John Lucas was already waiting, sitting alongside his solicitor, Matthew Chamberlain.
‘Morning all,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Lovely weather out there, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Lucas replied, before his brief could advise him otherwise.
‘Well, maybe after we’ve had a little chat you’ll be able to pop out for a bit. I wouldn’t bank on it, though.’
‘Before we start, Detective Chief Inspector,’ the solicitor said, ‘would you mind fetching me another cup of coffee, please? This one’s got sugar in it.’
‘Tough,’ Culverhouse said, before starting the recording equipment and introducing the people present in the room.
‘Mr Lucas. Have you ever visited the house of one Frederick Galloway?’
‘No. I haven’t.’
‘You weren’t close to Mr Galloway? You didn’t go round and water his plants or feed his cats while he was away on holiday?’
Lucas looked at his solicitor, who responded by talking to Culverhouse.
‘Where is this line of questioning going, exactly, Detective Chief Inspector?’
Culverhouse furrowed his brow and looked back at the brief. ‘Your client responding to it, with any luck, Mr Chamberlain. They’re fairly simple questions.’
Chamberlain nodded at Lucas.
‘No. I’ve never been to his house.’
‘What’s your shoe size, Mr Lucas?’ Culverhouse asked, keeping his eyes on the notepad in front of him.
‘Nine.’
‘And do you own a pair of size nine Timberland boots?’
‘Uh, I dunno. Possibly. I’ve been in prison for the past decade; I don’t remember what brands of shoes I’ve got sitting in my wardrobe.’
‘What about your garage?’ Culverhouse asked, looking up at him. He saw no sign of recognition, other than a glint of surprise in the man’s eyes.
‘My garage?’
‘Yes, that brick structure attached to the side of your house, traditionally used to store a car but nowadays more often used for storing tools and garden equipment. And size nine Timberland boots.’
Lucas shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve not been in the garage since before I went to prison.’
‘Can you prove that?’
Lucas laughed. ‘Funnily enough, no. It’s not the sort of thing I jotted down in my
diary if that’s what you mean.’
‘So you can’t explain why there’s a pair of size nine Timberland boots sitting in your garage, the bottoms of which are covered in mud and blades of grass that have been matched to Freddie Galloway’s front lawn?’
Culverhouse watched as Lucas sat in a stunned silence for a few moments, seeming to hold his breath the whole time.
‘Can I have a couple of minutes with my client, please?’ Chamberlain asked.
‘You can have as long as it takes me to get myself another cup of coffee,’ Culverhouse replied, before stating the time and pausing the recording equipment.
Back outside the interview room, he asked Knight what she made of Lucas’s responses.
‘I dunno. He seemed genuinely shocked,’ she said. ‘I don’t imagine that’s because he seriously thought he’d get away with hiding stuff like that in the garage, so my instinct is that he genuinely knew nothing about it.’
‘Doesn’t quite add up, though, does it?’
‘It does if someone was trying to set him up.’
Culverhouse nodded and scratched at his stubbly chin. ‘True. Wouldn’t hurt to run along that line of questioning for a bit, see who might have wanted to frame him for it. When we go back in, you can take over the questioning. See if you can get something else out of him. People always tend to open up more to birds.’
‘Birds?’ Wendy asked, raising her eyebrows, even though she hadn’t taken any serious offence to the remark.
‘Call it good-cop bad-cop. Call it what you like. All I know is these ex-cons and gangsters will try to run circles round you if you let them. We need to keep switching things up, keep dropping things on them. Sooner or later, he’ll talk. He’ll either tell us what he’s done — or the evidence will — or he’ll cough about who he’s tucked up in the past. Either way, we’ll get our man.’
