“Well,” Catrina said, shifting on her chair. “I thought you should know…”
“Oh, I agree,” Jo said, “but what I mean is why now? Why not earlier, when it could have made a difference?”
“Look, you don’t know what he’s like,” she answered. “You have no idea what he’s like, what I’ve gone through to get here today. I am shit scared!” Her voice was rising, showing signs of her losing control.
Jo held up her hands.
“Hey, Catrina, if that came out like a criticism; it wasn’t meant to. But we are interested, of course, in what has changed to make you prepared to risk coming forward now. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please go on.”
Catrina took some deep breaths, struggling to become calm again before continuing.
“Well,” she said, “when the stuff was found and Jack was arrested, I thought it just proved Mickey was right. I mean, there were drugs in the house. So it seemed – well – justified – what he did.”
“Did he say anything to you afterwards? I mean, after he’d searched the house.”
“Not to me. He told Dags he hadn’t found anything…”
“Dags?”
“Dagger-Zee – lead guitarist. He was driving the van with just him and me in it – plus Mickey in the back. We were the only two who knew what he’d done. Still are, I guess.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, as I said, when Jack was caught, it all seemed to fit – at first.”
“So, I have to ask again, why now? What’s changed to make you suddenly think that it doesn’t fit?”
Catrina didn’t speak for a long time.
“Okay, if you must know, it was hearing about Sammo yesterday on the news. The fact that he’d been found dead – shot.”
“So why would that prompt you to tell us about Mickey?”
“Well, some weeks ago, Mickey and Sammo fell out big-time. Apparently some guy had tricked Sammo into taking him to Manston Grange, I don’t know who the guy was, but he’s obviously got Mickey worried. He’s never shown up again and Mickey’s watching his back all the time. He had a real go at Sammo when it happened and he’s been at him ever since, threatening him with all sorts.”
“Is – was – Sammo a friend of yours?”
Catrina squirmed on her chair. “Christ, no! Obnoxious little shit, gave me the creeps. Had a really violent temper as well. But Mickey just fucks around with people’s lives, and I just think he ought to be stopped.”
“Are you saying you think Mickey Kadawe killed Sammo?” Alice asked.
“I don’t know, but I believe he’s capable of it.”
Alice leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Do you really think that Sammo revealing Mickey’s address is a strong enough motive for murder?”
Catrina paused before answering.
“Look, I don’t know – and that’s not what I came to talk about. You asked me why I chose now to tell you about the night of the party. Sammo’s murder just started me thinking what Mickey’s like and how he treats people. And… I’d already been thinking a lot recently about Jack.” She gave a little sob. “I liked him. I mean, I really liked him. I know he had a girlfriend, but I don’t think he was all that serious about her. I sort of hoped that him and me… you know. And since he… died… It’s been going round in my mind. I just can’t believe he was into that sort of thing. He was so laid-back, pleasant… and funny. He made everyone laugh – all the time. Drug dealers aren’t like that – nothing like that.”
She was gently crying now. She reached into her shoulder bag and took out a tissue, dabbing her eyes.
“So I thought what if Mickey actually took the stuff into the house that night. I mean, planted it there, for someone to find. That could be why he sneaked in, He had a rucksack with him, and I thought it probably had tools in it – you know screw-drivers, crow-bars and such – for searching. But it could have had drugs in it, I suppose. The stuff that was found. The more I think about it… Oh, God! If he did do that, then I helped him frame Jack. This is all my fault…”
The tears came freely, her body shaking with the sobs.
Jo switched off the recorders and went round the table to comfort her. She crouched beside the chair and put an arm round her shoulders, making a ‘drink’ sign with her free hand to Alice, who left the room to fetch more coffee.
“I’ll let you into a secret, Catrina,” Jo said. “Well, it’s no secret, actually, but it might be news to you. I’m the one who found the drugs in Jack’s house, in his room. So if you’re right about a set-up, we can both feel bad together.”
*
They sat in silence for a long time, all staring at the recorder on the Chief Superintendent’s desk as if the machine itself was responsible for what they had just heard. The two men sat tight-lipped and serious; Jo struggled to suppress her simmering excitement.
“Just step us through the timing again, Jo,” John Mackay said.
“Yes, sir. Catrina Thompson arrived here at ten-forty-two. Sergeant Masters phoned for Harry ten minutes later at ten-fifty-two – DC Grantham took the call. Harry wasn’t contactable and Gerry was concerned that Miss Thompson might change her mind and leave if she was asked to wait or if she couldn’t speak to a senior officer. So DC Grantham and I talked to her and recorded the interview, starting at eleven-oh-five. The meeting finally ended at eleven-forty-eight and I pointed out as she left that Harry, as the CIO on the case, may want to speak to her separately.”
John looked at Harry and raised his eyebrows with the unspoken question.
“All fine with me,” said Harry, shrugging.
They were silent again for a while, then John got to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind his desk.
“Okay,” he said, “this clearly is a cause for concern. If we had known about Kadawe’s foray into the grounds on the night of the party, it would have opened up a new line of questioning for the Defence. Even so, as I see it, there are a couple of real biggies in the way of this making a difference to the outcome.
“One; Mickey’s explanation about why he was there – to check whether Jack did have drugs in his possession – which, to be honest, rings true to me. And, if it is true, then, as Miss Thompson initially concluded, he was subsequently proved right. And, two – the real biggy – the mass of other evidence that points the way the verdicts went. As I’ve said to you before, Jo, we had enough to bring a case before the drugs were found.”
“I understand that, sir, but what we know for certain now is that Mickey lied in court.”
“No he didn’t; not in court. He was never asked at the trial whether he was at Etherington Place on the night of the party. Why would he be asked? He was up there on the stand as a character witness trying to get them off. If he did that with the knowledge that at least one of them was dealing, then the worst you can accuse him of is misplaced loyalty. He’s more likely to end up a hero than a villain.” He turned to the other officer. “Harry, thoughts?”
Harry took his time in answering.
“There’s no doubt the Defence would have developed that piece of information, so – of course – we can’t just dismiss it. I just worry that, if the end verdicts were correct, it would be dangerous – and pointless – to raise this to public awareness and discredit an investigation carried out with so much care and sympathy on behalf of the defendants. I see no benefit – at this stage – to risk undermining people’s confidence in the police – and the system.”
“Absolutely agree,” said John. “And I don’t want you deflected from the current investigation, Harry, so I’m going to put you onto this, Jo, and…”
Harry jumped to his feet. “With respect, sir…”
John held up his hands. “I want this as low profile as possible, Harry – like you said yourself just now. If I drag you off these five m
urders there’s no way we’ll be able to achieve that. So you go full steam ahead with what you’re doing.” He turned to Jo. “Let’s move really quickly on this, Jo. Get a small team together right away – include DS Ramirez as your number two – she was on Harry’s team on the J and J case and she can provide the link. Then I’d like to speak to them before you do anything else. But I’m going to position this as our tying up loose ends. I don’t want rumours circulating that there’s a chance we screwed up, because I don’t believe for one minute that we did. Miss Thompson was almost certainly correct in her first conclusion – that Mickey suspected Jack was dealing, and that he was right.”
Jo was shaking her head, without realising it.
“Please don’t take that dismissive attitude with me, Detective Inspector!” said John. “I know you feel very strongly about this, but the truth will not be best served if you pitch in with a blinkered intention to achieve your preferred result.”
It was Jo’s turn to bristle.
“With respect, sir, I hope you’re not suggesting that I have some vested interest in the outcome. I have opinions that may differ from yours and DI Waters’, but if you think I’m not capable of an objective approach to this, then I would rather you got someone else to lead the investigation. I don’t feel I’d be able to give it my best if I thought someone was looking over my shoulder checking what I was doing all of the time.”
John leaned on his knuckles across the desk, still angry. “No, you will lead the investigation, Jo. And just you – there’s no job for your superhero this time. David Gerrard is very definitely off-limits – okay? And before you do anything else, get this Dagger-Zee in to confirm her story,”
“Okay, sir, but I can’t see there being any doubt that it’s true. Even if he chooses not to corroborate it, then I’d still believe her. She has nothing to gain and everything to lose by fingering Mickey if she’s made it all up.”
“Very well, but talk to him anyway. Right now you need to get out there and gather the troops.” He looked at his watch. “It’s one-thirty. I’ll expect them to be ready for me by three. Okay? And in the meantime, I’m going to have to flag this with the Chief Constable.” He turned to Harry. “I feel like I’m back in the movie again; at the centre of the earth waiting for that bloody volcano.”
*
This time it was the more familiar sound of the bell that disturbed his sleep. Tom checked the display on the clock at the side of the bed – 15.15, MON 14 SEPT. A quarter past three! Christ, he’d been out for a full day! He remembered watching England v the All-Blacks highlights early on Sunday afternoon and after that… nothing!
He pulled on his dressing gown and staggered to the front door of the apartment, hitting both sides of the door jamb as he left the bedroom. He squinted at the display on the monitor and saw a man in a suit. Tom pressed the speaker button.
“Dan?”
“Hi, Tom. We need to talk.”
“What about? The trial’s not for another three months.”
“Less than two months. Look, are you going to let me in or do I have to discuss it with you in a loud voice from down here?”
“I wish you’d phoned first.”
“I did – many times. The phone must be off the hook and your mobile switched off.”
Tom felt his stomach preparing to relinquish its contents. “Okay, come on up.”
He activated the lock on the street door and fled into the bathroom to throw up. He splashed water onto his face and went back to let his visitor into the apartment.
Daniel Hastings, Senior Partner at Hastings and Medforth Associates Ltd looked the same as always; handsome, smart, relaxed and distinguished; today in a grey pinstripe suit, cream shirt and dark red silk tie, and carrying a traditional calfskin briefcase. He looked Tom up and down before speaking.
“Well it’s reassuring to see you’re taking good care of yourself.”
“Very amusing,” said his host, blinking his eyes into focus. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. I’ll wait through here,” Dan said, heading for the living room.
“God, sorry,” Tom said, a few minutes later, glancing round the room as he placed two steaming cups on the edge of a coffee table. Dan had seated himself at the end of one of the black leather sofas in the only place free of discarded clothes and scattered papers. Tom knew his guest could not have failed to detect the smell of stale sweat and whisky. “I don’t get many visitors these days.”
“Can’t think why,” said Daniel. “I see you’ve got a neighbour, though.”
“Was he camped out on the landing again?”
“No, but I could see the door was ajar when I came up. Wedged open with something, I think.”
“Well, he’s getting on my nerves at the moment; like he’s lying in wait for me all the time.” He took a sip of his coffee and winced at the taste. “Anyway, what’s the great urgency? I’m going to plead guilty, aren’t I? The plea of not guilty to the magistrate was to enable me to recede from public life with dignity, wasn’t it? Well I certainly fucked that up.”
“Yes, you did rather. We could plead not guilty to the charge of helping a prisoner take his own life on the basis that you believed it was not his intention at the time; that the capsule was provided as insurance for the future if necessary. That’s the truth, in fact, isn’t it? But you’re guilty of something, that’s for certain.”
Tom’s head dropped forward on to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean that to sound so detached and dispassionate, and you’re right, there’s no great urgency. If you want the truth, I came today as a friend to check how you were and to encourage you to get yourself together. It’s around seven weeks to the trial and now’s a good time to start getting in shape for it. Maggie must be really worried about you, seeing your picture…”
“Did she send you?” Tom looked up, taking Daniel by surprise. “That’s why you’re here. Mags asked you to check up on me because it would be – like – giving in if she were to come herself.”
“That’s not how it was, Tom. Maggie did call me – yesterday evening – to ask if I’d seen you and when we’d be starting to prepare for the trial. But she didn’t ask me to check up on you. I decided that. To be honest I feel a bit guilty not getting in touch earlier – as your friend, not your solicitor.”
“Well now you know…”
“Yes, now I know. You’re a mess and you’re not looking after yourself. You’re going to look really bad at trial if you don’t pull yourself together. Okay? So – how can I help?”
Tom thought for a few moments.
“You can’t,” he said. “It’s down to me. But you’re right. I do need to get myself together, because there’s some unfinished business I have to take care of.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tuesday; 15 September
Jo Cottrell and Christina Ramirez sat, deep in thought, across the table from each other in the vacant office off the major incident team room. The sergeant was similar to Jo in size and shape – five-and-a-half feet tall, quite slim, with a round, pretty face and hair cut just short of shoulder length. Otherwise, she was just as pale as Jo was dark, her blonde hair and fair complexion giving her a distinctly Scandinavian look, rather than the Mediterranean or Latin American tone her name suggested.
There was a light tap on the door and DC Alice Grantham poked her head into the room. She opened her eyes wide in an expression of mock horror.
“Your visitor’s here,” she said.
The man who stepped into the room certainly did have an initial aura of menace about him. Standing well over six feet – assisted by a pair of high-heeled, tan-leather cowboy boots – he was thin almost to the point of emaciation. His faded blue jeans were torn horizontally across both knees and in several places above; he wore a grey tee shirt sporting the band’s logo
under a padded black gilet. His dyed-black hair was long and flowed over his shoulders; he had a good many days’ stubble, and five metal studs around each ear. In spite of all this, Jo observed a sensitive face with soft blue eyes and a worried, hunted expression. Her overall impression was of a chosen image that failed to hide the caring, empathetic individual behind it.
The two officers got to their feet as he entered and Tina stepped round the table to stand beside Jo.
“Thank you for coming in… Do we call you Mr Zee… or what?” Jo smiled at him as she extended her hand. “I’m Detective Inspector Cottrell, and this is Detective Sergeant Ramirez. Seriously, what do you prefer to be called?”
“Dagger’s fine.” He reached forward to shake hands, limply, without making eye contact with either of them.
“Please sit down, Dagger,” Jo said, as she and Tina took their seats. “We appreciate you coming in like this. We would have been happy to come and meet you…”
The man, who had remained standing, drew in his breath.
“Don’t even think of it,” he said. “Please don’t come anywhere near where we’re working.” His voice was also gentle, though anxious, and unexpectedly deep for his lean frame. Jo and Tina exchanged a puzzled look.
“Why do you say that, Dagger, we only…”
“Look, this is really awkward,” he said, still standing but leaning on the back of the chair Tina had vacated. “Before we go anywhere with this, I need to tell you that Cat is retracting her story.”
Jo raised her eyebrows. “And why would she want to do that, Dagger?”
“She… just does.”
“Is it not true what she told us? Was she just deliberately wasting police time?”
“She’s changed her mind.”
Jo leaned across the table. “Changed her mind about what?” All pretence at calmness put aside, her voice was angry. “She can’t change her mind about telling us, because she already has. So, I ask you again – was it all a pack of lies? Has she changed her mind about what happened at Jack’s party?” He hung his head like a scolded child. “And for God’s sake, Dagger, sit down!”
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