Devil in the Detail by A.J. Cross (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

to the actual shootings, Bernard. If shooting them wasn’t part of his plan, there had to have been a causal event which led to it. We know nothing about his initial contact beyond his producing a gun to them. Depending on their personalities, such an action could have shocked them into submission or triggered panic. How did he intend to maintain control?’

Watts stared at him. ‘It looks to me like it was with the gun.’

Traynor shook his head. ‘No. Guns can be a very poor method for achieving control.’

‘Which leads to exactly what we’ve got in this case: chaos, ending with Mike Lawrence dead, his wife as good as, for all this low-life knew or cared.’

The silence was broken by Traynor. ‘He didn’t kill her.’

They both stared at him. ‘Meaning what?’ asked Watts.

‘He could have killed her with a shot to the head. He didn’t.’

‘So? If he’s young, like I said, he was probably as shocked as they were at the madness of what was happening. He starts firing indiscriminately—’

‘Molly might have pleaded with him,’ said Judd. ‘You know, “Please, don’t hurt me, I’m pregnant.” I think a woman would do that in her situation. If he was young, not some hardened thug, she might have thought she could appeal to him not to hurt her.’

Watts covered his face with his hands, then let them drop. ‘Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t – he still shot her.’ He looked across at Traynor. ‘If he’s really young, say sixteen or so, the shootings probably frightened the life out of him.’

Traynor looked across at him. ‘There might be something in what you said about his being very young.’

‘It was a guess.’

‘Guesses can be informed.’

‘What else do you want from Molly Lawrence?’ asked Watts.

‘If we assume that he put both Lawrences in fear, I want to know if he attempted to form some kind of link, some sort of relationship with them, perhaps to calm them. Or did something occur inside that car which led to his complete loss of control?’

He stood and gazed out of the window. ‘He’s a shadow man and that’s how he’ll remain until Molly Lawrence talks and we see his essential character within her words.’

The phone rang. Watts reached for it and listened. ‘You don’t say!’ He made quick, neat notes. ‘Any news on Jonah Budd? Right, carry on with it.’ He replaced the phone. ‘I’ve got a couple of officers watching Budd but so far nothing to report on him. The big news is that Adam has examined the gun and found a link from it to a drug-related, inner-city shooting a decade ago. A bit of a turf-war warning. No fatality. One suspect was a Huey Whyte. I know Whyte. Back in the day, he was living in the inner-city area. For the last few years his offence profile has been zero. He needs finding.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘Avoid Brophy until you’ve had contact with Molly Lawrence. If he asks you about your plans, keep it vague, no details, because they’ll turn him into a micro-managing nightmare.’

Traynor reached for his backpack. ‘In which case, it’s fortunate that he has no management role with me.’

Judd watched the door close on him. ‘Will’s straight to it, isn’t he? All business, clear thinking, determined and not about to be ordered around by the Bro. Which is just as well, given the mess we’re in—’

‘Judd, put a lid on it!’

Brophy was eyeing Watts across his desk. ‘Where’s Dr Traynor? What’s he doing?’

‘On his way to his day job.’

Brophy’s mouth set. ‘When’s he planning to see the woman who was shot?’

‘Mrs Lawrence. Very soon, he told me.’

‘I don’t want any foot-dragging on this investigation. Why isn’t he going to the hospital today to talk to her?’

Watts started a slow count inside his head. ‘A couple of reasons, sir. One, she’s gone through a massive trauma which has left her husband dead. Two, she’s in the care of the hospital and they say when she’s well enough to have visitors – oh, and as a bit of forward thinking, once we’ve identified whoever attacked her and killed her husband, she will be a witness in an ensuing court case and we don’t want any lawyers for the gunman rubbishing whatever Will Traynor got from her, saying he obtained it under duress or at a time when she was in no fit state to give accurate information.’

Brophy gave a reluctant nod. ‘He still needs to get moving on it.’

‘He will. He’s aiming for maximum information from her without upsetting her or contaminating her recall. One of his research areas is eyewitness identification, its inherent weaknesses and risks. He doesn’t want to interfere with any information, any memories of the attack which she has. He’s taking the long view.’

‘Right now, I’d settle for something shorter.’ Brophy glared across his desk. ‘What I don’t need on a high-profile case is people being overcautious and pussy-footing about. Make sure he knows that.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Watts, with no intention of doing so. The chief constable was evidently leaning on Brophy. Which was Brophy’s problem, not his or Traynor’s.

Listening to the Aston Martin’s soothing purr, Traynor was thinking about Molly Lawrence and trauma. He glanced at his own hands on the steering wheel. Both steady. In control. Some months ago, his psychiatrist had suggested he consider a new therapy which would require Traynor to ‘revisit’ what had happened to his family. The psychiatrist thought it might help his PTSD. Traynor’s response had been direct: ‘Ellis, if you had ever come home to find your kitchen an abattoir, your young daughter hysterical and your wife gone for ever, I might entertain the suggestion. As you haven’t, I won’t.’

He was fine. More than fine. He had found his own way of dealing with the triggers that caused flashbacks. Avoidance. Avoidance of thinking about the experience. Avoidance of feeling. Both were too costly. As was clinging to his wife’s memory. He had accepted that he had to move on.