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

She caught Devenish smiling at her. Her face heated up.

He was looking serious again. ‘No witnesses to those five abductions. Nothing seen, beyond that one possible sighting. Nothing heard.’

‘Sounds like a right headache,’ said Watts. ‘Any theories?’

‘No.’ He stood. ‘Look, I know you’ve got problems of your own, so I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Keep in touch while you’re down here,’ said Watts. ‘We can always use fresh ideas.’

‘Thanks. Maybe.’

‘Got somewhere to stay while you’re here?’

‘An apartment in Edgbaston which belongs to my dad.’

Judd watched as he stood and reached for his jacket.

‘Thanks for the coffee.’ He smiled, then raised his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Chloe.’ To Watts: ‘Is Dr Chong in? I’d like to say a quick hello.’

‘She is, and if you didn’t, she wouldn’t be too pleased.’

They watched him leave. Judd looked across at Watts. ‘He’s staying with his father?’

‘No. Far as I know, his father lives in Canada. He owns property all over the—’

The phone rang. It was Brophy asking if Huey Whyte had been located. ‘Not yet, sir. No sign of him.’

‘As soon as he is, let me know. The firearms unit is on standby.’

Watts brought Judd up to speed on the details relating to Presley Henry and his customizing of an inner-city rumour about his uncle Huey Whyte being involved in the Lawrence shooting.

Judd nodded. ‘I heard talk in the incident room about Whyte having form for guns in the past.’

‘He was never specifically tied to any offence. He’s too slippery. We won’t know how useful the lead is till we find him.’ He reached for the phone again. ‘I’ve got Jones and a couple of officers who know the area out looking for him, talking to the locals. Just two things would improve my view of this investigation. One, finding Whyte in the next twenty-four, and two, Traynor getting information from Molly Lawrence which produces a real lead on who shot her and her husband. Is that too much to—?’

The phone rang again. He reached for it. ‘Yeah? And?’ He ended the call.

‘No progress on Whyte. Whereabouts still unknown.’

8.30 p.m.

‘Bye, Dad! See you later!’

The few words brought Traynor to his feet, took him to the window of his study as the front door banged shut. His breathing under control, he watched his daughter reverse her car out of the drive, saw her wave, tracked her car’s rear lights as they disappeared from view, his hand still raised.

He returned to his desk. She had a right to a carefree life. Months ago, such an everyday occurrence would have sent his control plummeting, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks filling his head. Things were different now. He was in control. He had stopped taking his medication. He was going it alone; he had a new life, not one riven with fear and heartache. Whenever stressors arose, he closed down his thinking. It was working for him.

He refocused on the notes he had made during his first brief meeting with Molly Lawrence, heard her voice speak the words inside his head. Her demeanour had been much as he’d anticipated. A mix of shock and frozen disbelief. What he had also anticipated was some recall of what had occurred, brief, chaotic, yet containing details which could assist him and the investigation to construct an image of the male who had invaded their car and shot them in cold blood. Within a minute of meeting her he had known it was too much to hope for. He read for the sixth time what she’d told him, her fear evident in every word. She had closed right down as soon as she got to the point where she and her husband entered Forge Street. There was so much detail he didn’t have. What had led to them stopping in that place? What had their attacker looked like? Sounded like? Had he coldly shot them? Or, was it precipitated by some word, some action? And finally, was it possible that they knew him?

In the pool of light from the desk lamp, he tracked her few words. There was no reference to the actual shooting. Traynor suspected it was Mike Lawrence who was shot first: he would have been viewed by their attacker as the source of most potential threat. The emergency recording indicated that Molly Lawrence had seen her husband mortally wounded. If that was the sequence, the gunman had then turned his gun on her. She had survived. A witness. He adjusted the files on his desk, squared his notes with its edge. He needed to know more not only about this man who had fired those shots, but also the Lawrences. And right there was a problem. He had no knowledge at all of the people Mike and Molly Lawrence were, prior to this event. He knew nothing of their personalities, how they might respond under duress. She was now the key witness in this homicide. Except for the killer, she was the sole witness as far as they knew. He had to talk to her again as soon as it could be arranged. Until then, whoever had shot them would remain a shadow man.

His eyes fixed on his notes and he asked himself what conclusion he might have come to on motive if neither of the Lawrences had survived. The single word surfaced. One he had first heard from Dr Chong when they were inside the Forensic Test Area. Execution. He had expressed his view on it and another possible motive for the shootings. Watts had rejected both. Now, more personality and behavioural descriptors relating to an individual likely to commit such an act flooded Traynor’s head, beginning with behavioural problems in early childhood, a history of irritability and aggression expressed via physical assaults on others. Antisocial. Remorseless. Exploitative. He looked across to the detailed notes he’d made of the November carjacking cases, pulled them towards him, read the brief descriptions provided by the victims of that quick-moving, athletic, confident attacker who had spoken to his