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

one unanticipated male victim: ‘You’re asking to get robbed, you twat!’ Local accent. Young voice. A dude, according to that victim.

He returned to his notes on the Lawrence shootings. Assisting police investigations was a key part of his professional life. It was demanding work over which he took significant pains for two reasons. One, he was expected to provide sound psychological theory as a guide for investigative officers, and two, he never wanted to be the criminologist whose theory later proved to be wrong and sent an investigation off track. When he saw Molly Lawrence again, he wanted more detail from her. He also needed to know about her as a person. He emailed his brief report of the meeting to Watts. Reaching for the desk lamp, he switched it off, anticipating he would wake as he usually did at around four thirty, five a.m.

He needed sleep.

9 p.m.

Watts thrust his hands inside his coat pockets, feeling the urgency in the scene he was watching, wishing it was happening much later tonight. Later increased the surprise factor, the likelihood of a sleep-fuddled suspect. He watched officers move soundlessly towards the house, their vehicles parked many metres away. Intelligence said Huey Whyte was inside. Stealth was all. He watched two officers silently take up position either side of the front door. Nobody moved. Beside the door, one of them raised his hand, pointed at the officer holding a metal ram and shouted.

‘Police! Come to your door, Mr Whyte, now!’

After several seconds an upstairs window opened, a head appeared, then as quickly disappeared.

‘Huey Whyte!’

A voice drifted down to them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Come to your front door, now!’

‘You fuck off, now!’

A hand appeared. The window slammed shut.

Watts saw a nod pass between the officers at the door, watched as he marked passing seconds on his fingers, three-two-one.

The ram struck the door.

They were inside, feet pounding over fragmented wood, Watts hearing repeated shouts of, ‘Show yourself!’ followed by ‘Clear!’ as they went from room to room and upstairs. He held his breath.

‘On-the-floor-on-the-floor, now!’

Watts breathed again, watching officers reappear, step through the wreckage of Whyte’s front door, two of them holding his arms, his wrists cuffed, his head held down.

‘What’s this about? I haven’t done nothing! And who’s gonna pay for this fucking mess!’

FIFTEEN

Thursday 13 December. 7 a.m.

Brophy was pacing Watts’ office. ‘I assume your eyes are on the clock? Why hasn’t he been interviewed yet?’

‘When he was brought in, Mr Whyte complained of stress and chest pains. I got a medic to examine him. Whyte’s brief then demanded he be given some rest time. His interview is scheduled for seven fifteen.’

‘Any evidential link to the Lawrence case? Any guns in his house?’

‘Zero weapons. Some cannabis. That’s it.’

Brophy frowned at the clock again. ‘This is Whyte manoeuvring a delay. He knows how long we can keep him here.’ He looked at Watts. ‘Is the cannabis any help?’

‘Doubt it. Personal use quantity.’

The phone rang. Watts reached for it, listened. ‘Has he been fed and watered? Has his brief come back?’ He nodded. ‘I’m coming down.’ He looked at Brophy. ‘He’s ready.’

Brophy headed for the door. ‘Is Judd in? Have her on the interview with you. I’ve got Tally Ho’s report on her. She’s impressed the instructors and since her involvement in the case in the summer, the chief constable knows her name.’

Huey Whyte was sitting on his lower spine, arms folded, his eyes intermittently on Watts. To Watts, he looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Ditto, his legal representative.

‘I’ll ask you again. Do you own a gun?’

Whyte smirked. ‘No.’

‘Intel says you had one.’

‘Did I?’

Watts glanced at Judd. She opened the plastic box sitting on the table, removed the lid, tilted the box towards Whyte. Watts’ eyes fixed on him. ‘Now showing Mr Whyte a Baikal Model IZH 798 which is known to have been linked to him in the past. What do you say, Mr Whyte?’

Whyte shrugged. ‘Never laid eyes on it before.’

‘It was used in a 2007 drugs-related incident involving the wounding of one of your associates.’

‘Got some proof of that? Or that it was even mine?’

‘Use drugs back then, did you, Huey?’

Whyte grinned, unperturbed. ‘Do ducks swim?’

‘What about now?’

Humming to himself, Whyte slowly, casually, removed his jacket, revealing a short-sleeved T-shirt. He raised both arms, linked his hands behind his head. ‘What do you think?’

Watts gave the arms scant attention. ‘That proves nothing.’

Whyte flashed Judd a wide grin. ‘Far as I’m going with a lady present.’ She glared at him. He let his arms drop. ‘Look, apart from a bit of weed which you know about, I don’t do anything else. Haven’t for years. It’s a mug’s game.’ His brief scribbled words.

‘You deny all knowledge of this gun?’

‘I do.’

‘Rumour has it that you’re responsible for the recent shooting of two people.’ More scribbling.

Whyte stared at him. ‘Yeah? Says who?’

‘Like I said, a rumour, which is going a long way to convincing us you were involved.’ Watts’ eyes were fixed on Whyte. Getting nothing, he went further. ‘This rumour was added to by somebody who knows you.’ Watts waited, guessing at the thinking now starting up behind Whyte’s eyes. ‘Got a name yet, Huey?’

‘As soon as I get out of here, I’ll make it my business to find one.’ He looked up at Watts, grinned at his brief. ‘I might even give it to you.’

‘Very generous, but we’ve got it already.’

Whyte stared at him. ‘Who?’

Watts sat back, his eyes on Whyte’s face. ‘A young chap who says he didn’t start the rumour. That it was on the street and he just repeated it, customized it with your name.’

‘Who?’

Watts leant towards Whyte, his eyes fixed on his face. ‘The thing is, Huey, we’d be reluctant to divulge the name if we thought there was any risk of … let’s say, repercussions.’ He paused. ‘Family important to you, Huey?’

At the change of direction, Whyte’s eyes flicked from Watts to Judd and back. ‘What you talkin’ ’bout, man? Nobody in my family would rumour me. We’re tight.’ He raised his