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

Watts sent him a mild look. ‘That’s the impression I got from Lettie.’

Whyte’s eyes fixed on Watts who was seeing light dawn. ‘You saying that little bastard, Presley, dropped me in it? Wait till I get hold of the little fucker, I’ll—’

‘You do,’ said Watts, pointing at his face, ‘and I’ll be back for you.’ He gazed at him. ‘Plus, you’d have to get past Lettie first. Fancy your chances, do you?’

Whyte shrugged. ‘I’ve got an idea how this rumouring come about. Presley’s father is long gone. Presley plays up the family link to me. He hears about that shooting, right? You know the area. It’s one big rumour mill. He thinks he’ll make what he’s heard his own, by adding my name.’ He sat forward. ‘I’ll tell you about our Presley. He fancies he’s a dude but the bottom line is, he’s a sixth form kid with a future if he sticks at his books.’ He eyed Watts. ‘Don’t fuck it up for him,’ He glanced at Judd. ‘Excuse me.’ To Watts, he added, ‘He’s a young idiot who’d like to have a rep, some cred. In reality, he doesn’t do nothing but his college stuff.’ He glared at Watts. ‘You hearing me?’

‘The gun, Huey.’

‘I know nothing about any gun. Got enough to charge me?’

Whyte had been released. Watts and Judd went to the observation room where Traynor and Brophy were watching the recorded interview, Brophy fuming.

‘There.’ He pointed at Whyte’s grinning face. ‘See that? See how laid back he is? He knows his way around a police interview. His dismissive attitude is telling me we can’t rule him out of involvement in the Lawrence shooting. As far as I’m concerned, the least of his involvement is supplying that gun.’

‘He could be laid back because he knows he has nothing to worry about,’ said Traynor. ‘Because he had no direct involvement.’

Watts stared at the screen. ‘Whyte’s got a lifetime of evading us. What we need is something specific about the Lawrence shootings which points directly to him. Which we haven’t got.’ He turned away, went to the door, tracked by Brophy.

‘Where are you going?’ Brophy asked.

‘To see some people I know around that neighbourhood.’

SIXTEEN

Friday 14 December. 12 p.m.

Seeing Traynor heading into headquarters, Watts caught up with him. ‘Morning, Traynor. Made any plans to see Molly Lawrence again?’

‘I’m in regular contact with hospital staff. They know I want to see her again as soon as possible, but their priority right now is her physical recovery.’ They came into the office.

‘I’ll get on to them,’ said Watts. ‘They need to know that there’s other priorities to think about.’

‘Hello, Chloe.’ Judd sent Traynor a wide grin, eyeing Watts who was looking riled.

‘I get that it can’t be rushed, Traynor, but it needs to happen soon.’

‘I’m aware of that. I hear you made an arrest.’

Watts shrugged. ‘Huey Whyte. A lot of good it did us. We couldn’t hold him on what we’ve got and after hours of me yacking around the area where he lives, I’ve got nothing that points to him as the shooter. But I’m not giving up on him. Judd’s emailed you the details.’

Traynor took out his phone, read it.

Watts continued, ‘One of my contacts very reluctantly confirmed hearing the rumour about Whyte and also identified Whyte’s nephew Presley as the one who dropped Whyte’s name into it. Apart from that, nobody’s keen to talk because it’s about guns. By the way, Julian Devenish, forensic psychologist and ex-colleague of mine, is back in Birmingham for a few days and he might be willing to make a contribution to the Lawrence investigation. You OK with that, Traynor?’

‘Not a problem. We could use the help.’

‘Good. Two more “psychological” eyes on this case has to be a plus. Getting back to Molly Lawrence, I understand your concerns about her, but I’m now in that very rare position of agreeing with Brophy on this one. We need her talking, now.’

‘It has to come from Mrs Lawrence herself. It could be counter-productive, and potentially bad for her, to push for information.’

Watts held up his homicide file. ‘See how thin this is? It represents what we’ve got from this full-scale investigation to date. I hear what you’re saying and I’m sympathetic towards her for what she’s suffered, is suffering, but I’m not allowing anything to go on hold in this investigation. We have to have what she knows.’

Traynor calmly regarded him. ‘In which case, I leave it to you to take responsibility for talking to her at a time of your choosing.’

Judd turned to Watts. ‘That’s an idea, Sarge! When you do, I want to be there—’

‘Zip it!’ He stared at Traynor. ‘You’re the one with the expertise. If she’s as emotionally dodgy as you say, it has to be you.’

The phone rang. He snatched it up. ‘Yes?’ He listened, eyeing Traynor across the table. ‘Thanks for letting us know.’ He put down the phone. ‘That was the hospital. Molly Lawrence discharged herself at eleven this morning and her mother took her home. As SIO, I’m saying it’s over to you.’

As Traynor, then Watts, left, Judd reached for the homicide file. Sarge was right. It was thin. Most of it made up of questions with very few answers.

‘Hi, Chloe. You look engrossed.’ She looked up.

‘Hi, Dr Devenish.’

He came and leant against the table next to where she was sitting, smiled down at her. ‘You know, whenever I’m addressed like that, which is rare, by the way, I tend to think that the person saying it isn’t too keen on me.’

She looked away, flustered. ‘No, no, it isn’t, I don’t—’

He grinned. ‘I’m joking. I’ve just been in the incident room. It’s full of long faces. I’m guessing there’s still a lack of progress.’

She pointed to the file in front of her. ‘Sarge is trying to pressure Dr Traynor into speeding up his interviewing of Molly Lawrence. Will is more or less refusing.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m with Will on that. It’s often what