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

said something to Mike. Ordered him to “sit tight”, or words like that. He said not to look at him, then pointed the gun at me. “Hand me your valuables. Put them inside your bag. Give it to me.”.’

‘Where was your handbag, Molly?’

‘By my feet.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I did as he said. Mike passed his phone, watch and wedding ring to me and I put them in the bag with my jewellery, then passed it to him, “nice and slow”, as he asked.’ Her voice dropped. Her eyes were fixed somewhere beyond Traynor. ‘We both had platinum wedding rings. My engagement ring was also platinum with a single square-cut diamond, one carat. My earrings matched it. It all went into the handbag. It was Gucci, blue, black, not new, but … I loved it.’

‘Can you say anything about the man?’

‘I don’t … It’s all confused. Big. Heavy build …’ Her voice rose. ‘I can’t remember any more … except that the next thing that happened is I came to and … realized I was hurt.’

‘It’s OK, Molly,’ said Traynor, his voice low.

He put his notes to one side, glanced at the information he had brought with him, the list of items stolen from her and her husband, wanting something fact-based to ask her. ‘Were you wearing a watch?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t know what happened to it. It was a present from Mike. I slipped it off into my coat pocket. I haven’t seen it since. I was really frightened when the man got inside the car but suddenly, I was really angry as well. Mike and I worked hard for everything we had. The watch was the last thing I took off. I decided that I wasn’t going to let him have it, nor my phone. It was like a silent protest. I told him I didn’t have a watch or a phone. He was really edgy.’ Tears spilled from her eyes. ‘And now I know how stupid I was to say it. I hadn’t realized what he was capable of doing.’ Her head dipped. ‘It makes no difference now, does it?’

‘Did he touch your watch?’

‘What? No, no. He didn’t even see me slip it off and put it in my pocket where my phone was. My coat has really long sleeves. I was just praying it didn’t ring.’

‘You’ve described this man as big with a heavy build. Can you say anything more about him?’ Seeing her uncertainty, he added, ‘His appearance? His voice? His accent? Whether you detected any kind of scent about him?’

‘I … his voice was deep. Rough-sounding … I smelled body odour … and most of his face was covered.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was there anything about him, anything at all, no matter how small or insignificant, that reminded you of someone you had seen before?’

She stared at him. ‘You mean … someone we recognized? No. It’s not possible. I can’t answer for Mike, but … Dr Traynor, I don’t feel very well.’

He stood. ‘Can I get you anything. Let your mother know?’

‘No, I don’t want her worried any more than she is.’ She stood, a little unsteady.

He offered his arm to her, aware that he had pushed the questioning further than he had intended. She took it, held on to it, walked with him to the door. ‘I hope I haven’t disappointed you again?’

‘This isn’t to do with how I receive what you tell me, Molly. My aim is simple: to hear whatever you recall.’

Traynor drove to his university in the middle of the city, into the secure parking and took the lift to one of the lecture rooms. He found his students waiting for him. Apologizing for his lateness, he began his two-hour lecture.

It was late by the time he came into his office and took out the notes he had made during his second meeting with Molly Lawrence. Reading through them, he saw how much more information she had provided than previously. They now had the reason why the Lawrences had stopped in Forge Street: the Toyota’s intermittent fault. They also now had a more detailed picture of their attacker: a large male, much of his face concealed, a deep, rough voice, poor personal hygiene. He read the words Molly had used to describe how she hid her watch and phone. Given the situation she and her husband were in at the time, it suggested Molly Lawrence to be a woman of considerable spirit. It could have gotten her killed. He hoped that that spirit was about to reassert itself and help them find the man who attacked them. He reached for the crime scene photographs, his eyes moving slowly over the Toyota’s interior. He looked up, his eyes fixed straight head. He was recalling a specific quality of her delivery, a certain hesitancy. A carefulness. Whether his impression was founded or not, Watts needed to know.

SEVENTEEN

Friday 14 December. 5.30 p.m.

They were seated around the table, Judd next to Julian, their attention fixed on Traynor.

‘How did she do, this time?’ asked Watts.

‘Her defence mechanism is still distancing her from a lot of what happened that night, and she began with the same progression of events she’d indicated previously.’ He pointed to the information he had added to the Smartboard. ‘But now we know how the gunman happened to see their car. They had stopped because of car trouble.’

Julian looked at him. ‘Is it possible he saw it parked while they were having dinner?’

Judd searched papers, located a CCTV image, held it up. ‘This is the on-road parking where they left it but theirs wasn’t captured.’

Julian took the image from her. ‘It’s possible somebody tampered with it while they were inside the restaurant. If that’s what happened, it probably wouldn’t have attracted undue attention, given the darkness and the heavy city traffic. When they leave, he follows.’

Watts left the table and returned with the half-full cafetiere, his eyes on Traynor. ‘Molly Lawrence told you that when Mike Lawrence saw the gun, he raised his hands. That