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

two incident room officers do independent trawls of past city shootings. Nothing fits the Lawrence case.’

Traynor’s eyes were still fixed on the photographs. ‘That’s not what I mean. What I’m saying is that unlike the gang member and the bank robber, what we have here in the behaviour he’s showing us is not this offender’s reason for being, his way of life.’

‘Say again.’

Traynor crouched, reached for the photograph showing Michael and Molly Lawrence bleeding inside their car and held it up to him. ‘This is what he did, but I think he has a whole other life which doesn’t feature violence. He doesn’t need it. His authority, his strength of character carries him through. I doubt he’s in any records. From what we know of the attack, from what Molly has been able to tell us, he’s somebody who is confident at directing and controlling other people. It may relate to the kind of work he does. It may be a reflection of his personality. He has a natural authority which he’s able to exercise in order to take control of highly charged situations. I was wrong about his age. This is no “young dude”.’

Watts stared down at the photograph. ‘Degree of authority suggests certain types of work to me … and I don’t like what I’m coming up with.’

‘You will if it leads us to him.’ He looked up at Watts. ‘All lives have diverse aspects. Criminality doesn’t feature in most. I don’t believe it does in his.’ Seeing Watts’ disbelief, he said, ‘You’ll have known at least one killer whose homelife was a model of conventional living: a wife. two-point-four children, relatives, friends, colleagues, all of them shocked when he’s arrested and a court finds him guilty of unspeakable violence.’

Watts watched Traynor move away, letting the last of the Lawrences’ photographs drift to the floor where it settled in the midst of the others. ‘So, how does that help us?’

‘It shows us what he is.’

‘That he’s a regular type who got a gun, saw the Lawrences and used it on them? That sounds psychopathic to me.’

‘You say that because we still don’t know his motivation. This is no thug who can’t control his fury. Neither is he a young, antisocial male, bigged-up by a weapon. He’s like most people …’ He paused. ‘Except, when he did this. There had to be something he really wanted. When we finally have his identity, we might be shocked.’

Watts waited. ‘I’m already shocked at what you’re telling me.’

Traynor pointed to a photograph of Forge Street. ‘There’s a question there I can’t answer.’

‘Only one? Lucky you.’

‘I joined this investigation thinking that what happened to the Lawrences was opportunistic. It wasn’t. It was thoroughly planned—’

‘Hang on!’

‘The question is, why?’ Traynor returned to the photographs and crouched over them, his face intent. ‘Why did he choose that place?’ He glanced up at Watts. ‘Actually, that leads to more questions. How did he know of Forge Street? It’s a forgotten place. If he’s not local, did he regularly pass along it and consider it ideal for what he had planned?’

Watts looked down at the Forge Street photograph, shook his head. ‘There’s a problem with what you’re saying. Everything we know points to the Lawrences arriving there first.’

Traynor straightened. ‘In that case, “everything” has to be wrong. I suggest you get the security guard who works nearby into headquarters.’

Watts’ head came up. ‘Nigel? Why? Come on, Traynor. I’ve known his family for years. He’s—’

‘The single individual in this case so far who has work which gives him a degree of authority, plus the demeanour and physicality to support it.’

Watts’ phone buzzed. ‘Yeah?’ He looked at Traynor. ‘And? … I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

He ended the call. ‘Like to know something really interesting which I doubt even you were anticipating? SOCOs are at Westley Country Park. Do you know it, Traynor?’ Getting a headshake, Watts enjoyed the moment. ‘They’re dragging a sizeable pool there, based on information they got from an angler. Care to make a bet on what they’re searching for?’

‘Molly Lawrence’s handbag.’

Monday 17 December. 10.50 p.m.

Watts and Traynor moved over rough paths through heavy tree cover.

‘I’ve shut this whole place down and officers are ready to secure it overnight. We’ll have a quick look and get an early start here in the morning.’

They reached an area of open land dropping steeply to water, Jones heading towards them.

‘We’ve got him, Sarge.’

Jones jabbed his thumb at a male a few metres away wearing a thick coat, waders and a knitted hat with pompom and ear flaps. ‘We got a tip-off he’s been fishing here and he shouldn’t be. His line snagged something. Eventually, he recovered it.’

Watts looked at the darkened scene around them. ‘How did he manage that?’

‘This was earlier, about seven p.m., with a powerful torch, plus’ – he pointed upwards – ‘a goodish moon, before this cloud built up.’

‘He took his time reporting it.’

Jones looked over his shoulder, lowering his voice. ‘According to him, when he first saw the bag, he linked it straight away to what he’d heard on the news about the Lawrence shootings.’

‘And then what did he do?’

‘He threw it back.’ Seeing Watts’ face change, Jones hurried on. ‘He knows he’s not allowed to fish here, so he decided he wouldn’t report it.’

‘So, why’s he still here?’

‘According to him, he hopped it to a mate’s house down the road, had a brandy, some second thoughts and came back. He tried hooking the bag again. When that failed, he called it in—’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Wright, Sarge. Colin Wright. I’ve got all his details.’

They headed for Wright, Traynor murmuring, ‘So far, Mr Wright sounds like one of your public-spirited “types”.’

Seeing them, the man straightened, looking tense.

‘You’re welcome to vote your way, Traynor, but to me he looks and sounds iffy.’

He glanced around for Judd, realized she wasn’t there. ‘I need a scribe … Kumar! Over here.’ As soon as Kumar arrived at his side, Watts gave the nocturnal angler his full attention.

‘Evening, Mr