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

‘That’s my thinking, until something says it isn’t.’

Watts’ eyes tracked the movements of SOCOs taking multiple pictures of the interior and exterior of the car, recalling Brophy’s rattled tone as he himself left headquarters. Now, he had something to be rattled about.

Getting a hand-raise from one of the SOCOs, he looked to where she was pointing.

‘See that?’

Watts lowered his head, following the finger-point to the driver’s pale sun visor, a round, powder-edged hole in it, the surrounding area splashed red.

‘Bullet hole,’ said the SOCO.

Watts stared at it. He hadn’t needed telling. She beckoned again. He followed her to the left-hand rear passenger door, looked inside and down to the carpeted floor, to where she pointed again at a small, shiny, metal object. Watts straightened, signalling to Jones and Kumar. They sped to him.

‘A bullet casing,’ she said, moving her finger upwards. ‘Looks like it was fired from the rear of the vehicle towards the driver, possibly missed him and struck the sun visor.’

Applying a fluorescent marker pen to the carpet, she created a bright yellow circle around the casing. A forensic officer arrived to photograph it in situ as she moved to the visor, examined the hole. ‘We’ll leave the bullet where it is until the vehicle is back at headquarters.’

Watts turned to his two officers. ‘Stay here. Write down everything you’re told.’

He headed for the manager of headquarters’ forensics department who had arrived a couple of minutes ago, now intent on an initial examination of the scene. ‘Got any insights, Adam?’

‘Probably none you haven’t thought of.’ He pointed at mounting cloud. ‘This rain is in for the night. The photographic team has got full coverage of this whole area, and a detailed crime scene sketch. The trailer is on its way for the car. You’ve looked inside it?’

‘Yes. A right mess.’

‘When it arrives at headquarters, it’ll be tested for fingerprints. I’ll get the victims’ prints for elimination. Your two officers staying?’

Watts nodded. ‘There could be evidence here that we can’t see. They’ll guard the scene till others arrive to take over.’

‘I’ll leave one of mine in case anything does turn up. I’ll be back here at around seven a.m. with at least six more for a daylight search.’

Watts gestured to Jones and Kumar, tapped his phone, spoke into it, kept it brief. In Watts’ experience, the less detail Brophy was given, the better. ‘Sir, an update on the Forge Street scene. The car is privately owned, reg number …’ He gave it and clicked his fingers to Kumar, who passed him more details. ‘Owner’s name, Michael Lawrence, an address in the Moseley area. Two occupants inside the car, the second a female, identified as Molly Lawrence. That’s about all we know so far.’

Hearing a shout of Adam’s name from one of the forensic team, he cut the call and followed him to the Toyota. One of the forensic officers was holding up an evidence bag, the inside smeared. ‘I’ve done a preliminary examination of the watch found on the ground next to the vehicle. It’s covered in blood so we might get a print from it. I’ve been over the outside of the car, but it looks too wet for any meaningful prints.’

Adam glanced at Watts, ‘Cheer up, Bernard. We’ll examine the whole vehicle, plus watch, and test for DNA.’

They moved away, leaving Watts to his thoughts, such as they were. The bullet hole and casing he’d seen were signalling a possible scenario: a young idiot on the rob, puffed up with the sham power of a gun, possibly on drugs, getting inside the Toyota, losing control of the situation, turning it to carnage. Whoever he was, he needed finding, and soon.

He turned to Jones and Kumar. ‘You two, plus one of Adam’s officers, will stay here till seven a.m.’

‘Sarge,’ said Kumar. Neither looked thrilled at the prospect.

Watts left them and walked away to his vehicle. Inside, chilled to his bones, he reached for an old scarf and blotted rain from his hair and face, aware of a knot inside his chest. It looked to him like somewhere out here among the million-plus population was a youngster, a thief with a gun who didn’t give a damn about anybody and had demonstrated it big time. He took out his phone and checked the time. Four a.m. A swift calculation produced an answer that suited his purpose. He tapped a number and heard Dr Connie Chong’s voice, so clear across six thousand miles she might have been next to him. The clamour inside his head eased.

‘Just ringing to ask how you’re doing, how your mother is.’

‘I’m fine. She’s making good progress. We’re expecting my brother to arrive later today to stay with her so I can leave as planned. I’m due back at headquarters on Monday.’

He said nothing.

Her voice came again. ‘What are you doing, Bernard?’

His eyes drifted over the scene beyond the misted windscreen. ‘Looking at the end of the world.’

There was a brief pause. ‘I see.’ He heard her quiet laugh. ‘So, here’s the thing. Don’t step off because I would really miss you and I couldn’t come looking for you, could I?’

He rubbed his eyes, blinked. ‘I’ll be at the airport whenever you get in. Just let me know a time.’

‘That’s what I like about you, you know. Dependability. See you soon.’

‘Yeah.’

Call ended, he started the engine, wondering if dependability was as boring to her as it sounded to him.

FOUR

Tuesday 4 December. 7.15 a.m.

Chloe Judd lifted the porridge-loaded spoon, her eyes fixed on footage recommended to her by Jonesy now playing itself out on her iPad screen. ‘Watch the flag, Chlo,’ he’d instructed. ‘Keep your eyes on that flag.’ Jonesy was a massive conspiracy theorist. According to him, what she was watching was a forty-nine-year-old con trick. Jonesy was also a known cynic. Her eyes widened. Enthralled, she watched, listened.

‘One small step for …’

The scene moved on, switched to a ticker-tape parade for the years-ago spacemen waving and grinning.

‘Jeez,’ she whispered.