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

as “how did that happen?” and “what happened next?” It might sound simple but it takes a lot of concentration. I need you to tell me now if you’re not comfortable with it, Chloe.’

‘I’m in. I’ll do it.’

‘Thank you.’ He turned his attention to Jones and Kumar. ‘You were both at the scene as its aftermath was unfolding. I need your eyes and ears on every aspect of the re-enactment, checking and comparing all you see and hear with what you observed.’

Jones spoke for them both. ‘No problem. Before we do it, we’ll go through our own statements of that night.’

Traynor nodded, looked across to Watts. ‘You have to be there as SIO, Bernard. If we get information which identifies this gunman, you’ll have your day in court.’ He looked along the table. ‘Dr Chong has to be there to oversee Molly’s physical and emotional responses, be ready to assist her if necessary.’

Chong nodded.

‘And finally, we need two of your forensic team, Adam, each video-recording the whole process from two different vantage points. Go through your record of what you know happened that night. Molly might recall something small, incidental and easily-missed.’

‘Any ideas as to what her response to your proposal might be?’ Watts asked.

‘None.’

Watts took out his phone. ‘We need Brophy’s approval.’ Judd’s fingers drummed the table, Traynor paced the room. Watts ended the call. ‘He said yes.’ They all breathed out.

Traynor lifted his phone. ‘Now, I have a call to make.’

8.45 p.m.

‘Hello, Molly.’

‘Will?’

‘I hope this call isn’t too late for you?’

‘No. I avoid sleep. I wake with all kinds of madness inside my head. Accidents involving aircraft, boats, people being blown up … I’m afraid of everything, Will. Being alone. Being with people. Going out, staying in.’

‘They’re all normal responses, Molly.’

‘What about feeling guilty?’

‘That too.’

‘Why do I feel guilt, Will?’

‘Because you’re still here.’

‘A lot of the time I feel nothing. But when I try to leave the house … the fear starts up and I can’t do it.’

Traynor was now foreseeing a difficulty in what he was about to propose. He wanted her positive. ‘It’s possible to challenge those responses, Molly.’

‘Is that what you did?’ She waited. ‘I searched your name online. Saw what happened to your family. You really do understand, Will.’

‘Yes.’

‘I know what you, the police need from me, but it’s like there’s a video running in my head and it’s faulty. It keeps stopping. I don’t know how to get it going again.’

What he was hearing was how most people viewed memory processes. In reality, it wasn’t like that. ‘Molly, I’m going to suggest a way which might encourage your recall.’

‘How?’

‘By giving you the chance to re-enact what happened to you and Mike but with all of the control in your hands.’

‘I won’t be hypnotized.’

He heard spiralling panic.

‘I can’t feel more out of control than I am already, I just can’t.’

‘It doesn’t involve hypnosis. It’s a practical way for you to revisit what happened.’ He waited.

‘What do you mean, “practical”?’

He briefly explained the plan to her, and where it would take place. ‘Remember, you told me that you liked officer Chloe Judd? What she said about the big indoor space I’ve described when she first saw it was that it “looked like Lidl without any stuff”.’ He heard her quiet laugh and realized he had never heard it before.

‘I have to think about it, Will. Can I phone you back?’

‘Of course. You’re entitled to refuse.’ Traynor ended the call, looked at them.

‘Now, we wait.’

They sat or paced, each preoccupied with what they wanted and what Molly Lawrence’s response might be. Traynor’s phone rang.

He reached for it and listened. ‘Thank you, Molly,’ and ended the call.

‘She said yes.’

TWENTY-SIX

Friday 21 December. 8.30 a.m.

Constable Reynolds eyed himself in the headquarters’ washroom mirror, wishing he looked older. Wishing he had Chloe Judd’s confidence. DI Watts’ criticism of him for not using the authority of the job still rankled. He found Watts off-putting. Watching The Apprentice recently, he had realized why. It was the finger-jabbing. Plus, his height. And probably a bit more besides. And now Watts had given him an order. For the first time since joining the force via its degree apprenticeship scheme, he was wondering if he should have given his university philosophy-psychology degree course a bit longer than six months. When he told his father that he was applying to join, his mild response had been, ‘Are they very short of officers in Birmingham?’

Reynolds smoothed down a bit of wilful hair. He was pleased to be working in the incident room, rather than on some mundane task of the kind he’d anticipated, but, surrounded by confident officers like Jones, he felt wary, out of his depth. Judd was friendly, but she could be a bit challenging when it suited her. He got out his own version of Watts’ instruction and read it again: Go to Molly Lawrence’s office. Get information. Follow up other names suggested. He folded it, slid it back inside his pocket. He had to get this right. He daren’t mess up again. He thought of DI Watts’ words about the authority he carried with him as a member of the force, looked directly at himself in the mirror. Confidence sliding, he checked his pockets for his ID.

Forty minutes later he was heading across thick carpeting to a glossy reception counter, a woman sitting there, her head bowed to something he couldn’t see. He reached the desk. She didn’t look up. He waited.

‘Excuse me?’

Her head slowly rose. She made eye contact. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m here to see Stephen Wells.’

Her eyes drifted over him. ‘And you are?’

‘Reynolds.’

‘First name?’

‘Toby.’

‘The only Reynolds on my list for today is a police officer.’

‘That’s me.’

She eyed him, looking unconvinced, waited with studied patience as he searched for, located and produced, his ID. She pointed to a corridor. ‘Down there, second door on the right.’ Reynolds headed for it, feeling her eyes skewering his back.

Reaching the door, he squared his shoulders, took a breath and pounded on it. The sound ricocheted up