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

‘Looks like a Sunday family gathering,’ he said, recalling similar events in his own background, minus the ritzy backdrop.

They got out, walked towards the front door. It was opened by Brendan Lawrence. He was looking tense. ‘DI Watts and PC Judd, Mr Lawrence. Apologies for dropping in on a weekend. We’ve met before, very briefly.’

Lawrence shook his head. ‘Sorry, this isn’t convenient. My family’s been through the wringer during the last few days and my parents and my sisters are here for lunch. They don’t need any more upset …’

‘It’s you we want to talk to, Mr Lawrence.’

‘Me?’

‘I’m guessing you’d prefer it to be in private.’

The colour leaving his face, Lawrence stepped back. They went inside. Gemma Lawrence appeared from one of the rooms off the hall, saw Watts and Judd.

‘Brendan, what’s going on?’ And to Watts, she added, ‘What do you want?’

‘Get back to my folks, Gemma.’

‘It’s just a routine call, Mrs Lawrence. Apologies for interrupting your Sunday.’ He glanced at Lawrence. ‘It’ll only take a minute or two.’ Giving Brendan Lawrence a sharp look, she turned away, closing the door behind her.

‘We need somewhere we can talk without being overheard, Mr Lawrence.’

‘I don’t have secrets from my family.’

‘You might want to reconsider that statement when I tell you why we’re here.’

They followed him to a door on the other side of the hall and into a large room expensively fitted out as a home office. Once they were inside, he closed the door. ‘Whatever this is about—’

‘Murder, Mr Laurence. A shooting, to be exact.’

Lawrence didn’t respond.

‘Own a gun, do you?’ He saw the words strike home.

‘No.’

‘How about a few years back?’

Beads of sweat were now visible on Lawrence’s upper lip. ‘For security reasons only. There were burglaries all along this—’

‘On a permit, was it?’

‘No. I don’t have it any more. It was stolen … in a burglary.’

Watts slow-nodded. ‘And you with an eye for security. Just goes to show. Report the burglary and the theft of the gun, did you?’

Lawrence said nothing.

‘That gun is putting you in a really awkward situation.’

Lawrence looked up at him. ‘You seem to be implying something.’

‘Implying’s not my style, Mr Lawrence, but rather than disrupt your family time’ – he turned towards the door, ignoring the frustration on Judd’s face – ‘it’ll keep for an hour. Which is when I expect you at headquarters so we can discuss a gun you bought around a decade ago.’

Lawrence’s face was now bloodless, mouth gaping. ‘I’ll bring my lawyer.’

‘You do that. If you don’t arrive, I’ll be back here to talk to your family.’

Back at headquarters, Judd was still looking moody. ‘If you’ve got reason to suspect that Brendan Lawrence shot his brother and sister-in-law, why didn’t we bring him in?’

‘Your tendency to want everybody who gets our attention banged up has its appeal. It also has its problems. Lawrence is a person of interest, but he might be moving shortly to suspect because of this.’ Watts reached for a sheet of A4 lying on the table, re-read it, then passed it to her. ‘Huey’s statement about supplying a gun to Brendan Lawrence ten years ago is not proof of anything. We need more. Lawrence might tell us when he gets here.’

‘Which should have been over half an hour ago.’ The door opened and Traynor came inside. ‘You’ve watched the re-enactment video?’ asked Watts.

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘I’m still considering it.’

‘I’ve got information from Nigel, the security guard. Remember him? He was in Forge Street a couple of nights prior to the shootings and saw an adult male and a younger male. According to his description, the adult was big, well-built and had dark hair. That description says “Brendan Lawrence” to me.’

‘I see.’

Judd looked up at him. ‘There’s been another development, Will. Huey Whyte sold that gun to Brendan Lawrence a decade ago.’

Traynor took Whyte’s statement from her, read it. ‘Have you spoken to Brendan Lawrence about this?’

‘Briefly, when I confronted him earlier, he denied it, but he looked like somebody with a lot on his mind. I told him to come here to talk about it. So far, he hasn’t arrived.’ The phone rang. Watts reached for it. ‘Yeah, Adam.’ He listened, nodded, got to his feet. ‘Thanks a lot.’ He put down the phone.

‘Remember Adam was trying to retrieve a useful print from the gun. It’s still a non-starter but he’s tested it for DNA. Care to guess the match he’s come up with?’

‘Brendan Lawrence.’

‘One of these days, Traynor, I’ll tell you something you don’t know. It matched a sample taken from Lawrence following a drunk and disorderly incident back in 2006. Judd, you’re with me.’ He reached for the desk phone.

‘Where to?’ she asked.

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’ He tapped a number, then waited. ‘Gemma? Bernard Watts here. Is Brendan with you?’ Her voice drifted across the room.

‘No. He took the dog and left straight after you did and we haven’t seen him since. He’s been acting weird for days. What’s going on?’

‘Any idea where he’s gone?’

‘As he’s got the dog, my guess is he’s where he usually walks it. Westley Park.’

Watts ended the call. ‘He’s heading to where Molly Lawrence’s handbag was disposed of.’ He reached for his keys, his eyes on Traynor. ‘Why am I getting the idea that none of this is a big surprise to you?’

‘The bits and pieces are beginning to slide together. I’ll follow you.’

TWENTY-NINE

Sunday 23 December. 6.30 p.m.

Judd was on her phone alerting incident room officers as suburban landscape flashed past the BMW’s window. They joined the darkened dual carriageway curving ahead. Seeing the road sign, Watts followed it, turned on to a narrow lane then into a large parking area, his headlights sweeping over a single vehicle. A black Range Rover, similar to one he’d seen parked outside the Lawrence house earlier in the day, registration letters, BNL.

They got out into silence and damp chill as Traynor’s car purred to a halt. Watts raised his hand as he got out, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Nice and