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

hope you didn’t mind my calling you. When I didn’t hear from you, I thought that was it. That you weren’t … I rang again, just to be sure, but it was late, so I …’ He closed his eyes. He sounded like a teenager on heat.

‘Obviously I didn’t mind, or I wouldn’t be calling you. I’ve been away for a few days.’ Traynor gave her words a quick evaluation. She has someone. Of course, she has …

‘Will?’

‘I’m at work, but can I ring you later?’

‘Yes. You do that. Whatever the time.’

He came into headquarters, instantly picking up the tight atmosphere. The kind he had experienced on other cases. The feel of an investigation on the move. Watts was coming towards him, his eyes on the dog.

‘Hello, mate.’

He ruffled the short fur on its head, gestured to the bored-looking young officer on the desk. ‘Company for you, Reynolds.’

Brightening, Reynolds came and took charge of it. ‘Have you read the email I sent you, Sarge?’

‘When I have a minute, I’ll get to it.’

Reynolds watched them go downstairs, the dog at his side whining, straining at its lead.

The custody sergeant looked up as they came into the suite. ‘Whatever you two have been up to, to deserve being here today, I hope it was worth it.’ He turned the screen towards them. They looked at the heavy, dark-haired male lying on a single bed.

‘Following his arrival and pre-custody risk assessment, we put him in one of the holding rooms, rather than a cell. Want to see him?’

Watts studied Brendan Lawrence on screen. ‘If he’s up to it.’

‘He discharged himself from the hospital very early this morning and one of our lads brought him in without any trouble. A medic who was in at seven thirty had a quick look at him and said he was OK.’

They followed the duty sergeant’s broad back along the corridor, waited as he unlocked a door. ‘Visitors for you, Mr Lawrence.’

Lawrence looked up from where he was lying. He looked awful, the smell of alcohol pungent and clinging.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Watts.

‘Like death … sick.’ He put a hand to his mouth and paused. ‘I don’t want to go home. I can’t face any of them but somebody needs to phone my parents.’

‘All taken care of. The big question for us is are you up to being interviewed?’

He looked up at them. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like it did.’

Watts held up his hands. ‘Save it for the interview, Mr Lawrence. Do you want legal representation?’

Lawrence slowly stood, somewhat unsteady on his feet. ‘I have to tell you what I did. Until I do, I’ll never be able to face my family.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I can’t face them, full stop, because of what I did—’

‘Stop right there, Mr Lawrence. This has to be done properly in interview with your legal representative present—’

‘It was a simple idea. It was planned easy but it didn’t work out like that.’ He stared at them, wavering. ‘I have to tell you. Put an end to it. I want to close my eyes without seeing my brother’s head—’

‘Sit down, Mr Lawrence.’ He sat heavily. ‘I want a doctor to see you. Only if he or she says it’s OK will we interview you.’

Watts and Traynor stepped outside the room. Watts lowered his voice. ‘I’m gagging to get it done, but the way he’s looking, plus his refusal of representation, it has to wait.’ They returned to the duty sergeant.

‘Get another medic here pronto to have a look at him. I need to know when he might be fit for interview.’ The duty sergeant wrote quickly in the daybook. ‘Until the medic arrives, I want Lawrence checked every fifteen minutes.’

They left the duty sergeant and headed back upstairs. Watts asked, ‘What did you make of what he said?’

‘A non-specific admission,’ said Traynor.

Watts gave him a frustrated glance. ‘I rang his family to tell them he’s here without giving details. Both his wife and his mother referred to him being in a volatile mood of late. There’s a bottle of brandy missing from his house. As far as they’re aware, he’s being kept here for observation.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘Keep in phone contact, Will. As and when we interview him, I want you observing. I’m aiming to charge him with the murder of his brother and the attempted murder of his sister-in-law.’

Traynor left the building with the dog and got into his car. There was a lot on his mind. A lot to think about.

Walking into his house, he went straight to his study, sent an email, wanting a quick response but not anticipating one any time soon. Theories about crime-related trauma, emotional upset and resistance filled his head. He had all the textbooks. He didn’t need them. The Lawrence case was running, like a video, inside his head, bringing with it a long series of clear images. He looked down at the mass of notes, the hundreds of words he’d heard, written and absorbed, during this investigation, the theories they had produced, words which had drawn him in. Stranger. Stranger in the dark. Handbag in the dark. Handbag filled with water. A stranger, morphing into someone who knew Mike and Molly Lawrence.

Traynor sat, his eyes fixed straight ahead, thinking of a type of crime which had featured in narratives since there were people to write them. Fratricide. An hour ago, Brendan Lawrence had been about to confess. Watts had stopped him because there were procedures which had to be followed, but now they knew from Brendan Lawrence that what had happened was planned. It had not surprised Traynor to hear it. His thinking over the last couple of days had gradually led him to really know the guilty actions and to understand the motive. Money.

Traynor drove with the dog along almost deserted roads. Nothing was about to happen with Brendan Lawrence for the next few hours and right now he was experiencing the