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

Watts nodded. ‘Mr Lawrence, you’ll have brought Mr Lang up to speed on why you’re here.’ Seated next to the pristine Lang, Lawrence was a mess, his eyes red-rimmed and deeply shadowed, a sour odour coming from him. Watts reached out to the PACE machine.

‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of killing your brother, Michael Lawrence and wounding your sister-in-law, Molly Lawrence. I’ll remind you that you’re still under caution. Following your arrest, you made certain statements to me, which I’m going to read to you to refresh your memory and to which you are welcome to respond—’

Lang jumped in. ‘My client is now retracting all that he said to you.’

Watts started reading them. ‘“It wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like it did.”’

‘No comment,’ muttered Lawrence.

‘“I have to tell you what I did”, plus—’

‘No comment.’

Watts’ eyes drilled into Lawrence’s. ‘At the time you made those admissions, Mr Lawrence, you said that you saw your brother’s head. I believe that to be a reference to his injury which places you at the scene of your brother’s murder.’

‘No comment.’

Lang gave a wintry smile. ‘Mr Lawrence is responding to your questions in the way I have advised.’ He opened a slim file and took out a single sheet of A4. ‘This is a medical report on my client, which indicates the time he arrived at hospital where he was treated for significant alcohol intake, plus the treatment he received. All other relevant times are included, plus a brief statement from the attending doctor.’ Watts watched Lang slide it across the table. It was Lawrence’s ‘Get out of Jail’ card. ‘Our position is that when you spoke to Mr Lawrence he was still experiencing the effects of that intake. In consideration of those facts, firstly, I have advised my client that your speaking to him at that time was highly inappropriate and, secondly, if you are planning to bring a case against him, based on the utterances he made, our stance would be that he lacked sufficient cognitive ability at the time to fully participate in any discussion, that those utterances should be viewed as the ramblings of someone who was seriously impaired by gross substance abuses and that it was a serious professional error on your part to place him in that situation.’

Silence dropped like a blanket on the room as Lang and Watts sized each other up in a face-off. ‘Is that sufficiently clear as to my client’s position, Detective Inspector?’

‘Crystal.’

‘Good. I’d prefer to avoid lodging a professional complaint against you on his behalf.’ Lang turned to Brendan Lawrence. They both stood. ‘Good day to you, Detective Inspector.’ They watched them go.

Judd stared at Watts. ‘You’re not letting him get away with that?’

‘You heard what he said.’

Traynor looked up as they came into the office and saw their facial expressions. ‘You haven’t charged Brendan Lawrence.’

‘He’s walked, but I’m not done with him.’ Watts sat, his eyes on Traynor. ‘You’ve been doing a lot of thinking and not much saying over the last couple of days, Traynor. I want to know what’s inside your head. All of it.’

They listened as he gave them the details.

‘I don’t believe …’ Judd shook her head. ‘What you’re saying could get Brendan Lawrence and—’

‘How sure are you?’ asked Watts.

‘Brendan Lawrence was there. You trust what I’m telling you, Bernard?’

‘As always.’

‘Good. Because we’re facing a lot of waiting around in the cold, starting late this afternoon as the sun goes down.’

Wednesday 26 December. 3.55 p.m.

In fast failing light, they looked out at the scene, a sharp wind blowing through gaps in glass. ‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Watts. ‘All three of us are risking pneumonia.’

Traynor consulted his phone. ‘Sunset today is fifteen fifty-eight.’

‘What if nothing happens?’ asked Judd.

Watts folded his arms against his thick jacket, feeling cold air rising off the concrete floor. ‘Traynor has already phoned to prime the trap. Let’s hope it works.’

‘Who else have we got, Sarge?’

He pointed. ‘Jones over in that direction, Kumar on that side and Reynolds behind the petrol station.’ Silence built, the vista quickly fading to blackness.

‘The darker it gets, the better it looks,’ she murmured.

Another fifteen minutes and Watts had lost all feeling in both feet. He moved to one side of the window, executing small, silent bounces.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

‘Getting the blood moving. Something you’ll know about in thirty or so years’ time.’

‘I’ll hold a séance and let you know—’

‘Look.’

They did, to where Traynor was pointing at a moving, bobbing light, a dark-clad figure in a baseball cap, moving slowly over the rough ground.

They silently walked out of the building, Traynor in one direction, Judd in another and Watts towards the intent figure oblivious to its surroundings. He continued on, stopped at the sound of a lone vehicle slowly approaching along the potholed street, headlights rising, dipping. The figure also stopped dead, looked up. Seeing Watts, it turned and fled. He followed, hoping Jones was in position, seeing Reynolds speeding towards it. A split second of indecision on its part and Traynor hurtled past Watts and launched himself, arms outstretched. They closed on it. It resisted, flailing and kicking. He increased his hold on it, pushing its head low. As Watts arrived, the baseball cap hit the ground, long, dark hair swirling and swaying, the figure held captive in Traynor’s arms.

‘Hello, Molly,’ he said.

She grew still. He slowly released his hold. ‘Will? Thank God it’s you! You have to help me.’ She looked up at him, touched the long scratch. ‘I’m so sorry, Will. I thought you were him.’

Thursday 27 December. 12.10 a.m.

‘Tell us what you were doing at Forge Street,’ said Watts.

She looked exhausted. ‘Now you’ve arrested Brendan I can finally breathe properly, instead of jumping at every sound in case it’s him.’

‘We’ve released him,’ said Watts.

She stared at him. ‘Why? You said he confessed. He was there. He …’ She lowered her head. ‘I don’t know why you did that, but you’ve put me in a really