False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) (14 page)

As she disappeared into the void a large man who stood casually at the entrance waited for a moment then headed to the waiting vehicle. He was a large black guy in a black suit with a black polo neck. He got into the dark coloured Ford but his gaze never left the alleyway.

“You know we will have to keep tabs on this place,” the car’s driver said to his passenger. “If she keeps coming back then we can assume it’s her home.” His voice had a deep tone, the accent Irish.

The black guy nodded, agreeing with his pale red-haired partner’s assessment of the situation. “We come back tomorrow, then we see.” He had a feeling she was leading them on. Tomorrow they would find out if he was right.

As the car sped away the girl came from the shadows. She stood and watched it disappear and smiled. She had been aware of the tail not long after she had left the courthouse.

The girl turned and walked back the way she had come. Her actual home was at least four blocks away but it was worth trying to fool them like this into thinking otherwise. If they figured that she lived here, this was the place they would be watching.

From now on she would have to come here first, and then find a way back. But for now she would do what she did best, which was to blend into the crowd and vanish.

A silhouetted figure stepped out of the shadows and watched her disappear, but not before producing a cell phone and taking some photos of her. Putting away the phone the figure started on its way, keeping a distance but never being too far behind its target.

*

A good night’s sleep had been facilitated by a large glass of red and a good book that McCall had started to read. However the next morning brought questions from the night before, too many for McCall’s liking, so she decided to get into work early.

She wanted a chat with the men who tried to take her out the night before. Uniformed officers had picked them up while she waited at the scene.

Someone had sent them to take her out, probably with the idea of squashing a case she was working on. However, the murders she was trying to solve were too big and too high profile to be dropped now.

Sam McCall stepped out of the elevator and headed for the cells that were holding her new friends. She made for the back of the building, and waited for the guard to open up the entrance gate.

“Morning, McCall,” the uniformed officer greeted her.

“Morning, George, how’s my perps doing?” she asked.

He looked blankly at her as he turned the key of the door leading to the cells.

“What perps? We’re empty. Five guys got brought in last night but some lawyer busted them out not long after.” The guard said.

McCall felt her blood boil. “Who signed them off?”

The guard shook his head. “Couldn’t say, I just took over this morning, the guy I replaced told me about the perps being sprung, I’m real sorry, McCall.” The guard shrugged, closing the half-opened door.

McCall looked up at the huge guard and smiled. “It’s okay, George.”

He could tell she was lying but that she was professional enough to realise that it had nothing to do with him, and others were to blame.

McCall headed for her desk, walking as though she had just been hit by a truck.

Her hot new leads had left the building with a great possibility of never being seen again. Samantha looked up from her dazed state and found herself in Steel’s office. A wicked smile came over her face and she headed for the captain’s chair behind the desk.

The leather creaked as she sat in the grand red ship captain’s chair and the look of a naughty schoolgirl crossed her face—for that moment she had forgotten about everything else.

That was when she realised the ‘power’ of the room, and now she understood why Steel had built it this way.

McCall leaned on the green leather-topped desk and tapped the fingers of her left-hand on its firm but soft surface. She stared at the large monitor on the wall.

Picking up the remote which lay next to his office phone, she turned it on. The screen was filled with icons relevant to different files. Her eyes caught one marked
escapees.
She moved the ball mouse that lay at the top of the remote and clicked onto it.

She leaned back and put her feet on the desk, using her new position to rock the chair.

“You break it, you’ve got to buy it,” Steel called across from the doorway. McCall sat up as if nothing was amiss. He was wondering what she was doing, but also could see the funny side of it.

McCall patted the chair as if to check it for damage. “Oh it’s fine, really. So how much does a knock-off like this cost anyway?”

Steel sat in one of the chesterfields opposite her. “Knock-offs, I couldn’t say, but that?” He paused to think. “Probably around one, maybe two.”

McCall sat back, almost refreshed at the news of its cheapness. “Couple of hundred, not bad!” she said, patting the leather and making Steel smile.

“Thousand, one to two thousand,” he told her. “It’s been in my family since the 1800s, as has the desk.”

Sam lifted her legs off the desk and got up carefully and walked back round to the front, avoiding touching everything.

“You know, I hate you rich guys,” she said with comical venom.

He laughed before he looked up at the board. “I heard your friends made bail. How the hell did that happen considering they didn’t know anyone?”

McCall shook her head. This whole case was one big run around. “You know we will never find these guys again—not breathing anyway,” she said gloomily as she sat down on one of the chesterfield armchairs and looked wistfully up at Steel. She had a tired look on her face, but it was more through frustration with the job than from lack of sleep.

Steel leaned forwards and touched her hand, making her shudder as if a pleasant electric shock was going through her system. “Forget about the goons from last night. Chances are that the people who sent them would have told them as little as possible anyway.”

Sam’s expression changed to her normal ‘stern cop’ face. “Okay, Sherlock, so what do you have in mind?”

Steel smiled as if he had hoped she would ask that question. “We need to make a connection between the deaths and the escapees. I find it hard to believe that on the same day the prisoners break out, bodies start dropping.”

McCall had had that same thought—it seemed like far too much of a coincidence. “So you figure that one of the escapees killed those people?”

The Englishman shook his head.

McCall looked at him blankly. “So you don’t think one of them did it. But you just said—”

“I said there was a connection. Supposing them getting out gave someone an alibi?”

McCall thought for a moment, then shook her head. She liked her own theory best. “I think we should look into the lives of our victims. We are looking for a murderer, not escapees, Detective. That is down to Tooms, Tony and Lloyd.” McCall stood up with purpose and headed for the door, but while her back was turned she gave a little smile.

Thankfully Steel was there to put her back on track.

*

The morning sun shone brightly through the windows of Judge Carmen Mathews’s suburban home, and sun rays made rainbows on the marble counter of the breakfast bar as they passed through the windows.

Mathews walked into the kitchen as she put on her suit jacket over a fresh white blouse: her slender frame fitted into her grey suit nicely. She was a career woman, a mother and a loving wife. She was on the PTA and was also a member of a book club that met every Thursday.

She smiled as she looked over at her husband, Alan, who was busy reading the
Financial Times
and drinking his black coffee. He looked up at her with his eyes, while his head stayed in its position, as if he didn’t want to lose his place. He smiled.

“Didn’t think you were coming down,” he said. “I thought you might actually take a day off.” His sarcasm only got a dishcloth thrown at him as she gave him a wide smile.

“I know, I know!” She moved in behind him and whispered in his ear as she put her arms around his waist.

“Tell you what, when this case is done why don’t we send the kids off to your mother’s and we go away somewhere?” Alan Mathews suggested, turning his head towards her as they kissed.

“Yuuuk!” joked their two daughters as they walked in for breakfast. Carmen stood up and made for the coffee machine to fill her thermos mug.

The mood was one of a happy contented family. Even the housekeeper was singing to herself happily in Spanish.

As she put the lid on to her metal mug something on the small flat screen television caught her eye: it was a news report of the murder of Edward Gibbs. The report mentioned he had been a reporter for the
Herald
newspaper and that the police were unsure if his death was linked to the death of ex gym teacher, Andy Carlson.

Carmen froze where she was as though she had seen a ghost. Her husband stood up and folded his newspaper, unaware of his wife’s sudden shock until he turned to face her.

“Are you okay?” He suddenly became concerned, as he noticed her gaze fixed on the television set. “Hey, honey, is everything alright?” He touched his wife’s shoulder, making her jump and scream out. The housekeeper heard it and dropped a glass she was just about to put in the dishwasher. The glass shattered, and fragments scattered across the tiled floor.

“God, you scared the crap out me!” Alan said.

Carmen held the marble-topped surface for a moment while she got her breath, while Alan bent down and picked up the bits of broken glass, while the housekeeper found a dustpan.

“What’s wrong? Is it the murders?” he asked.

His wife shook her head and smiled as she kissed him on the forehead. “It’s nothing, I was just miles away that’s all.” She looked at the screen, and she could feel her heart sink. Carmen turned back round with a large broad smile, but Alan just gave her a concerned look. “No, really it’s nothing, see, I do need a break. I am thinking too much.”

Alan rose from his position and smiled. “Okay, if you’re sure.” He put his suit jacket on and grabbed his paper and coffee mug, then walking round to the girls he gave each one a goodbye kiss. “Alright, so I’ll see you guys tonight.”

Carmen watched him walk out of the door and smiled softly to herself. Looking up at the clock she saw she also had to go: her town car would be there soon and she had a long week in front of her.

After hugging her daughters she walked to the hallway and got her large leather office bag and slowly headed for the front door, looking up at the family pictures on the wall as she went.

The door closed and the housekeeper hurried the girls along to get them ready for the school bus.

As the children disappeared up the stairs she took out her cell phone and pressed the ‘call’ button. She stood where she could see the bottom of the stairs from the kitchen and waited for someone to pick up at the other end. After several rings a voice simply said, “Yes?”

“You wanted to know if Mrs Mathews acted strange, yes?” The woman’s voice trembled as she thought about her betrayal. “Well I figured you might want to know that she saw the news this morning and she was very upset. She was spooked.”

There was a pause.

“Interesting,” said the voice on the line. “Okay, very good, Marie.” It was a softly spoken voice but had a tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

“I told you, as you ask me. So my visa is good, yes?”

Another silent moment made her nervous. She began to shake, thinking that she had been used and her deal with the person she was talking to had been broken.

“Yes, Marie, I will see to it that you will be able to spend the rest of your life here.”

The phone went dead and a new fear took over her thoughts. She thought carefully about the actual words he’d used and she trembled.

McCall and Steel sat
in one of the conference rooms and laid out all the files they had on the three men who had escaped the crash and the two who had died. They had hopes that somehow all of these different lives intersected in some way. McCall was still convinced that it was a revenge killing, and the accident could have been just that. However, the crash had also given one of them the chance to get out of jail and to get even.

Steel picked up one file which was almost two inches thick and sat down opposite the door. McCall smiled and shook her head.

“What?” John Steel asked her, leaning back in his chair waiting for her answer.

“Nothing, it’s... well, it’s just that you always sit facing the door.”

Steel shook his head and opened the massive file. “So, we start with the thickest file, which belongs to Tyrell Williams.”

Sam picked up her coffee mug and took a sip as Steel gave a brief history lesson on their first escapee.

“This guy has been in and out of court but was never convicted,” he began. “Drugs, attempted murder, murder, extortion... Basically if you’ve got a name for it he’s tried it. But somehow he always got away with it.”

McCall gave Steel a shocked look.

“Until around eleven years ago when he was convicted on a murder charge,” he continued reading. “Apparently he shot an undercover cop in the park.” Steel looked up from the file and over at McCall, who now appeared to be even more puzzled.

“Hang on,” she interrupted. “How did they know it was him?”

Steel smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Odd little things. They had at least two witness, and forensics on the body and the murder weapon that linked him. You name it, they had it. The strange thing is that in spite of all the evidence he still protested that he was set up.”

McCall leant over and grabbed the file as he passed it over. She flicked through it, shaking her head as if it was an impossibility. “So let’s get this straight. A man who NEVER gets convicted of anything at all, suddenly gets caught. Now I could understand a little slip up but this? No way. This has got to be wrong somewhere. According to this he made every mistake under the sun, hell, I am surprised he didn’t have a film crew for good measure—it’s as if he wanted to be caught.”