Post Mortem (31 page)

42

B
anging reverberated, not only through the custody suite of Northleach police station but even in the offices upstairs and along the station's empty corridors. It was a 1970s nick, just four miles outside the command area where Hadley had served.

Collins leaned into the monitor.

The screen was divided into a monochrome chequer pattern that jumped every few minutes to a restatement of the same, the only variation being the contents of the bleached-out squares. Some were empty, holding only blocks of darkness and grey. In others, a person stood or sat or lay, waiting. In the square inscribed
Male Three
a young man stood, both arms leaning against the wall. A movement at the bottom of the frame showed he was kicking the cell door repeatedly. The pattern refreshed again and Collins peered closely at the cell marked
Female One
. There a young woman lay motionless on the dark grey rectangle of the cell's mattress. Collins studied the image narrowly and then, as the frames changed again, turned away from the screen towards the custody sergeant.

‘You've got her on half-hour watches?'

‘Yes. But I'm still not happy about keeping her in a cell.'

His breath was stagnant from a long night on duty. It was 5 a.m. and he could probably feel the shift winding down, the imminent arrival of the relief like the turn of the tide. Soon he would hand over his charges and their property. Soon he would make his way across the slowly waking city towards his welcoming bed. But in
defiance of the long shift his shirt was still bright: starched white and crisp. He had trimmed sideburns and a large gold watch with spindles and dials that suggested he was the captain of a ship equipped for heavy seas. Ten years in the job absolute minimum, Collins guessed. No wonder he hadn't liked Steve bringing this particular prisoner in.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I can't see any way round it.'

Her phone pinged and she glanced at the screen. It was a text from Baillie. He was aiming to be at Victoria Buildings within the hour. Feeling the pressure of the prisoner's custody clock, she turned back to her phone and began texting Steve to meet her at the front gate. They would blue-light it back to the office. But the sergeant detained her. His responsibility for the prisoner in Female One might be about to end, but he wasn't going to let the matter drop so easily.

‘I'd like an update as quickly as possible. I want reassurance that her detention continues to be necessary. I've marked that up on the custody record.'

‘I'll get back to you as quickly as I can. Let me give you my mobile number.'

A sliver of grey dawn was beginning to split open the dark, overcast sky. Collins stood in the police station yard, smoking. The black tarmac was slowly being obscured by the cars parking up. The early turn's bags waited in piles behind the door, ready to be loaded when the shift changed. The night duty pulled their own bags from their boots and signed back their vehicles. For the most part, the officers looked shabby and tired, making their way single-mindedly towards their lockers and their transformation into anonymity. A few of them clocked Collins standing by the station wall. She imagined them running down the steps to their changing rooms, asking as
they struggled out of their uniform and threw their crap into their lockers,
Anyone know who that is?
Word would have gone round about the prisoner in Female One. Gossip could enliven even the most exhausted officer. Collins was used to it. For her part it was a badge of honour not to give a fuck.

She pulled hard on her Marlboro. The heat scorched up the cigarette and the smoke ripped into her lungs. Steve swung the car round in front of her. Collins threw her cigarette on the floor and crushed it underfoot. She slid into the passenger seat. Steve clipped the light on to the roof. The yard's gate rolled to the side and the traffic gave way for them as they turned towards base. Collins pressed her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. In a moment she had slipped into a deep sleep from which she woke with a sudden jolt. She opened her eyes. The car had braked sharply. Steve was overtaking into oncoming traffic and a car had failed to give way. He hadn't sworn, just waited with no evident emotion for the car to move. The traffic squashed into the side of the road, and as the car pulled over, he accelerated into the gap.

Collins ran her hands through her hair, digging her fingers into her scalp. She stretched back against the seat and yawned. She licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth.

‘You found her back on the roof?' she said.

‘Yes, she was standing on the edge. I thought she might jump.'

‘Christ.'

Collins had a brief sweaty flush of relief that the worst had not happened. It was nevertheless uncomfortable to have come so close to disaster. She took a breath and attempted to enjoy the blue-light run. Steve was a good driver, and only rarely did he have to stop. He swerved around traffic islands, slowed for red lights. Momentarily they were stuck behind a geriatric maroon Allegro.
The driver had frozen behind the wheel and didn't dare jump the red light to let them through. Steve waited: blaring the horn would only make things worse.

‘Come on, Grandad,' he said quietly. ‘Live a little.'

They both sighed.

Collins said, ‘So how did you get her away from the edge?'

‘I asked her if she wanted to ruin my life like Farah and Matthews had ruined hers.'

‘And that persuaded her?'

‘Well, I said a bit more than that. Anyway, it seemed to do the trick.'

Collins exhaled. After a pause she said, ‘Commendation stuff, that.'

Steve gave a disparaging grunt.

‘Do you think she was really going to jump?'

‘I dunno. I always think the real ones are found dead. But you never know. Pretty crazy thing to do.'

The lights changed. The Allegro moved to the side. Steve pulled the wheel to the right and swerved round. Collins glanced to her left and saw an elderly woman with straggly grey hair clutching the wheel. Grandma, then, not Grandad.

‘What did she say?'

‘Avoided saying anything significant. She'd been ill. Went to St Leonards to get her head straight. I decided, given her mental state and the circumstances, I'd better leave it all to interview.'

They were back at warp speed, cars pulling to the left to let them through.

‘You weren't tempted,' Collins said, ‘not even for a second, to give her a damned good push?'

Steve laughed. ‘OK, I was, I admit it. But only briefly.'

‘Normal reaction. Don't worry about it. The criminal justice system isn't the Catholic Church, thank God. No one's convicted on state of mind alone. If they were, I'd have been banged up years ago.'

‘Me too. Came down in the end to too much paperwork.'

‘That old chestnut.'

Steve honked his horn in warning at a fat black woman who was contemplating stepping on to a zebra crossing. The woman jumped backwards and put her hand to her chest, and then she was left behind. Collins sighed. She felt relief dropping into her like a soothing weight. She and Steve might both instinctively seek some obscure solace in jokes now that Lizzie had been found – and on the right side of the ledge – but she silently acknowledged to herself how far their words were from the truth of the matter and how terrible the alternative would have been.

Steve accelerated again.

Collins said, ‘Can't work out whether the guv'nor would have been angry or pleased if she had jumped.'

‘I suppose that depends on how the next twenty-four hours go. What time you meeting the bastard?'

‘He said he'd be there for six.'

Collins stood in the deserted canteen, watching the coffee being dispensed from the machine. She checked her watch: 5:27. She had left Steve sleeping in the office. He had sprawled out in her chair, tilting it back, his legs up on the desk, his head thrown back against the headrest. The balance looked precarious but he was out for the count. She glanced over at the flat screen. Younes Mehenni was talking to camera. The man she had last seen drawn and exhausted by grief was now furious. Revived perhaps by the prospect of vengeance, he appeared almost exultant. Underneath, a ticker tape was running.
Portland Tower death fall: police officer arrested
. The cameras were loving it, jostling, pushing into Mehenni's face.

Collins shook her head. Holding her disposable cup, she wandered towards the screen. Mehenni's English, pressured by his emotion,
was hard to understand, guttural and staccato. Listening carefully, she could make out ‘
I came to this country . . . a better life. Never thought . . . my daughter . . . dead
.' The image switched to the closed door of a semi-detached house somewhere outside London. The two police officers guarding it were impeccably turned out. They stood – beat helmets on, of course – with wary expressions of irreproachable neutrality. Hadley's wife evidently knew better than to talk to the press, but the journos were still camped outside, drinking their takeaways. In the foreground a male journalist with a receding hairline and big ears began delivering a piece to camera. The ticker tape running beneath had changed. So-called breaking news about some Premier League footballer who had been cheating on his wife.

Collins leaned over to the screen and turned it off. She took her coffee with her to the toilets. She pulled the travel toothbrush out of her bag and brushed her teeth, then splashed her face in the sink.

Baillie was sitting leafing through a copy of the Matthews/Mehenni case file. The photos of the dead PC and the girl were spread out on his desk. He took off his rimless reading glasses and gestured for her to come in.

‘Everything tickety-boo?' he said.

‘Think so.'

‘Good. I've been up all fucking night changing nappies.'

‘Sorry to hear that, boss.'

‘You had enough sleep yourself?'

‘Enough. Just about.'

‘Steve found her at the tower?'

‘Yes. Standing on the edge.'

‘Bloody hell.'

‘My thoughts exactly.'

In spite of himself, Baillie smiled. There was a pause.

‘Any detail on what she's been up to for the past four days?'

‘She said she went to St Leonards to get her head straight. Given that she was found standing on the edge of Portland Tower, it does sound as though she's been in a pretty bad way. But we know she's been in Eastbourne and Rye at least, and we're doing a CCTV trawl now of other stations along the line.'

‘What about Shaw?'

‘I bumped into him on my way down there. What's to say he wasn't going to meet her? I tried to stop him and I'm sure he avoided me.'

‘How sure?'

‘I crossed him on a country road. We both had to slow down and the road was narrow. We were within feet of each other. There was a tractor ahead. I put the blue lights on but I had to turn the car round and I couldn't catch him.'

‘OK. So pretty sure but not evidentially sure.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Baillie wrote something in his book. Collins waited before speaking again.

‘The search team are at his address now, but he's had plenty of time to get rid of anything.'

There was the briefest tremor in Baillie's cheek, but he spoke patiently. ‘If there was anything.'

‘Yes, sir, if there was anything.'

Baillie looked at Collins shrewdly for a moment, and she sensed him getting the measure of her. But she too had made her calculations and estimated that if she did get any hard proof against Shaw, she could count on Baillie to be utterly ruthless in dropping him like a hot brick.

Baillie said, ‘So how did Steve find her?'

‘She called him on his mobile from Portland Tower.'

‘He cell-sited her?'

‘No. Didn't wait for that. Pure intuition. Blue-lighted it over there. Talked her away from the edge. Something about enough cops going off the roof of that particular tower.'

‘Well thank fuck for that.' Baillie stretched back in his chair. ‘Steve's a bloody good officer.'

‘Yes, he is.'

At least they agreed on something.

‘Where is he now?'

‘Catching an hour's sleep. He's not been to bed at all.'

‘And you?'

‘I slept for an hour or so in the car outside Shaw's house.'

‘OK.'

He gestured towards a chair. Collins sat down.

‘You're opening up the suite in Victoria House?'

‘With your permission, sir. When we're ready to interview Alice and Steve will drive her over: no point before then. DS Halford from team 4 has agreed to act as custody sergeant.'

Baillie nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.' He paused briefly. ‘Listen, Sarah, I appreciate the excellent investigative job you've been doing, but I don't want any misunderstandings between us.'

‘No, sir.'

‘I want this dealt with within the first twenty-four hours. Is that clear? I don't expect you to come to me for extensions. You should have everything you need by now.'

Collins didn't want to make any promises she couldn't keep. ‘I've got some odds and ends to tidy up. And we need the results of the search, obviously. But we should be able to do it all within the twenty-four hours. The interview is key.'

‘Of course. And you're taking Steve in with you?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Well, good luck. If you get some hard proof of misconduct you can be sure I will back you all the way.'

‘I appreciate that, sir. Thank you.'

43

L
izzie turned her head and took in the four walls of the cell. The heavy door that opened only from the outside. The marbleized concrete shelf on which lay a thin plastic-covered foam mattress. The low toilet with its constant trickle of blue disinfectant.

She stared up at the concrete ceiling. The usual notice pasted there came into focus like a film dissolve:
Don't want anything coming back to bite you? Take the opportunity for a fresh start. Let an officer know of any other offences so that they can be taken into consideration at an early stage
.