Unlawfully At Large, page 24
part #2 of DCI Tyler Series
“Yes, the ward sister, Melissa Smails, was key witnessed on tape this morning.”
This basically meant that the whole statement taking process was completed in an interview room with an audio or videotape running, and it was done this way to prevent defence counsel from trying to infer that the witness had been primed or fed things to say.
“She’s gonna be great in the box, from what I hear,” Tom Wilkins said. “She’s been looking after Winston for the best part of a week so she knows him by name and by sight, which eliminates any need for an ID parade. Also, she’s confident she could pick out both the fake doctor and Errol Heston in a line-up. I was reading through the First Description booklets a little while ago, and she has done a really good job describing them.”
“We don’t need to worry about Errol Heston now he’s brown bread,” Jack said. “I don’t suppose his involvement is going to be contested by anyone.”
“Especially as we recovered his gun,” Tom Wilkins said.
“Do we think it had been fired?” Jack asked.
Wilkins shook his head. “According to the SO19 officer who made it safe at the scene, all five rounds were still in the cylinder and there was no sign of recent discharge. It’ll have to be confirmed by the lab, but it fits in with what we already suspected – that Winston’s the shooter.”
“What about the fake nurse, Angela what’s-her-name? Will Sister Smails be able to pick her out in a line-up?”
The OM shook his head. “Marley had her surgical mask up the whole time that Smails was in the room with her. It doesn’t really matter; Marley left us a beautiful thumbprint on the unused syringe that was found near PC Morrison.”
Tyler nodded. “I think we’ll also get her wearer DNA off the coat that she left in the getaway car,” he said.
“Yes, I’m sure we will,” Tom Wilkins agreed. “Oh, and we’ve also got a statement from a real-life porter called Sidney Stevens who bumped into them a couple of times in the hospital, once on the ground floor on their way in, and then again in a freight lift as they were trying to get Winston out. Mr Q didn’t want him treated as a key witness though.”
That made sense. Although he’d witnessed them in the building, he hadn’t seen the offence and they hadn’t said anything incriminating in front of him.
“What about the two drugged officers?” Jack asked. “Have they come around yet?”
Wilkins nodded. “Yes, thankfully. They’re being kept in for another night of observations but we should be able to get them statemented tomorrow morning. The detective who spoke to them at the hospital told me he was really impressed with the amount of detail they both remember, and their evidence will be powerfully compelling stuff.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. If their recall was that good, he doubted that ketamine had been used on them. In his experience, people who had been given that particular drug struggled with their recollection when they came around.
“Will they be able to pick any of them out?” Tyler asked.
“No, afraid not. All three suspects were wearing surgical masks for the duration of the encounter.”
“Pity,” Jack said, disappointed. “Did they say who shot PC Morrison?”
“No, they were both out cold by the time that happened, and they didn’t even know their mate was dead until someone told them.”
“Please tell me the news was broken gently.”
“As gently as you can break news of that nature,” Wilkins said with a grimace.
Jack winced. Tom was right; there was no easy way to tell someone that their friend had just been executed. He turned his mind to the weight of evidence they had accrued so far. With the CCTV, witness testimony, fingerprint for Marley and the wearer DNA he fully expected to get from the coats of all three suspects, it was already looking like a pretty solid case.
“Any developments on the phone data yet?” he asked.
“Haven’t heard anything on that,” Tom admitted. “Reggie Parker was appointed as our phones man, so maybe you should have a word with him. Of course, it’s possible that the applications have been slightly delayed because Mr Q wanted him to get the CCTV up and running first.”
“I see,” Tyler said. Reggie would be his next port of call after Darren Blyth, he decided.
“We’ve had people pounding the pavement all day, pressuring every lowlife dealer, addict, and hooker we could find, not to mention putting the squeeze on Winston’s rivals, but so far we’ve drawn a big fat blank.”
“Realistically, that was never going to be a quick fix,” Tyler said, “but if we keep pushing, chances are that something will give further along the line.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tom said. He didn’t sound overly convinced.
After leaving the MIR, Tyler made for the CCTV viewing room, which seemed a rather grand title for a space that was, in reality, not much bigger than a broom cupboard. Inside, he found the owlish Darren Blyth and his own Reg Parker huddled together over a TV monitor. Both were giggling like naughty schoolchildren. They were so engrossed in what they were doing that they hadn’t even heard him enter.
“Play it again,” Reg sniggered. “I just want to make sure that flicker’s gone.”
Still laughing, Darren pressed rewind. “My pleasure,” he said. There was a brief whirring noise and then a click. Blyth then pressed the play button and the screen came to life.
Jack tiptoed closer, intrigued. Parker had a reputation as a mischief-maker, so he had no doubt that the team’s resident prankster was behind whatever was going on.
The theme to the 1978 Christopher Reeve Superman film started to play just as a freeze-frame image of a long, sterile-looking corridor came into view. The door to the RLH freight lift could be seen in the top right corner of the picture. As the music continued, with Darren humming along in tandem, words started to appear on the screen, written in white block capitals. They appeared one after the other, like the title sequence at the start of a movie:
Is it a bird…?
Is it a plane…?
No, it’s a flying nurse…!
The words faded as the film started rolling. Almost immediately, a dishevelled black woman, clad in the uniform of a nurse, came hurtling out of the lift like a rocket. She had to be at least seven feet off the ground, and she was travelling at considerable speed, both arms flailing as she cartwheeled through the air. Both men erupted into laughter, and Darren started clapping his hands.
“Brilliant,” he said as the woman landed on the floor in a heap. “Fucking brilliant!”
Tyler cleared his throat and both men spun around guiltily.
“Boss!” Parker exclaimed nervously. “I didn’t hear you come in.” As he spoke, he sidled in front of the monitor to block Tyler’s view while his co-conspirator scrabbled to press the stop button.
“What are you up to?” Tyler demanded, acting like he didn’t already know.
“Nothing,” Parker said with forced innocence. The blush that started at his neckline quickly spread upwards, turning his cherubic face the colour of a stop sign.
“You’re a terrible liar, Reggie,” Tyler scolded, “and a bloody menace.” A smile creased his face. “Now, play it again so I can have a proper look.”
Parker’s shoulders sagged in relief. “It’s only a joke,” he said. “Just a little something I put together for the enquiry team.”
“If that footage gets into the wrong hands it’ll cause havoc,” Tyler warned them. He dreaded to think what a red-top newspaper like The London Echo would do with that if they got their mitts on it. “And be a little circumspect about who you show it to. I don’t suppose close colleagues of PC Morrison would find it terribly amusing.”
“No,” Parker agreed, “but they might enjoy seeing one of their mate’s killers thrown across the hall like a rag doll.”
He had a point, Tyler accepted, but even so. “Just be careful who you show it to,” he warned, “and don’t lend that tape to anyone else under any circumstances. Capisce?”
Parker nodded obediently. “Yes, boss.”
After the light relief of watching Dillon play ‘toss the fake nurse’, Jack instructed them to show him the footage of the suspects overpowering the two officers outside Winston’s room. As Tom Wilkins had claimed, it was indeed chilling to watch, and no one seeing this could possibly be left in any doubt that all three suspects – the doctor, the nurse, and the porter – were equally complicit in the breakout, and, therefore, equally responsible for PC Morrison’s death.
The dramatic footage of Melissa Smails fleeing the room, pursued by the burly porter, was no less shocking. As she glanced back over her shoulder, the look of abject terror on her face was perfectly captured by the camera.
“I can’t imagine how terrified that poor girl must have been,” Tyler said.
Reggie permitted himself an evil laugh. “Still, he got his comeuppance in the end, didn’t he?” he proclaimed happily. “An ounce of lead through the forehead, courtesy of SO19.”
They played the fight scene at the freight elevator next. Unfortunately, because the camera was mounted in the hall, most of the action went unseen. When the bit where Angela Marley was thrown out of the elevator came on, Blyth started humming the Superman tune and, out of the corner of his eye, Tyler caught Parker suppressing a grin. He wondered if he should confiscate the clip Reg had made before anyone else saw it? But knowing Reggie, the slippery sod would only make another one behind his back.
“Right, Mr Parker,” he said after viewing the CCTV. “We need to discuss what progress you’ve made with the TIU and how they’re getting on with our telephone enquiries.” The Telephone Investigation Unit was based at New Scotland Yard, and they liaised directly with the various service providers to obtain telephone related data for police enquiries. “I want you in my office in five minutes time to walk me through all the applications you’ve made and any results that have come in during the day.”
That wiped the smile off Parker’s face.
As he walked back to his office, smiling at the Superman clip despite his better judgement, his mobile rang.
It was George Holland.
After explaining that Andy Quinlan had attempted to commit suicide by eating an out of date egg mayonnaise sandwich that had been left in a drawer next to a boiling hot radiator all night, he got down to business.
“I need urgent oral authority to commence covert surveillance on an address in Vicarage Lane, E15. It’s a squat where Angela Marley lives. She’s been identified as the suspect who was dressed as a nurse.” An image of her sailing across the hall to the theme of Superman flashed into his head unbidden.
“Why not just send an arrest team around to scoop her up?” Holland asked.
“The problem with doing that is that we don’t know if and when she’s going to be there. At the moment, she doesn’t know that we’ve identified her, but if we rock up and she’s not inside, word will spread like wildfire and she’ll go to ground, plus our mysterious doctor will undoubtedly hear about it and do likewise.”
Holland considered this. “Very well, but get the paperwork over to me ASAP, and in light of Andy being indisposed, I suppose you’d better join me for the press conference at Whitechapel.”
“Press conference?” That stopped Jack in his tracks. “What bloody press conference?”
“The one that starts at 6 p.m. You’ve just about got enough time to get here if you pull your finger out.”
◆◆◆
The interviews with Mullings were finally over; all the evidence had been put to him in the presence of his orange-faced solicitor. Predictably, the churlish getaway driver had mostly no commented every question they’d asked him, even the innocuous one about whether he’d enjoyed his MacDonald’s.
It had been decided that they would grant him technical bail in relation to the murder to avoid putting themselves under undue pressure. After conferring with Jack Tyler – it hadn’t been an easy conversation, what with the car’s two-tones blaring in the background as he was whisked across East London for a press conference that he was unlikely to make in time – Susie had broken the news to Mullings.
“So why can’t I go home then, if I’m being bailed?” he’d demanded.
“Oh, go on then, as you’ve asked so nicely,” Murray told him.
Gifford Mullings could hardly believe his ears. “Really?” he asked, suddenly all smiles.
“Of course not, you moron,” Murray said harshly. “We’ve already explained this to you several times. You’ve been charged with TDA and possession of Class A drugs with intent to supply. You have a nasty habit of skipping bail when it’s granted. You’re a flight risk and an idiot.”
“I’m pretty sure being an idiot isn’t a good reason to oppose bail,” the custody sergeant, who had been eavesdropping, chipped in.
“Exactly,” Mullings said triumphantly. “You can’t refuse me bail just cause I’m stupid, innit.”
Susie sighed in exasperation. “Gifford, your solicitor will explain it to you before he leaves, but the long and short of the story is you’re going to be staying here overnight and then you will be taken to the Magistrates Court tomorrow morning.”
“Where I’ll get bail?” he asked.
“No!” Murray snapped in exasperation.
“Why not?” Mullings demanded.
Murray looked like he was in danger of punching the prisoner.
Susie Sergeant placed a restraining hand on his scrawny arm and turned to Clarke. “As soon as a formal charging decision is made regarding the murder, we’ll let you know,” she said.
Clarke scowled at her. “Reading between the lines, it seems to me that you’ve already made up your minds to charge my client,” he said. “Even though it’s blatantly obvious that the only thing he’s guilty of is making some poor choices about who he befriends.”
Susie smiled, disarmingly. “Not my decision to make,” she said, although there was no doubt in her mind that he would be charged with the Joint Enterprise murder.
“He’s guilty of making a poor choice in solicitors too,” Murray whispered in Susie’s ear just loudly enough for Clarke to hear.
Leaving the solicitor to have a final consultation with his client, Susie and Murray retired to the small CID office they’d purloined and gathered up their belongings. Susie tried to call Tyler back, but his phone had been switched off. She was tired and hungry, and couldn’t wait to put her feet up for a few minutes. Not that there was any danger of that happening for a while. When they got back to Arbour Square, they still had all the custody paperwork to tidy up and submit to the MIR.
They returned to the custody suite fifteen minutes later in order to thank the custody sergeant for his assistance and leave a contact number in case there were any issues overnight.
“Is Mr Clarke still in with his client?” Susie asked.
The custody sergeant shook his head. “Left a few minutes ago. Couldn’t wait to get out of here from the look on his face. Mullings was still asking why he couldn’t have bail when he was taken down to the cells.”
They made their way out to the front office and were just about to leave when Oliver Clarke stormed through the door, holding his right hand out in front of him as though it were infected with something horribly contagious.
“Bastards,” he seethed. “Bloody animals!”
Susie walked over to him, curious. “Is anything the matter, Mr Clarke?” she asked, looking down at his hand, which was covered in a thick brown substance. And then she caught a whiff of it and recoiled. “Is that shit on your hand?” she asked, horrified.
“Yes, it bloody well is,” Clarke fumed, his face contorted with rage. “Some horrible little oik has smeared dog shit all over the door handle of my beautiful Jag. When I went to open it – well, look. It’s everywhere.”
Susie had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. It was undoubtedly a prank by local yobs who were jealous of someone having a big flash car, but he was such a smug bastard that she couldn’t help but be pleased by his reaction.
“Do you want to make a report of criminal damage?” she asked. “I can get the station officer to take it if you do.”
“What’s the bloody point?” Clarke snapped. “I’ve already checked, and there’s no CCTV coverage. You lot aren’t going to waste your time following something like this up so reporting it will just be a paper exercise.”
“In that case, we’ll say goodnight,” she said. “I would shake your hand but…” she let her words trail off. There was no need to state the obvious.
A devilish grin had lit up Murray’s face. “I wouldn’t have shaken your hand even if it had been clean,” he said, winking at the solicitor.
Leaving Clarke to rant and rave, Murray followed Susie through to the back yard. If the solicitor thought this was bad, Murray couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he discovered the large dollop of dog shit that had been placed inside his precious chariot’s exhaust pipe. When that heated up, it would produce an aroma that would cling to his car’s interior for weeks to come.
“You seem particularly pleased with yourself tonight,” Susie observed, having noticed the skip in his step as they crossed the yard towards their pool car. It was quite out of character, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Anything I should know about?”
“No,” Murray said with a carefree shake of his head. “Just feeling satisfied after another gratifying day of solving crime and keeping London safe.”
Chapter 19
Tyler didn’t like press conferences much at the best of times, but this one promised to be a real doozy. It was being held in a cramped conference room at Whitechapel police station. The media circus had turned out in full force, and it had now reached a point where it was oversubscribed and there was no more room inside for the stragglers who were still arriving in dribs and drabs.
“I’m quite happy to let one of the reporters take my place,” he whispered in Holland’s ear.
