Recall, page 15
‘You see, now you’re talking about me being in court. This is why I was worried about talking to you.’ You sigh. ‘I knew this was a mistake.’
‘Just tell me what happened, Robert.’
‘And then you’ll arrest me?’
‘We’re not here to arrest you, we’re here to listen to what you have to say.’
‘Fine. This guy, the guy with the baseball bat, I grabbed his gun and I shot him. Then I shot another guy who had a knife. There were two other men sitting at a table. They had guns. I shot them and there was a guy by the door who escaped. They had two cars, Range Rovers, so I took one of the cars and drove to Croydon station. I told Maggie to take Peter to an A&E and to dump the car. I haven’t seen her since. If she’s smart I’ll never see her again. The Russians are going to be looking for us and I figured we stood a better chance if we go it alone.’
‘And the gun you used, where is it now?’
‘I left it in the car.’
‘You left a loaded weapon in a car?’ says Wilde.
‘I could hardly take it with me on the train,’ you say.
‘Did you identify them?’ asks Linklater.
You shake your head. ‘They were professionals. No ID, no cards, the only keys they were carrying were for their vehicles.’
‘This warehouse,’ she says. ‘You can take us there?’
You nod. ‘Sure.’
CHAPTER 27
‘They’re going in,’ says Linklater. You’re sitting in a grey Vauxhall Astra parked down the road from the warehouse. The inspector is sitting in the front passenger seat, Wilde is driving and you’re in the back. The third wheel. Behind you is a white Mercedes van with four SOCO technicians, ready to go in and gather forensic evidence once they are told that the area is clear.
When you arrived in the road, the car park next to the warehouse was empty. There were two armed response vehicles parked further along the road and a female sergeant was briefing five armed officers. All were wearing Kevlar helmets and vests and carrying carbines. The briefing had just finished and the team were moving into the car park. One of the officers, a big, burly guy, was holding an orange enforcer, the portable battering ram that would cave in most doors with just a couple of blows.
‘They won’t have come back,’ you say. ‘The place will be empty.’
‘I dare say you’re right,’ says Linklater. ‘But it’s a health and safety requirement when we know that firearms have been involved.’ She had an earpiece in her left ear and was listening to the group’s chatter on the radio.
The armed cops approached the warehouse door and fanned out either side. The cop with the enforcer swung it against the door and it flew open. You shake your head. ‘It probably wasn’t even locked,’ you say but Linklater ignores you.
The cops pile into the warehouse. Linklater presses her hand against the earpiece. The seconds tick by. ‘You were right, it’s empty,’ she says eventually. ‘We can go in.’
You get out of the car and walk towards the warehouse. As you reach the car park, the armed cops file out. The sergeant heads for Linklater. ‘All clear,’ says the sergeant.
‘Any casualties?’
The sergeant shakes her head. ‘No, but there are a few patches of what could be dried blood.’
‘Sorry about that,’ says Linklater, but the sergeant just smiles. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ she says. She leads her team back to the armed response vehicles.
Wilde takes two packs of blue plastic shoe protectors from his coat pocket and gives a pack to you. ‘Put these on,’ he says. You open the pack and pull the covers over your shoes. Wilde does it quickly and efficiently but you haven’t had the practice and so it takes you a couple of minutes.
‘Right,’ Wilde says to you. ‘In we go.’
He pushes the door open and you follow him inside. Linklater brings up the rear. Like Wilde, she has no problems putting on her shoe covers.
The warehouse is exactly the same as when you left, except the four dead Russians are no longer there. You point at the table and the upended chairs. ‘There were three of them sitting here,’ you say. ‘I shot two of them and one ran out.’
Wilde walks around, looking at the floor. Linklater joins him. Wilde points at a reddish patch in the concrete. ‘That could be blood.’
You go over to the chain that the Russians had used to hang Peter from the girder. Linklater joins you and you point up at the girder. ‘He was hanging from that.’ You look around and see the baseball bat. You go to pick it up but the inspector holds your arm. ‘Leave that for SOCO,’ she says. ‘There could be DNA and prints on it.’
You nod. She’s right, of course.
Wilde walks around and spots a patch of dried blood from the first Russian you killed. ‘That was the first guy I shot,’ you say. ‘The one whose gun I took.’
‘So he wasn’t armed when you pulled the trigger?’ says Wilde, looking at you with narrowed eyes.
‘We can talk to Mr Johnston back at the station,’ says Linklater.
Wilde grins at you. ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’m looking forward to that.’
The door opens and the SOCO team walks in, their white suits, hoods and masks giving them the look of ghosts. ‘Let’s get out of their way,’ says Linklater.
‘Why do we have to go to the police station?’ you ask.
‘We don’t have to,’ says Linklater. ‘It’s just more convenient. And we’ll have some privacy.’
‘But I’m not under arrest, am I?’
She flashes me what she obviously thinks is a reassuring smile but there’s ice in her eyes and it doesn’t put me at ease. ‘Of course not,’ she says. ‘You’re simply helping us with our enquiries.’
‘Which police station?’
‘Lewisham,’ she says.
‘Do you know Lewisham?’ asks Wilde, as if he is trying to catch you out.
‘I know it. But I’m not sure if I’ve ever been there.’
‘So what do you know?’ he asks.
He is definitely trying to catch you out and clearly doesn’t believe in your memory loss. ‘It’s a busy area in southeast London, about six miles from the centre. It has a large shopping centre, street markets, and plenty of buses, trains, and the DLR connecting it to the rest of the city. There are several parks, like Hilly Fields and Ladywell Fields. It’s very diverse, with shops, restaurants, and cafés from lots of cultures.’
‘Yup, that’s Lewisham all right,’ says Wilde. ‘And you seriously expect us to believe that you’ve never been there?’
‘That I don’t remember having ever been there,’ you say. ‘There’s a difference.’
CHAPTER 28
Lewisham Police Station is on the corner of Lewisham High Street and Loampit Vale, a multi-storey building with brick and glass facades around a central atrium. Wilde drives his Vauxhall Astra into the car park next to the station and you follow him and Inspector Linklater inside. The station hums with quiet energy. Officers move purposefully between offices and operations rooms and the air is filled with the sound of phones ringing and radios crackling. Maps of the borough line the walls, different coloured pins mark recent incidents and ongoing investigations. You sniff the air. You can smell cleaning products and disinfectant, but there’s something else, an earthy, musky aroma.
‘What’s that smell?’ you ask.
‘That’ll be the drugs squad,’ says Wilde.
‘There are 38 stables in the corner of the building,’ says Linklater, flashing Wilde a disdainful look. ‘That’s the horses you can smell. This way.’
She takes you along a corridor to an interview room. You know what it is because there’s a sign on the door that says INTERVIEW ROOM. The room is small, windowless and practical. Four chairs sit around a plain, bolted-down table—two on each side, facing each other. The walls are cream coloured and unadorned, and fluorescent lights overhead cast a bright, steady glare. There are cameras in two of the ceiling corners and a panic alarm strip runs along the wall next to the table. One touch and reinforcements would arrive in seconds.
Linklater waves for you to take a seat and you do as you’re told. She and Wilde sit down opposite you. There’s a double-deck tape recorder on the table but they don’t switch it on.
Wilde sits back in his chair and nods at you. ‘My name is Detective Harry Wilde and I am with...’
He looks across at Linklater, who is sitting next to him and he nods at her. ‘Detective Inspector Emma Linklater,’ she says.
‘We are in an interview room at Lewisham Police Station,’ continues Wilde. From the way he is talking it’s clear that the session is being recorded, even though the tape recorder is still off. You assume the video system is also recording sound. This isn’t an informal chat, this is an official interview.
‘It is the twenty-seventh of April and...’ Wilde looks at his watch. ‘...It is four thirty in the afternoon.’ He nods at you. ‘Can you confirm your name?’
‘Robert Johnston,’ you say, but the words don’t feel right. Is it really your name?
‘Mr Johnston, we have come here directly from a warehouse outside Croydon. Can you tell us what happened there yesterday?’
‘Am I being charged?’ you ask.
‘At the moment you are just helping us with our enquiries.’
‘What if I refuse to help you with your enquiries?’
Wilde exchanges a look with Linklater and she’s the one who answers. ‘We need to talk to you about what happened at the warehouse,’ she says. ‘I would hope that you would do that willingly.’
‘But you have cautioned me already?’
‘Yes, I explained your rights to you.’
‘And as part of those rights, I can refuse to say anything?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘What if I do that? What if I refuse to say anything?’
‘Then we probably would arrest you.’ She smiles. ‘But I really hope that won’t be necessary, Robert. All we want to know is what happened.’
‘If you did arrest me, what would the charges be?’
‘I’m fairly sure murder would cover it,’ says Wilde, so it looks as if they’re playing good cop, bad cop. ‘You have already confessed to shooting four men dead and trying to shoot another.’
‘It wasn’t a confession as such, I was just explaining what had happened.’
‘And that’s what we’d like to do now,’ says Linklater. ‘We just want you to go through it again for us.’
You sigh. ‘I’m the victim here. I was the one who was robbed, I was forced to drive at gunpoint, I was the one who nearly died in the crash, and I was the one threatened with violence by men I’ve never met.’
‘But you can’t be sure of that, can you?’ says Wilde.
You frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re claiming memory loss, remember?’ He smiles thinly. ‘No pun intended. But if you really do have memory loss, you wouldn’t know for sure that you’d never met them. Would you?’
‘That’s a fair point. But they gave me no indication that they knew me personally.’
‘And how did you know they were Russian?’ Wilde asks.
‘They spoke Russian.’
‘Do you?’ he says. ‘Do you speak Russian?’
‘Apparently I do.’
‘Did they identify themselves?’ asks Linklater.
‘They didn’t. And they weren’t carrying identification. Just cash and car keys.’
‘What happened to the cash?’ asks Wilde.
Your jaw tightens as you realise where he is heading. ‘I took it.’
‘So you robbed them?’ He grins at Linklater and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Definitely good cop, bad cop. Or smart cop, stupid cop. Either way, Wilde has clearly got it in for you.
‘I needed money,’ you say.
‘So that’s a yes,’ says Wilde and he folds his arms.
‘You said the Russians picked you up outside your house?’ says Linklater.
‘I didn’t know they were Russians at that point. But yes. They knocked us out and took us to the warehouse.’
‘You being the three of you? You, Maggie and Peter?’
You nod. ‘Yes.’
‘And then what happened?’ says Linklater.
‘They started asking us about the money. We said we didn’t know where it was and they strung Peter up by his feet and started beating him with a baseball bat. They would have killed him if I hadn’t taken the gun.’
‘And how did that happen?’ asks Wilde.
‘I pretended to know where the money was. I said I’d show him on his phone. So they untied my hands and while he was trying to look at the phone I grabbed the gun.’
‘And you shot him?’ says Wilde.
‘Yes.’
‘How many times?’
‘Twice. He went down and then I had to shoot another guy, he was holding a knife.’
‘How many times did you shoot him, the man with the knife?’
‘Twice. There were three more guys sitting at a table and they had guns so I had to shoot them. I got two of them and one of them got away.’ You frown. ‘You seem more concerned about the dead Russians than about the fact they were planning to kill me and Maggie and Peter.’
‘They’re dead and you’re not,’ says Wilde. ‘And from the way you tell it, at no point did they even try to shoot you.’
You look over at Linklater. ‘This is ridiculous,’ you say. ‘I’m the victim here.’
‘You keep saying that, Robert, but the fact is that you have admitted to shooting four men dead,’ she says.
‘Including one man who was unarmed,’ says Wilde.
‘He was only unarmed because I took his gun off him,’ you say.
‘And you then shot him and took his money?’
‘There were five of them. All of them armed. If I had hesitated for just one second...’ There is so much more that you want to say, but you can see that there’s no point. They’ve already made their minds up. ‘I want to go,’ you say. ‘I’m no longer prepared to help you with your enquiries.’
‘In that case we’ll have no choice other than to arrest you,’ says Linklater.
‘Arrest me? For what?’
‘For murder. Of four persons unknown.’
‘If you arrest me you can only hold me for 24 hours.’
Wilde grins. ‘We can get that extended.’
‘You can. But after 48 hours maximum you’ll have to let me go.’
‘Not if we charge you with murder,’ says Wilde.
‘It was self defence.’
‘And you will be given every opportunity to explain that.’
‘I just did,’ you say.
‘I mean, in a court of law.’
‘They were going to kill me,’ you say. ‘They had guns.’
‘Guns which are no longer there,’ says Wilde. ‘And there was no knife, either.’
‘I took one of the guns, and the Russians must have taken the rest of the weapons when they took away the bodies.’ You smile coldly. ‘You can’t charge me with murder, there aren’t any bodies.’
‘You’ve confessed, mate.’ Wilde gestures at one of the CCTV cameras. ‘We’ve got you on sound and vision.’
‘I could take back everything I’ve said. I could say that I made it up. My memory is unreliable anyway, the hospital can attest to that. If the only evidence you have is what I’ve told you, then you don’t have a case.’
‘We’ll see what the CPS have to say about that,’ says Linklater. ‘In the meantime, the fact that we are arresting you means that we can hold you for questioning for at least 24 hours. We’ll reassess our position after that.’
‘What if I say I’ll cooperate?’ you say.
‘I’m sorry, that’s not an option,’ says Linklater. ‘We can’t risk you absconding. And to be honest, you’ll be safer in our custody than out on the streets.’
You grit your teeth as you consider what she says. In a way she’s right. You’ve killed four of the Russians and the one who got away will be sure to tell his bosses what happened. The chances of them just walking away are slim to none - they’d be certain to want their revenge. You are unarmed and have no back up, you’d be a sitting duck. At least in a custody cell you’d be safe for a while. You nod slowly. ‘I don’t have any plans to abscond, but I guess you’re right. At least I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feed me, right?’
‘The canteen here does a very reasonable fish and chips,’ says Linklater.
You smile at her as if you haven’t got a care in the world but your heart is racing. Thump, thump, thump. She’s playing nice but then she’s the good cop so she would, wouldn’t she? It’s clear from the self-satisfied look on DC Wilde’s face that he’s hoping that I’m going to be in custody for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 29
For some reason you know that Lewisham Police Station houses the largest custody suite in the Metropolitan Police, with a total of 33 cells. As you walk alongside Inspector Linklater you wonder why it is that you have that information. You can’t have been banged up here because your fingerprints and DNA would have been taken. Had you simply read it somewhere? Or had someone told you?
You reach the booking area where a bored female custody sergeant who looked as if she had better things to do listens as DC Wilde explains what you were being charged with. Four counts of murder. One count of attempted murder, the Russian who got away. And possession of a firearm. You’re surprised that they aren’t charging you with stealing the Russian’s Range Rover because Wilde is clearly relishing the opportunity to throw the book at you. The sergeant’s name tag identifies her as Sergeant Patel, and once Wilde has finished she tells you your rights again. She explains in a dull monotone voice that you have the right to free and independent legal advice, to medical help if you need it, the right to read the police’s Codes of Practice, the right to go to the toilet, though that wouldn’t be an issue as there would be a toilet in your cell. She tells you that you have the right to eat and drink and you smile and say that you have been promised fish and chips. It’s clear from her expression that she isn’t amused. She says that you have the right to an interpreter but you say that you are comfortable with English. She asks if you are in good health and if you are suffering from any mental health issues. You say that you’re just peachy keen and she asks you if you have been having any suicidal thoughts and you say not yet but the night is young. She doesn’t seem to think that’s funny and to be fair, she’s probably right.
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