The Shadows of Justice (23 page)

There is an odd divergence of views amongst senior detectives at the point of an arrest. Some eschew it, almost as if the actual detaining of a suspect is somehow tawdry. Others relish the experience and insist upon being there.

Adam was of the latter breed. One of his pet sayings has it that an arrest is a senior officer’s prerogative. Not only did he like to be present, he would carry it out himself. It was possible, in Dan’s view, that Adam took some vengeful, judicial pleasure in informing a suspect about what was happening and reciting the ritual words of the caution.

The detective’s defence was that the instant of arrest could be a powerful indicator of guilt. Just the slightest of reactions, the flicker of an eye or the quiver of a mouth, might give them away.

Katrina excused herself from the arrest. She had seen Newman suffer enough she said, in a cutting voice, and turned and left the room without a backward glance.

And so it was that Adam led the way, followed by Claire and Dan. He always found an arrest highly unnerving, a potent harbinger of many years in prison, and so tended to lurk in the background.

It was just past nine o’clock on another bright September day. Newman was back at work, saying he preferred to try to take his mind off all that had happened. He was in Roger’s Rugs city centre store, just off Royal Parade.

It was by no means the biggest of the empire, but important as it always took stock of the latest deliveries and attracted a large amount of footfall. He would usually start the day there, as it was closest to home and gave him a chance to decide what new offerings should be displayed.

The store boasted a long window, which was dominated by the latest whirlpool bath. A necessary luxury to ease the chills of the coming winter and all at an affordable price, the marketing claimed. A choice of matching showers, sinks and toilets surrounded it, accompanied by mats and rugs of the highest orders of fashion. The shop faced directly into the rising sun, a series of replica orbs blazing from the plates of polished glass.

Newman was at the counter, talking to a woman who was checking through an inventory. When he saw them walk in, he froze. His eyes flicked to his side and the darkness of a store room. Adam spotted it, increased his pace and closed the distance between them rapidly.

The businessman was trapped and he knew it. But he stood his ground, ready for the fight. There was a sense about Newman of someone who had little left to lose. And such people were always the most dangerous.

“I didn’t do it,” he said.

“Didn’t do what?” Adam replied.

“Kill the Edwards.”

“I never said you did.”

“But that’s why you’re here – isn’t it?”

Adam didn’t answer, instead said, “You’ll appreciate there are some questions we have to ask.”

Newman shrugged. The gesture was somehow aggressive rather than uncaring. It was loaded with menace, a hurt that would never end.

“Go ahead. It’s not as though I’ve got a family any more. It’ll be a change to have someone to talk to.”

He was wearing another dark suit but no tie. He hadn’t shaved well, patches of bristles picked out in the glare of the sunlight. Newman was sweating too, a gathering moisture growing on the pale skin of his crown. He looked tired and drawn, and a faint smell of the sweetness of whisky tinted the air around him.

Newman leaned back on the counter, produced a hip flask and took a long swig. “Don’t say a word,” he muttered, in response to Adam’s look.

“I appreciate it’s been a difficult time,” the detective replied, but without sympathy.

And now, with only the slightest of pressure, the eggshell of control cracked. The toxic bitterness was running free.

“Do you?” He snarled. “You’ve had a daughter kill herself before your eyes, have you? You’ve seen the people who wrecked your life walk free and crow about it? And then you’ve had the police come to call you a murderer?”

“Calm down, Mr Newman,” Adam said, heavily. “No one’s accusing—”

“Bollocks, Breen. It’s written all over your damned faces. I didn’t kill the bastards. But I’ll tell you this – if you do find out who did it, let me know because I’d like to shake their hands. And if you think it’s me, you’re going to waste your time here and that means the real killer gets away with it, that’s just fine.”

Newman took another swig from the flask and set it down on the counter. The woman reached out a hand to his shoulder, but he pushed it away and stood glaring at Adam. He was swollen with his suffering, and there was so much of it, filling body and mind.

“Come on then.”

“I’m sorry?” Adam replied.

“Arrest me. Come on – do it.”

“Mr Newman—”

“Come on, be a man. Do it. And I tell you what—”

“Now, look—”

But Newman wasn’t to be interrupted. There was something else he had to say, and he was going to say it. “I hope you have as much success getting me as you did the bloody Edwards.”

The arrow of the goad hit the very heart of the target. Adam visibly stiffened at the impact on his professionalism and pride. And all restraint was shed. “Roger Newman, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Martha and Brian Edwards,” he intoned. “You do not—”

He got no further. Newman’s voice was a shout, a screech and a scream, all in concerto.

“Fuck you!”

He swung a fist, propelled towards Adam’s head. But the detective had faced these moments too many times to be caught so easily. He stepped inside the blow, grabbed Newman’s arm and pushed him against the counter. Claire lunged forward and reached for Newman’s free arm.

But they were fighting a storm. Newman was a man possessed with an inhuman strength. The pumping power of repressed rage was running through him. The unleashed anger was filling his muscles and veins with an infinite energy. Even with Adam clinging to one arm and Claire the other, he was still moving, shaking them off. With one great heave he broke free, sending them both stumbling backwards.

Newman let out an anguished yell, vaulted over the counter and disappeared into the storeroom, slamming the door in his wake.

***

Dan went to pick Claire up from a pile of carpet tiles, but she pushed him angrily away. Adam was hammering at the storeroom door. It was solid, unmoving, locked fast.

“Where does it go?” he barked at the woman behind the counter.

“Stuff you,” she said, defiantly.

Adam turned, headed for the front of the shop. He lurched into the street, scanned left and right. Around a corner, fifty metres ahead, Newman appeared. He was running hard.

“Come on, after him!”

The city was quiet, only a few early morning shoppers walking the pavements at a leisurely pace. They turned to stare at the strange procession chasing past. Newman jumped over a barrier and turned another corner, into Royal Parade.

“Claire, get some back up here,” Adam panted.

They were running fast, but not closing the gap. Newman was still well ahead, his long legs and fervour giving him the advantage. He passed a grocer’s, a restaurant, a baker’s, the people in the windows all watching.

He swerved and clipped a man carrying a couple of bags. Apples and oranges rolled across the pavement. Newman didn’t break stride, just kept running. Dan danced his way through the strewn fruit. He was sweating in the heat.

“Where the hell’s he going?” Adam gasped.

A lorry had pulled up on the kerb, the driver carrying a pile of boxes into a newsagent’s. Newman dodged around him and careered across the road. A car jarred to a halt, its horn blaring. Adam didn’t hesitate and ran across the road too.

They were on the plaza between the courts and Civic Centre, heading towards the Hoe. The sun made a silhouette of Newman’s fleeing figure. It was quieter here away from the traffic, the sound of their sprinting shoes echoing around the square.

“Roger, stop!” Adam yelled. “Stop!”

But Newman was insensible and kept running. He weaved through a couple of benches and past one of the ornamental ponds. Crows took to the air to escape the cascading insanity. He was heading towards the theatre.

“Oh no,” Dan panted. “No, no, no. Not again.”

“What?” Adam barked.

Newman ducked under the low boughs of a tree and disappeared through the door into the multi-storey car park.

“Shit,” Adam groaned. “Claire, get onto the fire brigade. And make it quick – damned quick. Dan, with me.”

“But I don’t want to see another—”

“Don’t argue. He liked you. We might need that.”

They pushed through the swinging wooden door, into the stairwell. It was dark after the brightness of the open air and smelt dank. They could hear Newman running up the stairs, all footfall and panting.

Adam began following, but a little slower now. They passed a woman holding the hand of a young child. Both eyed them nervously. The detective wielded his warrant card and apologised.

Newman was still moving. The shadow of his figure flitted on the dirty white walls. They reached level four, then five. At the top of the stairs they heard a door open and slam shut again, a sharp boom of a sound.

“Shit,” Adam groaned. “He’s on the roof.”

They jogged up the last two flights. At the doors Adam hesitated, reached out an arm and made Dan wait.

“Let me go first. Just in case.”

It was a suggestion Dan was never going to dispute. He hastily took a couple of steps backwards. Adam gave him an exasperated look but crouched, ready to fight, and pushed at the doors.

There was no reaction, no screaming assault, no hurtling attack. Nothing. He stepped out into the brightness.

Ahead was Newman, walking slowly to the far corner of the car park. It was the one where Annette had jumped to her death.

***

Pace by measured pace, they followed. The roof was deserted, too high yet for the onrush of the day’s shoppers. It was just a concrete plain suspended in the sky, bounded by a low wall.

Newman was still walking. He hadn’t once looked back. His steps were automatic, as though he were in the tunnel of a trance and could see only the destination of that far corner. Overhead, birds soared in blue freedom.

The end of the car park had become a shrine. It was piled with bunches of flowers, thoughts and gifts in Annette’s memory. Some had notes attached, words of rue for a life lost far too soon. Cuddly toys hid amongst the colours of the blooms; a smiling cat, a grey goose and a hedgehog, peering out from behind some stems.

The concrete floor was patched with the dark stains of dried oil. Occasional graffiti picked out patterns on the walls. A couple of sweet wrappers played in the breeze.

Newman had reached the corner. And there he stood and looked out. To the green expanse of the Hoe, the cliffs, the sea, the city and the plaza so far below.

They kept walking, more slowly now. Took in the distance watchfully. They were twenty metres away, fifteen, then ten.

Newman raised a hand. “No closer.”

Adam stopped abruptly, Dan likewise.

“Roger,” the detective said. “What are you doing? This isn’t you.”

No reply. No reaction. Nothing. Just blankness.

“Come on, Roger,” Adam coaxed.

On a floor below a car engine started and faded away.

“Roger,” Adam said again. “This is pointless.”

“Is it?” came the answer, the words soft and faraway. “I don’t know what’s the point of anything anymore.”

“Come on. Look at all the good you’ve done. The business, the people you employ – they rely on you. All your charitable work.”

“And where’s it got me?”

Adam didn’t answer. Perhaps he couldn’t.

“I’ll tell you where it’s got me – nowhere. I’ve worked hard, tried hard, tried to do some good, and what happens?”

There was a strange distance to the words. It was as if the man was fading away from existence.

He reached down and picked up a picture of Annette, which had been left amid the flowers. Newman pulled it to his chest and looked back out at the city.

“Roger,” Adam said again. “How does this help anything?”

“You think I killed the Edwards.”

“Look, I’m not saying—”

“You were going to arrest me for it.”

“That was just – it was a… routine thing.”

Dan winced at the hollowness of the words. Below, he could see police officers running across the plaza, ushering people away. A couple of fire engines had parked on the road. Two large yellow bags and a pair of pumps were being carried to beneath where Newman stood.

“You think I killed the Edwards,” the businessman said again.

“All I’m saying, Roger—” Adam called, but he was interrupted once more.

“So, if I die now – you’ll be sure I killed them. And whoever really did it will get away with it.”

“Roger!” Adam shouted, but Newman had already levered himself up onto the wall.

“Dan, for fuck’s sake, say something,” the detective hissed from the corner of his mouth. “Try anything. Just stop him!”