Murder Ring (A DI Geraldine Steel Mystery) (23 page)

At last the message came through that the suspect was waiting, along with a brief. The interview could begin.

‘Come on then,’ Adam muttered, ‘let’s see if we can make him talk.’

‘I don’t really see how he can hold out now,’ Geraldine replied. ‘He was caught virtually red-handed, with the gun in his possession.’

‘Yes, he was holding it, waving it around, so he can’t spin some cock and bull story about it being planted on him without his knowledge. He must at least tell us where he got the gun, if he wants to claim it wasn’t him shooting people with it a week ago. Either way, we’re home and dry.’

Geraldine nodded. She hoped he was right. Adam opened the door to the interview room and stood aside for her to enter first. With a terse smile in appreciation of his good manners, she walked in and faced the man accused of shooting two people dead.

43

A
GED AROUND TWENTY,
the suspect looked faintly oriental. Beneath a mop of curly black hair, a pair of wild, dark eyes stared round the room from a thin pale face. His shoulders jiggled as the tips of his bony fingers tapped out a rhythm on the table. His demeanour suggested he was high, although it was difficult to tell whether his pupils were dilated, because his irises were almost black. As soon as Geraldine began to talk he sat perfectly still. Only his eyes roamed all around the room, as though he wasn’t listening to a word she said. Probably he was familiar with the preamble to a police interview.

With worried blue eyes and a snub nose, the lawyer at his side looked about fifteen. When he leaned forward his sandy-coloured fringe flopped over his high forehead. He spoke rapidly in a low voice as though he didn’t want to be overheard. ‘In my opinion my client is not in a fit state to answer any questions. I haven’t been able to get a single word out of him. We don’t know how old he is. If he’s under age, your attempt to interview him is illegal, as you well know.’

Geraldine studied the suspect who stared back at her. ‘What is your name?’

He didn’t respond. She turned to the lawyer and asked for his client’s name.

‘I’ve no idea who he is.’ He sounded like a sullen adolescent. His studies had not prepared him for this circumstance. ‘I just told you, he refuses to say a word to me, although I’ve explained very clearly that I’m here to help him. He just won’t speak to me.’

‘That’s going to make it difficult for you to represent him.’

The lawyer shrugged. ‘If he won’t speak to me, I’ll have to withdraw. I’ve tried my best. He doesn’t seem to understand any known language.’

While this exchange was going on, the suspect fixed his attention on Geraldine and sat silently watching her, his mouth slightly open.

‘He looks pretty out of it,’ Adam admitted.

The lawyer mumbled under his breath as Adam attempted to persuade the suspect to state his name. ‘If you think you can get out of this by simply refusing to speak to us for long enough, you’re mistaken,’ Adam went on, turning to threats in his efforts to loosen the suspect’s tongue. ‘We may struggle to get anything out of you, but we’re not letting you go until you tell us your name and where you live –’

‘My client appears to be deaf mute or mentally challenged,’ the lawyer interrupted, ‘which makes any attempt to interview him inappropriate as well as a waste of time for everyone concerned. It is my considered opinion that he needs a psychiatric assessment, not legal representation.’

‘And it’s my opinion that he’s either spaced out on drugs or else he’s putting up a good show of being off his face. We’ll adjourn this interview to allow your client time to sleep it off. After that we expect him to stop messing about, and start talking.’

In the absence of any further information, there was little point in pressing on. They agreed to take a two-hour break while the suspect was returned to his cell. He was led away, still silent. Geraldine followed the custody officer and watched the suspect shuffle into his cell and sit down on the hard narrow bunk. He didn’t protest as the door clanged closed behind him. Observing through the peephole, Geraldine saw him lie down and close his eyes.

‘It’s just a matter of time now,’ Adam was saying when she returned to the incident room. He glanced up as she entered. ‘We’ve got nothing on him yet,’ he told her.

It was frustrating that the suspect had been carrying no form of identification when he had been picked up. Going through his pockets they had found a handful of coloured elastic bands, a packet of chewing gum, a penny, a broken biro, and a single button that didn’t match any of his clothes. Without money, credit card or Oyster card, or even a bus ticket, it was impossible to guess where he had come from. He was unlikely to have been mugged, given that he was armed; he didn’t look as though he had been sleeping rough, and he appeared to be well fed.

‘There’s definitely something wrong with him,’ Geraldine said.

‘Like he kills people,’ Adam replied. ‘We need to get him to talk.’

Geraldine didn’t respond but she was inclined to agree with the lawyer that the suspect was suffering from mental problems of some sort, and was perhaps deaf as well.

‘It’s odd that he doesn’t seem frightened,’ she said.

‘He’s too high to know where he is or what’s going on,’ Adam replied.

A team was watching CCTV footage taken near both murder scenes, searching for a sighting of the suspect. His prints and DNA had been sent to the forensic laboratory where they were hunting for evidence that he had been in contact with either or both of the murder victims. There was nothing more for them to do now but wait for the results. There wasn’t enough time for her to visit the hospital, so Geraldine returned to her desk to reread some of the statements they had received. The atmosphere of elation that had greeted the arrest had faded. The case continued to frustrate them. To begin with they had arrested the wrong man. Now their second suspect was proving awkward. There was nothing to suggest he could be innocent, but unless he spoke it might be difficult to establish the truth. Lies were easier to confound than silence. They had nothing to work with. All they had was the gun, and that might not be enough to secure a conviction.

Two hours later they reconvened. According to the custody sergeant, the suspect had slept peacefully on his bunk throughout the break. He looked dazed, as though he had just woken up, and sat yawning while Geraldine initiated their second interview.

Geraldine leaned forward. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked softly. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. Just talk to me. You can trust me. What is your name?’

The suspect’s pinched face broke into a grin and he nodded his head. ‘Theo,’ he said, in a curiously high-pitched voice.

‘Theo what?’

He grinned. ‘Theo what?’ he echoed.

Geraldine held his gaze. ‘Where do you live, Theo?’

‘Where do you live, Theo?’ he repeated, parrot fashion, imitating her intonation perfectly. On his lips the mimicry sounded weird rather than impudent, as though he was incapable of producing words of his own.

‘Oh Jesus,’ Adam muttered impatiently.

‘Do you live with your mother?’

The suspect nodded his head and his curly hair bobbed up and down. Geraldine wasn’t sure if he meant anything by it.

‘What is your mother’s name?’

‘Mum, mum,’ he intoned anxiously.

‘You live with your mother. What’s her name?’

Theo dropped his gaze and began singing quietly to himself, as though the conversation was over. ‘Around around de garden, around around around around.’

‘What is this?’ Adam burst out. ‘Stop singing and answer the questions.’

The lawyer interrupted. ‘I must insist my client be accompanied by an appropriate adult before he continues with this interview, and that his parents or legal guardians are informed. We don’t know how old he is, and his mental capacity hasn’t been assessed. I insist we stop this now.’

‘We’re trying to find out who’s responsible for him,’ Adam snapped. ‘Has it escaped your notice that we have absolutely no idea who he is? We don’t know where he comes from, and we don’t know who’s responsible for him. Someone’s been taking care of him so let’s start by checking the mental institutions.’

‘We have a first name,’ Geraldine pointed out. ‘That gives us something to work on.’

‘He’s like a child,’ the lawyer said. ‘He doesn’t seem to understand anything. He can’t make any decisions or give instructions, and I can’t be expected to take responsibility.’

Geraldine thought about her niece who had been trained to trot out her name and address from a very early age. She turned back to Theo.

‘Where do you live? Tell me your name and address.’

‘Theo Bates George Berkeley House St Pancras Way Camden London England,’ he replied promptly.

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us that in the first place?’ Adam burst out. Sounding exasperated, nevertheless he was smiling.

44

G
ERALDINE AND
A
DAM
drove straight to George Berkeley House, a large council estate on St Pancras Way in Camden, near Central London. On the way, Adam told Geraldine what he knew about the estate. All sorts of criminal activities were rumoured to take place there, mainly involving hard drugs and gang warfare. The two problems were closely interrelated. Although the police had been summoned on more than one occasion to investigate reports of gun crimes, no one living on the estate had been convicted of any such offence. There had been many busts over the years, but now the police largely left the place alone.

‘It’s a question of containment,’ Adam explained. ‘As long as they keep their problems behind closed doors, the drug squad just keep an eye on the place; keep things under control as far as possible.’

When Geraldine expressed her indignation at his resignation, he laughed.

‘Don’t be naive. This isn’t the Home Counties. You’re in London now. It would take more resources than we can ever hope to throw at the place to clean it up completely, and then the problem would only move elsewhere. At least we know where they are and can keep on top of things.’

‘But are we keeping on top of it?’

He shrugged again. ‘Speak to the drug squad.’

‘But –’

‘Let’s focus on what we’ve come here to do. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than is necessary.’

They drew up outside an ugly concrete building constructed on seven floors, all identical, with narrow windows in its dirty grey walls.

‘I can see why you don’t want to stay here long,’ Geraldine said. ‘It’s not the sort of place you want to hang around.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the place. I was talking about the occupants.’

No one answered the door at the first couple of flats they tried. At the third one, a very old woman opened the door on the chain.

‘Pigs,’ she spat and closed the door again.

Adam and Geraldine exchanged a glance, wondering how the woman had been able to identify them without even seeing them properly.

‘Do we smell different or something?’ Geraldine muttered.

‘More likely we’re different because we don’t smell,’ he replied. ‘Come on.’

The next door was opened by an old man who scowled up at them.

‘What? Theo? The nutter what lives upstairs?’

‘Yes, that’s the one. Can you tell us where he lives?’

‘Upstairs,’ he repeated and slammed the door in their faces.

Everyone seemed to know Theo the nutter. Finally a young girl told them he lived at number sixty-seven, on the sixth floor. The metal lift stank of urine. By the time they stepped out on to the gangway on the sixth floor, Geraldine felt sick.

‘I’m glad we didn’t get stuck in there,’ she said, inhaling deeply.

She followed Adam past a row of dirty front doors, stopping at number sixty-seven.

‘Here we are,’ he said, and knocked.

A woman opened the door.

‘Where you been –?’ she burst out and stopped in mid-sentence, seeing Adam and Geraldine.

She made to close the door but Adam stepped over the threshold.

‘Does Theo live here?’ he asked.

‘What? Ain’t none of your business. Get off out of it.’

‘We need to talk to you, Mrs Bates,’ Geraldine interrupted quickly.

‘Who you calling Mrs Bates?’

‘I’m sorry, I thought that was your name.’

‘You ain’t got no business thinking about my name. Ain’t nothing to you. Now piss off. You got no right poking your noses in here.’

‘Don’t you want to know where Theo is?’ Geraldine asked her.

The woman hesitated. She was thin and scraggy, with a sallow complexion, and would have been quite pretty if her face hadn’t been all out of proportion. Emphasised by her greasy hair being tied back in a rubber band, her high forehead dwarfed her small nose, tiny mouth and pointed chin.

Her cheeks suddenly flushed red. ‘What you done with my Theo?’ she demanded. ‘Where is he?’

She glanced up and down the walkway as though expecting to see him.

‘I think you’d better come with us,’ Geraldine said gently.