Settled Blood (31 page)

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘I am in a way.’ She stopped short of the door to the interview room and dropped her voice a touch. ‘He hardly fits the profile, does he? I’m not feeling excited about
him. I’m just not.’

‘He seems pretty confident to me.’

Gormley wasn’t fooling anyone. He looked every bit as underwhelmed as Daniels was feeling. He’d been thoughtful during the debriefing session and she could see the doubt in his eyes
as he stood in the dingy corridor. Maybe it was tiredness. They were both bloody exhausted.

‘OK, I admit it. He’s not what I imagined either. The twat can sense we’ve got very little on him – and we don’t, unless of course you’ve changed your mind
about keeping Carmichael out of this.’ He paused for a second. ‘Have you?’

‘No. I’m not having that.’

‘Well then, if Bryony Sharp won’t talk, we’re up shit creek without a paddle.’

Daniels looked at the ceiling and sighed.

‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Gormley didn’t wait for her reply. He pointed at the door to IR3. ‘He looked at a few names on a computer. Big deal! We’ve all
done it and, on its own, it’s not enough to convict him. We know it and so does he. So he’s got the upper hand.’

On that grim note, they entered the interview room.

F
reek was sitting at the table, a uniformed male officer standing to attention a few feet away. Daniels made eye contact with him, flicking her head towards the door. As the
constable left the room, she sat down opposite the suspect. Gormley took his seat, the one closest to the wall where he could operate the recording device. Switching it on, he made sure it was
working before getting down to business.

‘This interview is taking place at the city centre police office. The time is ten-o-five p.m. I am Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley. Also present are Senior Investigating
Officer—’ Daniels gave her name. ‘And you are . . .?’

Gormley pointed to the suspect.

‘Stephen Pretoria Freek.’

‘I must remind you that you are still under caution.’ Daniels’ eyes travelled over the man, taking in his expensive clothes, a good watch, his relaxed body language: feet
apart, hands clasped loosely in front of his genitals, no visible hint of stress on his face. Given the serious nature of the charge he was facing, she found that really disconcerting. She placed a
thick document file on the table in front of her with Freek’s name clearly written on the front. There was nothing inside except blank sheets of paper. ‘Do you understand?’

Freek said nothing.

‘Do – you – understand?’

‘I’m – not – stupid!’ he said.

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Making a cradle with her hands, Daniels put her elbows on the table and gave him what was commonly known in these parts as the Scotswood stare.
‘You have the right to have a solicitor present, but you’ve declined – is that correct?’

‘I’ve been arrested for abduction and I’m entirely innocent.’ The suspect met her gaze obstinately. ‘I want to hear what you’ve got to say first.’

Daniels pushed a rogue hair behind her left ear with her right hand. ‘We have reason to believe you’ve been accessing information from a university computer system for your own
ends.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’

‘Positive. I’m an admissions executive. It’s my job to access student records.’

‘I agree with you.’ Daniels paused. ‘Can you tell me why you accessed the records of Bryony Sharp, for example? She isn’t a first-year student.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t recall.’

‘How convenient.’ Gormley put on the bifocals his colleagues called his sincerity specs. For effect, he glanced at the file with Freek’s name on it. ‘Maybe I can help you
out. You see, we have not
one
but
two
girls who swear they were drugged by you at the Fuse nightclub in Durham City only last night.’

‘I take it you can prove that.’

‘You’re forgetting something—’

‘Am I?’

Grinning, Gormley held up a bag of white powder they had found in his wallet.

‘Oh that.’ Dipping his head to the tabletop, Freek covered one nostril and hoovered up an imaginary line of cocaine. He shook his head, tutting. ‘What you found was stuff for
my own use. So charge me with possession. First offence, I might even get a caution. What d’you reckon, DCI Daniels?’

‘For the tape, Mr Freek has just gestured that the white powder found in his possession is some kind of illegal drug.’ Daniels picked up the internal phone. ‘DC Carmichael,
bring the package to IR3.’

Seconds later, Carmichael arrived in the room with a black bin liner. As soon as she walked through the door, Freek recognized her. He tried desperately to hide his discomfort but failed.

Carmichael left the room again.

‘What do you think we’ve got in here?’ Daniels tapped the bin liner.

Silence.

‘It’s your computer. And we’ve done a check on it,’ Daniels lied. The laptop inside was her own. ‘Not so cocky now, are you?’

Freek glanced at the tape deck embedded in the wall. ‘Turn that thing off and I’ll tell you everything I know in exchange for immunity from prosecution.’

‘That only happens on American TV,’ Daniels said. ‘Unfortunately for you, this isn’t
24
and I’m not Jack Bauer. It’s a bummer, I know, but we
don’t do bargains – do we, Sergeant?’

‘She means you’re in deep shit!’ Gormley took off his glasses. He always did that when they were interviewing. On. Off. On. Off. His arm going up and down like a
fiddler’s elbow. ‘You’re going to have to do a lot better than that to convince us you’ve done nothing wrong.’

Daniels stared at the prisoner. There was little doubt that he’d administered noxious substances to Carmichael and Bryony Sharp without their consent, terrifying at least one of them in
the process; two, if she were being honest. Carmichael still wasn’t right. Daniels had known that from the moment she came on duty. But she would be. Eventually. Using her in a covert
operation so soon after Freek had dropped her a Mickey Finn had been a calculated risk; one worth taking, as it turned out. In their job, the stakes were high. The ends justified the means. Her DC
had done her proud.

But now Daniels was facing the really hard yards: cracking a suspect who had everything to lose and nothing to gain by talking to them. How would Bright handle him if he were here now? Bully
him? Wear him down? Maybe try a different tack, one guaranteed to put the fear of God into him. Really make him sweat.

A different tack.

She decided to up the ante. Stop pussyfooting around. ‘You want to thank your lucky stars you haven’t been charged with murder,’ she said.

‘Yet!’ Gormley followed her lead.

And it was working.

Freek’s jaw dropped.

‘Did I tell you that one of the names you accessed on your work computer is now dead?’ Daniels pushed her chair away from the table. She slid down in it, leaning back, crossing her
feet, then her arms, her eyes planted on the suspect. ‘Amy Grainger was murdered. But I guess you already know that, don’t you?’

Freek sprung to his feet. ‘Now look here—’

‘SIT DOWN, Mr Freek!’ Daniels waited.

Freek stayed right where he was. Gormley stood up quickly, his chair making a noise as it scraped across the floor. He moved towards the suspect with an intimidating look on his face, almost
daring him to kick off. Probably hoping he would.

‘Why don’t you both sit down.’ Daniels kept her eyes focused on the man in custody. ‘That’s better. Now, why don’t you stop buggering about and tell us what
you know. You’ve got ten minutes before I put you in a cell for the night. We’ve got homes to go to.’

Silence.

‘Have it your own way . . .’ Daniels gathered up the file in front of her.

‘OK! I was being threatened—’

‘Course you were.’ Gormley shook his head.

Freek ignored the dig.

‘Who was threatening you?’ Daniels set the file down again. ‘And why?’

Freek locked eyes with Gormley. ‘You think
you’re
hard? Do me a favour. You want to see the guys I’ve been dealing with. They’d kill—’ He stopped
mid-sentence, realizing what he’d just said. ‘They’re running a brothel in Durham. They leaned on me, wanted details of girls. Nice
educated
girls with nasty bank balances.
Girls they might get on the game. All I did was provide a few names and addresses. That was it. I never did anything more than that, I swear.’

‘That’s not what Bryony Sharp says,’ Gormley reminded him.

Freek looked down at his hands.

‘We know all about the prostitution racket,’ Daniels said. ‘Why d’you think we were in the club? But, as I just told you, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. One of the
girls your friends were interested in is now dead.’

‘They’re not my friends, I told you.’ The suspect was starting to get really agitated. ‘You’re not pinning that on me! I want a solicitor now.’

‘Assuming we accept your story, how come these . . .’ Daniels made inverted commas with her forefingers, ‘heavies picked you?’

‘They saw what I was doing in the club. They threatened to dob me in if I didn’t cooperate. I figured the girls whose names I gave them would tell them to sling their hook anyway, so
what was the harm? I never would’ve done it if I thought they were going to be in danger.’

‘Take him back to his cell, Hank.’

‘No wait! Please, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

Daniels took an A4 notepad from the table drawer. It landed in front of Freek with a solid thud. She gave him a pen. ‘You’ve got half an hour. I want times, dates, names,
descriptions, everything you know about the people who approached you. After that, who knows? Just don’t figure on getting out of here anytime soon.’

T
hey left Stephen Freek to sweat. A little worry time. Telling him they’d be back to see him at exactly eleven o’clock, they returned to the MIR and sat down with a
depleted team. Nothing much had happened in their absence. Crime scene investigators were still processing Freek’s belongings and would hand them over as soon as they could. Whatever that
meant.

Daniels looked up as Maxwell entered looking dishevelled after his marathon shift in the car: his navy strides all creased at the crotch, shirt stained with the remnants of a makeshift dinner,
eyes on stalks from watching the front door of an apartment not a million miles away. She was surprised to see a wide grin on his face.

‘Bryony Sharp’s downstairs. She just gave me chapter and verse on her dealings with Stevie boy. She needed no persuading either . . .’ Maxwell slumped down in a chair, handed
over a statement form. ‘She’s prepared to follow that up in court if necessary. She’s a nice lass, actually. A quiet lass, pretty shaken up. She’s terrified he’ll do
it again to some other poor sod.’

‘You didn’t raise her expectations of a conviction, I hope.’ Daniels looked up from the document. ‘The CPS will probably knock this on the head before it gets to first
base. Any number of people could’ve spiked her drink, Lisa’s too, for that matter.
We
all know he’s guilty as sin, but so far the evidence is circumstantial, even if Bryony
did wake up around the corner from his home.’ Daniels took in the clock on the wall: ten fifty-five. ‘Lisa, Andy, you may as well call it a day. Neil, thank Bryony Sharp on my behalf
and make sure she gets home before you go off duty. And I don’t mean fob her off on someone else. Do it yourself, then you can knock off too.’

Maxwell nodded. Hauling himself off the chair, he sloped off looking decidedly unhappy. Brown picked up his jacket and followed him out, looking back over his shoulder as he approached the
door.

‘You coming, Lisa?’

‘No. I’m going to hang around, wait for the CSIs. I’ve been in bed most of the day and I’m wide awake. To be honest, I feel pretty wired.’

T
hey resumed the interview with Freek at exactly eleven o’clock as planned. He’d written down a long list, including detailed descriptions of two men he claimed had
pressurized him, times, dates and locations where he’d met with them.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Daniels asked.

‘No names, no pack drill . . .’ Freek said. ‘We were hardly bosom buddies.’

‘Why didn’t you send the information electronically?’ Gormley asked. ‘I’d have thought it would’ve saved you a lot of grief.’

‘Why d’you think?’ Freek wasn’t laughing.

‘Humour me,’ Gormley pushed.

‘Because computer trails are irrefutable evidence, that’s why. Ironic, isn’t it . . . but now I
am
under arrest, the goalposts have shifted somewhat. I’m not going
down alone, I can tell you that. I had nothing to do with that girl’s death. Nothing.’

Daniels studied him for a moment. His information may well prove of interest to the Durham force but, as far as her own linked incident was concerned, it gave her very little. The connection
between the man she was looking at and Amy Grainger was extremely thin. It was a difficult call, but she decided there and then to hand him over to others, freeing herself up to concentrate on the
murder enquiry itself.

‘I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Mr Freek. You’ll be given eight hours’ rest, then someone will come and interview you in the morning when we’ve had the chance
to check this out. Until then, you stay put.’

Daniels’ phone rang. Curiously, it was Carmichael. ‘Lisa? What’s up?’

‘You will not believe what I just found,’ she said.

T
he MIR always looked eerie at this time of night: the main lights switched off, work stations empty, computer screens dead – the smell of floor polish lingering,
courtesy of the office cleaner. Carmichael was tense. She was standing directly in front of the murder wall in an area bathed in a pool of light from spots mounted on the ceiling. She’d
cleared two desks and pushed them together to form a long counter. A shallow exhibits box sat on one end with Freek’s laptop still inside. A second, empty box lay discarded on the floor, its
contents laid out methodically: magazines in one pile, photographs, posters, and so on.