Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (18 page)

Chapter 13

Thomas Blackwell was a fifth generation lawyer. He took little joy from his work, but knew nothing else. An unctuous man who was hard to like, his sharp intellect and unparalleled understanding of the law kept him in gainful employment with the very select few who could afford his rates. As Deputy Chief Constable Weathers and Assistant Chief Constable Anders entered the room he eyed them carefully. They both looked tired and in need of a shower.

Weathers was easy to read. He had an open, honest face that, he supposed, women were attracted to. A rough, outdoorsy type. Blackwell had met many like him, policemen to the core. Stubborn and committed, a leader of men, but not especially bright and easy to work around. Anders was a different proposition. He couldn’t work her out. She was a closed book, enigmatic and alluring with that scar running up her neck. He’d read that they covered her back and, as she sat down, she gave him a cool gaze as if she’d been reading his thoughts.

Putting his musings aside for a moment, he turned to Weathers as he spoke. He didn’t care whether Buckland’s son was innocent or guilty. The boy looked like his father and seemed like any normal kid, apart from the bruising on his face where the police officer had assaulted him. He was charming and quick to smile, easily answering Blackwell’s questions. He didn’t take him at face value though. Not with that family.

“Lawrence Buckland, I’m Deputy Chief Constable Weathers and this is Assistant Chief Constable Anders. We’re holding you here in connection with…”

Blackwell interrupted him, earning a reproving look from Weathers. 

“You need to actually charge him with something Mr Weathers. That, or provide some clear reason as to why you will be holding him here for questioning.”

“Why were you in that building Lawrence?” asked Weathers. Blackwell had instructed him not to speak and so answered for him.

“His family own the property. Lawrence was looking for his father.”

“He assaulted a police officer.” Blackwell supressed a smile at the thought of his client hitting Weathers with a stool.

“My client feared for his life. He thought he was being attacked after an explosion had rocked the building.”

“Why was he there?”

“I’ve told you. He was looking for his father.” Weathers laid out several sheets of paper on the desk, sliding them to Blackwell. He skimmed through them and found nothing of consequence.

“There are no records this building exists. So why were you there Lawrence?” The kid made to speak, but Blackwell lay a hand on his arm, telling him to be quiet.

“An admin error by some temping office worker isn’t going to be enough to convict my client Mr Weathers.” Blackwell could see that he was getting frustrated by the kid’s silence and his answers, reflecting that he did actually enjoy this part of the job. Winding up police officers was ever such fun.

“Your client has the skills to run this website, hack into bank accounts and edit borough records on land registry.” Blackwell gave a mirthless chuckle.

“Mr Weathers, I’m fairly certain that those skills are not part of the syllabus at Harvard. Please feel free to check though. I know the NCA likes to do things by the book.” Weathers changed tack, knowing that he was getting nowhere and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Your mother was here last week Lawrence, saying she didn’t know where you were, yet our records show that you entered the country three weeks ago.”

“My client entered the country three week ago with friends and stayed with them as he often does before seeing his family. I will provide you with witnesses of course. Once he’d heard of the distressing news of his father, he set out to look for him to make him stop this nonsense.” Weathers jabbed a finger in Lawrence’s direction. The kid kept his face blank, looking at the desk the whole time and refusing to make eye contact. Good boy. He was far too easy to read.

“Why can’t he tell me that?” asked Weathers.

“He’s instructed me to speak on his behalf.”

“Why was there a bomb rigged to go off?”

“You’ll need to ask Lord Buckland,
if
you find him.”

“One of my team almost died.” Blackwell gave a gracious nod of his head.

“My sincere condolences.” Weathers gave an irritated snort of derision.

“She’s not dead yet,” he replied testily, losing his temper. “Why didn’t your client set it off when he entered the building?” Blackwell decided that it was time to wrap up this conversation.

“Did you identify yourself Mr Weathers?” He looked confused and Blackwell knew he hadn’t.

“What?”

“It’s a reasonable question and one I’m quite sure will be raised in any investigation into this matter. Did you identify yourself? When you entered the building, did you identify yourself and give clear reason for your entry?”

“I had a sighting of Buckland at the building. That is sufficient evidence for me to search the premises.”

“It is Mr Weathers, but the moment you entered a quiet building and realised that there was no immediate danger, you should have identified yourself and your station or anything you do is unlawful according to the Police and Criminal Evidence Act.” Weathers went a peculiar shade of red at that.

“I had yet to determine that we were in no immediate danger and that the building was occupied. You’re dealing with semantics here.”

“You can’t prove that either way. If you heard any sound that the building was occupied, you needed to state your presence. This interview is done. My client will happily stay on British soil and let you know of his whereabouts should you ask. All you have is that he was in a building his family owned. Everything else that happened after is down to you. Good day Mr Weathers. Miss Anders.”

Blackwell made to leave and indicated that his client should do so as well. Anders had been watching Lawrence throughout the interview, letting Weathers talk. As they stood, she spoke softly, but her words were laced with steel and sent a chill down his spine.

“Your father wasn’t alone Lawrence. Two people crucified that man. Three people hacked Boyle to death.” She stood up as Lawrence looked at her and she seemed to grow in stature, filling the room with her presence. “There’s a reckoning coming for your father. I know you helped him and I know you’re sloppy. You’ll make another mistake and Mr Blackwell won’t be here to bail you out.” She leaned forward.

“When you make that mistake? I’ll be there. And then you and I will have that reckoning.”

Chapter 14

McDowell was waiting in the Hub as the pair entered the room. His gruff Scottish accent boomed in the concrete space, amplifying the anger in his voice. He’d watched the interview on the monitor.

“Mal. A word please. In your office.” Mal led him in, McDowell slamming the door behind them and raising his voice immediately. The glass barely muffled the sounds as he tore into Mal. Anders walked to where Jesse and Barry worked on tracking the black holes in the land and buildings registry as Abi’s door opened and Lady Margaret walked out. She looked much comforted and hugged Lawrence as he came from the holding cells, Blackwell following behind. He gave Anders a strange look before heading for the lift, holding it open as Lady Margaret ushered Lawrence in. He turned as the doors closed and winked at Anders.

“You believe him?” asked Barry, clearly doubting his testimony. Anders shook her head.

“Not a word. He’s neck deep in it and we’ve got nothing. No magistrate will give us a warrant to tail him either, not after today anyway. Poor victim Lawrence, picked on because of his daddy.”

On Jesse’s screens, news footage from mobile phones showed the glass of the abandoned shop blowing out onto the street, followed by a thunderous boom. Luckily no civilians had been hurt, but the tag line made for grim reading.

“Police woman seriously injured as they fail, again, to catch Buckland.”

The door to Mal’s office swung open and McDowell walked out. He gave the group a curt nod and headed for the lift. Mal came out a few seconds later, looking suitably browbeaten.

“That sounded fun,” said Barry. He’d been to the canteen to get some food for everyone and shovelled a large baguette stuffed with meats and salad into his mouth, sauce dripping from it in sticky lumps. Mal leaned over and took some tissues from Duncan’s desk and passed them to Barry so he could clean himself up.

“Could have been worse,” he said.

“We off the case?” asked Barry, his mouth full of food.

“No, but it was close.” He sat down on the desk and helped himself to some crisps and a cheese sandwich. “To be fair, he’s been pretty good. Today aside, we’ve been doing well. He’s keeping the Home Office off our backs and given us more resources. This place is going to get mighty full.”

“Not that he has much choice,” opined Anders. “We’ve got to dredge through a mountain of evidence that keeps getting bigger every day. He should have given us more bodies the moment this all started.” They ate in companionable silence for a while. Abi came to join them and they finished their meal, each deep in thought. Once they were done, Mal turned to Abi.

“Right, shall we go and see how Lucy is doing?” She gave him a wan smile and went to collect her bag and coat, worry etched on her face. Mal gave instructions to the team and took Abi to their vigil.

Lucy’s heart had stopped on the operating table. The surgeons were unable to stem the bleeding. They started her heart again, paddles loud in the chaos of the theatre. Finally getting to the source of the internal bleeding, they were able to cauterise that and then work on her arm, removing dead tissue and sowing loose skin over the stump. It was many hours before she was taken from the theatre to intensive care and several days until anyone was allowed to see her. She had been taken to St Thomas’, almost directly opposite Scotland Yard on the other side of the river, which gave Anders ample opportunity to see her on the way back from work each evening.

She brought grapes, chocolate and flowers, but had eaten one of the bars and so had to stop to buy another. She had a weakness for Cadbury’s chocolate having not eaten it since she was six. It brought back memories of happy days and she was fairly certain she was developing a dependency on it.

As she made her way through the wards to Lucy’s room, Anders felt a deep rooted unease inveigle its way into her. She’d spent a long time in hospital during her transition and also after her back had been whipped to a pulp. She’d endured, but the torment and pain lingered, tendrils of memory insidiously coiling round her emotions, forcing her to take a calming breath. Every hospital tended to look the same inside. Long corridors, drab walls, rooms and wards branching off and an air of depression coupled with a sour tang in the atmosphere. Arriving at Lucy’s room, she sat on a deceptively hard comfy chair as she waited for Lucy to wake from her slumber. She’d regained some colour to her skin, but still looked grey and sallow, her blonde hair making her looker paler still. Her cheeks were gaunt and she’d lost a lot of weight. Her left arm was heavily bandaged and she could see the stump ending half way down to the elbow.

Anders waited a while, not wanting to leave Lucy alone and eyeing the chocolate bar she’d left on the bedside table. She saw several Get Well cards and a balloon floating above her, tethered to the chair by a silk ribbon. Deciding she’d waited long enough for Lucy to wake and claim her bar of chocolate, Anders reached over and slid the bar from the table top, gliding her fingernail under the paper wrapper and tearing the foil. The sound woke Lucy who turned to see Anders looking guilty as she popped a section of chocolate into her mouth.

“Busted,” she said, and offered Lucy the chocolate. She shook her head.

“You have it, I’m all chocolated out.” Her voice was dry and cracked, pain etched on her face as she moved. Her Morphine must be wearing off thought Anders as she took a small piece of chocolate and left the rest on the table.

“How you holding up?” Lucy moved to sit, struggling to do so one handed. Anders helped her up and plumped some pillows behind her so that Lucy could sit comfortably.

“I’m here and I thank God for that, but it’s painful.” She held back tears as Anders sat on the bed and took her hand. She’d suffered terribly from the shrapnel. It had pierced her intestines and damaged a kidney. One large piece had nicked her spine and no one could say if she’d be able to walk properly again. She’d have to recover the hard way and do so with one functioning arm.

“We’re here to help. All of us. Duncan is on his way now and Barry was going to pop by after he’d followed some leads.”

“How’s it going?” Anders was reluctant to talk about it but knew Lucy wanted the distraction, even if only for a few minutes.

“We’re swamped. New murders happening every day all over the world and the press getting into a tizz. Even the President is talking about it. Our team is huge now and the Hub is packed. Law enforcement agencies have flown in from all over the world to liaise and offer support.” Lucy gave a sad smile.

“Sounds kinda exciting,” she said. Anders laughed for what felt like the first time in a while.

“Not according to Mal it isn’t,” she said. “He looks pretty stressed.” Lucy gave her a tired smile.

“No more dates for you two then?” Anders gave her a shocked look. “Oh, come on,” said Lucy, delighting at seeing Anders so uncomfortable. “We can all see the connection between you two. Besides, Helen was listening at the door when he asked you out!”

“The little swine,” cried Anders good naturedly. “I thought she looked too innocent when I got back.” Lucy suddenly looked sad, glancing at her arm as she did so.

“I guess I won’t be dating anytime soon,” she said morosely. She turned to Anders, her eyes tracing the scar on her neck and across the shoulders. The weather was hot, so Anders wore a sleeveless top that showed more of her scar tissue than usual. She gave a thoughtful look.

“How do you live with it?” she asked, so quietly Anders barely heard her.

“I don’t let it define me. Others will use it to put you in a bracket, find a nice easy label for you. They’ll stare and judge and use it to determine your place in the world. But that only happens if you let them. I learnt that a long time ago,” she said, talking about more than just her scars.

“What was it like when you changed?” Anders was taken aback by the question coming as it was from Lucy.

“Hard and painful. Brutal at times. But worth every second. It doesn’t define me anymore.” Lucy gave a ghost of a smile.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” she said. Anders gripped her hand fiercely, imbuing Lucy with her strength.

“I’ll help you,” she replied.