Dawn Langan came out of the nurse’s room and Butchers nodded in greeting. She still looked very shaken, peaky, her blonde hair greasy.
‘Coffee, Dawn?’ Vicky said.
‘No, thanks,’ Dawn edged behind reception and began sorting through a box of glassine envelopes with stickers and vials in. For blood samples were they?
‘It could be loads of things, dizziness,’ Vicky answered Butchers. ‘Could be your blood pressure. Do you get it checked? Dawn’ll do it for you.’
Dawn glared at Vicky and Butchers said, ‘No, it’s OK.’ He bit into a biscuit. ‘Seems there’s been a fair few complaints about Dr Halliwell,’ he said.
‘Well, he’s been here a long time,’ Vicky said, ‘they all get some.’
‘What did you think of him?’ Butchers said.
‘He was all right,’ she said. Butchers waited, he’d heard a ‘but’ in there. ‘Well,’ Vicky went on, ‘he liked being the boss. Didn’t want his patients chipping in with ideas. Doctor knows best, that sort of thing.’
‘And mistakes?’ Butchers said.
‘He never made mistakes – isn’t that what they used to teach ‘em? Doctor is never wrong.’
Dawn Langan straightened up, spots of colour high on her cheeks and turned on Vicky Stonnall. ‘He was a good man. How can you stand there and talk about him like that? You make me sick.’ She swung past Vicky, marched to the nurse’s room and slammed the door.
‘She wants to watch her blood pressure,’ Butchers said. ‘Is she usually so touchy?’
‘She’s upset,’ Vicky said.
‘It’s not just me, then?’ Butchers said. ‘Every time I appear, she vanishes.’
‘It’s nothing personal, it’s the situation, isn’t it?’ Vicky said.
‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Butchers said.
‘Not the best choice of words, that.’ Vicky grinned.
Butchers finished his coffee and returned to his task. He’d heard that they were arresting Aaron Matthews and thought about it. Matthews had previous form, hadn’t been out of prison long. So what then – he’d tried to break in, thinking he could nick some blank prescriptions to flog, some second-hand computers but ran into Halliwell who was locking up. Or did he know Halliwell? Was there some history there?
Telling himself it was a long shot, Butchers scanned the patient list, and there he was. Had to be the same lad. Aaron Matthews. Butchers stretched, grunted with satisfaction and picked up the phone.
Chapter 21
Janine ordered a gunshot residue test – though it was over thirty six hours since the shooting and anyone with half a brain who had used a firearm would know to change their clothes and wash well to remove the evidence. But she’d seen enough incompetent killers to hope they still had some chance.
She tried to ring Pete from her office while Aaron Matthews was consulting with the duty solicitor, annoyed that Pete had not even returned her call or made any attempt to apologize for not showing up last night.
‘Can’t talk now,’ Pete said quickly, when she got through,’ I’ll call you back.’ And he hung up before she had chance to say a word. She bit down on her resentment and went to see whether Matthews was ready yet but was met by Richard coming into the incident room, waving a piece of paper.
‘Prepared statement,’ Richard said.
Everyone groaned. Janine felt a twitch of irritation. Issuing a prepared statement was a clear indication that Aaron Matthews would refuse to answer any questions put to him.
Richard read from the statement, ‘I have no knowledge about the offence or those involved. I am not involved in any criminal activity and am not associating with any known criminals.’
‘We’ll still give it a go,’ Janine said. ‘Richard? Lisa?’
Lisa grinned. She was on a roll, Janine thought, first making the arrest and now a role in the interview.
‘Your notes are complete,’ Richard said to Lisa, referring to her documentation of the arrest. Lisa nodded, and passed them to him. He scanned them and signalled to Janine that they were ready.
‘Off you go, then,’ Janine said, trying to sound brighter than she felt. If Aaron Matthews was ‘no comment’ then all they had were the ballistics linking Matthews to the weapon and on its own that wasn’t enough to prove he was the perpetrator. She watched Richard and Lisa go.
The phone rang and Shap answered. ‘Butchers for you, boss,’ Shap said.
Janine took the phone, ‘Butchers?’
‘Aaron Matthews, he’s a patient of Dr Halliwell’s.’
‘Is he now?’ Janine said, ‘Thanks, I’ll let Richard know, he’s about to go in to interview. A prior relationship could give us motive.’
Lisa was nervous, she’d not done many suspect interviews yet but she was grateful that the boss had given her the opportunity: she could just as easily have put Shap in with DI Mayne.
Lisa had gone through the formalities for the recording: who was in the room, the date and time, and then DI Mayne said to Matthews, ‘Where were you between the hours of six and seven pm on Tuesday evening?’
‘No comment.’
‘The weapon used in this shooting is the one that was in your possession, the one you used in the commission of your last offence. Where is that gun now?’
‘No comment.’
Aaron reminded Lisa of some of the lads she was at school with, bright enough and could have made something of themselves if they hadn’t been drawn into the gangs, swayed by the peer pressure, the lure of easy money, the sense of belonging and of protection that a gang offered. Not much use when you got caught, though. Aaron had already done time. Had he learnt nothing? Was this it – the pattern for the rest of his life?
‘Shortly after your arrest today,’ DI Mayne said, ‘you claimed that you had sold that weapon.’
‘Inspector,’ the duty solicitor interrupted, a fake smile on her lips, ‘my client was not under caution then, according to PACE rules.’
What? Lisa felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.
The DI looked stunned.
‘Police and Criminal Evidence-’ the duty solicitor began.
‘I know what it stands for,’ Richard cut her off.
Lisa felt physically sick. She had cautioned Matthews, hadn’t she? She’d begun it, she was certain of that and then…Oh God… He’d legged it and she hadn’t had chance to finish it. And when she caught him and got him in the car she’d been so pumped on adrenaline she hadn’t even thought about it. She’d written in her notes that she’d issued the caution on arrest without even thinking about it. Shit!
‘Interview suspended,’ DI Mayne said.
Lisa followed him to his office. Her stomach churned and her pulse raced.
The DI was furious, his eyes hard and an expression of disgust on his face as he held up her notes. ‘It’s here in black and white,’ he said.
‘I started it but then he did his great escape and I forgot to complete it,’ she said.
‘And forgot to tell me? Christ, Lisa, he’s our chief suspect, he’s a convicted criminal who we can link to the gun and we can’t use a bloody word of it. Nothing that he said in that car. And now he’s no comment.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said.
‘Go,’ he said, ‘just go. We’ll discuss what this means for your prospects tomorrow.’
Lisa hid in the Ladies for a while, wanting to cry and kicking herself, wanting to run away, to go home but she had to face them, all of them, knowing that she’d screwed up.
She was making her way back to the incident room when Shap stopped her.
‘Hey, Mother Theresa,’ he said under his breath, ‘why’d you go and hold your hands up? It’s your word against his. You should have just fronted it out. Ten years back no-one would have given a toss. Who are they going to believe? That toerag or a serving police officer?’