The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(57)

Grace caught them mid-air and climbed in the driver’s seat, a face-off with her husband and O’Neil through the window. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘I’ve had worse cleaning my teeth.’

‘Are you lot listening?’ Watson yelled. ‘I done nowt wrong.’

Ryan put a hand on his head, shoving him through the car door and into the rear seat. Content that Grace was OK to drive, Ryan conveyed a silent message to Newman – I’ll look after her – and got in beside his prisoner, who continued to spill his guts on the short journey to the station.

‘Hey!’ he said. ‘I assaulted Gloria. I admit it. I had nowt to do with the dead girl. You’ve got it all wrong, I swear.’

Grace floored the accelerator, heading for the local nick. Either she was keen to transfer their suspect into the custody of the Murder Investigation Team to be detained until formally interviewed, for as long as it took to check out his story, or she was trying to scare him to death. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, the bottleless lowlife would cough all he knew before he even reached the cells.

Ryan winked at Grace through the rear-view mirror while using reverse psychology on the man sitting next to him, something Ryan remembered her teaching him: ‘Ask a prisoner questions, they’ll blank you; tell them to shut the fuck up, they’ll do the exact opposite. Works every time.’

They shot along Union Quay, left onto Brewhouse Bank, another left onto Bird Street, Charlotte Street and right at the roundabout onto Stephenson Road. Grace didn’t do slow. The speedo was climbing rapidly as they headed away from the coast. She wasn’t saving the horses. She was screaming along, keen to dump the prisoner and then put Newman’s mind at rest.

‘I’m holding my hands up,’ Watson whined. ‘I was having fun with Gloria—’

‘Save your breath,’ Ryan said.

‘There’s no law against screwing prostitutes. It’s what she does. She’s a fucking tart. She’ll shag anyone for money.’

‘At the station!’ Ryan said. ‘Do us all a favour and keep it shut till we get there. The Murder Investigation Team will give you plenty of time to get it off your chest. They’ve got all night.’ He considered a forearm smash. He wanted to tell the scumbag that Gloria had a name, that she was a vulnerable kid, that he was old enough to be her father. He’d assaulted her multiple times. He saw her as someone to be picked up and discarded at will, a hooker who deserved whatever he had in mind to dish out. What she deserved, in Ryan’s opinion, was as much police protection as the next person.

He’d make sure she got it.

The prisoner was still snivelling as they arrived at the station, his bottle gone completely. ‘Fuck’s sake! I kicked her out where I picked her up. I needed a piss. I went into the lock-up, saw the girl lying there covered in blood and legged it. I didn’t come forward for obvious reasons. I knew you bastards would try and pin it on me. You always do. It wasn’t me, I swear!’

‘Shut it!’ Ryan repeated, tuning him out. No urine had been found in the lock-up. Thanks to Grace, there was now.





33


Ryan was invited to play second string on the interview. He agreed on the proviso that he could leave if called back to base. The Senior Investigating Officer from the Murder Investigation Team – a dynamic young woman of similar age to him – agreed that he could sit in and bail out if it became necessary. Despite the gravity of the offence for which he’d been arrested, Watson declined legal representation.

‘You really ought to have a solicitor present,’ Ryan warned.

‘At this time of night? Do me a favour. I can’t be doing with hanging in the cells until one rolls off his lass and tips up here. I told you, I’ve got a good job. There’ll be no Legal Aid bollocks coming my way. Don’t see why I should pay either, considering I’ve done nowt beyond slapping a hooker and drink driving. I’ll put my hands up to that, no sweat. Just get on with it.’

‘Suit yourself.’

The caution had hardly been administered, the digital recorder switched on, when the prisoner coughed to assaults on Gloria and Grace, as well as driving under the influence while disqualified, much to the surprise of the SIO. It was almost one a.m. She was tired. If her prisoner was intent on admissions that might end up on a charge sheet, who was she to complain? When he’d got the small matters out of the way, the idiot turned his attention to the substantive matter for which he’d been arrested: murder of a person unknown. He blurted out a plausible explanation for being at the scene and for the lack of urine on the floor.

‘It was dark in there’, he said. ‘You’ve got to believe me. Don’t tell me you’ve never been caught short. We’ve all done it, yeah?’ He pleaded with Ryan. ‘Tell her, man.’ Met with silence, he switched his attention to the SIO. ‘It’s different for us, pet; full of beer, we can’t hold on to it, know what I mean? I was busting for a slash and snagged my zip undoing my flies. I put my phone torch in my mouth while I tried to get it free. The fucking thing was stuck fast. It wouldn’t budge. That’s the God’s honest truth. I was hopping around in there, trying not to piss myself, when I spotted the girl. Piss or no piss, I legged it. Ask Gloria. She’ll alibi me.’

‘Do you need an alibi?’ The SIO let him stew a second. ‘Mr Watson, if you weren’t responsible for the state of that lock-up, who was? We know the victim was female. How do we know you didn’t have her tied up in there, bound and gagged, waiting for you to give her what for?’ She looked down at his antecedent history. ‘You have previous for violence and for perverting the course of justice.’ She raised her eyes. ‘Whoever killed the woman you allege was lying dead on the floor removed the body afterwards. Was it you?’