The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(58)

‘No! I swear – on my mother’s life.’

‘You have a mother?’ Ryan scoffed.

He wanted to put Watson in his place, frighten him the way he’d terrified Gloria. He wanted to make out that even though he may not have seen the killers’ faces, they sure as hell would have seen his and might be coming after him. Gloria had said he could have his fancy watch for the price of a nose job. Shouldn’t cost him more than a few grand.

‘Start talking,’ Ryan said.

‘I’ve not stopped talking. If I tell you what I know, can I go home?’

‘And climb into bed with your missus?’ the SIO said. ‘You do have a wife, don’t you?’

‘And kids,’ he admitted, eyes flitting between the two detectives, eventually landing on Ryan.

‘It had better be good.’ Ryan’s expression was deadpan. ‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder.’

‘Detective Sergeant Ryan has a point,’ the SIO said. ‘What else happened in the lock-up, Mr Watson?’

‘Nothing, I swear.’

‘Did you leave anything behind?’

He nodded. ‘A shoe.’

‘Left or right?’

‘Left.’ No hesitation.

‘Can you describe it?’

‘It was brown, a brogue.’

The SIO bent down to retrieve a plastic evidence bag she had concealed in a box on the floor. The brogue was clearly visible to the prisoner. ‘Is this the one?’ The suspect confirmed it was his. The SIO eyeballed him. ‘I bet that took some explaining to the missus.’

‘I know this looks bad for me. The girl was in there when I left. I swear, I had nothing to do with her death.’ Watson began to weep. He was scared stiff, which was exactly where the detectives wanted him.

Time to close the gap.

Right on cue, the SIO put the suspect at ease. ‘Assuming for one moment that you didn’t murder anyone, it stands to reason someone else did—’

‘Hallelujah! That’s what I’ve been saying all long.’

Having put his mind at rest, the SIO unbalanced him, timing the killer blow perfectly. ‘Unless your friends like knocking women around as much as you do. How do we know you weren’t working in tandem with someone else, using Gloria as an alibi? I gather your assault on her was nasty. Not something she’ll forget in a hurry. You made sure of that.’

Ryan liked her style.

‘It wasn’t like that.’ Watson said, sweat pouring off him.

‘What was it like? Who was in the lock-up with you?’

‘No one! I saw no one!’ He thumbed in Ryan’s direction. ‘That’s what I was telling him on the way over here. He wouldn’t fucking listen, would he? You can question me all night and you’ll get the same answers. I promise you, I have nowt to hide.’

‘Did you check if the girl was breathing?’ Ryan asked.

‘And leave my DNA on her? Yeah right, you think I’m a dummy?’

The SIO turned to Ryan, one eyebrow raised. ‘Forensically aware . . . I like that.’

‘Exactly what we’re looking for.’ Ryan cut off the prisoner’s objections with another question. ‘How near were you to her?’

‘I dunno. Five, six feet, tops.’

‘So you didn’t touch the body in any way?’

‘No, I told you.’

‘Did you touch her clothing?’

‘No! Why would I? You’d have to be some perv to do that. She was covered in blood. What do you take me for?’

‘How about the walls of the lock-up . . . did you touch them?’

Watson palmed his brow, a slight shake of the head. ‘Not that I recall. I definitely didn’t touch her, or her clothing, only the corrugated iron sheet when I first went in . . . or maybe on the way out. I wasn’t thinking, was I?’

‘Well you’d better be now.’ Ryan pushed a sheet of A4 towards him. ‘I want you to draw a picture of the inside of that lock-up, the location of the corrugated sheeting, how you got in, where you stood and exactly what position the body was in . . . and, if you can remember, where you left your shoe. Can you do that, Stevie? That would be really helpful.’

‘No sweat, man.’ Watson pulled the paper towards him and picked up a pen, visibly relaxing. He was now onside. The detectives had him and they knew it. What’s more, so did he.

Ryan’s phone vibrated in his pocket: Newman.

He stood. ‘Sorry, ma’am – I have to take this.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll finish up here.’ She announced his departure for the benefit of the tape before he was out of the door.

Wandering along the corridor, Ryan noticed Grace sitting in the next interview room to the one he’d just come out of. She was drinking a cup of tea, the faint smell of antiseptic hitting his senses as he walked in and sat down next to her. She’d seen the police surgeon – not of her own free will, he presumed – probably at the insistence of O’Neil.

Good call.

‘It’s me,’ Newman’s voice hit Ryan’s ear. ‘Can you speak?’

‘Sure.’ Frank, Ryan mimed. ‘Grace is fine, by the way, thanks for asking.’

Grace rolled her eyes in a way that made him think that the newlyweds had fallen out. He wondered if they had spoken to each other while he was interviewing Watson with the SIO or if they’d had words before Operation Gloria.