Rix waved his hands towards a camera and a minute later, the door opened. The Scottish officer poked her head in.
“Remove her hand cuffs please. They’re far too tight.”
“But...”
“Then get DI Marks.”
“Ach. All right.” She unlocked the cuffs and left the room with them, closing the door with as much noise as she could.
Alice rubbed her wrists and watched Rix run his hand over the black boxes on the table. “Recording equipment,” he said. “It’s supposed to be off, but...”
He took a chair from the opposite side of the table, sat beside her and took papers from his case. He laid a notepad out and adjusted it. “How are they treating you?”
Alice shrugged. “All right. They think I helped kill those people. Samir must have said that to them. Because nothing else makes sense. Samir came on to me at a party last year and I brushed him off. I didn't see him again until Friday, you know, when he drove by the Provence.”
Rix nodded. “I think I can see what’s happened here.” He studied her for a moment, “Are you all right otherwise?”
Alice took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m just about keeping it together.”
“All right. Give me all the details about the last time you met Samir Hassan.”
She told Rix about the wrap party, including the details and names she had given to Marks. While she spoke, Rix made notes and asked several clarifying questions.
When she finished, Rix clicked his pen and furrowed his brow. “The fact they’ve allowed you to see me is a good sign. Will Dee Stansfield support your story?”
“I hope so. It's the truth.”
“Okay then. I’ll do the talking when they come in.” He beckoned at the camera without looking. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”
Within minutes, Marks and Gilmore entered. They sat opposite, and Gilmore pressed buttons on the boxes by the wall.
“Interview with DI Colin Marks and DS Barry Gilmore from the National Counter Terrorism Security Office and Alice Madsen, with legal representative Malcolm Rix in the matter of the investigation into the events in Exhibition Road, South Kensington, on Friday July 21st.”
“Right,” Rix said. “Let’s begin. What evidence have you got against my client?”
Marks scratched the back of his neck and looked at Alice. “Dee Stansfield confirmed the events at the wrap party as you described them.” He cleared his throat. “We received information that suggested you played a part in planning the attack with Samir Hassan, and it turns out that information may not have been accurate.”
“Great,” Rix said. “Then you’ve no reason to hold my client.”
Marks sounded disappointed when he replied, “Should we release her, I’m uncertain whether to release under investigation or on police bail.”
Rix waved a finger at Marks. “No way Inspector. You’ve nothing on my client. She’s a victim here.”
“Bail?” Alice asked. “What does that mean?”
Marks glared and Rix put his hand down. “Come now, Inspector. I would imagine Hassan implicated Alice. Then in the light of the witnesses corroborating the...” He paused and emphasised the next words, “...fact Hassan made unwanted advances on Alice, he either withdrew his statement, or you have discredited his accusation. Releasing Alice on bail or under investigation would be unwarranted and wrong. The only reason you would do so would be to add a further layer of justification to her arrest. One, I might add, that is unnecessary. Do the right thing. Release her immediately.”
Marks nodded and Alice leaned forward, but her hopes foundered on Mark’s stern expression and his defiant “No.”
28
A sympathetic nurse led Cole to bed four in the ICU. “He’s in a coma, but he’s getting great care.”
“When will he wake up?” Cole asked.
“The consultant hopes he’ll come around in a few days. But there are no guarantees. It could be longer.”
“But he’s gonna be okay? Yeah?”
“I hope so. Here we are. I’ll leave you to him.”
The hairs on Cole’s neck rose at the sight. Daz lay on his back, propped up by pillows. It was difficult to see his face beneath the bandaged head and the breathing mask over his mouth. More tubes and wires ran from his arms. Machines beeped. ECG graphs and numbers fluctuated on several screens. A small radio played at a low volume beside the bed.
“All right, Daz?” He half expected Daz to respond. To smile. Or flutter an eyelid. But other than the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Daz didn't move. Cole pulled a chair close and sat. Then he leaned in further. “Went to see the emergency doctor this morning. Gave me a sick note for two weeks. A free shrink and all. Not that I need one. You know what I mean?”
Cole glanced around to ensure no-one listened. “I rang the boss in work. He told me to take all the sick I needed, even if it’s more than the two weeks. I said sure. Wasn't gonna turn that down. Said I’d keep checking the call system, you know, in case they’re stuck for someone to go out on a call. Said I’d do it if I was up for it. Boss agreed that if it happened, he’d pay overtime. What do you think of that, eh?”
Daz’s right hand had no tubes or wires, and Cole took it in his own. It was cold to touch. He let go and looked about again. “Where do they keep all the good gear, Daz? Keep your eyes open and let me know, huh?”
Cole shook his head. “This is
