Franklin was of Jamaican descent, and with Dobson’s Aryan white supremacist links and National Front allegiances, she figured that being questioned by an ebony-skinned officer would, at some point in the proceedings, provoke a response from Dobson that would expose him as the reprehensible creature he undoubtedly was.
Susie had discussed her plan at length with Colin first, making sure that he understood her rationale and was comfortable performing the role. After all, she reasoned, they had achieved some big successes by having strong women officers interview wife-beaters and rapists, so why not have a black man interview a white supremacist?
As a precaution, Susie had partnered him with the taciturn Colin Stone. While the square-jawed detective with the broad shoulders might not say a lot, there was a certain physicality about him that was hard to ignore, and just having him in the room was usually enough to dissuade most criminals from even thinking about kicking off.
Predictably, Dobson had gone ‘no comment’ to every question that had been put to him during the afternoon, but when the tapes had been switched off, he had tried to goad Franklin by making random monkey noises. Once, he had asked Franklin what his favourite chocolate bar was. “I’m guessing you like Bounty Bars,” he taunted. “You know the ones, white on the inside but black on the outside, a bit like darkies who became police officers.”
Franklin had completely ignored the baiting and, in the end, Dobson had grown tired of it and shut up.
At least Dobson’s solicitor, Martha Fischer, had had the decency to look embarrassed at her client’s disgraceful behaviour and, at one point, when they had stopped for a quick toilet break, she had sidled up to Colin outside the interview room and whispered, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he likes my kind any more than he does yours.”
Colin had glanced sideways, confused. “Your kind?”
Fischer was in her thirties, slim, with a permanently serious face and a severe haircut. She had been looking down at the glasses she was polishing when she’d made the comment, but when she looked up at him and smiled conspiratorially, there was a wicked glint of humour in her brown eyes. “I’m Jewish and I’m gay. I think if he knew that, he would probably refuse to let me represent him.”
Colin laughed. “How funny.”
“More ironic than funny,” she said, and then allowed herself a self-deprecating laugh. “Stupid isn’t it? I know he hates people like me, and yet I still do my utmost to protect and advance his rights, just the same as I would if I were here representing Mother Teresa.” She shrugged as if to say, ‘I must be raving mad.’
Colin nodded, solemnly. “I know exactly what you mean,” he told her. “I took an oath to perform the duties of my office fairly and impartially, without favour or rancour. Believe it or not, if he’s innocent, I’ll do my best to prove it even though I know he would happily put a bullet in my head if he got the chance.”
“Nice speech,” she said, giving him a wry smile. “Do you stand in front of the mirror and practice it every night?”
Franklin grinned. “Corny, I know, but I meant it.”
Fischer looked around to see if her client had reappeared yet. He had, and he was glaring at her like she was a traitor consorting with the enemy. “I hope you’re gonna wash your hands after being near him,” Dobson shouted across the custody office to her.
With a weary sigh, Fischer turned to Franklin. “Between you and me, I’m really hoping that you’re going to throw the book at this vile man.” With that, she put her game face back on, turned and smiled at her client. “Just seeing how much longer the police intend to keep wasting your valuable time,” she told him.
Dobson seemed to like that, and he laughed all the way back to the interview room.
After he had gone through the introductions and caution, Franklin made a point of smiling at Dobson, who scowled back at him through beady, hate-filled eyes.
“Okay, Charlie, in our previous interviews we’ve covered the drugs that were found on the table beside where you and Lola were cavorting.”
“No comment.”
“We’ve also gone through the witness statement that describes your associate, Peter Roach, openly boasting about how the four of you financed last night’s binge of drink, drugs, and hookers by selling firearms to criminals.”
“No comment, boy.” A derogatory emphasis was placed on the last word.
Colin’s eyes narrowed at the slur, but he didn’t bite. “And we’ve gone over the fact that Roach also boasted that the four of you are arms dealers and that you’re regularly selling guns to anyone who has the money to pay for them.”
Dobson crossed his arms and fidgeted in his chair. He had clearly had enough of being interviewed. “No comment. No comment, no-fucking-comment. When will you get it through your thick black head that I’m going to say no comment to every stupid question you ask me?”
His solicitor gave him a warning look, which was accompanied by an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
“I take it from the fact that you’re covered in neo-Nazi type tattoos and the way you constantly refer to me by inflammatory names like ‘boy’, that you don’t particularly like black people. Is that true?”
Franklin could see that Dobson really wanted to say something in response to this, to spout some grandiose white supremacist rhetoric, no doubt, but his solicitor had warned him to stick to ‘no comment’, which is
