“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?” Garston hissed at her. As much as he felt for Sonia’s unspeakable loss, he couldn’t afford to have her mouth off like that.
For a long moment, she was unable to reply. “I’m not fucking stupid,” she eventually told him, squeezing the words out between sobs. “Errol wouldn’t tell me what he was up to yesterday, other than to say he was doing a job that would pay for our wedding…” her voice choked off as the implication of what she said hit her.
There would be no wedding.
There would be no future together.
“Why would you assume he was working for me?” he asked petulantly. “Errol did jobs for lots of people.”
“Yeah, well lots of people didn’t have their waste of space shit cunt uncles bust out of hospital yesterday, did they?” she yelled defiantly. “I know you been running his business while he’s been inside, so don’t insult my intelligence by claiming you had nothing to do with his escape.”
Errol had always said that Sonia was a firebrand and that there was no stopping her once she got herself wound up. Garston decided to try and steer the conversation away from Claude’s escape.
“Listen, Sonia,” he said gently. “I swear to you that Errol wasn’t with me when he got shot. Until you just called, I had no idea what had happened. I promise you I’m not responsible for your man getting shot.” Well, not directly responsible, he mentally corrected himself. “And as for Claude, well I’d be grateful if you kept your thoughts about me being involved in that to yourself.”
He hung up, feeling drained.
After giving the matter some thought, he decided not to mention Errol’s death to the others just yet. It would only complicate things. He was worried about Sonia, though. If she started shouting her mouth off that he had been involved in his uncle’s escape, it wouldn’t take long for the Old Bill to get wind of it and came looking for him. With that in mind, he dialled the number for his fisherman friend in Rye to confirm that everything was still on to get Winston out of the country before the weekend.
Chapter 16
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
After what seemed like minutes, but was in reality only seconds, the irritating noise finally stopped, signifying that the tape was running. The red light on the twin-deck recorder started to flash, indicating that the equipment was working properly.
“Right, this interview is being tape-recorded. It’s exactly twelve midday on Tuesday the eleventh of January two-thousand. We are in interview room number two at Whitechapel police station. My name is Susan Sergeant and I am a Detective Sergeant attached to the Area Major Investigation Pool based at Arbour Square. I am going to ask everyone present to identify themselves, starting with my colleague, DC Murray.”
Murray sniffed, and then fidgeted in his seat. His underpants had become wedged in the crack of his arse and he was very uncomfortable. “DC Kevin Murray, also attached to AMIP at Arbour Square,” he said between wriggles.
Susie glanced across at Mullings, who stared back sullenly; scrawny arms folded across a pigeon chest in defiance. He was trying to act tough but she could smell his fear. Unfortunately, she could also smell the rancid blend of aromas from his shoeless feet and unwashed armpits. The room was windowless and stuffy, and there was nowhere for the offensive pong to go but up her nose.
“No comment,” Mullings said.
Susie groaned at his stupidity as she stared at him, unimpressed. “The interview hasn’t started yet, Gifford. This is the bit where we tell the tape who we are.” She gave his solicitor an imploring look and the man leaned in and whispered something to his client.
“My name’s Gifford Mullings,” the prisoner said after sucking through his teeth.
Susie nodded her thanks to the smartly dressed solicitor with the unevenly sprayed on tan, inviting him to speak with a flourish of her hand.
“I’m Oliver Clarke, a solicitor from Cratchit, Lowe, and Clarke. I’m here to advance and protect the rights and entitlements of my client and ensure that the interview is conducted fairly –”
And to bleed the legal aid coffers dry, Susie thought cynically. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kevin Murray tugging at the cheeks of his trousers, and it was very off-putting. Luckily, with the interview table between them, neither Mullings nor Clarke could see what he was doing, although they might have wondered about the strange faces he was pulling.
“– and to that effect, I will interrupt if I feel the line of questioning is inappropriate or unfair or not in accordance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984.”
Susie then went on to caution Mullings. When she’d finished, she asked if he understood what the caution meant.
“Course I do,” he said smugly. “I’ve probably heard it more times than you have.”
There was no arguing with that.
“Gifford,” Susie began, “yesterday, you were charged with the offences of taking and driving a vehicle without consent, otherwise known as TDA, and possession of Class A drugs. Is that correct?”
Clarke sat forward in his chair. “Do you intend to question my client further in relation to matters for which he has already been charged?” he challenged.
Supercilious twat, Susie thought. She made a point of addressing her answer to the prisoner, not the solicitor, which immediately wound Clarke up a treat. “While serious enough in themselves, Gifford, these matters pale into insignificance in comparison to a murder charge, which you are now potentially facing. Do you understand that?”
“I ain’t murdered no one,” he said with a cocky grin. “You got Jack shit on me, know what I’m saying?”
“I do,” Susie said, smiling sweetly at him. “However, since you were interviewed in relation to the TDA and drugs, new evidence has come to light that I’m going
