Inside, Marcus Roots had moved to one side of the bed, attempting to sit up, blood visible on his arm. ‘I had to aim for his arm to make him drop the gun,’ an officer said.
It was a good shot, Isaac could see that. ‘Marcus Roots, do you understand me?’ Isaac said as he stood next to the wounded man.
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘You attempted to shoot a police officer. That’s a serious crime.’
‘I thought it was someone else.’
‘We had announced ourselves at the door before entering.’
‘I didn’t hear anything. I was busy.’
‘Marcus Roots, you’re under arrest for murder, do you understand?’
‘I’m innocent.’
Isaac did not intend to labour the point with a man who was in pain. Once he had been treated, he’d be transferred to Challis Street Police Station and formally charged. Negril Bob, even though there was no case against him for the murder, would also be taken to the police station. The man had protested, but he had been in the company of two men who were charged with murder; he was a witness and regarded as hostile.
***
Seth Caddick realised yet again that Isaac Cook was outsmarting him. With the arrest of two men for murder, the chance to sideways promote him was no longer possible. That would be a blow to the aspirations of another detective inspector who had been waiting for the opportunity to take Isaac’s office.
Isaac called Richard Goddard, Caddick phoned Commissioner Davies: one phone conversation was congratulatory, the other was not.
Morris Beckford, short, not a very bright individual, judging by his poor English, was led into the interview room. Isaac waited for ninety minutes while Wendy concluded her interviews at the flat. Upon her return, she told Isaac that the women were not significant, only rented by the hour.
‘Morris Beckford, you’ve been charged with murder. How do you plead?’ Isaac said. He had followed the procedure, informed the man of his rights.
The man shifted uneasily on his seat, attempted to avoid eye contact. Adam Galbraith, his lawyer, another old school friend of Isaac’s, was representing him.
‘I’ve killed no one,’ Beckford said, looking over to his lawyer for support.
‘My client is innocent of all charges,’ Galbraith said.
‘We have proof that you, Morris Beckford, were responsible for the death of a homeless man, who has since been identified as Dave Dallimore. Your fingerprints were discovered at the scene. We have them on file from our investigation into the murder of Joe Brown, commonly known as Rasta Joe. We’ve also found proof that Marcus Roots was at the crime scene as well. Once his injuries have been dealt with, he will be brought to this station. He will then be interviewed in this room. Any discrepancies will point to the guilt of the other. Also, Detective Inspector Larry Hill was severely beaten.’
‘I’ve killed no one,’ Beckford said again.
‘No admission of guilt will go against you in your trial.’
‘I would request twenty minutes with my client,’ Galbraith said.
‘Twenty minutes, fine. I’ll send in refreshments,’ Isaac said.
Outside the interview room, Caddick was waiting. ‘Is this watertight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, carry on. A full report before you go home tonight.’
‘It’s more likely to be tomorrow,’ Isaac said. ‘We’re wrapping up the loose ends now.’
Caddick mumbled some words of encouragement and walked away.
‘He’s not happy,’ Wendy said.
‘Does it worry you?’ Isaac said.
‘Not at all, but that man’s dangerous.’
Back in the interview room, Beckford’s lawyer spoke. ‘My client wishes me to read a statement.’
‘Please proceed,’ Isaac said. He looked over at Morris Beckford, realised that the man was, if not illiterate, probably not capable of writing a statement and then reading it.
Galbraith placed a sheet of paper in front of him and spoke. ‘I, Morris Beckford, was present at the death of the man known as Dave Dallimore. We had seen him speaking to Detective Inspector Hill, who we had been following. The attack on the detective inspector was committed by Marcus Roots. I did not take part. After he had attacked the detective inspector, we walked up the road and confronted the homeless man. We did not know his name at that time. We asked him what he had been talking to the police officer about. He said nothing; we thought he was drunk. Marcus pushed him to make him talk, but he just told us to go away. Marcus became angry and hit him. I stood back. Eventually, the man swore at us. We made a phone call for advice; Marcus followed instructions and stabbed the man. That is the end of my statement. I am not guilty of murder.’
‘Who did you call?’
‘I don’t know his name.’
‘Negril Bob?’
‘Not him.
Isaac realised that Beckford feared the man more than he feared a lengthy prison sentence.
‘Thank you,’ Isaac said. ‘Some facts have not been given correctly.’
‘My client has made a full disclosure.’
‘The knife had your client’s fingerprints on the handle. I am afraid that your client is guilty of murder and we have the proof,’ Isaac said.
‘I had to do it,’ Beckford said, jumping up from his seat.
‘Sit down and be quiet,’ his lawyer said.
‘But why a knife and why in such a visible place?’
‘There was someone in one of the buildings nearby. We could see his shadow. We were frightened, not sure what to do.’
‘So you killed him?’
‘He had seen Marcus kill Rasta Joe. He was there that night.’
‘All three of you killed him. We know there was more than one person involved.’
‘I was there, but I didn’t take part. I was keeping a watch for
