DS Jessica Daniel series: Locked In/Vigilante/The Woman in Black - Books 1-3 (49 page)

Jessica had a quick look over the recording banks and nodded. ‘Thanks very much for your assistance, Governor Gallagher. You’ve been enormously helpful.’

The governor clearly had little intention of keeping up the pretence of being civil any longer, grunting and walking backwards out of the room.

‘He was very ingratiating,’ Rowlands said after the room had cleared. Jessica simply looked at him. ‘What?’ he added.

‘I am going to get to the bottom of where all these long words are coming from because I know – and you know – that you’re simply not intelligent enough to know them off
the top of your head.’

The two officers readied the room and a few moments later heard some clanging noises from the corridor. Just afterwards, the door opened again and Jessica felt a twinge of déjà vu
as the same suited solicitor from a few days ago entered with a handcuffed Donald McKenna just behind him. They each seemed to be wearing the exact same clothing as from their previous meeting and
sat in the same places. If it wasn’t for Rowlands being present instead of Cole, it would have been almost an exact rerun of the setup from their first interview.

Jessica got the introductions out of the way and then asked her colleague for the set of two folders he had carried around all morning. From the first one, she took out a photo of Craig Millar.
It was an enlarged copy of his regular mug shot, the most recent picture they had of him alive. She slid the photo face up across the table towards Donald McKenna.

‘Do you know who this man is, Mr McKenna?’

He picked up the photo with his cuffed hands, studying it with a quizzical look as if trying to remember something. His solicitor motioned to look at it and McKenna angled it towards him.
‘You asked me that before. I told you then – he sort of seems familiar but I can’t say I know him.’

He handed the picture back and Jessica put it in the folder, pulling out a second photograph. ‘What about this one?’ She slid the second item face down across the table and McKenna
picked it up. He turned the picture over and rocked back slightly, handing it to the solicitor.

The man in the suit instantly put it back on the table face down. ‘Was that really necessary?’ he asked.

Jessica picked the photograph up and turned it over. It showed Craig Millar’s face close-up with a gaping, bloodied wound in his neck. ‘Do you recognise that one, Mr
McKenna?’

The solicitor went to speak again but his client simply said, ‘No.’

Jessica nodded slightly and took the photo back, again returning it to the folder and removing two photos from the second cardboard document wallet. ‘What about this pair?’

This time, she held the photos up. They were two more mug shots: one Ben Webb, the other Des Hughes.

‘Benjamin and Desmond.’ McKenna’s response was instant. ‘They were both on the same block as myself.’

He took his gaze from the two photos to look directly at Jessica. She put the photos back down on the table and met his eyes. ‘Did you associate with them much?’

‘They weren’t interested in the word of God.’

‘That isn’t what I asked.’

‘No I did not.’

‘Do you know all three men are dead?’

‘I had been told. I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Really?’

‘We are all God’s children.’

‘Why was your blood found under the fingernails of Craig Millar?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why were your hairs found at the scene where Benjamin Webb and Desmond Hughes were killed?’

‘I don’t know.’ Donald McKenna hadn’t taken his eyes from Jessica throughout the entire exchange. In their previous meeting she had felt unnerved by his willingness to
engage. There was something slightly different about this encounter though. She wouldn’t have said she felt intimidated but there was definitely an undertone to his words and his eyes were
mesmerising. They were deep and blue, looking straight through her. Jessica paused and the two of them gazed at each other.

The tension was broken by McKenna’s solicitor. ‘I would like to point out that my client has been cooperative throughout. This morning, for instance, he willingly submitted to a
mouth swab despite not being charged with any further crime and having no legal reason to do so.’

Jessica didn’t want to break the stare-off with the prisoner but felt obliged to acknowledge the man’s legal representative. She looked directly at the suited man, who seemed to
shrink under her stare. ‘I’m sure the post-office workers he threatened with a shotgun would be delighted to hear what a role model he has become.’

The solicitor motioned as if to answer but, as he had done on the previous visit, McKenna lifted his handcuffed wrists from the table as if to indicate he was fine. ‘I regret what I
did,’ he said solemnly.

Jessica couldn’t figure out if he was being genuine or not. She met his eyes again. ‘Did you ever fall out with either Mr Webb or Mr Hughes?’

‘No.’

‘Have you ever fallen out with anyone at this prison?’

‘Not recently. In my younger days maybe but not for a while.’

The solicitor was clearly getting frustrated. ‘Detective, we’re going around in circles here. My client has clearly said he has not had any significant contact with any of the
victims. There may be people who might wish him ill will because of his previous misdeeds but he cannot think of anyone specifically. What’s more, as if I have to remind you, my client is in
prison. If you want to charge him with any crimes, then can I suggest you do so?’

Jessica shifted her gaze from McKenna and looked to his representative. ‘Did you rehearse that in bed last night?’

The solicitor shuffled back slightly in his seat and looked back at her with his mouth open. ‘Sorry?’

‘Was there some legal drama on TV last night that got you all excited? Got you thinking you could end up like some big-shot barrister?’

The man in the suit stared at her, clearly not knowing how he should respond. ‘Do you have any further questions to ask my client? If not, can we end this now?’

Jessica turned back to McKenna. She knew she didn’t have anywhere to go. The reason she was so annoyed with the solicitor was because he was right. There was no realistic way they could
charge his client with anything as there was no chance of any kind of conviction, even if the new forensic samples came back with the same results. He was still their only lead though and was
linked to the scenes not only through his DNA but because he had been inside with all three victims at the same time.

‘How is your relationship with Warden Morgan?’

For the first time, McKenna stopped looking at her. He glanced at the table, then Rowlands, then back to her. ‘He’s a fair man.’

‘Particularly fair to you though, isn’t he?’

McKenna’s solicitor went to interrupt but Jessica talked over the top of him, eyes fixed on the prisoner, daring him to look away again. ‘Nice room you’ve got there, perhaps a
little small? It could maybe do with a bit of internal decoration and I have no idea what those Feng Shui-types would make of it but it’s not bad for this place, is it?’

The man in the suit stopped speaking as McKenna raised his own voice to talk over him. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at?’

‘Really? You can’t possibly imagine what I might be asking about?’

‘No.’

‘Well, how about this little scenario. Let’s say, for instance, that there’s a particular person in charge of a certain set of other people. Now that person in charge is
generally a perfectly good man, maybe he’s got a long history of honesty. But maybe, just maybe, there’s someone in that certain group he’s supposed to be looking after that
isn’t as honest. Maybe he’s a bit of a thug, a bit of a bully. He does things like hold shotguns up to innocent people just going about their business . . .’

It felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped by a degree or two. There was absolute silence except for Jessica’s voice, as if the other three people present had held their breath
and were hanging on what she might say next.

‘Now let’s say, just for instance, that the previously honest person in charge was swayed by the other man. Maybe there was some sort of incentive involved? Perhaps some money on
offer? Maybe it was more of a stick than a carrot? Perhaps there were threats instead? Promises that loved ones would be harmed? It could be a mixture. Are you still with me, Donald? Now in that
hypothetical situation – and bear in mind it is completely fictional – can you perhaps see what I
might
be getting at?’

The prisoner said nothing but looked sideways to his solicitor. Taking the hint, the man in the suit spoke, his voice faltering slightly. ‘I think we should end the interview at this
point, Sergeant Daniel.’

For the third time that morning, Jessica deliberately switched track. She pushed backwards on the chair, scraping it along the ground. She stood and spoke in her most upbeat voice. ‘Good
idea.’

She knocked on the door and guards came in to escort McKenna and his solicitor away.

When they had left, Rowlands stopped the recording and picked up the folders from the table. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That was good.’

Jessica gave him a small smile. ‘He’s still got us though. We have nothing to go on.’

‘Yeah, but you got him rattled.’

‘Hmm, yeah. Do I know what’s going to happen next? No. But it could be interesting.’

The constable burst out laughing and Jessica turned to look at him. ‘What?’

‘You’re talking like the DCI now, asking yourself questions and then answering them.’

Jessica grimaced as Rowlands changed his expression. ‘What do you reckon?’ he asked.

‘I think McKenna’s lying to us – but I don’t believe he was the only one.’

Lee Morgan slammed the pint glass down on the bar a little harder than he meant to. He felt the vibration ripple through his hand but luckily it didn’t smash.
‘Another one of those, love,’ he said, pointing at the pump for the local brand of bitter. ‘You want one?’ he asked the man sitting on a stool next to him.

‘Nah, I’ve probably had one too many already. I still have to drive home tonight.’

‘There’s a word for people like you – “lightweight”.’

Lee Morgan was at the bar in his local pub. When he had first moved into the area twenty or so years ago, he thought this place was magnificent. It was a proper man’s pub with smoke
drifting around the room, quality booze on offer and barmaids who wore low-cut tops and enjoyed the odd glass of wine themselves, if not a bit more. Over the years, it had gone further and further
downhill. The gradual increase in women coming into the place had been the start and then they opened the patio at the back and started letting kids in. After that it was a slippery slope. They
shut the members’ bar, turned it into a kitchen and started serving food. The smoking ban was the final straw. It had gone from a place to get away from the wife to an establishment that
openly courted the business of women and kids.

‘This place has become a right dump,’ Lee complained to the man sitting next to him. Even the stools wound him up. Men should stand up to have a pint. It was the way his father had
taught him to drink. He said nothing though, he didn’t have too many friends – let alone among the people he worked with.

‘I’ve seen worse,’ the man said, pointing towards the corner of the room. ‘They’ve got a good TV. It might be worth popping in for a match sometime?’

Lee held his tongue again. He hated football and the big television screens just attracted drunken screeching buffoons, the very type of people they were supposed to spend their days keeping an
eye on. He nodded to hide his displeasure. ‘What do you reckon about today then?’

The man blew out through his teeth but didn’t get a chance to reply before the barmaid put a fresh drink down next to them. ‘That’s two fifty please,’ she said.

‘Two pounds fifty?’ Lee replied, clearly annoyed.

‘That
is
what the last one cost,’ the barmaid answered.

‘Yeah, but he paid for that,’ Lee said, nodding towards his friend and pulling a crumpled five-pound note out of his pocket. ‘How much are crisps?’

‘Eighty pence.’

‘What, even for ready salted? You’re having a laugh, love.’

‘We don’t do ready salted,’ the barmaid said. She crouched down to look at the boxes of crisps on the floor. ‘We’ve got chilli twists, then beef and mustard, tomato
ketchup and, er, pickled-onion flavour.’

As she stood back up to face them, Lee stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Nah, forget it, darling. I’ll just have the drink.’ He looked at the man next to him. ‘It used to
just be ready salted, cheese and onion and salt and vinegar in my day.’

The barmaid took the note and returned a few seconds later with his change.

‘So what do you reckon?’ Lee repeated.

‘I don’t know,’ the man said. ‘It sounds serious, doesn’t it? The guv sounded pissed off at the briefing yesterday and then the coppers didn’t even turn up. I
could have done without all that tidying up and everything. Then, when they did come around today, they didn’t even get round to my area. What did they make of your wing?’

‘Not sure. Gallagher took them down there but he didn’t say anything to me afterwards. All the prisoners were bundled down into the games room. They were fuming. It was hilarious
when they all filed back through. Some of the worst ones had been dumped out in the rec yard just to keep them away in case the Old Bill wanted to talk to any of them.’

The other man laughed nervously. ‘No one caused any trouble, did they?’

‘No chance. They wouldn’t want to risk having their TV taken away for a day or two, would they?’

‘What did that woman detective say to you?’

Lee knew his friend was referring to the moment when she had asked him about McKenna. He took a gulp of his drink and shook his head. ‘Nothing really. Stuck-up cow probably on her time of
the month or something.’

The other man laughed. ‘What was it you shouted after her?’

‘When?’

‘In the monitoring room. She was walking out the door and you called after her?’

‘Oh yeah. I don’t remember, sorry. Probably something about her arse.’