Imperfect Killing (3 page)

There was a silence in the room for a few seconds before Featherstone spoke again. ‘Maybe. Let’s get a lip reader from somewhere and see if they can’t tell us what she said. If we’re lucky DS Corrigan may be right and she said this bastard’s name. Make life easier for us. Any more questions?’ The room was silent. ‘Good. And if we could hold our thoughts until the end of the footage that would be helpful.’ Sean felt the eyes of the room burning into his skin as Featherstone pressed play. A split second later a bright flash burst from the end of the revolver, but also from the front and back of the chamber, accompanied by a huge smoke cloud that momentarily obscured both figures until it drifted away in the light breeze, by which time Sue Evans was already lying on the ground breathing her last breath. A few moments later the shooter ran off in the direction he’d come from, disappearing around the corner of the studio.

‘As I’m sure you all noticed,’ Featherstone told them, pausing the footage, ‘that was a hell of a flash and a shitload of smoke for a revolver. My guess is it’s a re-commissioned replica, just like every other gun out there, and it couldn’t handle the charge in the cartridge.’

Sean cleared his throat self-consciously, remembering he was supposed to keep his thoughts to himself, but needing to share what he had learnt.

‘Something else to add that couldn’t wait, DS Corrigan?’ Featherstone asked.

‘Sorry,’ Sean apologized. ‘It’s just I went to see the victim at the mortuary and …’ he cleared his throat again, ‘managed to persuade the pathologist to recover the bullet.’

‘You did what?’ Featherstone asked, his back stiffening.

‘I didn’t think we could wait until the post-mortem,’ he tried to explain. ‘With all the media attention I thought we needed the most important piece of evidence immediately.’

‘And what did you discover – if anything?’

Again Sean could feel the eyes of the room boring into him. ‘That the bullet’s homemade too and not very well. Forensics have promised to get back to us as a matter of urgency.’

‘A homemade bullet and a re-commissioned replica or poorly made blank-firing revolver,’ Featherstone spoke his thoughts out loud. ‘I guess we can rule out a professional hit then.’

‘Maybe it was all the hit-man could get?’ one of the gathered DCs suggested.

‘Maybe,’ Featherstone half-heartedly agreed, ‘but his approach and escape are all wrong too. No decent hit-man is going to risk covering that sort of ground to the victim. A shooting out in the open – why isn’t he riding pillion passenger on a motorbike, or at least riding one himself? That’s the norm these days isn’t it? Ride up, pull the gun out, fire the shots and speed off. Simple. Clean. This is all too much of a
mess
.’

‘She was very attractive,’ Sean changed the direction of their communal thinking. ‘Beautiful, even and a celebrity. She must have attracted her fair share of unwanted attention.’

‘The flame that drew the moth, eh?’ Featherstone nodded. ‘I’ve already got DC Benton checking it out. Will someone turn the bloody lights back on please? Can’t see a damn thing.’

A few seconds later bright light from the overhead fluorescent tubes flooded the room just as DC Zack Benton hurried in looking like a man who’d made a great discovery. Featherstone noticed it immediately.

‘You got something for us, DC Benton?’ he asked.

‘Looks like we have a possible suspect,’ he announced to the listening detectives.

‘Possible suspect?’ Featherstone queried.

‘She had a stalker,’ Benton explained.

‘And does this stalker have a name?’ Featherstone pressed.

‘Yes sir,’ Benton told him. ‘She reported him for harassment about four months ago and had a restraining order issued preventing him from approaching her in person or by letter, email etcetera – the usual stuff. Suspect’s name is Ruben Thurlby.’

‘And what do we know about Ruben Thurlby?’ Featherstone demanded.

‘IC1,’ Benton began, using the police racial code for white/European, ‘six foot three inches tall, heavy build, forty-two years old with some learning difficulties
.
Apparently he likes to dress in combat clothing and has a generally unkempt appearance. He has no previous convictions other than the harassment charge, although he was arrested for breaching the restraining order only a few weeks ago. Home address is a council flat on the Rockingham Estate, SE1. He lives alone.’

‘So,’ Featherstone nodded, ‘he just couldn’t stay away from our victim eh?’

Sean could already see Ruben Thurlby in his mind – sitting alone in his council flat, dressed in filthy combat clothes, surrounded by cuttings from magazines and newspapers of Sue Evans as he made the homemade bullets to fit the reactivated replica or blank-firing revolver he’d probably had for years. He could almost hear Thurlby mumbling to himself as he prepared the weapon he’d use to take his revenge on the woman who’d so cruelly turned down his love and betrayed him to the police.

‘What do you reckon, Sean?’ Featherstone sought his opinion, dragging him back to the real world. ‘Sound good to you?’

‘Sounds like we need to speak to him,’ he agreed.

‘Good,’ Featherstone confirmed. ‘Put a team together and let’s have him nicked, but use SO19 to take him down. As far as we know he’s still armed. The shooting was only hours ago so he’s probably still a forensic goldmine. The sooner we have him in the better chance we have of preserving the evidence that’ll convict the bastard. I’m beginning to smell an early result people, so let’s get on it.’ He rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘As soon as he’s nicked let me know.’

Sean nodded and turned to Benton. ‘Grab four people you trust – full body armour, just in case. You never can tell which ones want to go out in a blaze of glory.’

***

Sean and Benton sat in the unmarked car parked in Tiverton Street on the Rockingham Estate in Southwark – a sprawling, brown brick monstrosity built in the 1950s to replace bombed-out housing from the war. They were far enough away from Thurlby’s fourth floor flat so as not to be too obvious, but close enough to be able to see him if he came out of his front door and onto the communal balcony-walkway that led to the stairs and lifts. Several of the local youths had already clocked them as police – keeping a watch on them from a distance like a group of meerkats tracking a snake in the grass. Sean hoped that Thurlby’s learning difficulties meant he wouldn’t be as alert as the local neighbourhood police watch
.
But even they hadn’t noticed the nondescript satellite-dish installation van and another disguised as a self-drive rental. Each contained half a dozen heavily armed SO19 officers who were just waiting for the word that the target was
out and in the open
from the observation point in an empty flat in the block opposite Thurlby’s. As soon as that happened all hell would break loose.

‘D’you think he’s our man?’ Benton asked.

‘Looks about right,’ Sean shrugged, ‘but I won’t know for sure until I see him – until I speak to him.’

‘You mean until we interview him?’ Benton thought he’d corrected him.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Sean lied. ‘Until we interview him.’

‘You were a DC on an MIT too weren’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Sean answered sounding uninterested.

‘Were you on any decent cases?’ Benton continued.

‘No,’ Sean lied again, not keen to discuss the past. ‘Just the usual run-of-the-mill stuff.’

‘Oh,’ Benton replied looking disappointed, before perking up. ‘This is my first murder case.’

‘You don’t say,’ Sean mocked him.

‘Yeah,’ Benton missed it. ‘Quite an interesting one, I suppose. Not your usual domestic is it?’

‘I guess there’s more to it than most,’ he consented, ‘or at least there appears to be.’

‘Only appears to be?’ Benton asked.

‘Assume nothing.’

Benton pulled a face, but didn’t argue. ‘I hate surveillance,’ he confessed.

‘Better get used to it,’ Sean warned him.

‘Christ. Why don’t SO19 just sneak up the stairs and kick his door in?’

‘Too tight,’ Sean explained. ‘If he hears or sees them coming he could do some serious damage to them in the stairwell or the flat itself – not the sort of place you want to be searching for an armed suspect. Better to catch him in the open. Get as many guns as possible on him at the same time.’

‘I guess,’ Benton shrugged and tried to stretch the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, ‘but anything’s better than …’

‘Quiet,’ Sean suddenly told him, automatically stretching a protective arm across Benton’s body and pushing back into his seat. ‘He’s coming out.’

‘Fuck,’ Benton cursed. ‘D’you think SO19 have seen him?’

‘If we have, they have,’ Sean reassured him. ‘Just stay back in your seat and let them take him down. Best thing we can do is stay out of the way until he’s face down on the floor and cuffed.’

‘If you say so,’ Benton agreed a little jumpily.

They watched the large man dressed in green and black combat clothes head towards the stairwell. Even from their position they could clearly recognize him from the intelligence photos they’d seen of Ruben Thurlby. He disappeared into the stairwell that dog-legged one way then another, becoming partially visible as he passed the opaque windows at each level until he walked out onto the forecourt looking agitated. His gaze swept from side to side as if he
expected
an attack, although he was oblivious to the eyes of the police that were on him.

As he walked past the van disguised as a satellite-installation vehicle the rear doors exploded open, SO19 officers jumping out two at a time screaming ‘Armed police! Down on the floor, down on the floor!’ A split second later the doors of the second van flew open and another six armed officers joined in the shouting of orders and pointing of weapons, each identifiable by their black baseball caps ringed with black and white checks and their body armour emblazoned with ‘police’ across the front and back. Other than that they just wore casual clothes and training shoes. They’d left their full body armour and protective clothing back at headquarters for more difficult armed operations.

Thurlby stood rigidly glued to the spot, a look of terror across his face, his entire body trembling. ‘Get down. Get down.’ an advancing armed cop demanded, pointing his Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun at his chest. Slowly Thurlby dropped to his knees, his hands raised in the air.

‘I haven’t done anything,’ he pleaded loudly. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘Face on the ground,’ the cop shouted. ‘Face on the ground – hands stretched out in front of you.’

Thurlby did as he was told, tears beginning to pour from his eyes as he laid his cheek on the floor. ‘It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me.’

Two cops moved quickly to Thurlby’s side, kneeling on his back and using a set of plastic quick-cuffs to tie his wrists together before expertly searching the immobilized suspect. After only a few seconds he pulled a combat knife with a six-inch blade from Thurlby’s rear waistband and held it aloft shouting ‘Knife,’ before he tossed it to his colleagues. A minute or so later he held up an empty hand and called ‘Clear.’

As soon as Sean saw the sign for
all clear
he jumped from his car and headed towards the scene where SO19 were now lifting Thurlby from the floor and holding him upright as he continued to sob. Sean and Benton approached the sergeant in charge of the SO19 team. ‘He’s all yours if you still want him,’ he declared.

‘Thanks,’ Sean told him. ‘Good work.’

‘Our pleasure,’ the sergeant smiled. ‘I reckon you’ve got your man here.’

‘Maybe.’ Sean turned to Thurlby. ‘Ruben Thurlby – I’m Detective Sergeant Corrigan and I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Sue Evans and for possessing an offensive weapon in a public place. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention something that you later rely on in court. Anything that you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand, Ruben?’

‘I didn’t kill her,’ Thurlby pleaded. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘Best to save it for the interview, Ruben,’ Sean warned him. ‘You can tell me all about it then.’

***

Sean, Benton, Thurlby, his solicitor and appropriate adult all sat squeezed into the small, scruffy-looking interview room adjacent to the custody room of Southwark Police Station. The room had seen literally tens of thousands of interviews down the years and now it would witness one more. Sean pressed the record button on the twin deck interview tape recorder and filled the room with a high-pitched buzzing sound. After a few seconds the room was silent and Sean began.

‘I am Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan and the other officer present is …’

‘DC Zack Benton,’ he spoke for himself.

‘We are in the interview room at Southwark Police Station and I am interviewing – could you state your name clearly for the tape please.’

Thurlby looked to his solicitor who nodded it was okay, then to his appropriate adult who did the same before answering nervously. ‘Ruben Thurlby.’

‘Also present is your solicitor …’

‘Peter Brooking, duty solicitor, from Thompson, Lee and Brooking Solicitors. I have had a consultation with my client and he has agreed to answer all your questions.’ Somehow Sean wasn’t surprised. Thurlby looked like a talker.

‘And you also have an appropriate adult present …’ Sean looked at the middle-aged lady sitting next to Thurlby.

‘Jennifer Harvey,’ she answered a little self-consciously. ‘Here to make sure Ruben understands what’s happening and give him any help and guidance he needs.’

‘Ruben – you are still under caution,’ Sean reminded him. ‘That means you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Do you understand the caution?’

‘I’ve explained the caution to my client,’ Brooking answered for him, ‘and he fully understands it.’

‘Fine,’ Sean didn’t argue, keen to press on. ‘You also have the right to free and independent legal advice and you have your solicitor here. If you need to speak to him in private at any time just let me know and we’ll stop the interview so you can do that. Okay?’ Thurlby just nodded. ‘You need to speak your answers,’ Sean explained. ‘The tape can’t hear nods and shrugs.’