Lynda La Plante - Wrongful Death

‘Jesus, these frickin’ traffic circles, you got cars comin’ at you from all directions.’

They drove on in silence before arriving at the vast modern-looking prison, which held some of the UK’s most dangerous and violent criminals. As they walked over to the visitors’ centre, Dewar said she would like to conduct the interview with Taylor, but Anna tactfully suggested that as he was expecting someone from the Met, it would be best for her to handle it and she would introduce Dewar as a US detective over on work experience.

Once inside, Anna produced her warrant card while Dewar showed her FBI badge, after which they had their fingerprints scanned and a photograph taken before being issued prison passes. The receptionist pointed to the lockers behind them as he explained that mobile phones, handbags and other personal belongings had to be locked away during the visit. They were allowed to take in writing paper, pens and a Dictaphone if they had one, which Anna did and showed it to the guard, who checked it over. They were asked to sign a form agreeing to abide by the rules and then told to wait for a prison officer to escort them to the main building.

‘I thought it was bad in the States trying to visit a prisoner but this is ridiculous,’ Dewar moaned.

‘Well this is a maximum-security prison housing terrorists and-’

‘It’s hardly Guantanamo Bay, is it!’

Anna was surprised by Dewar’s disparaging remark and now realized how impatient the woman could be.

She herself was feeling very uneasy and her stomach was churning. It wasn’t so much the interview with Taylor that worried her, more that she had not been inside a prison since the death of Ken. They had actually met when he was a senior officer on a segregated high-security wing at a different prison. She had been interviewing an inmate, the same one who later murdered Ken just after their engagement. Anna was dreading stepping inside the prison gates and the sad memories it would reignite, her greatest fear being how she would react when she saw prison officers all dressed in the standard-issue uniform that Ken had worn with pride. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the male prison officer approach.

‘Detective Travis, Agent Dewar, if you would like to follow me, please.’

On hearing his voice, Anna was afraid to look at him, fearing that she would see an image of Ken in front of her. She felt her heart pounding and her breathing increase as she stood up too quickly. Suddenly she felt faint and the room began to spin. ‘Pull yourself together,’ she thought and, in fear of falling over, sat back down.

‘You all right?’ Dewar asked.

‘Yeah, I just stood up too quickly. It made me feel dizzy.’

‘Would you like some water?’ the prison officer asked.

‘Yes, please,’ Anna said and looked up to see that the officer was not only Asian but much younger than Ken. She smiled, somehow feeling as if Ken was with her and telling her not to be stupid and get on with the interview.

After Anna drank her cold water they were escorted through the main entry gates and into a holding room with a set of airlock doors. Anna entered the first then proceeded into the second one before Dewar was allowed to follow. Once through the airlocks, they had to go through an X-ray machine and metal detector and were then patted down by a female officer with a sniffer dog. Anna wondered how on earth visitors still managed to smuggle anything in. For her the real irony was that prisoners were still able to make weapons from almost anything they could get their hands on. Ken, her fiancé, was stabbed in his neck artery with a homemade knife and had bled to death.

The interview room was small, with only a table and four chairs. To the left of the table there was a panic alarm that could be pressed if assistance was needed. The escorting officer told them that Delon Taylor would be brought from his cell shortly and Anna sat down and placed her Dictaphone, notebook and pen on the table. Dewar sat next to her.

‘I can’t believe all the rigmarole for a police officer and senior FBI agent to come and see some lowlife prisoner,’ Dewar complained.

‘The officers are just doing their job.’

‘I wonder if the pain-in-the-ass bureaucrats will put us through the same irritating process on the way out?’

‘Do me a favour and cut the cynical remarks about the prison officers, please!’ Anna said bluntly.

‘Well, excuse me if I offend you.’

‘You didn’t offend me. You offended someone I knew.’

Before Dewar could say anything else the interview-room door opened and Taylor was brought in and sat opposite them. Delon Taylor was black, in his mid-twenties, very muscular and six feet tall. Anna had looked at his criminal file and noted that he was a professional cage fighter, which accounted for his misshapen nose and numerous facial scars, but nevertheless he had a very handsome face.

Anna introduced herself as the DCI investigating Joshua Reynolds’ death, showing Taylor her warrant card, and told him that although he would be interviewed as a witness, not a suspect, she would like to record the interview. Taylor said nothing but nodded in agreement. Anna was about to introduce Dewar as a US detective on work experience with the Met when the agent produced her FBI badge and cut in.

‘I’m Jessie Dewar, a supervisory special agent with the FBI and-’

‘Fucking FBI! What they doing here?’ Taylor shouted at Anna in a broad London accent.

‘I’m working the case with Detective Travis,’ Dewar replied.

‘Well you can fuck off back to where you came from!’

Anna was livid. Dewar had managed to upset Taylor before she had asked a single question. She wanted to give Dewar a piece of her mind but knew it was totally against protocol to chastize a fellow officer in front of a prisoner. Instead, Anna gave Dewar a stare that made it quite clear how she felt and quickly calmed the situation by explaining to Taylor that the agent was merely an observer benefiting from work experience with the Met.

‘Good, because I ain’t talking to no Yank,’ Taylor said. Anna was pleased that he had made his position on the matter quite clear and hoped that it would curtail any further disruption by Dewar. Anna informed Taylor that she had been told that he had information concerning Joshua Reynolds’ death and asked him to tell her what he knew and give some background detail of his association with the dead man. Taylor told them that everyone called Reynolds by his preferred name of Josh and that he had worked as a bouncer at his club.

‘Josh was a real nice geezer, everyone liked him. Not like his tosser of a partner Marcus Williams. He was ripping Josh off left, right and centre. I’m sitting in this shit-hole because of him.’

‘You’re awaiting trial for robbery and serious assault on a police officer. Are you saying Williams was involved in that?’ Anna asked.

‘No. Williams had me set up for thieving from the club tills so Josh would sack me. With no job I soon ran out of money and had no choice other than do a robbery.’

‘You were armed with a gun at the time.’

‘The gun was fake and the assault was a fucking accident. I ran out the building society straight into the copper and the money went flying everywhere. Knocked the poor bloke straight on his arse and he split his head open on the pavement. I legged it with what I could pick up, which was only a few hundred, yet I got charged with nicking over two grand.’

‘That was nearly six months ago. Why do you want to talk to us now?’

‘No, the robbery was, but I went on the run to Liverpool and only got nicked two weeks ago, me mum of all people turned me in. Anyways I only heard about Josh’s death in here when I saw an old workmate so that’s why I had to speak with you. Tell you what I knew.’