Mark Pearson - Death Row

Bennett turned back and paused the footage.

‘Hang on, Jack, this is my man.’

Delaney looked at his watch. ‘As I understand it, he’s not going anywhere.’

‘True, but I’ll just see how this pans out. Catch you down there.’

‘Sure.’ Delaney headed to the door, slapping a hand on the shoulder of Jimmy Skinner, who was dealing with a pile of paperwork and sketching a farewell wave over his shoulder as Bennett called after him.

‘Make mine a pint.’

Bennett turned back to the computer monitor and clicked the cursor to play the streaming footage again. Jamil was clearly in shot: the light overhead and spilling from the shops behind made it a very clear picture.

Jamil Azeez lit his cigarette, nervously flicking the lighter a few times and shaking it to get it to work. His hands seemed to tremble as he took a few quick puffs. Bennett couldn’t tell if it was because of the cold or if he was nervous about something. He certainly wasn’t dressed for the weather: jeans and a shirt.

Bennett pushed play again and after a moment or two on the screen a young white man, early twenties by the looks of him, walked over to Jamil and raised his hands, shouting something in his face. Jamil stepped back, clearly distressed, and Bennett didn’t blame him. The white man was solidly built and was wearing tight jeans, a green bomber jacket and a skinhead haircut. A tattoo at the nape of his neck, just visible through the hair on the back of his head, read B-.

Jamil threw down his cigarette and hurried away. The man turned in profile, watching him, his handsome face now ugly with anger. Then he walked out of shot in the same direction.

Bennett rewound the footage and froze the image again with the man’s face in profile. Then he clicked the cursor on file and print. As the wireless printer across the office powered up, Bennett fast-forwarded the footage at thirty times real-time speed. He gave it an hour, up to the time that Jamil had been found by Kate Walker, but neither Jamil nor the skinhead came back into shot. Bennett closed down the computer and went across to pick up the copies of the screen grab that he had printed off. He looked across at Delaney’s desk.

‘Help you with something?’ asked Jimmy Skinner.

‘Yeah,’ said Bennett and held out one of the pics he had just printed off. ‘Recognise this guy?’

Skinner looked at the photo. ‘Can’t say I do. No, sorry.’

‘No worries,’ said Bennett. ‘Maybe catch you later down the pub.’

Skinner gestured at his mound of paperwork. ‘Maybe.’

Bennett nodded and headed out. Skinner looked after him thoughtfully for a moment and then sighed and picked the next form up from the pile.

*

The Pig and Whistle was crowded. It always was at that time of night, and eighty per cent of the people in it were either on the job or civilian support staff from the station. Delaney was standing at the shorter bit of the L-shape of the bar that ran across one side of the room. Sally Cartwright was perched on a stool beside him, nursing a gin and tonic.

‘Are you going to drink that, Sally, or sip it to death?’ he asked, finishing his pint of Guinness.

‘I’m driving, sir.’

‘Very civic-minded of you!’ Delaney held his glass up to the Titian-haired barwoman. ‘Stick another large one in there for us.’

‘Sure thing, cowboy.’

‘Where’s your Saab, sir?’

Delaney winked at her. ‘Back at the ranch. One of the perks of having a doctor girlfriend up the stick is that she doesn’t drink. So I have to do it for both of us.’

Sally smiled. ‘Up the stick. Nice expression. You’d say that to herself, would you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Delaney fixed her with a serious look. ‘Sure, would the devil not strike me down here in my very shiny shoes if I were to tell a lie?’

‘It will be me striking you down, Jack Delaney, you don’t watch it.’

Delaney turned round and grinned. ‘What did I tell you, Sally? Katy’s Kabs. Bang on time.’

Kate smiled despite herself. ‘Just get me a large orange juice. I’m going to powder my nose.’

Delaney watched her walking away, the smile lingering on his lips.

‘I don’t how she puts up with you, sir,’ said Sally.

‘To be perfectly honest with you, Sally, neither do I!’ He gestured at the barmaid again. ‘Angela, you beautiful thing, will you be after getting me a large orange juice?’ The barmaid grinned back resignedly as Bennett came into the pub and threaded his way towards them. ‘And a pint of …?’ He looked at Bennett questioningly.

‘Lager’s fine.’

The barmaid nodded and Delaney pointed at Bennett’s foot as he limped over to join them. ‘Industrial injury?’

Bennett laughed. ‘No, temporary infirmity.’

‘What from?

Bennett hesitated slightly. ‘I did it playing rugby last weekend.’

‘What position?’

‘Wing.’

‘Same here.’

‘You play?’

Sally laughed out loud and covered it with a cough. Delaney shook his head. ‘Used to. Long time ago …’

‘In a universe far, far away?’

‘Oh yeah! We’re definitely talking light years,’ said Sally.

‘You can get sent back to uniform very quickly, you know, detective constable.’

‘Sir.’ Sally pretended to look chastened.

Delaney took the drinks from the barmaid, handed her a tenner and gave Bennett his pint.

‘How did you get on with the footage?’

‘He finished his smoke and walked out of shot again. But someone did come up and have words with him. Looked like an argument or some drunk having a go at him.’

‘Could you make out who it was?’

Bennett reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the prints and handed it over to Delaney. ‘Anyone you recognise?’

Delaney looked at it, shook his head and then handed it over to Sally.

‘He looks cute for a skinhead, but no. Not ringing any bells.’

She handed the picture back to Delaney, who held it out to Bennett.

‘No, keep it. Show it around. Someone might know him.’

‘You think he’s the man who stabbed your vic?’

Bennett nodded. ‘He got right into his face, shouting at him. I couldn’t make out what he was saying because he was facing away from the camera. But I could take a guess.’

‘Paki go home?’ said Sally.

‘Along those lines. Except that Jamil Azeez is an Iranian and was born here.’

‘Nick Griffin will let him stay, then, so that’s all right,’ said Delaney, folding the photo up and putting it in his pocket.

‘Who was it who said I despise everything you say but I will defend your right to say it to the death?’ asked Sally.

‘It wasn’t George Formby, was it?’ asked Bennett.

Sally laughed as Kate came up to join them. ‘The new inspector is quite the comedian, Kate,’ she said.

‘I know,’ Kate agreed dryly and pointed at a poster pinned to the wall beside the detective constable. ‘I told him he should go in for the talent competition.’

‘Fat chance,’ said Bennett. ‘I’ve got Van Gogh’s ear for music and couldn’t go on stage to tell a joke if my life depended on it.’

‘That right?’

‘It would terrify me. Had to give a best man’s speech once. Never do it again.’

‘You don’t strike me as the bashful type,’ said Delaney.

‘Trust me, I was more nervous than a pig in a pork-pie factory.’ Bennett jerked his thumb backwards at the flyer. ‘So what about you, Jack? You going to do us a song-and-dance routine?’

Delaney gave him a flat look. ‘Not in this lifetime.’

Bennett slapped his leg. ‘And my gammy leg counts me out in that department.’

‘So what brought you down to London, Tony?’ asked Kate.