Mark Pearson - Death Row

‘What is your husband’s name?’ asked Bennett, taking out his notebook.

The Dean became agitated. ‘Surely you don’t need to speak to him?’

‘We just need to know where Matt Henson lives, what his offence was.’

‘I can give you those details. Come in.’

Kate and DI Bennett followed the woman as she led them into her office. It was a spacious room: a large desk cluttered with books and papers to one side, a large multicoloured rug on the floor — genuine and expensive, Kate thought as she looked around the space. Book-filled shelves lined the walls; it could have been a teaching professor’s room rather than an administrator’s. Kate looked at some of the books as the Dean rummaged in her desk drawers. There were a lot of directories, academic reference journals and a whole section of American literature.

The Dean looked up to see what she was looking at. ‘I did my Master’s in contemporary American fiction,’ she said and turned to Bennett. ‘A large part of it on the detective fiction genre, in fact, inspector.’

Bennett picked up a copy of The Big Sleep from the Dean’s desk and held it up. ‘Wasn’t Raymond Chandler educated in England?’ he asked her.

‘He was indeed.’ Sheila Anderson pulled out a sheet of paper from her desk and held it out to the detective. ‘Here are Matt’s address details. But, like I said, I am absolutely sure he had nothing to do with the attack on Jamil. He’s a lovely boy.’

Another lovely boy, Kate thought to herself and reappraised the woman. She was in her fifties but carried herself with a sensual grace. Her make-up was elegant but noticeable, American style, and her hair was immaculately groomed, the cut running to a lot more than the twenty pounds that Kate herself paid for a trim every couple of months or so.

‘What was he given community service for?’ she asked.

The Dean coloured slightly. ‘It really isn’t relevant.’

Bennett pulled out his mobile phone. ‘It will take me two minutes to find out, Mrs Anderson.’

‘Sheila, please. Okay. Okay,’ she sighed and ran her fingers through her immaculate hair. ‘He was arrested for affray, together with his older brother and his brother’s friends.’

‘Affray? What happened, exactly?’ said Bennett, suspicions already forming in his mind.

‘They got into a fight with another group of youths outside a pub.’

Kate could tell there was something else that she wasn’t telling them. ‘This other group of youths …’

‘Yes?’

‘What nationality were they?’ Bennett finished Kate’s question for her.

The Dean sighed again. ‘They were Indian.’

Bennett nodded, somehow managing to make the movement look sceptical.

Sheila Anderson gestured angrily. ‘See? I knew you’d jump to conclusions. He wasn’t involved in the fight and from what I gather it was half a dozen of one and six of the other. That’s why he only got community service. His brother was given a custodial sentence.’

‘How old is Matt?’

‘He’s eighteen. But I can assure you he would not have stabbed Jamil Azeez. He’s not that kind of boy.’

‘He’s eighteen — that makes him an adult, not a boy, and you seem to know him quite well for someone who only comes a few hours a week to push a broom around your yard.’

‘I have been in education all my life, detective inspector. I know young men.’

Kate didn’t doubt it, but she didn’t make any comment.

DI Bennett pulled out his mobile phone and punched in some numbers. ‘Slimline,’ he said as his call was answered. ‘It’s DI Bennett here. I want you to send some uniforms round to …’ He held the piece of paper up and read out the address that the Dean had given him. ‘We’ll meet them there in half an hour. We’re picking up a skinhead recidivist called Matt Henson and we have good reason to think he may be carrying a knife. Thanks, Dave.’ He closed his phone and faced Sheila Anderson again. ‘We’d like to have another look around Jamil’s room. If that’s okay?’

‘Of course it is. I’ll show you up.’

‘No, that won’t be necessary. Just give us the keys I’ll return them when we’re done.’

‘I’m not sure-’

‘Jamil did give us his permission, Dean Anderson,’ said Bennett.

The Dean shrugged, resigned. ‘Well, if it’s in his best interest … but you need to find the real person who attacked him,’ she added pointedly.

‘Of course it’s in his best interests.’

‘I’ll have Arthur show you up.’

*

The ancient caretaker muttered something incomprehensible, but Kate took it to mean, from some of the words that she could recognise, that he would be waiting for them in the kitchen to lock up after they had finished. He grunted a farewell and closed the door behind him as he left.

Kate looked around the small room. It was in exactly the same state as when they had left it yesterday. ‘Did you really get his permission to search the room?’

Bennett shrugged, smiling guiltily. ‘I’m sure he gave us tacit approval.’

Kate snorted. ‘Extremely tacit. Must have been in sign language when he was asleep.’

‘So what was his cousin after, and why was he so agitated?’

Kate looked around her. ‘Is there something on his laptop?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, we can’t take it with us. That would be going too far.’

Bennett smiled again, swung the bag he had been carrying off his shoulder and put it on the student’s desk.

‘No need.’ He opened the bag and took out a thick matt-black object, about the size of a hardback novel.

‘What’s that?’

‘A portable hard drive. I’ll just copy his data across.’

‘Is that legal?’

‘Not technically. I’ll ask his permission later.’

Kate frowned. ‘If you are able to.’

Bennett attached a USB cable to Jamil’s laptop and turned it on. While he was waiting for it to boot up he opened the small wardrobe standing against the right-hand wall. There were shirts and trousers hanging on rails and jumpers and T-shirts, arranged neatly. At the bottom of the wardrobe were a pair of running shoes and two other pairs of shoes, one casual moccasin type of shoe and the other a pair of black oxfords polished to a shine. He slipped his hand in between the jumpers and shirts and worked his way down the compartments.

‘Nothing,’ he said to Kate.

‘You know what I’m thinking?’ she replied.

‘Go on.’

‘Where’s his coat?’

Bennett shuffled the coat hangers and pulled out a smart linen sports jacket.

‘Not that one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s too lightweight for this time of year. Where’s the coat he was wearing on the night he was attacked?’

‘He wasn’t wearing one.’

‘It was cold that night. He would have been wearing a warm coat. Where is it?’

DI Bennett shrugged. ‘It’s not here, that’s for sure.’ He walked back over to the laptop and dragged the cursor to start copying files across. ‘Why don’t I see you back at the factory?’ he said to Kate. ‘I’ll let you know how we get on with Matt Henson.’

‘I’m not a civilian, Tony.’

‘I know. But you’re pregnant, and he may turn violent, and I don’t want Jack Delaney on my case, thank you very much.’

Kate shook her head. People continually treating her like a piece of porcelain because they were worried what Jack might think was becoming very old. But Bennett had a point, she conceded to herself, she was indeed pregnant and while it was true that she was not exactly a civilian she wasn’t part of the armed response unit, either.

‘Whatever,’ she said simply. She looked again at the books above the young student’s desk and pulled out the copy of The Catcher in the Rye that she had noticed earlier. She thumbed through a few pages and then went to the front page of the book. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she read what had been written there and held it out for Bennett to see. The handwriting was feminine and graceful and it said ‘ To my beautiful boy ’.