Michael Robotham - Bleed For Me

‘Louis, it’s me, Joe O‘Loughlin.’

The constable tells me to be quiet.

‘I know Dr Preston,’ I mutter. ‘He’s the pathologist.’

This time he comes towards us, dressed in his blue overalls. Tilting his head, he looks down at me.

‘What are you doing, Professor?’

‘I’m being sat on.’

‘I can see that.’

Preston looks at the officer. ‘Why are you sitting on Professor O‘Loughlin?’

‘He tried to escape.’

‘Escape to where exactly?’

The constable takes a moment to recognise the sarcasm.

‘Let him up, Officer. He’s not going to run away.’

I get to my feet, but my legs suddenly lock and I pitch forwards. Mr Parkinson is assuming control. The pills are in my coat . . . with my phone.

Preston grabs hold of my forearm. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Annie Robinson is a friend of mine. I called this in.’

‘When did you see her last?’

‘Yesterday. Lunchtime.’

Preston looks back towards the terrace. ‘I have work to do.’

‘Just get my pills for me and my phone. They’re in my coat.’ I motion towards the car.

Preston takes my keys. When he reaches the Volvo, he snaps on a rubber glove and makes a point of opening the rear door, reaching over the seat to get my coat. The inference is clear.

He brings the bottle to me, but not my mobile.

Taking two pills, I swallow them dry and watch as the two detectives head our way. One has a haircut where the sides of his head are buzzed almost bald.

Preston peels off the glove. ‘Be extra careful, Professor, these guys aren’t your friends.’

Two detectives, little and large, a Detective Sergeant Stoner and his boss Wickerson who looks like a US marine. It’s gone eleven. I’m supposed to pick up Charlie but they won’t let me make a call.

‘She’s fourteen. She’s waiting for me. If something happens to her I’ll personally make sure you spend the rest of your careers briefing lawyers.’

‘Is that a threat, sir?’

‘No, I’m way past making threats. I’ve asked you nicely. I’ve begged. I’ve appealed to your common sense. Just let me make a call. She needs to get home.’

Stoner and Wickerson discuss the matter privately. Finally, I’m handed a phone. I call Ruiz.

‘Want to hear something interesting?’ he says.

‘Not now.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m with the police. I need you to pick up Charlie.’

I tell him about Annie Robinson and my arrest. ‘Just get Charlie. Make sure she gets home.’ I give him the address.

‘I’m on it.’

Stoner takes the phone and escorts me to an interview room. I’m left there, sitting in my wet clothes, drinking machine coffee that could be reclassified as a form of torture alongside water boarding and sleep deprivation.

My mind keeps drifting back to Annie’s flat and the open bottle of wine, the gift bag; the thank you card on the counter. Someone tried to poison her. Why?

Annie knew about Gordon Ellis and Sienna. She was asked to investigate by the school but failed to raise the alarm. Friendship can’t explain a decision like that. I think back to Annie’s flat - the expensive perfumes and designer handbags in her wardrobe. She complained about getting stitched up in her divorce settlement.

When I asked her how she could afford such a nice flat she told me that she refused to wait for things any more. Perhaps she’d found a way to supplement her income. Blackmail can turn a profit.

Half twelve and the detectives reappear, offering me their apologies. For a moment I think I’m going to be released but they each take a seat. A tape recorder is switched on. Stoner is wearing suspenders over his white shirt like some yuppie trader from the eighties.

‘Run through the story for us again, Joe,’ he says, sounding like we’re old friends.

I tell them about the school musical and Annie not showing up and how I tried to call her.

‘So you went round to her place?’

‘Yes. I saw her car. I thought she must be home but she didn’t answer the bell.’

‘So you climbed the back fence?’

‘I was worried.’

‘When my friends aren’t home, I don’t climb over their fences and smash their patio doors.’

‘I saw water leaking under her bedroom door.’

‘You said there were no lights on.’

‘There was one in the bedroom.’

‘And you could see water?’

‘Yes.’

This is how it continues. Every detail is examined and picked over: what rooms I entered, what I touched, when I saw Annie last. Then we go back to the beginning again. Stoner is playing the hard arse while Wickerson wants to be my best friend, smiling, offering me encouragement, winking occasionally. At other times he looks bemused, almost doleful, like he’s listening to an impaired person.

Stoner stands and moves behind me so that I have to turn my head to keep eye contact with him. He’s not a complex man. Keeps it simple. Talks slowly.

‘Tell us again how you know Annie Robinson?’

‘She’s a friend. She teaches at my daughter’s school. We’ve met a few times socially.’

‘So she’s not your girlfriend?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re not sleeping with her?’

‘Once.’

‘ Really?’

Stoner makes it sound like a telling confession. They’re not listening to me.

‘Tell us what you put in the wine.’

‘I didn’t touch it.’

‘Did she say no to you, Joe? Was it some sort of date-rape drug?’

‘No.’

‘Are we going to find your semen on those bed sheets?’

Wasted words. Wasted time. They should be talking to Gordon Ellis.

After an hour of questioning, the detectives take a break. I’m left in the interview suite trying to put the pieces together. How does Novak Brennan come into this? The trial, the jury, the Crying Man - I have fragments of a story, photographs without a narrative.

There are raised voices in the passageway. Ronnie Cray comes through the door like she wants to widen it with her hips.

‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Professor. When you step in shit, you just put on your wellies and jump right in over your head.’

Stoner and Wickerson are behind her, protesting.

Cray looks at me: ‘Have you made a statement, Professor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there anything else you want to add?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Get your coat.’

Wickerson is having none of it. ‘You can’t just barge in here. This man is still being questioned.’

‘Take it up with the Chief Constable,’ says the DCI. ‘Give him a call. He loves getting woken at two a.m.’

She’s walking as she talks, ushering me in the direction of the charge room. Stoner says something under his breath that ends with, ‘too ugly to get laid’.

Cray stops and turns slowly, fixing him with a stare. ‘Do I know you?’

‘No, ma’am.’ He gives her a mocking smile.

‘Sure I do. Derek Stoner. Deadly Derek. You’re a ladies’ man. You dated one of the WPCs at Trinity Road. Sweet thing. She told me you had a pencil dick and couldn’t find a clitoris with a compass and a street directory.’ Cray pauses and winks at him. ‘Guess only one of us made her scream.’

Moments later we’re outside. Monk is behind the wheel.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

‘Trinity Road,’ she answers. ‘Sienna Hegarty gave us a statement. We’re arresting Gordon Ellis at dawn.’

‘You’re going to charge him?’

‘We’re going to talk to him, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.’

‘Why?’

‘Ellis has been through this before - the police interviews, the searches, the covert surveillance - when it comes to being a suspect, he’s a fucking expert.’