Paul Grzegorzek - The Follow

I shook my head. ‘No, just some sleep and the codes to all the doors.’

He laughed politely and swung the door shut as he left. So much for solidarity; it could have been my imagination but he seemed like he couldn’t get away quickly enough. Muttering to myself, I settled down and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I was woken by the sound of a custody assistant opening the hatch in my cell door and, for a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Then I remembered where I was and the fear squeezed my heart again in greeting.

‘Do you want breakfast?’ a male voice asked through the hatch.

‘Uh yeah, is it a buffet or do I pay by the plate?’

‘Funny man. You want cornflakes or all-day breakfast?’

I should have known better than to order the breakfast. When it arrived, it was a microwaved mess consisting of potato wedges and baked beans and tasting like cardboard. Still, it was hot and filling, even if it did have all the nutritional content of sandpaper.

I did the best I could to wash away the stink of sleeping in my clothes, using the tiny sink that sat just above my toilet. It wasn’t the smallest en suite I’d ever had, but it came close.

I was just sticking a wet hand down my trousers to wash away the worst of the sweat when the hatch opened. I pulled my hand out guiltily, despite the fact that I’d only been washing. Masturbation is one of the most common pastimes for people in the cells and I didn’t want to be thought of as following that particular herd.

A very tired-looking Steve Barnett looked at me through the gap, and the door opened to reveal an equally tired-looking Angela Brown standing next to him.

‘Morning, Gareth, your solicitor is here. We’ve given disclosure and now she wants to speak to you.’

I nodded and walked out into the corridor, letting them lead me to a private consultation room. Inside the room was a woman in her early forties with dark curly hair and a serious manner. She was wearing a knee-length skirt with a matching jacket and cream blouse and her manner shouted competence at me as she shooed the other officers out. That done, she stuck out a hand and introduced herself as Kerry Nielson.

I took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. ‘So,’ I said, sitting down opposite the chair she took for herself, ‘on a scale of one to ten, how shafted am I?’

She looked down at her notes, studying them intently. I could only assume that they were from the disclosure, which is where the police tell the solicitor most of the evidence they have, while holding a little back to ‘test for truth’.

‘Well I really don’t think that they have a lot to go on; it’s pretty shaky stuff. The reason you’ve been arrested is that on record you’re the last person to have touched the knife which has now gone missing, making you the most likely person to have swapped the evidence.’

I shook my head. ‘Look, I would have had to have done that at scene, still covered in Jimmy’s blood and in front of five other officers. Don’t you think someone would have noticed?’

She looked at me across the table. ‘Yes, Gareth, I do. So do they, probably, but from what I’m picking up they need to show that they’re doing something and the first logical step was to arrest you.’

I rose and began to pace the room. ‘Okay, the first thing I want to make clear is that I didn’t tamper with the evidence. Jimmy is my friend and my partner and there’s no way I would ever do something to stop the son of a bitch that did this to him from going down.’

‘I believe you, really I do, but we have to prepare for what they’re going to ask you in interview.’

I stopped pacing to look at her. ‘All I can do is tell the truth. If that isn’t good enough I don’t know what is.’

She smiled at me reassuringly. ‘I’m sure that will be fine, but just so I don’t have any surprises I need you to go through what happened that day, okay?’

I nodded and sat down, letting her grill me for about twenty minutes about the day Jimmy was stabbed. I was impressed with her manner as her sharp mind drove me to remember details that I’d almost forgotten. Once we had been through it all a good three times, she judged us ready for interview and we left the room to see my captors waiting impatiently in the corridor.

‘Ready? Good.’ Barnett could hardly wait to open the interview room door and gesture us inside.

The room was set up with the huge tape machine against the far wall and a table by the near wall surrounded by four chairs. Barnett sat and tried to make pleasant conversation, while Brown filled out tape labels with my custody number and got their file ready.

A few minutes later, Brown had everything prepared and pressed the button on the large tape machine. It buzzed annoyingly for a few seconds, and then the tapes began rolling. Brown began speaking, her clear voice echoing in the small room.

‘It is 08.37 hours on Wednesday, the 14th of May 2008. We are in an interview room at Worthing custody centre. I am DC Angela Brown, DB429, and the other officer present is …’

Barnett chimed in, looking bored. ‘DC Steve Barnett, CB776.’

Brown took the lead back. ‘Thank you. Also present is …’

‘Kerry Nielsen, solicitor for PC Bell.’

‘Thank you. Can you tell me your full name and date of birth, please?’ This to me, who was beginning to feel slightly left out.

‘PC Gareth Bell, CB925; 7th September 1976.’

I probably shouldn’t have added my rank and warrant number, but I was still a copper and I wanted that made clear.

‘Thank you, Gareth. Do you agree that there is no one else present in the room?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, I’m going to caution you now. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand the caution?’

‘I should damn well hope so,’ I blurted before remembering I was on tape.

Angela smiled at me in understanding.

‘Okay, the reason you have been arrested is that yesterday, in court, during the trial of Quentin Davey, it was shown that evidence vital to the case had been removed and replaced with something else. Namely, exhibit GB/250308/1355, a black-handled knife which had either been removed or was never placed in the tube, and instead a rubber knife was found there. The records show that you were the last person that touched the unsealed tube. What can you tell me about that?’

Just thinking about it made me angry and my carefully planned answers evaporated as my emotions took over. ‘It’s a travesty, that’s what it is! That piece of crap stabbed my mate in front of me and somehow he paid someone off to swap the evidence over. I had no idea that it had happened. Do you really think that I would stand up in court against him if I’d tampered with the evidence? And how am I supposed to have done that if there were five other officers watching me when I put the knife in the tube?’

Angela looked slightly put out by my outburst. ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, Gareth. So you’re saying that when you seized the knife, you put it in the tube and sealed it, is that correct?’

‘Yes, of course it is!’

‘Okay, I’m just trying to get things straight in my own head, there’s no need to get angry.’

‘No need to get angry? No need to get angry? You’ve arrested me and accused me of tampering with the evidence that would have convicted the bastard who stabbed Jimmy! How am I supposed to feel? He’s my best mate, I’ve known him for years and we’re completely loyal to each other. Not that I’d expect you worms from PSD to understand that, always looking for excuses to shop in another officer. Listen carefully, I’m not going to repeat myself. I had nothing to do with the evidence going missing. If I find out who did, I’m going to drag them in here by the hair and hand them to you. Other than that, I have nothing more to say.’