Read Online An Early Grave by Robert McCracken - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert McCracken
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Murray, realising of course, that Tara Grogan would have shared this information.
‘You must have seen who was involved? Men? Women? Perhaps you, Dr Armour?’
The pair of detectives got no further. Callum sat impassively, staring at the wall ahead of him. To each question raised he offered nothing but a stale odour of sweat and a breath smelling of cheap lager.
*
Tara was late arriving at the station. She’d called at a community centre in Walton to meet some members of a women’s group: a Mum’s & Todd’s operating primarily for the Polish community. Aniele Zagac, a friendly woman of about thirty-five with excellent English, had a couple of energetic kids climbing over her as she tried to hold a conversation.
‘I do not know of any Polish girls who have gone missing,’ she said in reply to Tara’s question. ‘If you like I will ask my friends to contact other groups and families.’
‘I would appreciate that, thank you. Do you know of a man called Teodor Sokolowski?’
The woman’s smile weakened, as slowly she moved her head from side to side, her pale blue eyes looking uncertainly at Tara.
‘He rents houses around Liverpool to workers from Poland?’
Aniele Zagac’s attention, fortuitously, it seemed for her, was claimed by her children who had begun pulling at their mother’s long grey cardigan, stretching it out of shape. Now she didn’t have to look Tara in the face.
‘I have not heard of this man,’ she said, drawing both her charges close to her body, so that neither one was able to keep hold of the cardigan. Tara reached a card to the woman.
‘If you hear of anything relating to Mr Sokolowski, or of a girl who’s gone missing, please let me know.’ The woman inspected the details on the card and gave a single nod.
Ten minutes’ drive from the community centre and she pulled into St. Anne Street Station, a dull four-storey flat-roofed block. She was grateful for the help, but she didn’t for a second believe that Aniele Zagac had told the truth about Teodor Sokolowski. Was it a case of ex-pats closing ranks? When she reached her desk on the first floor, she found a post-it stuck on her computer monitor informing her that she was required downstairs at interview room two. She met DC Wilson in the corridor outside the room, his back against the wall, hands busy at his mobile phone.
‘Super’s been looking for you, Mam,’ he said, a hint of warning in his voice.
‘What about?’
‘We have a suspect for the girl’s murder.’
‘Really?’ She felt a sudden gush of excitement from the hope that they had already tracked down the vicious killer of the young girl.
‘It’s that bloke Armour you were talking to the other day. Super and Murray are with him now.’
Disbelief and exasperation battled for supremacy. How did they decide that Armour was implicated in the murder? Surely, they hadn’t acted merely on what she had told Murray?
‘Tara,’ said Tweedy as he emerged from the interview room. As the door closed behind him she caught sight of Callum Armour sitting rigidly at the table staring into space. ‘I’m glad you’re here. This Dr Armour is proving difficult and insists on talking only to you.’ He looked rather disapprovingly at Tara, like a father inquiring what his teenage daughter had been up to the night before. ‘I’m happy for you to proceed, of course, but perhaps you should point out to your friend that his conversation with you will be recorded.’
‘Yes sir.’ He smiled weakly as if he understood the situation, understood the relationship Tara had already established with Armour, but there was a warning in it for her. That this was not the way things were done, not in his squad. He would expect any established rapport, regardless of how tenuous it may be, to be handled most cautiously and professionally. Obviously Murray had told Tweedy about her visit to Armour’s house.
Alan Murray rose from the table as Tara entered the interview room. He
‘You must have seen who was involved? Men? Women? Perhaps you, Dr Armour?’
The pair of detectives got no further. Callum sat impassively, staring at the wall ahead of him. To each question raised he offered nothing but a stale odour of sweat and a breath smelling of cheap lager.
*
Tara was late arriving at the station. She’d called at a community centre in Walton to meet some members of a women’s group: a Mum’s & Todd’s operating primarily for the Polish community. Aniele Zagac, a friendly woman of about thirty-five with excellent English, had a couple of energetic kids climbing over her as she tried to hold a conversation.
‘I do not know of any Polish girls who have gone missing,’ she said in reply to Tara’s question. ‘If you like I will ask my friends to contact other groups and families.’
‘I would appreciate that, thank you. Do you know of a man called Teodor Sokolowski?’
The woman’s smile weakened, as slowly she moved her head from side to side, her pale blue eyes looking uncertainly at Tara.
‘He rents houses around Liverpool to workers from Poland?’
Aniele Zagac’s attention, fortuitously, it seemed for her, was claimed by her children who had begun pulling at their mother’s long grey cardigan, stretching it out of shape. Now she didn’t have to look Tara in the face.
‘I have not heard of this man,’ she said, drawing both her charges close to her body, so that neither one was able to keep hold of the cardigan. Tara reached a card to the woman.
‘If you hear of anything relating to Mr Sokolowski, or of a girl who’s gone missing, please let me know.’ The woman inspected the details on the card and gave a single nod.
Ten minutes’ drive from the community centre and she pulled into St. Anne Street Station, a dull four-storey flat-roofed block. She was grateful for the help, but she didn’t for a second believe that Aniele Zagac had told the truth about Teodor Sokolowski. Was it a case of ex-pats closing ranks? When she reached her desk on the first floor, she found a post-it stuck on her computer monitor informing her that she was required downstairs at interview room two. She met DC Wilson in the corridor outside the room, his back against the wall, hands busy at his mobile phone.
‘Super’s been looking for you, Mam,’ he said, a hint of warning in his voice.
‘What about?’
‘We have a suspect for the girl’s murder.’
‘Really?’ She felt a sudden gush of excitement from the hope that they had already tracked down the vicious killer of the young girl.
‘It’s that bloke Armour you were talking to the other day. Super and Murray are with him now.’
Disbelief and exasperation battled for supremacy. How did they decide that Armour was implicated in the murder? Surely, they hadn’t acted merely on what she had told Murray?
‘Tara,’ said Tweedy as he emerged from the interview room. As the door closed behind him she caught sight of Callum Armour sitting rigidly at the table staring into space. ‘I’m glad you’re here. This Dr Armour is proving difficult and insists on talking only to you.’ He looked rather disapprovingly at Tara, like a father inquiring what his teenage daughter had been up to the night before. ‘I’m happy for you to proceed, of course, but perhaps you should point out to your friend that his conversation with you will be recorded.’
‘Yes sir.’ He smiled weakly as if he understood the situation, understood the relationship Tara had already established with Armour, but there was a warning in it for her. That this was not the way things were done, not in his squad. He would expect any established rapport, regardless of how tenuous it may be, to be handled most cautiously and professionally. Obviously Murray had told Tweedy about her visit to Armour’s house.
Alan Murray rose from the table as Tara entered the interview room. He
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