Booking someone in at the charge room is normally a doddle: justify detention to a custody officer, create a custody record, offer representation, search your suspect, lift any forensic samples, seize clothing if necessary and bang them up to await a formal interview.
Job done.
Only today wasn’t normal. The suspect was having none of it.
Following his arrest, they had taken Makepeace to the nearest police station, which happened to be the West End nick. But he declined to confirm his identity – refused to accept or reject a solicitor – in fact refused to speak at all. He didn’t fight, kick, scream, do or say anything, simply stared straight ahead like they weren’t even there, his non-cooperation slowing the whole process down.
Frustrated with his antics, Naylor had gone off to take a shower, leaving Daniels to it. But watching the clock was complete torture for her, so she called Jo Soulsby asking for help.
‘Is there any way you can join us, give an opinion on the best way to handle him?’
‘Give me half an hour.’ Jo’s voice sounded thick, as if she’d just woken up.
As they talked on the phone, Daniels made notes, her eyes straying occasionally to the awful weather outside. Questioning Makepeace was going to be a painstaking process, and one she had little enthusiasm for. ‘No comment’ interviews always left her feeling impotent, the letter of the law tying her hands very firmly behind her back, tipping the scales in favour of the offender. At times like these she wished she could ‘fire up the Quattro’, drive Makepeace to a remote location and kick the living shit out of him like her 1980s politically incorrect television hero, Gene Hunt, might do. He was a DCI with no such restraints. And those he did have, he chose to ignore.
Would that she could do the same.
But this wasn’t life on Mars.
Putting down the phone, she picked it up again and made another call asking the police surgeon to examine Makepeace to ensure he was fit to be interviewed. Bearing in mind he’d been involved in an accident, albeit of his own making, it was best to cover every angle to avoid problems later on. Daniels then contacted the duty solicitor who agreed to offer her services on the off chance Makepeace would accept them. But after only a few minutes she left the cell shaking her head.
Same silent treatment: there was nothing she could do.
At five past eleven, Daniels received a call to say that Jo was in the building. This made her feel really emotional. She didn’t know why, it just did. Probably the result of tiredness. Fatigue often did that to her. It was a wonder she didn’t spend her whole life in tears.
‘Tell her I’ll be right down,’ she said.
Planning an interviewing strategy for a wilful suspect was a nightmare. Daniels was glad that Jo was going to be involved. She’d assisted them before and her insights were spot on. But as she hurried to reception, Daniels couldn’t help feeling that Makepeace was in a league of his own.
A case too far, even for Jo?
She smiled at Jo as she walked through the door, then took her straight to the observation suite, a brand-new, purpose-built facility with viewing rooms where they could observe suspects covertly via CCTV. No sooner had they sat down together than Jo delved into her bag and produced a flask of homemade soup.
‘It’ll keep you going through the next few hours,’ she said.
Daniels took it from her. ‘Since when did you turn into a domestic goddess?’
‘Hey!’ Jo made a face. ‘There’s more to me than meets the eye.’
Daniels unscrewed the top of the flask. The lentil soup smelled good. She poured some out and took a sip, feeling it warm her from the inside out. Eyeing Jo over the top of her cup, she felt sad. They had once made such a great team and still maintained a strong bond, invisible to others, but there all the same. She’d almost forgotten how considerate a person she was.
‘You look exhausted,’ Jo said.
Daniels stifled a yawn. ‘I am a bit.’
‘How long since you’ve been home? Twelve, fourteen hours?’
Daniels glanced at her watch. It was actually nearer seventeen. She’d left the house before dawn, had been on duty ever since – as had the rest of her team. Even at this late hour they would still be hard at it, waiting back at the incident room for news, keen to see Makepeace charged. But even keener to find Jessica Finch alive.
‘You can’t keep this pace up indefinitely, Kate. You’ve seen what it’s done to Bright. Believe me, you’ll go the same way. When did you last have a decent meal?’
‘Bright doesn’t take care of himself.’
‘And you do?’
‘Maybe not this week,’ Daniels conceded. ‘But generally, yes. You know I do!’
‘But the job comes first.’
It was a definite dig. Daniels looked away. It was the job – her job – that had come between them. Always had. Probably always would. No matter how hard she tried, she was incapable of putting anything before it. Even her personal happiness had taken a back seat.
Feeling the intensity of Jo’s stare, she turned back to face her.
‘What?’ Daniels said, defensively. ‘Let’s not go there, eh? My job isn’t nine to five and it certainly isn’t easy. But this isn’t just another murder enquiry, Jo. A young girl’s out there somewhere, waiting to be rescued. Every minute away from the office is a minute wasted as far as I’m concerned.’
Jo studied her, any resentment she may have felt giving way to understanding. She was there to assist the murder investigation team and to support Daniels, even though she didn’t think she deserved it.
‘To be honest, I’ve not slept well when I have been home.’ Daniels said. ‘I’ve been having this weird recurring dream which ends with me firing a gun. It isn’t Forster, or at least I don’t think it is. I’m firing into the darkness and I don’t understand why.’
‘It’s a dream, Kate, that’s all. A sign of unrest. You’ve had a lot on lately.’
She was probably right.
Daniels finished her soup and felt better for it. Turning her attention to a large flat-screen mounted on the wall, she saw that it was presently showing four images of areas under close observation. But, in this instance, she was only concerned with viewing one in particular: cell number four. She pressed a button on the handset and the split screen changed to a single image. Bizarrely, Makepeace was not sitting on the bed provided. He was lying on the concrete floor, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Daniels zoomed in for a close-up on his face: not a flicker of emotion visible.
Having observed him for several minutes, Jo eventually broke the silence. ‘You can have all the interview strategies you want, Kate. But if I’m reading him right, he’ll continue his wall of silence until you’re blue in the face. Psychologically, this isn’t affecting him at all.’
‘Well, I’m going to have to try! He’s been detained for the purpose of interview and that’s what he’ll get, like it or not. The question is, how do I go about it, what methods do I employ? The Police and Criminal Evidence Act doesn’t allow me to pull his fingernails out with pliers, more’s the pity. An AK-47 might do it though, if you have one in that bag of yours.’
But Jo wasn’t laughing.
‘Frankly, I don’t know what to advise.’ Jo looked back at the screen. ‘He’s a professional soldier, highly trained in anti-interrogation techniques. Guys like him are taught how to resist, how to shut down in order to protect themselves. They’re used to sleep deprivation. Cold. Hunger. Unfortunately, you’ve put him in a nice warm cell and probably given him something to eat.’
‘You’re telling me I won’t get near him, is that it?’
‘I’m telling you it won’t be easy to break him down.’
Makepeace hadn’t moved an inch.
Deep down, Daniels knew Jo was right. From day one, the man’s sole purpose had been to cause alarm and distress, pain and suffering, to Adam Finch – and he’d achieved that in spades. The longer he could go on inflicting that pain, the better he would like it. Jo’s words had only served to confirm what Daniels was already thinking.
‘I’m sorry, Kate. I doubt he’ll tell you anything that’ll lead you to Jessica, dead or alive,’ she said. ‘Because he knows if she’s not found it will eventually drive her father insane.’
There was a knock at the door.
Naylor came in looking refreshed from the shower. He greeted them both, letting them know he was ready to interview the suspect. Daniels punched numbers into the handset and the image switched from cell number four to an empty interview room: IR2. They left Jo to observe and took a short walk along the corridor. They had barely sat down when Makepeace was brought in by a PC. Daniels waited for the uniform to clear the room and then switched on the recording device, her eyes settling on the man sitting opposite.
‘This interview is being conducted in interview room two at the West Road police office. I am Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels of the murder investigation team. Also present is Detective Superintendent Ron Naylor. And you are . . .?’
Daniels gestured for Makepeace to speak next.
He remained silent.
‘Mr Makepeace, would you answer the question, confirming your name, date of birth and current address?’
Makepeace was staring not at her but through her. It was as if he’d fixed his cold, dark eyes to a point on the wall somewhere behind her and there they remained for the next few minutes.
‘The suspect has declined to answer,’ Daniels said for the benefit of the tape. ‘Where is she, Jimmy?’ She waited for a response. But Makepeace chose silence. He didn’t even blink. ‘OK, tell us where you were between six p.m. and midnight on the evening of Tuesday, fourth May.’
Makepeace said nothing. The only sound Daniels could hear was her own desperate thoughts.
If Jessica is still alive, she can’t possibly hold out much longer.
‘Can you account for your whereabouts between six p.m. and midnight on the evening of Wednesday the fifth of May?’ Daniels continued her line of questioning. But still there was no reply. She tried a different tack. ‘What were you doing outside the crematorium?’
Nothing was touching him.
Makepeace was clearly in the zone.