As happened so often with murder cases where there wasn’t an obvious suspect to investigate then arrest, there followed a period of frustrating inaction. In this case it lasted a few weeks. The evidence available to them simply wasn’t pointing to anyone specifically.
‘We need a little luck,’ said Mackenzie one day. Ottey winced as it was within Cross’s earshot but his response was unexpected.
‘I think you may be right,’ he replied.
‘I thought you didn’t believe in luck when it came to solving cases,’ Ottey objected.
‘I don’t but sometimes a little luck is needed to prod you in the right direction.’
It wasn’t luck in this case that finally moved them on but something Cross had put in place the previous month. He received a call from the café owner, who wasn’t exactly happy. He’d called Cross every time that Angie had come to the café to eat. Cross had shown no interest in going to meet her until now. The money he’d left behind the counter had run out and Angie was back at the café demanding food and was ‘totally strung out’ as the owner had described her. This was the moment Cross had been waiting for, when she might be inclined to barter some information with them. He grabbed Mackenzie and they headed out.
Angie was picking butts out of a wall-mounted cigarette bin near the café as Mackenzie parked up.
‘Angie, don’t do that, it’s disgusting,’ said Mackenzie as she approached her.
‘And who the fuck are you?’ came the reply.
‘The mug who’s going to buy you something to eat. Now come on,’ Mackenzie said, taking her by the arm.
‘Oh, there he is! Weird bastard!’ she yelled at Cross. ‘Mr Bean in a police uniform.’ Mackenzie couldn’t help but grin at this description.
‘I’m not in uniform,’ he pointed out.
‘See? Weird. Are you with him?’ she asked Mackenzie.
*
‘Well, are you buying me some food or what?’ she asked unceremoniously and loudly as they sat at a table in the café. The owner looked on warily.
‘Sure. What do you want?’ asked Mackenzie.
‘Bacon sandwich.’ Mackenzie got up.
‘Sit down,’ Cross instructed Mackenzie. ‘We’ll get you something to eat when and if you have something of value to tell us.’
‘I told you. I don’t have anything to say.’
‘Then you need to leave and not bother this gentleman anymore.’
‘He stole my money. Your money. There’s none left.’
‘What makes you think he stole it?’
‘Are you stupid or what? There’s none left!’ she shouted.
‘I’m sorry but you’re going to have to leave. You’re upsetting the other customers,’ said the owner, a little desperately as they were actually the only people in the café.
‘Seriously?’ Mackenzie asked incredulously.
Cross got up. ‘We’re leaving. Come on.’
‘Angie, you look terrible. You need to eat something before you become really ill,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Then buy me something!’ she shouted.
‘First you need to stop shouting. Would you like some tea? With sugar, a bacon sarnie, bar of chocolate?’ asked Mackenzie quietly.
‘Yes please,’ Angie said pitifully. Mackenzie looked up at Cross, who didn’t move.
‘Are you willing to tell us what happened to you, Angie? With Stokes?’ he asked. She thought about it for a moment. She really didn’t want to but had a more pressing problem than her intuitive reluctance. Hunger.
*
They let her eat, drink and get herself together. Cross then looked at Mackenzie which she took as her cue to talk.
‘Are you using again, Angie?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Karen says it’s because of Danny Stokes.’
‘Yeah, but it takes two to tango, if you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t,’ Cross said.
‘It’s like what they say at Hopewell. You’ve got to take responsibility. Yeah, it was his fault, but I didn’t have to do it. I’m just a sorry loser.’
‘Tell us what happened,’ pushed Mackenzie.
Angie relayed her story. It contained much the same pattern of behaviour as the other girls. Harassment, suggestive texts, exposing himself. Then one night he asked her to take some of his clean laundry round to his flat in the docks. He was completely charming. Very different to how he was at work. They talked for a while. He feigned an interest in her life and what plans she had for the future. Then he offered her drugs. He was so persuasive – made out that they would take them together. So she did, but of course he didn’t. Then he took her to bed. She didn’t remember much about it.
‘I did make him wear a condom, though. I’m not stupid,’ she said with pride.
‘What did he give you? Heroin, cocaine?’
‘No, it was the real deal,’ she replied. ‘Bastard.’
‘What’s the “real deal”?’ Cross asked.
‘Hospital stuff. Proper morphine.’
‘Diamorphine?’
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ she said.
‘Have you injected before?’
‘Yeah, but I was well out of practice. He did it for me. Should’ve been a nurse!’ she joked.
Mackenzie looked at her superior officer but he gave nothing away. Cross simply took this information in and logged it. For many of his colleagues the alarm bells would’ve rung, telling them that they had their man, sending them sprinting across the road to arrest Danny Stokes. But not for Cross. For him it was more like a note pushed gently under a door to tell him something of possible interest. He got up to leave without a word.
‘Is that it then?’ Angie said, surprised.
‘For now,’ he replied.
‘You’re welcome. Bloody hell,’ she said.
Cross thought for a second. Definitely sarcasm, he decided from the expression on her face. What had he left out? Oh yes.
‘That was very helpful, Angie. Thank you,’ he said as if reciting a script.
Mackenzie wanted to give Angie some money but knew this wasn’t a good idea. She left with a huge pang, though.