While they waited for Danny to be processed and for his lawyer to arrive, Cross sat in his office and wrote out his ‘script’. This was essentially his structure for the interview with Danny, based on the evidence they had thus far. It was his way of ensuring he asked all the questions he intended, in the right order for the narrative to develop. If Danny was guilty, it would give him enough opportunities to slip up, prior to their revealing their evidence, which would contradict his denial and version of events. It also provided Cross with something to fall back on when the interview went in an unexpected direction. It would be his way of getting back on track.
As there was still no sign of the lawyer a couple of hours later, they decided to exercise their warrant and search Danny’s flat. Cross wasn’t worried about the lawyer’s tardiness because Danny would be his only client, and he wouldn’t be going off to see other suspects being held in the custody suite as the duty solicitor was wont to do. It also gave them the chance to get evidence, hopefully from the flat, something he would’ve liked to have done before the arrest. But such was Carson’s urgent need to make an arrest that things had got out of their proper sequence. That is to say, Cross’s sequential order.
Danny provided them with his keys when he saw the warrant. An officer took his fingerprints and now set about seeing if they matched any of the prints found in Flick’s flat. Sandra, Simon and Brian had already given theirs and been excluded. Simon was still a person of interest and hadn’t yet been ruled out of the investigation, although Cross was fairly persuaded by the sincerity of Simon’s persistent question, ‘How could I have injected her?’ There was still the blow to the head, but he couldn’t persuade himself that Simon was capable of such violence against Flick, however high he was. The fact that Danny had injected Angie and therefore had the wherewithal to do it also changed things.
Danny’s apartment was in a harbour-side conversion of an old warehouse. He had one of a pair of penthouses with its own terrace, all concrete with wooden ceilings. Ottey thought that maybe Danny had bought it furnished, as it was in the brochure, and just moved straight in. There was a large mid-century-style L-shaped sofa in the main room. In a corner of the same room the kitchen looked barely used, with black work-surfaces and a huge American-style double-doored aluminium fridge with an ice dispenser. There was also a wine fridge built into the units. It was filled with champagne. The lights over the island hung from long cables and had large bare bulbs with oversized dimmed yellow filaments in them. There was a large pink neon sign above a bar in a corner of the room saying ‘Danny’s Den’ – hardly original, thought Ottey. In another corner was a deconstructed gym, which looked in as pristine a condition as the kitchen. It had weights, a punch bag suspended from the ceiling and an exercise bike. This immediately took Cross’s interest.
‘A Peloton bike. I’ve been thinking about getting one of these,’ he said.
‘What’s so special about it?’ Ottey asked.
‘It connects you to a class by the internet. Gives you more competitive motivation, without actually having to be with the other people.’
‘Sounds perfect for you.’
‘I thought so too,’ said Cross. He got on it and cycled for a little bit.
‘Shall I search the bathroom?’ she asked, trying to remind him politely why they were there.
‘No,’ he replied, getting off the bike. He walked over to the large fridge and opened it. It was filled mostly with ready meals. He looked around, then opened the salad drawer. In amongst the bags of leaves he found what he was looking for. Five bottles of diamorphine, together with hypodermics sealed in packs. The labels on the bottles said they’d been prescribed to Danny’s mother.
They took his laptop, and having done a cursory search of the rest of the apartment, they left. If things progressed, a proper forensic search would be carried out at a later date.