Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

Charley crossed her fingers in front of them. ‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Have we any new information on Thomas’s financial situation and the money laundering?’ asked Mike.

Charley shook her head. ‘No, I’ve seen nothing as yet. However, for the interviews, just focus on getting relevant information that will help us find out who killed Faisal Hussain,’ she said. ‘I have a gut feeling that Raglan, Thomas, or one of the Dixons did.’

Walking at a brisk pace, the interviewing officers’ footsteps could be heard echoing in the otherwise empty corridor that lead to the interview suite, under the gaze of the CCTV cameras. Their faces were set and determined.

Dixon’s solicitor, Frank Maddock had arrived back at the police station, Charley had seen him pull up in the car park from her office window, at the rear of the police station. She was in the wrong job, she mused, as she admired his Audi Quattro.

Nursing her mug of coffee, Charley relaxed back in her chair, and put her feet up on her desk, her eyes flicking from the interview strategy notes she’d worked on with Annie and Mike, to glancing at the monitor ready for their arrival.

All was still and quiet in the interview room, empty of everything apart from a table and chairs that were screwed to the floor. It looked like something out of a scene in a soap opera, she thought. The SIO waited, and after a few moments she put down the file, unable to concentrate on the written word. Suddenly the heavy door opened. Annie entered, followed by Dixon in prisoner’s overalls, his solicitor, and lastly, DS Mike Blake, who closed the door behind them. Dixon was facing Mike, and the suspect was sat in the perfect chair for Charley to watch his every move. He looked pale, unsure of himself, even nervous, until he looked up at the camera, where he knew someone would be watching. A satisfied gleam appeared in his eyes. The shock of seeing it hit her, and she had the strongest urge to slap his smarmy face.

Mr Maddock, a local solicitor, was a thin, bald man, dressed in a crew neck grey jumper under his dark suit. His hair was flattened to his head, and he carried a mac over his arm and an umbrella in his hand. In his other hand he held a briefcase. He sat alongside his client, opposite Annie. Calmly and professionally, Mike, after the necessary introductions for recording purposes, outlined the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body of Faisal Hussain at Crownest, following the recent Dixons’ residence there.

‘No comment,’ Dixon replied repeatedly to Mike’s questions, even though at this early interview stage, the detective sergeant was only asking the prisoner about his lifestyle. This didn’t bode well for the controversial questions to come later.

Dixon’s responses to Annie’s questions were also negative, consistent, and predictable, but Charley was pleased to see that the interviewing officers weren’t intimidated by Dixon, or by his demeanour. In fact it appeared to her that with every question put to Dixon, they managed to secure a positive, rhythmic interviewing technique and were comfortable with the agreed strategic approach.

‘Early days,’ Charley assured them when they came out of the interview.

‘Let’s face it we didn’t really expect him to roll over, did we?’

Charley was upbeat. ‘Wait until we get around to disclosing the recovery of the gun that was taped under his motorhome’s bonnet,’ she enthused. ‘We haven’t disclosed yet that we have found his fingerprints all over the duct tape used either, which connects him nicely to the weapon. Remember, we are still waiting for DNA results and a response from Ballistics. Once that’s dropped on his toes, I’d expect a much different response from him.’

Charley felt an ache in her stomach as she left for home late that night. She wanted the results that were outstanding to come in so badly. If they didn’t arrive the next day, then she would have no choice but to let Ben and Terry interview Dixon for the historical robberies, and charge him with the ones that they could prove. That would enable her to put Dixon before the courts for a three-day lie down in the police cells, which would enable the necessary interviews for the murder of Faisal Hussain to take place. By then she was hopeful that the results they were eagerly awaiting would be in.

There could be an advantage to this strategy, Charley thought, as she drove along the dark, wet roads that led over the Marsden moors, because by the time Dixon had been charged to appear before the courts for the robberies and could see the evidence stacking against him, he might accept his fate, roll over, and tell her officers about his relationship with Raglan and Thomas. Also, the National Crime Agency would be snapping at his heels by this time due to his alleged drug dealing. The seized mobile phones would ultimately assist in tying all the information together, but time was of the essence for Charley.

With no results forthcoming, thirty-six hours later, Brad Dixon was placed before the Court, charged with armed robbery. The prosecution told the Magistrates that this was merely a holding charge, as he was under arrest for more serious crimes. He was duly remanded to police cells for a further thirty-six hours. Time was now pressing and Charley and her team began to feel the pressure.

The morning after Dixon was in court, they received the call they had all been waiting for from the ballistics expert. It confirmed, without doubt, that the Baikal semi-automatic weapon recovered from beneath the bonnet of the motorhome, was the murder weapon used to kill Faisal Hussain. This added enormous weight to the evidence mounting against Dixon. Only Brad Dixon’s fingerprints were found on the tape used to secure the gun beneath the bonnet of the vehicle. A further bonus was a later call from Forensics who had