‘You don’t know how the bullet in your son’s neck came from a completely different gun to the one you saw him messing with?’
‘Your results must be wrong,’ he said.
So, Kim thought, his brief had told him to stick to his story. Every question they asked would be met with the same response.
‘And how do you explain the bullet in your son matching the one found in a mass grave containing one of your ex-employees?’ Travis asked.
‘It’s a lot of land,’ he answered.
‘So, persons unknown came onto your land, dug a hole, buried three bodies, left again and you know absolutely nothing about it?’ Travis asked.
‘That’s correct,’ he answered.
Kim was growing weary of these non-answers.
‘And what can you tell us about the accident Jacob James had on your property?’ Travis continued.
‘I don’t remember it very well. It was a long time ago.’
‘It was caused by defective ladders, wasn’t it?’
‘I think so,’ he answered.
The brief smiled in her direction. He clearly thought the interview was going well.
She didn’t smile back.
‘And that accident left Jacob James unable to work, unable to support his family?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
The man was unflappable. Gone was the cowering, terrified man they’d seen at the house. Mr Cowley now bordered on smug.
‘Did you see Jacob James again?’ Travis asked.
‘Not that I recall.’
Kim realised they had lost the element of surprise. He knew every question they were going to ask and had a non-committal response ready and waiting for every single one of them. None of the questions were eliciting an emotional response that they could read and capitalise on.
‘So, you weren’t the Cowley that offered Jacob James a paltry amount of money to drop the lawsuit?’
He shook his head and almost smiled.
Kim nudged Travis beneath the table. They needed to see his response to a question he wasn’t expecting.
‘Mr Cowley, I’d like to ask just one more question if I may. It’s about your daughter, Fiona.’
For the first time, Cowley looked her way.
‘Can you explain why she would have visited the Preece residence immediately following your arrest?’
The colour drained from his face, taking all remains of smugness with it.
‘No comment,’ he answered with a tremor in his voice.
FIFTY-SEVEN
It was late afternoon when they headed back into the squad room. Bryant pretended not to see Stacey push down the lid of the laptop. If she was doing some personal stuff at the end of the day, that was her business.
‘Bad one, guys?’ she asked as Dawson slumped down in his chair, and loosened his tie.
‘Yeah, Stace,’ Bryant answered.
Dawson’s fatigue travelled across the room and found him.
He glanced at his colleague, who looked away.
‘What?’ Stacey asked. ‘Did I do something?’
Bryant thought it was a strange question.
‘It’s hate crimes, Stace,’ Bryant said as Dawson kicked at something under the table.
He saw the emotion flash in her eyes.
‘And?’ she asked. He could hear the controlled rage in that one word.
‘It’s just…’
‘Just what, Bryant? Why am I suddenly being treated differently? What the hell are you two trying to protect me from?’
Bryant knew she was right, and yet something inside him didn’t want her anywhere near this case.
‘Do you try and shield me every time a woman is murdered ? cos believe it or not, I’m one of them too. Do I try and protect you when a Caucasian male is killed or assaulted?’
Bryant shook his head. The controlled rage in her voice was no longer controlled.
‘Do you think I’ve not come across hate crimes before, guys?’ she asked. ‘I wasn’t born into this team. I experienced a whole twenty years before I met you. Trust me, I’ve seen it out there.’
‘It’s just that we find it so abhorrent…’
‘Don’t find it abhorrent because it’s a black guy or a gay guy or a Polish immigrant. Be pissed off because someone lost their life or got hurt,’ she said.
‘But to be targeted because of—’
‘Bryant, don’t talk to me about that. I was the kid dragged into the stationery room when I was five by four kids with a scourer. Surprisingly, it didn’t come off,’ she said, wiping at the skin on her forearm.
‘Stace, I’m—’
‘No, Bryant. You want to know something about hate crimes? Well, listen to this. Say Dawson’s house gets done-over tonight and all his stuff is taken. He may never get his stuff back but he can safeguard against it happening again. He can fit cameras, lights, alarms. Hell, he can even pay a guy to sit on his front lawn. He can prevent his stuff being taken again, but guess what, I’ll still be black in the morning and there’s no way I can safeguard against that.’
There was so much Bryant wanted to say but everything in his mouth sounded trite.
‘Every day I have to wonder if I’m going to be the victim of a “knockout game” because of my colour.’
Bryant knew of these random, vicious, unprovoked attacks that were plastered all over the Internet. It was a relatively new fad that had followed ‘happy slapping’. The aim was to knock out an unsuspecting victim with a single sucker punch. He’d lost count of the deaths that had resulted from the stupid phase, and some offences had been classified as hate crimes.
‘And do you realise that most hate crimes are committed by ordinary members of the public? Oh yeah, the hate groups recruit, just like cults, by lying and brainwashing, and turning folks into vicious little hatemongers ? but still the majority of attacks come from people acting alone. What did a young Asian girl in Derby do to deserve being doused in acid last week? But it’s not just against blacks or Asians. It’s goths, moshers ? anyone who is different either by choice or design.’
Stacey stopped talking and shook her head as she began to gather up her things.
‘And yet, guys, none of this hurts me,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘It angers, frustrates, enrages me but it doesn’t hurt me.’ She stood. ‘What does hurt me is that, on a case where I could offer more than data analysis, you guys chose to freeze me out.’
Bryant shook his head as Stacey passed by his desk.
‘That went well,’ he observed once his colleague had left the room. ‘And the worst thing is she’s absolutely right,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We could really use her help on this about now.’
He glanced at Dawson, who was busy tapping away on his keyboard. Bryant was eager for this day to end. He wanted to make a short detour on the way home to check that the Kowalski family was safely back at their address, following the issue of the restraining order preventing Flint from going anywhere near the property.
‘So, Dawson, tomorrow, we get Stacey involved, right?’ he said, reaching for his coat.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss,’ Dawson said, absently, while reading the screen.
‘What is it, Kev?’
‘Something Stacey said.’ He looked over the top of his computer screen. ‘I think you’d better come and have a look at this.’