‘Come on, Eddie, what kind of boyfriend are you that just watches his girl get into a car and doesn’t even look to see who she’s with? What kind of prick are you that knows she’s missing for two weeks and does nothing about it?’
‘Listen, I was just her friend, right, I never shagged her.’
‘So you’re a little poofter who likes it up the arse then,’ Gibbs interjected.
‘No I’m not, but she was pickin’ up blokes to pay for drugs.’
‘Smack for you as well, obviously,’ Bradfield said. He deliberately paused and stared at Eddie.
‘Yeah, she gave me some – so what?’
‘So you’re her pimp and living off immoral earnings.’
‘Jesus Christ, I didn’t force her to do anything . . . it was me that took her to the clinic to get her off the hard stuff.’ Bradfield leaned across the table and dragged Phillips’ arm towards him, rolling up his denim-jacket cuff.
‘That looks like a fresh track to me . . . you back using, are you?’
‘Only cos you bastards are houndin’ and harassin’ me and it ain’t right at all.’
‘Let me tell you what is right, Eddie. We know Julie Ann was shagging a darkie and three months up the duff. You were with her when she made that phone call – she was overheard asking for money. How long after that call did you see her get into the red Jaguar?’
‘I dunno – an hour or so, maybe more.’
‘She was pregnant with Big Daddy’s baby, wasn’t she?’ Eddie didn’t look up, his hands and body shaking as he inhaled the smoke from the cigarette.
‘This Big Daddy, describe him to me. Is he black, white, big, small—’
‘Black and big.’
‘Tell me more about him or I’ll rip your grandma’s flat apart on a drugs search and leave her to clean up the mess.’
‘You bastards leave her alone . . . I only seen him a few times . . . he’s huge and a flashy dresser, two-tone shoes an’ a big felt hat, and he’s always wearing shades. You can slap me all you want but I don’t know nuffink else.’
Bradfield opened the envelope containing the crime scene and post-mortem photographs. He got up and stood beside Eddie placing the most graphic ones from the postmortem on the table.
‘Look at her, Eddie, LOOK AT WHAT WAS DONE TO HER!’ Bradfield shouted as he pushed Eddie’s head forward so his nose was virtually touching the gruesome picture. Eddie was horrified and gasping for breath as he began to heave and gag.
*
Jane was writing up some further details on the sheets of paper on the wall. Kath took a sip from her mug of coffee and checked her watch.
‘They’ve been in there with Eddie Phillips for ages. Wonder if they got anything out of him about the phone call that fat woman O’Duncie overheard Julie Ann making?’
As if on cue Bradfield walked in and tossed the crime scene and post-mortem photographs onto Jane’s desk.
‘Stick these up on the wall and get someone to empty the waste bin full of Eddie Phillips’ puke in my office. There’s a bit on the floor that needs cleaning as well.’
Kath frowned. ‘Eh, by someone do you mean us, sir? No cleaner will be around at this time. We had a drunk in the cells the other night that shat on the mattress and—’
‘I don’t care, just get me a coffee first and then get it cleaned up.’
Kath huffed as she left to get him a coffee.
‘How did it go with Eddie Phillips, sir?’ Jane asked.
‘We made some progress and got a couple of black drug dealers’ names out of him, but by his description of one of them he’s seen too many movies.’
Bradfield lit a cigarette and told Jane he wanted her to ring the drug squad at Scotland Yard to see if they knew them. He said the main man was described by Eddie Phillips as a huge bloke nicknamed Big Daddy. The other was his mate Dwayne and according to Eddie they passed Julie Ann round like a rag doll, screwing her in return for heroin.
‘The phone call from the hospital . . . maybe she was calling Big Daddy, not Paddy . . .’
Bradfield raised his eyebrows and Jane realized her comment was a bit like telling him to suck eggs.
‘Maybe, but it was rather strange that when I mentioned to Mr Collins that his daughter made a phone call he never asked who to.’
Jane now realized why Bradfield had paused when he mentioned the phone call to Mr Collins.
‘You think she may have phoned her father for money?’ Bradfield tapped his nose twice and it reminded Jane of Shaw Taylor on Police 5 when he used his catchphrase ‘Keep ’em peeled’ when asking viewers to be observant.
Jane continued, ‘Thing is, if she was calling her father then you’d expect she’d know her home phone number and wouldn’t need to ask the switchboard for it. She could maybe have wanted money for an abortion.’
‘Might not have been approved by a registered practitioner, but a back-street abortionist would do it for cash,’ he said, and cocked his head to one side at her concerned expression.
‘It’s so tragic, and it just gets murkier and murkier – every chance in life and she goes off the rails. Do you think something drove her to go against her parents and turn her back on them?’
He shrugged his shoulders: Jane seemed so naive. It got murkier all right, and sometimes it weighed you down. The upside would be when they found the killer, and he knew they would start a fresh round of enquiries now. The case had at last warmed up.
‘Trying to sort out the time frame isn’t easy – three months pregnant, calls from the hospital wanting money . . . Eddie sees her getting into a red Jag about an hour later and swears it was the last time he saw her. She then goes missing for almost two weeks. I dunno – can you type it all up in chronological order for me?’ he asked politely.
‘Yes, certainly, sir.’ She flushed as she looked at him. Something she hadn’t noticed previously was how blue his eyes were, and unlike most red-headed people, his eyelashes were incredibly dark.
‘Is there something else?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
Kath returned with a coffee and handing it to Bradfield told him there was a clean bin in his office but she’d need Dettol to sort out his carpet.
‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said, and left the room.
Kath followed him out muttering under her breath, ‘Right, sir, every single DC’s done a runner which just leaves me, so I’ll go get an effing bucket and mop.’
Jane set to work on the time frame, as Bradfield had asked her to do. Kath eventually reappeared wearing yellow Marigold gloves and grinning.
‘Christ, now I stink of Dettol. There was more than just a bit of puke on the floor and boy did it smell.’
‘I’m sorry, I should have helped you.’
‘Don’t be, all done and dusted and at least he didn’t crap everywhere . . . I wouldn’t clean that up for anybody. DS Gibbs is taking a shower – the kid puked over him and his pointy shoes.’
‘Not his winkle-pickers?’ Jane remarked, knowing how upset he’d be.
‘You want a laugh, come with me . . . come on.’
Jane smiled, put some carbon paper between two blank sheets of paper and popped them into the