Jokubas Liepa was bored, too. When Jerry looked at him through the spyhole in his cell door he was elaborately picking his nose and frowning at what he had managed to excavate.
‘Right,’ Jerry said to the duty officer. ‘Let’s have him out of there before he starts digging his brains out.’
The duty officer opened the cell door and Jerry stepped inside. ‘Mr Liepa?’ he said, with exaggerated politeness. ‘If you’d be so kind as to accompany me to the interview room, we’re all set up to ask you a few pertinent questions.’
‘I did not order Herkus to put down his foot,’ said Liepa. ‘I would not have been such reckless.’
‘Well, you can explain that when we formally question you,’ Jerry told him. ‘Your brief’s arrived, so we’re all ready to go. Laurence Shipman from Shipman and Bridges. He’s not exactly cheap, is he? I bet he charges you a ton just to say good morning.’
PC Jonas was waiting outside the cell, and between them he and Jerry escorted Liepa along to the interview room. DI French was waiting there, talking to an urbane-looking man in a dark blue three-piece suit. He had shiny dyed-black hair, this man, severely combed back, and a large bland face with piggy eyes.
‘How are they treating you, Jokubas?’ he asked, as soon as Liepa sat down.
‘They should not have arrested me,’ said Liepa, staring at Jerry. ‘I have done nothing wrong whatsoever.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not the way we see it,’ said DI French. ‘You and your associates set out on an expedition with the deliberate intention of stealing clothes which had been donated to Cancer Research in their official bags and which therefore had already become the property of Cancer Research. This expedition was carried out under your direction and therefore you were ultimately responsible for the theft of every bag regardless of whether you physically picked it up yourself.’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ put in Laurence Shipman. ‘My client Mr Liepa was simply being given a lift by one of his acquaintances, and he was not aware when the vehicle stopped momentarily that another of his acquaintances had removed a bag of clothing from the doorstep of a nearby house.’
DI French opened up a plastic folder on the table in front of him. He picked out three sheets of a witness statement that were stapled together and held them up.
‘We’ve already interviewed Mr Herkus Adomaitis who was the driver of the vehicle in which your client was a front-seat passenger. We’ve also questioned Mr Ignas Gabrys who was in the rear of the vehicle and who took the bag of donated clothing from the said doorstep. Both men independently stated that your client was the instigator and organiser of this expedition to steal Cancer Research bags, and that the sample act of theft of one bag was carried out with his full knowledge and approval.’
Jokubas Liepa banged the table with his fist. ‘And you took notice of what those bastards said to you?’ he protested. ‘They are just stupid people – thick as shit! They can’t even read or write! They are not even in UK legally, so of course they will say anything so that you don’t send them back to Lithuania! And so what if one bag of old clothes was taken? What was it worth? Hardly nothing at all! This is all ridiculous!’
‘My client is absolutely right,’ said Laurence Shipman. ‘Neither of the two gentlemen you are talking about can be considered to be reliable witnesses. And the value of what Mr Gabrys took was minimal. Come on, detective inspector, let’s be realistic. Offenders who steal far more than a bag of old clothing are usually let off with nothing more than a caution.’
‘Excuse me, Mr Shipman,’ said Jerry. ‘This wasn’t just a case of nicking some second-hand sweaters. In the process of arresting your client and his monkeys Police Constable Stephen White lost his life, and as you very well know your client has been charged with manslaughter.’
‘Well of course I was coming to that,’ Laurence Shipman replied. ‘My client deeply regrets the death of the officer involved, I can assure you. He can’t even begin to express how sorry he is. However the fact remains that he was only a passenger in the vehicle which struck and killed the unfortunate officer, and he is firmly of the belief that the driver’s foot slipped on the accelerator pedal and that the officer’s death was nothing more than an accident. A regrettable accident – but an accident nonetheless.’
‘This is true,’ put in Jokubas Liepa. ‘How can you accuse me of killing this policeman when I am not even sitting in the driving seat? That is like accusing me of killing somebody who is knocked down by a bus, when I am doing nothing more than sitting up on the top deck reading the paper.’
DI French nodded, as if he agreed with what Jokubas Liepa was saying. But then he picked up the witness statement again, and waved it slowly from side to side.
‘The problem is, Mr Liepa, that your driver Mr Adomaitis has said in his sworn statement that you ordered him to put his foot down and run the officer over. Your exact words were, Eik, nugalėk bustardą!’
Jokubas Liepa furiously shook his head. ‘That is craziness! He’s lying to you! He’s lying through his dirty teeth! All he wants to do is save his own skin!’
‘Well, that’s as may be,’ said DI French. ‘But Mr Gabrys claims that from the back of the van he heard you give the very same order to Mr Adomaitis – Eik, nugalėk bustardą – word for word – and as I mentioned the two of them were interviewed independently.’
‘My client has nothing further to say at this juncture,’ put in Laurence Shipman, very smoothly. ‘Obviously he will be challenging the veracity of these two statements. As he suggested, Mr Adomaitis and Mr Gabrys are clearly anxious to mitigate their own culpability for PC White’s demise. The two of them may well have had the opportunity to concoct this story between them before they gave you their statements. It certainly sounds like it.’
‘And your Lithuanian accent, it’s rubbish!’ said Jokubas Liepa.
‘My apologies, Mr Liepa,’ said DI French. ‘But you’ll have plenty of time to give me some Lithuanian elocution lessons, won’t you, while you’re waiting to go up in front of the court.’
‘I’ll be applying for bail, naturally,’ said Laurence Shipman, tucking his papers into his £2,500 Berluti briefcase. Jerry noticed that his fingernails were manicured, and shiny.
‘Good luck with that, Mr Shipman,’ DI French told him, closing his plastic folder.
Jerry was beginning to realise how much DI French was relishing this prosecution. If he had been able to charge Jokubas Liepa with nothing more than stealing charity bags, there would have been only a slim chance of him winning his longed-for promotion. But if he succeeded in getting him sent down for the manslaughter of PC Stephen White, that would be a different matter altogether. He would be regarded as a minor hero – not only in Tooting but the whole of the Met.
*
After Jokubas Liepa had been returned to his cell, Jerry made his way upstairs to the canteen for a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. He had only just sat down, though, when Jamila came into the canteen and crossed over to his table, looking intensely worried.
‘What’s up, skip?’ he asked her.
‘That blue velvet jacket’s turned up again.’
‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
‘No. Some young girl’s wearing it, or perhaps I should say that the jacket’s wearing her. She’s stabbed some fellow in the neck and cut his thing off.’
‘His thing? You mean his— ?’
Jamila nodded. ‘He was lucky not to bleed out. They’ve taken him to St George’s for emergency surgery.’
‘When was this?’
‘Only about half an hour ago. Willis and Baker went up there, but as soon as Baker saw the jacket she gave me a call.’
‘Is the girl still wearing it?’
‘Yes. And I told Baker to make sure that she didn’t take it off.’
The girl behind the canteen counter called out, ‘Jerry! Your sarnie’s ready!’
Jerry stood up and said, ‘Shit. Sorry, love. Duty calls. Castration before bacon. Where are we going?’
‘Pretoria Road, if you know where that is,’ said Jamila. ‘The girl’s still there. She won’t give her full name and she won’t say where she lives.’
‘Bloody hell. This day gets crapper by the minute.’
