Edwina called Sykes first, after finding his card where she had tossed it, in the top drawer of Josephs desk. And tried to arrange a meeting outside the precinct.
It was to no avail, Sykes was busy writing reports, and he was in a very bad moor simply because he hated writing reports.
In the end she agreed to meet him at the precinct, and was horrified at seeing some of the people being escorted in, some requiring three burly policeman. One prisoner glared at her, another tried to spit on her and one of his handlers put him down on the floor with a misplaced elbow. Thuggery, she thought.
Sykes had watcher her expression change as the suspect was restrained, and then came over.
“Come this way. Busy day, must be something in the water.”
He escorted her to an interview room and asked her to sit. “Would you like a glass of water?”
She shook her head. If something was in their water, she wanted none of it.
“No thank you.”
“Mind if I get a cup?”
“Not at all.”
The door closed and she was alone. It was quite warm. There was a camera in the corner looking down on her. The table was bare metal with a bar to attach handcuffs, yes, she had watched some of those police shows on TV.
She never thought she’d see the inside of one of those rooms.
Sykes came back, a polystyrene cup in one had, and a notebook n the other.
He sat down, took a sip of the coffee and shuddered, then opened his notebook at a blank page. He looked up at Edwina. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“It’s about Joseph?”
“What about Joseph.”
“I think I might know why he was attacked and killed in the street.”
Sykes stopped writing on the page and looked up. “Why do you think he was killed?”
“He liked young girls.”
“A lot of men do.”
“I mean ‘young’ girls.”
“Oh, underage women?”
“How do you know this?”
“I had a private detective follow him for a few months about six months ago. After what happened to Cathy.”
“Do you think he had something to do with that?”
“I don’t know. I’d certainly hope not, but it was just something Angela said that set me to thinking that I should tell you about it, in case it has some bearing on his murder.”
Sykes went back to writing in his notepad. Without looking up, he said, “It has everything to do with it. Jealous husband, crazed father, and a possible motive for Al if he lasso thought that Joseph had anything to do with the death of his daughter.”
He stopped writing, closed his eyes, and tried to remember what he had read about the Cathy murder case. He had the files brought out of storage so he could familiarize himself with the Jones brothers.
All it did was give him a headache.
“As I recall,” he said, finally remembering, and looking at her, “you said he was with you that night.”
“He asked me, no, forced me, to say that. You have no idea what he was like.”
“So neither of you have alibis for this murder?”
“I do. I was with Brightwater that night. We were having a brief affair. I have no idea where my husband was that night. You should ask Angela. She has a good idea of where he was.”
Sykes shook his head and groaned inwardly. This case was getting more and more off track and complicated, but it seemed it did have its origins in that original murder.
“You lied to the police, Mrs Jones. That’s a crime.”
“I know. And I’m willing to accept the consequences if it will clear up Cathy’s murder case.”
“Fine.” He passed her a legal pad and a pen. Please write down the substance of what you just told me and sign it. After that, you’re free to go, but don’t leave the city. I may have further questions to ask you.”
© Charles Heath 2016