Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) Andy Maslen (classic novels to read txt) 📖

She said I should always remember I was a special person.’

‘But not your father?’

‘What?’

‘Simple question. Does your father think you’re worth something?’

Abbott brushed the backs of his fingers under his eye. ‘Yes. He would never say anything else. He has never said I was not worth something.’

‘No? He’s never called you, I don’t know, a worthless little shit? No good for anything? A useless waste of sp—’

‘You’re badgering my client, Inspector,’ Rowbotham interrupted, frowning.

But Ford wasn’t paying attention to the lawyer. He was looking at Abbott. Glaring at him.

‘My son’s fifteen,’ Ford said, switching to a conversational tone of voice. ‘In that respect, we’re similar, you and me. I love him so much. And I always tell him that. Whenever I can. He’s worth the world to me. I can’t imagine the effect on him if I yelled at him the way your dad yelled at you. Can you, Charles? You know, “I can’t believe you share my blood. You’re worthless. Useless. A worthless piece of shit who should never have been born.”’

‘Detective Inspector!’ Rowbotham roared.

‘Did your dad ever give you a hug, Charles?’ Ford asked in a quiet voice.

Abbott said nothing. Ford knew he had to keep going. There was a lot of circumstantial evidence, plenty more than he needed to hold Abbott. But he wanted something that would send him away for life. A confession was a prize worth chasing.

‘Amusing as this little piece of play-acting is,’ Abbot said finally, ‘I feel we’ve reached the end of the road. You have nothing but some rather’ – he stretched out the pause to several seconds – ‘baroque ideas about my childhood that sound like they’ve come from a correspondence course in pop psychology. I want to go home.’

‘One more question, Charles,’ Ford said. ‘Why won’t you give me your phone password?’

‘You applied for an order to compel me to give it to you, did you not?’

‘We did. But if you’ve nothing to hide, why not help us out?’ Ford brought out a sealed evidence bag. ‘For the tape, I am showing the suspect evidence item JL/SHORELINE/EF9114/76/3. A Samsung smartphone the suspect was carrying when arrested. Can you confirm this is your phone, Charles?’

Abbott leaned forward and peered at the phone through the evidence bag. ‘It is, yes.’

‘What’s the password?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t remember. It must be the shock of being wrongfully arrested.’

Ford heard Hannah clear her throat, and turned to her as she spoke.

‘You have a personalised number plate,’ she said to Abbott. Her face was impassive.

‘How very observant of you,’ Abbott said with a smile. ‘I said you were a clever girl. Didn’t I, Jacob?’

The lawyer smiled, nodded.

‘I do, too,’ Hannah continued. ‘Mine’s SC13NCE. Science.’

Ford looked back at Abbott, content to let Hannah work whatever FBI-level voodoo she had in mind.

‘How very original.’

‘Yours is A88OTT. Abbott.’

Abbott ignored Hannah and focused his gaze on Ford. A small muscle had started to twitch beneath his right eye. ‘Are all your colleagues as brilliant as this one? Or is she’ – he paused, looking straight at Hannah – ‘an aberration?’

‘They’re the same, aren’t they, our plates?’ Hannah asked.

‘Are they?’ The muscle was firing twice a second. ‘I don’t see it.’

‘Mine is the thing I worship. Science. Yours is, too. You’re a vain man,’ she said. ‘Clever, competent, superficially charming, yes. But also egotistical and arrogant. There’s only one human being who matters in your world, isn’t there? Yourself.’

‘Bravo!’ Abbott said, clapping lightly, three times. ‘Did you complete the same mail-order psychology course as the inspector?’

‘I think we’re done here,’ Rowbotham said, rising. ‘I demand you let my client go.’

Ford recognised the lawyer’s action for the desperation it was. He looked him in the eye. And what he saw there gave him renewed optimism. Rowbotham knew Abbott was headed for a cell.

‘I think we’re almost done,’ Ford said. ‘Please, Mr Rowbotham, stay in your seat, just for a few more minutes. Go on, Hannah.’

She picked up the evidence bag and peeled away the red tape. She slid the Samsung into her palm. Ford noted with satisfaction that Abbott’s eyes were glued to his phone. He was breathing more heavily, though he was doing a decent job of hiding it. And the eye muscle was flickering like an insect hatching beneath the surface.

Hannah prodded the locked screen into life. She looked at Abbott. ‘It’s asking for the password.’

‘As I said, I can’t remember.’ Flicker, flicker, flicker.

‘Don’t worry. I think I can work it out.’

Hannah tapped the screen, speaking aloud as she did so. ‘A, 8, 8.’ She looked across at Abbott – flicker, flicker, flickflickflickflick. ‘O, T, T.’ Hannah placed the unlocked phone in Ford’s hand. ‘Try Photos,’ she said.

The four most recent images he found in the folder would, Ford knew, put Abbott away for life. In each of them, Abbott grinned into the camera beside a huge, bloody number. In the first, the body of Angie Halpern cradling her dead son could be seen at the foot of the frame, surrounded by her own blood.

He turned the screen towards Abbott. Then angled it towards the lawyer, whose face paled.

‘Now we’re done,’ Ford said. ‘Anything to say, Charles?’

Abbott didn’t speak. Ford counted. Reached twenty-one.

Finally, Abbott smiled. It was a sly expression, delivered with lowered eyes that stared at Ford from beneath those long, thick brown lashes. He broke the silence in the room.

‘You asked me if I could imagine what it’s like to be told you’re worthless,’ Abbott said.

‘Charles, please,’ Rowbotham hissed, still pale.

‘Be quiet, please, Jacob. I’ll need you later, but not right now, thank you.’

‘Charles, is there something you want to tell me?’ Ford asked.

DAY TWENTY-TWO, 4.02 P.M.

Abbott leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. The sleeves of his grey sweatshirt rode up to reveal the scratches on the insides of his wrists.

‘I’m rather afraid you’ve discovered my secret,’ he said. ‘The kid was incidental to my plan. Call it collateral damage. But the rest? Sure. I killed them.’

‘You’re admitting to