Captives

SEVENTY-ONE

'I'm here to help you. But I can't do that unless you help yourself.'

Brian Hall leant on the edge of the table and looked down at Scott.

Hall was about thirty-five, dressed immaculately in a charcoal-grey Armani suit. He was clean-shaven and his hair combed perfectly. The contrast between the lawyer and Scott was stark. Scott was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt which needed washing. He sported a thick growth of stubble and his eyes were sunken, with dark rings beneath them. He'd managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep in the cell since they'd brought him in, but it was scarcely enough to refresh him. He looked as bad as he felt. Now he cupped both hands around the plastic beaker full of luke-warm coffee and lowered his head, staring into the depths of the brown liquid as if seeking inspiration there.

Hall had arrived at Dalston police station about twenty minutes ago and announced that he was acting for Scott. He'd been shown to the interview room where Scott sat with a uniformed officer close by the door. The room smelt of stale sweat and strong coffee. All it contained were the table and two wooden chairs, one of which Hall now gripped the back of, looking first at the policeman then at Scott.

'Talk to me, Jim,' he said. 'That's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you but I can't do that unless you talk to me. Tell me what happened.' There was a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Scott looked up at him and motioned towards the policeman.

'Could I have a few minutes alone with my client, please?' Hall said. The policeman nodded, got to his feet and walked out, closing the door behind him.

'Now will you talk to me?' Hall said.

'How did Plummer know I was here?' Scott wanted to know.

'I don't really see what that's got to do with it…'

'How?' snarled Scott.

'Word gets round, Jim. Once he heard you'd been arrested it was just a matter of finding out which police station you were being held at,' Hall said. 'He called me, asked me to help you.'

Scott was unimpressed. He lowered his head again, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily.

Plummer knew where he was.

'And are you supposed to get me out of here?' he asked, sardonically.

'I can't do that,' Hall said, flatly. 'You know that. They won't even post bail with the evidence against you.'

'I didn't kill those blokes,' Scott told him.

'I'm sure you didn't but…'

Scott interrupted him, angrily.

'I didn't fucking kill them,' he snarled.

'That's as maybe, but unfortunately the evidence points to the fact that you did.' Hall exhaled deeply. 'The three men were shot with your gun. Your fingerprints were found on the spent shell cases they found on The Sandhopper's deck. On top of that you've got no alibi for the time of the murders.' Hall walked slowly up and down. 'They've got enough evidence to throw away the key, Jim. My only advice to you is to plead guilty.'

Scott smiled humourlessly.

'Well, thanks for that brilliant piece of help,' he sneered. 'Did Plummer send you here just to tell me that?'

'I don't know what else to say to you. The evidence against you is overwhelming.'

'I didn't kill them.'

'Then who did?'

'John Hitch,' Scott said flatly. 'Hitch killed them with my gun on Plummer's orders. I've been fitted up.'

'That's ridiculous,' Hall said. 'If Plummer was trying to frame you, why send me here to help you?'

'All part of the fucking act. He's done me up like a kipper and I fucking fell for it. That's what annoys me as much as anything. I walked straight into it.' He clenched his fists.

'You say Hitch killed them. You may believe that…'

'I know it,' Scott snarled.

'All right,' Hall said, raising his own voice. 'You know it. You know it, but on the evidence against you there isn't a jury in the world that's going to believe you.' He lowered his voice slightly. 'You'll go down for life.'