Chapter 55
‘I’ve got you,’ Eastwood said triumphantly.
She paused the CCTV footage and picked up her can of Coke.
Her eyes were burning, and she was convinced that she’d developed repetitive strain injury after spending hours moving the mouse to rewind, pause, zoom in and peer at frozen images.
But her diligence had paid off as she stared at the van that a cab driver had said had driven away at speed shortly after Catlin Ferguson was attacked.
She zoomed in and then leaned forward as she attempted to decipher the blurry images that made up the van’s number plate.
She jumped as she felt a tapping on her shoulders.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, removing her headphones. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘What do you want, an apology?’ said Joanna.
‘I’m going to let that go because we’re all having a shitty day and praying for Ezra. So, what is it?’
‘Crimestoppers have transferred a call over to us. Line seven.’
‘Ok, but before you go. Look at this,’ Eastwood said as she pointed at the van’s number plate. ‘Can you make that out.’
‘It’s a bit blurry but it looks like GN20. Sorry I can’t see the rest.’
‘Jo, you did a better job than me,’ Eastwood said. She picked up line seven. ‘Serial Crimes Unit, DS Eastwood speaking.’
‘Oh hello, my name is Jennifer McMahon.’
‘I’m sorry but I can barely you hear you,’ said Eastwood. She increased the volume on the phone but to no avail.
‘I don’t want to speak too loudly. I’m in my office.
The man you’re looking for … I think he’s in my house repairing my conservatory.
I saw his picture, the sketch on the news this morning and then I went on the Crimestoppers website and I’m sure that it’s him, the one who was wanted for the attack on that couple in Dulwich. ’
‘And this man is in your house?’
‘He’s been working here for the past few weeks on my garden and the conservatory. He’s such a nice man but—’
‘Shit,’ Eastwood said as the composite image of the man who Laurence Durant called Don appeared on the screen. She stood up and walked away from her desk, towards Pellacia’s open door, until the cord was taut.
‘Jennifer, what is this man’s name?’ Eastwood asked as she waved frantically at Pellacia.
‘Donovan Hernandez,’ she whispered. ‘I found him on one of those find a tradesperson sites.’
‘Ok, I need you to give me your address and we’re coming to you now.’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Nothing. I want you to do nothing but stay in your office,’ said Eastwood as Pellacia walked over. Copeland pointed at the screen and mouthed. We’ve got him.
‘I know you’re my boss and that it’s not my place to question your orders or to tell you what to do, but with all due respect, guv, I really don’t think you should be here,’ said Eastwood as she watched Pellacia secure his stab vest.
‘You’re right, I am your boss, and you follow my orders. It’s not the other way round,’ said Pellacia.
‘Guv, I know how close you are to Ezra, and I just don’t think—’
‘I’m well within my rights as your boss to tell you to stand down and go back to Greenwich. Do you want to go back?’
Eastwood took a breath and looked away. ‘No, guv, but—’
‘I’ve told you that I want to be there when they place the cuffs on him and that’s what’s going to happen.’
Eastwood sighed with the realisation that she’d lost the battle. She followed Pellacia to the corner of Buckingham Mews in Gypsy Hill where three police officers were waiting.
‘Sir, we’ve got officers at the rear of the property,’ said PS Lyons as he lowered the volume on the police radio.
‘Has there been any movement from the property?’ asked Pellacia.
‘A man matching the suspect’s description left the property to retrieve items from his van and went back inside but nothing since then.’
‘What about the homeowner?’ Pellacia asked Eastwood.
‘I texted her and she’s aware we’re here. She said the door is open, and she’s locked herself in her office upstairs,’ said Eastwood. ‘That was less than five minutes ago.’
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Pellacia, marching ahead.
‘Is your guvnor all right?’ PS Lyons asked Eastwood as they followed. ‘He looks pissed.’
‘No, he’s not,’ Eastwood replied. ‘Make sure you get your hands on Hernandez before he does.’
‘I get it,’ PS Lyons said, jogging ahead.
The mews was set away from the main road and was quiet due to the wet weather keeping people off the streets.
Eastwood paused as she stepped into the driveway and saw the van.
She felt a swell of anger in her stomach as she caught sight of the first part of the van’s number plate: GN20.
She looked up to see a young woman’s face in the window.
‘Ready,’ Pellacia said as he pressed his hand against the door, pushed it open and stepped in. The conservatory was accessible from both the kitchen and the living room. The smell of wet plaster hung heavy in the air. They followed the sound of Heart FM as they made their way through the house.
Donovan was crouched, with his back turned, scooping plaster with a trowel onto the plastering hawk. The conservatory door leading out to the garden was open.
‘Donovan Hernandez,’ Pellacia barked as he stepped hurriedly into the room.
Donovan stood up quickly and turned around. Confusion, and then realisation, spread across his face as he dropped the plastering hawk onto the floor.
‘Donovan Hernandez, you’re under arrest for the—’
Pellacia didn’t have the opportunity to finish as Donovan threw the trowel in his direction. Pellacia stumbled back as the sharp edge of the trowel pierced his cheek.
‘You fucking little shit,’ Pellacia shouted as Donovan bolted through the conservatory and ran into the garden.
‘He’s heading towards the back,’ Eastwood shouted into her radio as Donovan sprinted across the wet garden, opened the gate and slammed it shut.
Pellacia pursued Donovan. Eastwood slipped on the grass but scrambled to her feet as Lyons ran past her and through the now-open gate.
She could hear voices shouting as she reached the gate and stepped into the alley.
She stopped in shock when she saw Pellacia grab Donovan, punch him and throw him to the ground.
‘Stephen. Stop!’ Eastwood shouted as Pellacia kicked Donovan in the side.
Lyons grabbed Pellacia and pushed him against the fence as two more officers entered the alleyway. ‘Calm the fuck down,’ he shouted as Pellacia pushed back. ‘I said stop,’ Lyons repeated as another officer helped to restrain Donovan.
‘He attacked me,’ Donovan screeched. He held onto his side and rolled onto his back. Blood streamed from his nose and his face was grazed.
‘If I was you, I’d stop whining,’ Eastwood said.
Another officer turned Donovan over, handcuffed him and brought him to his feet.
‘Donovan Hernandez, I’m arresting you for murder, attempted murder and assaulting a police officer in the execution of their duty.
You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘Fuck you,’ Donovan said as he spat bloody saliva at Eastwood’s feet.
‘You need stitches,’ Eastwood said as the tissue Pellacia was holding to his face turned red.
‘I’m fine,’ Pellacia replied, his gaze fixed on the police van transporting Donovan Hernandez to Croydon police station.
‘You’re not bloody fine. You’re bleeding all over the place and,’ she dropped her voice, ‘you nearly beat the shit out of Hernandez.’
Pellacia stared at Eastwood stony-faced. ‘Did you really expect me to go easy on him?’ he asked.
Eastwood raised her head to the overcast sky and took a breath. ‘I’ve called Stanford and told him to meet me at the station. There’s no way you’re sitting in that interview room with Hernandez.’
‘Are you forgetting who’s in charge of this unit? It’s not your—’
‘I have not forgotten and if you want to stay in charge of this unit and keep your job, you’ll stay away from Croydon police station.’