Hard Landing Read Online Free PDF Page B

he’d been planning to spend the next few days.
    Macdonald was driven to the rear entrance of Crawley police station and taken into a reception area where a bored uniformed sergeant asked a series of questions to which Macdonald replied, ‘No comment.’
    The sergeant, a big man with steel grey hair and horn-rimmed glasses, seemed unperturbed by Macdonald’s refusal to answer any questions. He asked Kelly if he was going to interview the prisoner immediately and Kelly said that they’d talk to him in the morning.
    ‘What about a solicitor?’ asked the sergeant. ‘Is there someone you want us to call?’
    Macdonald shook his head.
    ‘Do you want to see the duty solicitor?’
    ‘No, thanks,’ said Macdonald. He knew that the sergeant wasn’t offering out of the goodness of his heart, simply following police procedure. Macdonald was in the system and everything that happened from now on would be covered by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. They’d play it by the book, one hundred per cent.
    A young constable removed Macdonald’s handcuffs and took him over to a desk where there was a machine like a small photocopier without a lid. The constable made him place his right hand on the screen and pressed a button. A pale green light scanned Macdonald’s palm and fingers. Then the constable scanned Macdonald’s left hand. The Livescan system would run his prints through NAFIS within minutes, but they would come back unmatched.
    Then Macdonald was taken into another room where the constable took photographs, front and side profiles, and returned him to the reception desk. Kelly and O’Connor had gone.
    The sergeant asked Macdonald if there was anyone he wanted to phone. Macdonald knew of at least half a dozen people he should call, but he shook his head.
    ‘You do understand why you’re here?’ said the sergeant.
    Macdonald nodded.
    ‘You’re going to be charged with some serious offences,’ said the sergeant. ‘I don’t owe you any favours but you really should talk to a solicitor. The duty guy can advise you without knowing your name.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Macdonald, ‘but no thanks.’
    The sergeant shrugged. ‘I’ll need your watch and any jewellery.’
    ‘Forensics took my watch, and I don’t wear jewellery,’ he said. He’d taken off his wedding band two months earlier.
    ‘You were examined by a doctor?’
    Macdonald inclined his head.
    ‘Did he say you needed any special attention, anything we should know about?’
    ‘No. But I could do with shoes.’
    ‘There’s a bell in the cell. If you feel bad – dizzy or sick or anything – ring it. We can get the duty doctor out to see you. Had a guy die a few years back after being hit on the head. Bleeding internally and nobody knew.’ He called the constable over. ‘Cell three,’ he said, handing him a card on which was written ‘ NOT KNOWN , ARMED ROBBERY ’ along with the date and time. ‘I’ll see what I can do about footwear,’ he said to Macdonald.
    The constable took Macdonald down a corridor lined with grey cell doors. He unlocked one and stood aside to let Macdonald in. The room was two paces wide and three long with a glass block window at the far end, a seatless toilet to the right, and in the ceiling, protected by a sheet of Perspex, a single fluorescent light. There was a concrete bed base with a thin plastic mattress. Two folded blankets lay at the foot. The walls were painted pale green. Probably Apple White on the chart, thought Macdonald. The paint was peeling off the ceiling and dozens of names and dates had been scratched into the wall, along with graffiti, most of which was along the lines of ‘All coppers are bastards.’
    The constable slotted the card into a holder on the door. ‘Don’t put anything down the toilet that you shouldn’t,’ said the constable. ‘The sergeant gets really upset if it backs up. And if he gets upset, we get upset.’
    ‘Any chance of some grub?’ asked Macdonald.
    The constable