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“We’ve just finished a search of Pollard’s place.” Rawson placed what resembled diaries on the table.
“What are they?” asked Gardener.
“I’m not sure, sir. They’re full of names, and sums of money.”
Gardener picked one up and skimmed through it. He couldn’t understand what they represented, but he did recognize names. Some were local, and most respectable.
“Is that all? Nothing else to suggest he was our man?”
“No, sir.”
Gardener was not happy. Although the mystery was deepening, they were as much in the dark now as when they had started at three o’clock yesterday morning.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Before Jackie Pollard even sat down, he started shouting at both officers.
“You’re taking bloody liberties, you lot. I’ve been here far longer than you’re allowed to keep me. You’ve got no bloody evidence of me having done anything, least of all murdering someone. Is my solicitor back yet?”
“Have you finished?” Reilly asked.
“I asked you a question.”
Reilly stood up. Gardener remained seated, glancing through a file.
“You’re not listening to me, son. I said, have you finished?”
“How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“That depends on you,” said Reilly.
Pollard snorted, and finally sat down. He was still dressed in the standard issue holding clothing, but the Irishman could see he had recently showered. His hair was damp. Reilly also noticed that he was very agitated.
“Is Ronson back yet?” asked Pollard.
“I’ve no idea, son, he’s your solicitor. You told us yesterday he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, so I guess the answer is no.”
“This isn’t good enough. You are breaching my civil rights.”
“You were offered a duty solicitor and you declined,” said Gardener. “Would you like to change your mind?”
“You must be joking. If he’s a duty solicitor, he’ll be in your pockets.”
“I’ll ignore that,” said Reilly. “We have a few more questions for you, Jackie lad. Quicker we get the answers, quicker you get out of here.”
“Why don’t I trust you?”
“Probably the same reason we don’t trust you,” answered Reilly.
“Can I have a coffee, please?”
“Of course.”
Reilly arranged for the drink and returned to the table.
“I’d like a cigarette as well.”
“You’re out of luck there, son.”
