From Hell

"Interview commenced at 12:09 am, Monday, seventh of August 2023, first interviewing officer present is DCI Thomas Becket, and interviewee....”

Lina stared at the suspect on the other side of the interview table. One cigarette after another lit while awaiting their arrival, the ashtray positively overflowing; he refused to look Lina in the eye as he gave his name.

“Benji Haines.” Sharp and clipped rolled off his tongue with a plume of smoke, and he sat back from the table when DCI Becket leaned on Lina’s shoulder.

“Second officer present, DI Lina Haines.” Stating her name and rank for the recording, Lina pressed back in the chair, arms crossed and waiting for Thomas to begin the interview.

Due to their marital status, Lina should not have been permitted to sit in on the interview. Still, as one of the arresting officers – and a promise to the superintendent that she would not speak – Lina found herself in interview room 3, with a front-row seat to her husband’s interview.

Driving to a residential street in Whitechapel, shortly before 11 pm, after a concerned resident called about a pair of women’s legs poking out an alley, they arrived thinking they would find a woman severely intoxicated or high on meth.

Not after turning on their flashlights, a woman stabbed multiple times, or that a man would be crouched beside her, a hoody bundled up and pressed over the countless wounds.

A man Lina instantly recognised to be her husband, Benji.

“...So, can you explain what happened?” Thomas started, opening the thin file on the table. Beyond the preliminary insight of the coroner and what they deduced themselves, they held little in the way of information on the victim, “How you came to be in the alley?” Thomas spread out the four pages they could scrape together, waiting.

Dressed in the standard-issued grey tracksuit – Benji’s clothes collected for evidence – there were specks of dried blood on his hands, under his fingernails, and some on his cheek. He fidgeted, making the chair creak; he kept his eyes on the table.

“I was coming back from my brothers, it was his wife’s birthday, when I saw her lying half out the alley.” Benji paused to inhale sharply on the cigarette, tongue flicking over his bottom lip, “I checked to see if she was alright...and, well...” he waved a hand as if telling Thomas he knew the rest.

Thomas made a note on the edge of a page, sliding it across for Lina to read. A simple question, asking if the sister-in-law’s birthday was an accurate account. Florence’s birthday was today, but Lina knew a dinner was arranged for Sunday due to her husband’s inability to get her actual birthday off.

Not allowed to speak, to be heard on the record talking, Lina was reduced to a nod. Thomas ticked the question, “What time did you leave?”

Benji was rubbing under his lip with a thumb. Something he often did when nervous or anxious. “Ten, half ten, maybe?” He was unsure and left his lip alone to light another smoke, the cold, astute focus of his blue-green eyes narrowing, “Look, I had nothing to do with her being stabbed. I only tried to help,” Finally, Benji looked across the table at Lina, almost imploring her to believe him.

Since coming onto the scene, Lina remained indifferent, detached from the damning evidence before her. Benji could be an arsehole, but he wasn’t violent. Lina did believe Benji when he said he was only trying to help, but a court would consider Lina, a biased witness, and honestly speaking, there was little in the way of help she could offer. Her hands were firmly tied.

This was why Lina shaking her head back at Benji, wounded her when he sat a little straighter, dismayed by her lack of assistance. His mouth slightly agape in disbelief, it soon became a sharp scoff, and he threw himself back in the chair, gnawing at his lip in agitation.

Thomas laid a hand on the desk, tapping the little finger, “So why didn’t you call an ambulance or the police?”

Fair as the question was, it was also not. Many people delayed calling for assistance because of shock. Still, Lina knew how long the walk from Florence’s house to the alley would have taken. The call from the concerned person didn’t come in until nearly eleven, which left at least a twenty-minute window or longer if Benji’s times were correct.

Benji had an explanation, “My phone was dead,” He was less nervous and agitated now, teetering towards annoyed by the creasing in his brow barely visible beneath the wispy curls that hung over his forehead.

As he said, the iPhone taken off Benji was dead as a dodo.

Thomas stopped tapping his finger, “Then what did you hope to do?”

Despising being idle and unable to ask any questions, Lina took the preliminary report and perused them.

Trying to find anything that could help Benji out of the situation he found himself in. Being fitted up for murder, a brutal one, would bring Lina’s world crashing down, her career, not even a thought; Lina didn’t want any mistakes to land her husband of seven years in court facing a murder charge.

There was no bias when Lina told herself that Benji didn’t do it.

Not even the suspected murder weapon being found under his knee when he stood gave Lina any doubt. If it were Benji, there was no plausible reason he would have stayed and tried to offer aid to the woman. That detail made no sense, and neither would it in court.

Even a remorseful killer fled the scene.

“...Interview suspended at 12:23hrs, Sergeant Parker entered the room.” Thomas snapped the pause button on the tape recording, opening and removing the tape and stashing it in his blazer pocket; he patted Lina’s shoulder when he stood, moving to the door when Sergeant Parker called him over.

Watching to find out if Thomas and Parker would leave, Lina closed the file when the door did. Turning to Benji only to find he was halfway across the table.

“What happened?” Lina beat Benji to the chase, her hands spread wide in her confusion and effort to comprehend the mess he landed himself in.

“Why didn’t you knock on a door or shout for help?!” Stressing the number of things Benji could have done, Lina searched Benji’s fretful stare.

“I wasn’t thinking straight!” Benji shouted, expressing his frustration by slamming a hand on the table, the open room echoing; Lina captured his hands, lowering them to the table.

Listening to be sure no one was about to come in. Benji seemed to settle on realising he could face further charges if it were seen like he was becoming aggressive with Lina, even when she knew he was harmless. “Sorry, I...Please tell me you don’t think I did this?” He pleaded with Lina, lowering his head to try and catch Lina’s eye from where she focused on their hands.

“No!” Lina was rapid, “Of course, I don’t.” Snapping almost angrily back, Lina reeled back when Benji sank down, laying his head on the table, turning over his hands, and grabbing onto Lina’s.

It was as if all the agitation and stress left him at that moment. Slowly, Lina laid her head atop Benji’s, the quiver of his body bleeding through Lina’s hands; she exhaled, wanting to relieve the pressure in her chest.

Benji turned his head, one eye peering at Lina through the dark curls; he freed a hand to stroke back Lina’s hair only to stop and stare at his hand, the blood specks on his fingers, before snatching it away from Lina’s face. “How long can I be held without charge?” Queried faintly, Benji drew away, sitting up. Lina sat up too.

The laws on containing a suspect without charge had changed in December of the previous year from two full days.

“We can’t.” She informed him with a finger stroking behind an ear, “However, we will have to seize your passport, all identification and bank cards.” The new laws were intended to keep the cells empty but infringed on a suspect’s freedom of movement, “We will call your bank and request a freeze of your assets.”

Picking at the stains on his fingers, Benji gave a short, breathy laugh, “Beats spending the night in a cell,” he tried to smile, but it didn’t even reach the corners of his mouth, “How is it looking?” He asked, again calling for the cigarette packet; Lina allowed him; it was the minimal comfort Lina could grant him, “Me being charged, I mean?” Clarifying his question, lighting up again, Benji seemed small in the chair. Defeated even.

Lina couldn’t say how things were looking until Thomas returned from speaking with Parker. There could be new evidence, an identification of the victim, a witness, and many factors that needed to be considered before Lina could confidently say whether Benji should be worried.

Taking a cigarette for herself, Lina cocked her head one way, then the other, “Until Tommy comes back, I can’t say,” She breathed in deeply, even when it burned her tongue and her lungs.

In response, Benji sneered, “Bet he’s loving this.”

Eyes rolling, Lina chose not to argue. Giving Benji something other than a possible murder charge to think about – even if it was his bitter hatred for Lina’s work partner – was better than allowing him to overthink.

“Di—hm?” About to speak, Lina twisted in the chair when the door of the interview room opened again. Thomas slid in through the gap, “You are free to go,” He said, though he appeared displeased with the idea, “The super also told you to go home,” He aimed towards Lina, a lopsided smile given.

Benji hesitated. “Does that mean I’m no longer a suspect?”

Curious about what development came up that meant Benji was about to be cut loose, Lina spoke with her hands, gesturing for more information.

Thomas returned a wiggle of his fingers before telling them, “Not his prints on the murder weapon.” Before shoving the hand in his trouser pocket, “And the patho reckons she died somewhere between eight and nine,” a further snippet of information granted Lina’s chest seemed to snap free of the tension that gripped it since the arrest.

“She was already dead before he found her?” Wanting to be sure, Lina quickly stabbed the cigarette, coming out of the chair.

Thomas shuffled on his feet, the polished oxfords clipping on the linoleum. “We won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but it looks that way, yeah,” Again, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, and he shrugged Lina’s silent admonishment off, “Go on. You know the drill,” He said before slipping back out again.

Shoulders slumping, Lina pressed a hand to her forehead, fatigued by the night; Lina knew there was still work to be done before she could clock off and go home. Seizing Benji’s passport and bank cards could wait until the morning; he wasn’t a flight risk.

Taking her keys from the overcoat pocket, Lina held them against her palm as Benji came to stand at her side, the grey tracksuit and cheap plimsols making Benji look like he was a prisoner on day release, and she told him he did.

“Glad to know I have a loving and sympathetic wife,” grumbled back; Benji gave Lina a soft push with his arm. “Can we go? I want a shower.” He nudged her again. Accepting the encouragement, Lina also wanted to be home and wash away the most stressful night of her career.

Collecting the file from the table, Lina led Benji from the interview room; the Bishop’s Gate station corridors were busy. It was always active in the East End of London. Whitechapel especially.

Coming around to the protective screen covering the front desk, Lina shook her head when Wendy tried to converse. Wendy’s grey eyes flicked between Lina and Benji. Mouth pinched, she tugged it side to side. Wanting to ask something.

“Not tonight.” Lina requested, “I need the discharge papers,” Lina wanted to get it over and done with and go home.

Calling Benji when his signature was required, Lina checked her phone when it buzzed, a straightforward text, but she ignored it.

“Done?” Lina checked when Benji dropped the pen; a quick smile turned on Wendy before heading across the lobby and out the glass-panelled automatic doors. It was brisk as they stood on the steps, and Lina shivered, tiredness setting in.

“I’ll drive,” Benji offered, and Lina didn’t argue for once, handing over her keys to her Mercedes c300, eighteen plate.

Parking on the pavement in her rush to reach the station after Benji was placed in the back of a squad car, Lina walked around to the passenger side with a short, “Don’t rear end anyone this time,” Before she slid into the leather seat, dragging across the belt.

“I rear-ended you,” Benji muttered when he got in, “Six years ago,” Added defensively, Benji reached under the seat, adjusting it to accommodate his legs so they weren’t wedged under the steering wheel.

Head rolling, gazing laconically back when Benji turned to her as the engine purred to life, Lina gave a tepid smile back when he laid a hand on her thigh, squeezing it.

“Let’s go home,” Benji eased the car off the curb, driving towards their house near Spitalfields, the traffic still thick even for the late hour; Lina settled back in the seat, letting her eyes close.

Come morning, Lina prayed that there would be enough evidence to clear Benji’s name without probable doubt. Until then, Lina could only hope that nothing came up that would mean Benji would be recalled for an interview or, worse, charged with murder.