Текст книги "Scent of a Killer"

Автор книги: Kevin Lewis

Соавторы: Kevin Lewis
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13

‘So, ladies, are you ready to order?’ The chisel-jawed waiter with the Hollywood smile and faintest trace of an Italian accent looked eagerly from one to the other in anticipation.

‘I know what I want; how about you, Stacey?’

‘You go ahead, I’ll make up my mind while you’re ordering.’

Jessica Matthews’s eyes flicked up and down the menu, coming to rest in the centre. ‘I’ll have the filet steak, French cut. Rare.’

‘Excellent choice.’ He turned to Stacey and smiled. ‘And you, madam?’

She bit her lip nervously. ‘Umm … sorry about this … um … I’ll have the chicken.’

‘Fabulous. Any starters?’

‘I’m happy with bread and olives,’ said Jessica. Stacey nodded in agreement. The waiter refilled their wine glasses, then made his way to the kitchen. Jessica watched closely as Stacey turned to the waiter’s attractive physique as he walked away.

Stacey turned back to her dinner companion and broke a guilty, embarrassed smile. She took a sip of her red wine. ‘Rare? I don’t know how you can eat something like that, what with your job and everything.’

‘Oh, the rarer the better as far as I’m concerned. That way it just melts in the mouth. Have you ever had steak tartare?’

Stacey shook her head. ‘No. Doesn’t appeal to me at all.’

‘You don’t know what you’re missing. The first time I had it was when I got taken to dinner at Coq d’Argent in the City by an uncouth stockbroker. Why I agreed to go to dinner with him is a story we don’t have time for tonight. Anyhow, he was desperately trying to impress. First he orders this really expensive wine and then for his main course he orders steak tartare. I guess he must have thought it was steak served with tartare sauce. Anyway, his meal comes out of the kitchen and it’s literally just a big pile of raw minced steak with a raw egg on top.’

‘Jesus Christ. What did he do?’

‘He was all for sending it back but I really wanted to try it.’

‘You’re kidding me. Why?’

‘It was on the menu as one of their specialities so I thought it must be good. And to tell you the truth it was. It was divine …’

The two women smiled at each other again.

‘This is nice. I’m really glad we did this.’

‘Me too,’ said Stacey. ‘Long overdue.’

‘Now, look, I know the whole idea of meeting up away from the morgue was so that we could not talk shop, but I know what you’re like and I know what I’m like. The job is always going to be at the back of our minds. So why don’t we agree to spend, say, ten minutes talking about the case and then drop it for the rest of the evening?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

‘Great. I don’t have anything new for you, I’m afraid. The toxicology results came back but they’re pretty inconclusive. It’s possible the victims were given something to keep them quiet, maybe barbiturates, but we’re talking trace elements, not enough for the lab boys to give you anything you could use in court. I’ll send over a copy but honestly there’s nothing in it. That’s it really. Bit of a dead end. How about you? Any closer to finding the killer?’

‘Well, we got him to the station last afternoon so we’ve got a day and a half before we have to apply to the magistrates for our first extension. All we have to do now is come up with the goods.’

‘Him?’

‘Billy Moorwood. A hospital porter.’

‘Has he confessed or something?’

‘Not exactly. There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence but nothing concrete yet. It’s not like he’s going to be going home any time soon. He’ll be charged with something – we’ve got drugs and offensive weapons coming out of our ears – but we still need to find a more direct link to the victims to put him in the frame for the murders.’

‘No pressure, then. I’m surprised you didn’t cancel tonight.’

‘I thought about it, but there’s not much I can do right now. The SOCOs are going to spend all night gathering what they can at his flat. I’ll go through their reports first thing. I don’t expect to do a first interview until at least midday tomorrow.’

‘But you’re sure it’s him, right?’

‘Well, it’s clear that he had actively tracked down one of the victims and was stalking another. He’s got motive and opportunity. But he’s not going down quietly. He’s so paranoid, convinced that we’re trying to frame him. I guess part of the problem is that he’s still more of a victim than anything else. Some of the things those teachers put those pupils through, just too awful for words.’

‘You make it sound like you almost think he’d have been justified.’

‘I think a part of me does think that. I’d kill anyone who tried that on with Sophie. In a heartbeat. People like that, they want shooting.’

Jessica gripped the base of her chair in both hands and lifted it forward, shrinking the gap between the two women. ‘I couldn’t agree more. You say you don’t know how I can eat rare steak; I don’t know how you can do your job in a case like this. No one really gives a shit about these people, do they? I know I don’t. I mean, are you really giving it your best shot?’

‘I like to think so, but in my heart of hearts I know I’m playing a different game. On the Daniel Eliot case, I put my heart and soul into finding the killer. But you’re right, this is different. Daniel got to me, I couldn’t help it. This case is just a job. It doesn’t haunt me when I get home from work. Back then, I was desperate to make an arrest before someone else got killed. This time around, if there had been another victim, I honestly don’t think I would have lost much sleep over it.’

‘That’s an interesting attitude,’ said Jessica. ‘It’s quite rare to find someone in this world who –’ She was interrupted by the return of the waiter, who placed a basket of bread and a bowl of olives in the centre of the table. They both smiled at him.

‘Not bad,’ said Jessica as he headed back to the kitchen. ‘Not bad at all. You seeing anyone right now?’

‘Not really. There’s may be someone on the horizon but it’s early days yet. We’re going out over the weekend.’

Jessica nodded towards the waiter. ‘You want me to put in a good word for you?’

‘God, I’d like to think I can do better than a waiter. How about you? Seeing anyone?’

Jessica gazed around the restaurant, settling her eyes on two well-dressed middle-aged men sitting to her left, one of whom gave her a quick smile. ‘I was seeing someone who I really liked. He was a biologist. Good-looking too. He was keen, but he had this terrible surname. I just knew if it ever got too serious and he proposed, I could never marry him.’

‘Just because of his name?’

‘It was Rabit. One b.’

‘Rabit?’

‘He was half Algerian and when he said it with an accent it didn’t sound too bad, but most people, when they see it written down, rabbit. I had to end it. Otherwise I would have become –’

‘Oh my God! Jessica Rabbit!’ Stacey burst into a fit of chuckles and after a moment’s hesitation Jessica did too. The sound of their laughter echoed around the room, prompting other diners to wonder what was going on.

‘Actually, I’m surprised you had a problem with it,’ said Stacey once they had calmed down. ‘I had you down as the more progressive type. You could have married him and kept your own name. Or just lived in sin.’

‘I’m an old-fashioned girl at heart. And I don’t feel particularly attached to Matthews. I’ll happily trade, just so long as it’s something sensible. How about your parents?’

‘Still alive, still together, thank God. They went through some rough patches – for a while they were more like brother and sister than husband and wife – but they’ve managed to tough it out. They live just around the corner from me so I get to see them a lot.’

‘That’s great, that they live so close and that they’re still together. I think we’re part of a generation that demands instant satisfaction. If something isn’t working out we just end it and move on. Our parents, they always tried to work through problems. Society has definitely changed, and not for the better in my opinion.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

‘Talking of change, how are you getting on with Anderson?’

‘Much better. He’s treating me like I’m part of the team now rather than as some sort of outcast. And I know I have you to thank for that. That tattoo really moved things on.’

‘You’re welcome. And remember dinner’s on you!’

‘My pleasure.’

It took only a few minutes more before their main courses arrived. Stacey watched Jessica cut into the meat, releasing a trickle of pale red liquid that slowly spread out towards the edge of the plate.

‘So is that one of your beauty secrets? Rare steak?’

‘Along with bathing in the blood of virgins.’

‘Really, those must be some pretty shallow baths. Especially if you live where I do.’

‘It’s certainly not easy.’

‘They grow up so fast. Sophie knows far more about sex than I did when I was … actually, come to think about it, I think she knows far more than I do now.’

‘It must be amazing being a mother. I don’t know if it’s ever going to happen to me now.’

‘You’re not that old!’

‘No, but I don’t want to rush into it. I don’t really fancy the single mother thing. No offence, I just don’t think I could handle it.’

‘I can’t pretend that it’s easy. Sometimes it feels almost impossible to keep it together, especially doing this job.’

‘I imagine it’s hard not having other people to talk to. You can’t exactly burden a teenager with what it’s like at a murder scene and some of the stuff you see.’

‘Same goes for you. Who helps you to unwind and get it off your chest?’

‘I’ve got a group of close friends that I’ve known for a while, mostly from university, mostly doctors. They’re all very good listeners. Does your daughter see much of her father?’

Stacey shook her head. ‘No. He’s … not a very good influence. I made a real mistake there. That’s why we didn’t stick together.’

‘Pretty tough having to grow up without a dad at all, though. That can really mess you up.’

‘She’s a tough kid. She’ll be okay. I guess you have to strike a balance. Is it better to have no dad or a crap dad? To be honest, I’m still trying to decide.’

‘But she knows who he is and everything?’

‘Actually she just met him for the first time recently but … I had to stop her seeing him. It’s pretty complicated. It was starting to get in the way …’

Stacey’s voice drifted off. Jessica reached across the table and placed her hand on top of her friend’s. ‘Sorry. Let’s talk about something else. I apologize for sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted. I take after my own mother in that respect.’

‘Are your parents still together?’

Jessica’s eyes flicked across to the man sitting on her left once more as she answered. ‘Yeah. I don’t see them much. I find them hard work.’

‘Who doesn’t?’

Jessica smiled. ‘I remember being really, blissfully happy when I was young and then when I got to about seven everything in my life changed. I changed, my parents changed, we moved house. It was tough.’

‘You seem to have done okay for yourself.’

‘You have to make the best of the hand that you’re given, don’t you?’

The conversation continued to flow easily, and Stacey found herself feeling increasingly relaxed. She spent so much time in the male-dominated environment of the police, or looking after her daughter, or on her own, that she sometimes forgot how good it was to just go out and have a good time. She resolved to try to do it more often.

‘So, Stacey, I’ve always wanted to ask: what made you join the police?’

‘Long story.’

‘So? I’m in no hurry. Let’s order another bottle of vino. Especially as you’re paying.’

Stacey laughed. ‘Okay, if you insist, I’ll give you the quick version.’

She went on to talk about her childhood growing up on the Blenheim Estate and the gangs of kids that used to hang out in the passageways causing trouble. She then moved on to the events of the day when she, her mum and her dad had been walking through the estate back from the local supermarket, all of them carrying heavy bags of shopping. The lifts were out of order, as they almost always were, so the trio had no choice but to struggle up the stairs to the fifth floor of Block E where their flat was. As they rounded the third flight of stairs, three young men emerged from a corner and blocked their way. Though many years had passed since, Stacey could still remember their faces, the casual smirks they wore as her father asked them to please step out of the way.

The boys demanded money but Stacey’s father refused to pay, berating the boys for bringing the area into disrepute.

After that everything seemed to happen so fast. As one boy walked past, his hand flashed out and grabbed the straps of her mother’s handbag, which was hanging from her shoulder. Her mother screamed in shock and surprise, and the boy tugged harder, jerking her body roughly away from the wall.

Then everything went into slow motion. Stacey remembered seeing her father’s mouth wide open in a fierce scream of disapproval as he tore down the few steps that separated him from the boy. His right arm stretched out and clamped around the boy’s neck. The two other boys turned and began making their way up the stairs to help their friend.

The boy tried to punch and claw and scratch the man’s hands off of him but Stacey’s father was too strong. The boy’s two friends grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down. Stacey’s father somehow lost his footing and began falling towards them. The boys swerved to avoid him and he crashed head first into the top stair, cartwheeling over and over down the flight of steps, landing with his body twisted and broken in a way that even a child could tell was simply not natural.

The boys ran off. Stacey and her mother tried to help her dad to his feet, but as soon as they moved him he started coughing up blood. So they called an ambulance. The rest of that night was a blur of flashing blue lights, hospital rooms and polite but grim-faced doctors. His spine had been badly damaged. He was going to be okay, they were told, but they should prepare themselves for the fact that he’d probably never walk again.

When the police turned up at the hospital bed, Stacey’s father refused to tell on those who had attacked them for fear of reprisals against his family – a family he felt he could no longer protect. A shortage of available housing stock meant there was no chance of the family moving any further from the Blenheim Estate than the ground floor of Block E – the only level that was even vaguely wheelchair accessible and just five floors away from their old home.

From that moment on everything in Stacey’s life changed. Until that point her father had always been fiercely independent – he wouldn’t even let his wife iron his shirts for him. The adjustment to being completely and utterly reliant on others was not one he was able to deal with. He hated his wheelchair, hated the way his life had become and most of all hated for anyone to believe he couldn’t still manage on his own.

‘And that’s where they’ve been ever since.’

She finished the story and the two women sat in silence as the full gravity of the life-changing experience washed over them.

‘Did they ever catch the people who attacked your father?’

‘They got caught for something else. My father refused to cooperate with the police because he didn’t want to make me and my mum vulnerable. I guess I joined the force because I wanted to be able to stand up for people who couldn’t do it for themselves. To bring the bad guys to justice.’

‘Cool.’

Jessica refilled their glasses from the last of the second bottle of wine as they continued their conversation.

‘How about you? What made you want to become a pathologist?’

‘Oh God, why would anyone want to become a pathologist, eh? Certainly not by choice.’

‘What, then?’

‘Pushy parents. Seriously pushy parents. They sent me to private school and when I was about to head off to university they made it clear that I had only two choices about what I was going to do with my life, if I wanted any support from them. I was going to be either a doctor or a lawyer. Nothing else would do.

‘I’d always enjoyed Quincy as a kid, you know, that American TV show about the forensic examiner who lives on a houseboat, turns detective and solves murders by the dozen. The more I looked into it, the more it intrigued me. And it still does. The workings of the human body, dead or alive, absolutely fascinate me.’

Stacey could see Jessica’s pride and passion for her work written all over her face. She raised her glass in admiration. ‘I still don’t know how you cope with it all. The bodies and all that.’

‘Humour. I know it sounds crazy and I’m always respectful to the dead, but humour plays an important part. And, talking of that, if there’s ever anything I can do for you to help a case go more smoothly – swapping bodies around, planting evidence, faking lab tests – you just let me know.’

‘Thank, Jessica. And, likewise, if you ever need a couple of extra corpses, just let me know. I’ve got friends in high places.’

They both chuckled.

Jessica cocked her head to one side. ‘It’s funny, back in the old days, back in the seventies say, the pathologist and the senior police officers would all head down the pub right after the post-mortem and get totally pissed. It was a bit of a tradition. Doesn’t happen any more because everyone’s supposed to be more professional and we have to appear impartial.’

‘You think we shouldn’t be doing this, then, talking about Moorwood?’

‘Nah. We’ve been working together for years. Besides, how truly impartial can either of us be when we both want to see the guilty get punished and the innocent go free?’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

Each woman moved her glass towards the other’s, ready for the toast. At that moment the chisel-jawed waiter, who was making his way towards a table on the other side of the restaurant, tripped on a carelessly placed handbag and sent a tray piled high with empty glasses flying through the air. It landed with a devastating crash.

Stacey jumped at the sudden noise, the jolt spilling a little of her drink. She spun her head round to see what was happening and joined the other diners in giving the mortified waiter a cheer of commiseration. When she turned back to her dinner companion, her wine was still sloshing back and forth in the glass.

Jessica still had her hand out ready for the toast. Her wine was as calm as a mill pond. ‘Happens every time I’m here,’ she said. ‘That’s man’s all thumbs.’ She smiled gently.

‘To justice,’ said Stacey.

‘To justice,’ said Jessica.

14

Not only was Billy Moorwood refusing to speak, he was also refusing to make eye contact. He slumped forward across the table of the interview room, staring at the wall in front of him with a dumb, vacant expression. He couldn’t even be bothered to say no comment.

It was fast approaching midday. Woods and Collins were having their third interview with Moorwood that day but were getting less and less out of him each time. They were really starting to feel the pressure.

At the end of the first day of interrogation DCI Anderson had applied to the Magistrates Court for an extension allowing a further thirty-six hours after the first thirty-six hours had expired. He had successfully argued that further detention was necessary in order to secure evidence relating to the murder investigation.

When no such evidence emerged, Anderson made the decision to charge Moorwood with drugs and weapons offences in order to ensure he would be remanded in custody. But the charges were minor, and his solicitor had indicated his intention to apply for a bail hearing. Anderson knew there was every chance that Moorwood would be released and every chance that he would instantly vanish so far underground that they would never find him again.

It meant everyone on the team was working double-time to try to find the evidence to link him to the murders. Forensic officers were going through his shabby flat with a fine-tooth comb, collecting samples of everything from hair and fibres to fingerprints and body fluids.

Other officers were busy interviewing friends and family, checking out alibis and tracking down his movements at the time each of the dead men went missing and at the time that the bodies were being driven across South London.

And meanwhile Collins and Woods were desperately trying to get something out of him. It was frustrating work. There were so many gaps in their knowledge. It could easily have been the case that Moorwood was the man they were looking for. But at the same time they had managed to uncover almost no hard evidence that brought them any closer to proving he was guilty.

‘Listen, Billy,’ said Collins, desperately trying to make one last-ditch attempt to get him to open up. ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but I have a lot of sympathy for you. A lot of people here do. The world isn’t black and white. Right and wrong aren’t always at opposite ends of the scale. Sometimes things get blurry in the middle. We want to help you, but we can’t do anything unless you speak to us.’

There was a long silence. Collins waited as long as she could bear before beginning her closing statement. ‘Interview terminated at –’

‘What’s the point?’ snorted Moorwood. ‘Whatever I say you’re going to twist it around and make me out to be the bad guy. That’s what you people do. I’ve seen it before. You’ve made up your mind about me, you don’t care about the truth, you just want to lock me up.’

‘That’s not true, Billy. I want to know the truth. I want to know what happened. This is your chance to tell us, your chance to put your side of the story across.’

Moorwood slowly moved back in his chair until he was fully upright, though his gaze remained on the wall behind the officers. ‘You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand.’ He suddenly turned his gaze on Collins. ‘I just wanted to scare them.’

‘You did a little more than that. Didn’t you?’

‘No. I’m not saying any more.’

‘Then we must presume you’re guilty.’

‘Good. I want to go to court.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want to tell people what happened to me. I want everyone to know what those bastards did. There’s gonna be reporters and all sorts there. The story will be everywhere. That’s why I was going to top myself. I knew it would make the papers. I knew they would be called to account. There’s enough evidence there to put them away. That’s all I wanted. To see them brought to justice. Nothing more. Killing’s too good for those bastards. It would be over too quickly. I want them to suffer. I want to ruin their lives the way they’ve ruined mine. I wanted to be the last thing they thought about every night before they went to bed. I’m not saying any more, not until the press are right in front of me.’

Collins sighed. ‘But, Billy, the press won’t come unless they know what the story is going to be about. You have to give me a taster. Something I can interest them with.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Tell me when you started following them.’

Moorwood dragged the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed. ‘It was after the case. Half of those bastards managed to get away with it. They lied and used the fact that people were still scared of them. It was like they had planned it out from the start. They were teachers, they were respected members of the community. We trusted them. They can’t treat kids that way. They thought they were above the law. They’re not. I had to make them pay.’

‘So you killed them.’

Moorwood’s eyes widened. ‘Killing’s too good for them. I told you that. I just followed them. I just wanted to scare them. That’s all. I don’t know anything about anyone ending up dead. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not sorry to hear it. Not sorry at all.’

*

Jason Bevan’s fingers trembled with excitement as he turned on his computer.

After what had seemed like a lifetime of waiting, the day when he was going to meet up with his latest conquest had finally arrived.

The machine seemed to take ages to boot up, and when the usual musical notes played to say it was ready he felt a new rush passing through him. Bevan didn’t want to come across as being overeager. He had fought hard to stay cool. He glanced at the clock in the bottom-right-hand corner of the screen: eleven thirty. Time to make the final arrangements for their lunch. He double-clicked on the messenger program, moistening his lips with his tongue as it loaded.

sportsfan52: hi – how are u

shygirl351: nervous

shygirl351: and excited

sportsfan52: good – neither is a bad thing

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: that must mean we’re still on then

sportsfan52: correct – ready to go

sportsfan52: have u told anyone about our meeting

shygirl351: nope

shygirl351: not a soul

shygirl351: have you?

sportsfan52: no

shygirl351: wow

shygirl351: where shall we meet then

sportsfan52: not sure. Would normally say pub but guess that is out of the question

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: have been in more than you think – make up works wonders

sportsfan52: shall we do a pub then

shygirl351: rather not. hate being in pubs on my own. What if you were late

sportsfan52: I’ll be early

sportsfan52: If you like – just ring my phone when you arrive and I will come outside

shygirl351: have a better idea

shygirl351: do you know Gladstone park

sportsfan52: yes, what about it

shygirl351: there’s a bench by the rotunda, opposite the pond

shygirl351: me and my mates used to hang out there. Could meet there

sportsfan52: would be private. Sounds good. Let’s do it. Four thirty?

shygirl351: great

shygirl351: can’t wait

shygirl351: bye

He had arranged it all perfectly. His wife was away for the night visiting her parents and the children were over at friends’ for a sleepover. Despite having had less than twenty-four hours’ notice, he now had the place to himself. He would be able to do whatever he liked knowing he would not be disturbed.

Shygirl had been by far the best of the bunch and his favourite from the start. There had been others that he had chatted to over the preceding months but this was to be his first actual meeting.

Another young girl had seemed interested at first but she had gone a little cold. She didn’t respond in the flirtatious way that this girl did. He struggled for a moment to think of her screen name. DreamGirl99, that had been it. If she had been a bit more forthcoming he would have arranged a meeting with her as well. Instead he had put her on the back burner a couple of days earlier to pursue Shygirl instead. If things went well, he could always return to her at a later date. He was on a roll.

The hours seemed to drag by until it was time to leave. He checked his appearance in the mirror. Teeth clean, clean shaven, hair washed and neatly styled. He looked younger than his forty-two years, which was good, though he had been open and honest about his age right from the start and the girl didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, if anything, she had been increasingly excited by the prospect of meeting up with him.

In the circles that he moved in, such girls were highly sought after and they generated a great deal of excitement. He would be able to teach her everything. She would be able to give him the ultimate pleasure. She would, for a few years at least, be everything he could ever want her to be. Better still, he would be able to use her to draw in others, perhaps to enhance his standing among his community, sharing her out and swapping her with his peers.

He tried not to get ahead of himself. He couldn’t blow it at this stage. He had put too much time and too much effort into the girl so far. He had to be so slow, so cunning. Above all he had to be careful. It’s easy to avoid giving the game away when every response can be carefully thought out. It’s a very different matter when you are in the midst of a free-flowing conversation. shygirl351 still did not know that Sally, the girl that had introduced them, had actually been him all along and he had to ensure he said nothing that would give it away.

And he had to think about the future. None of this was going to last for ever. All good things, he knew only too well, would have to come to an end. He could have his fun for now but ultimately there would come a time when he would have to replace her with a younger model.

It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, the pale blue sky dotted with thin wisps of pure white cloud and the odd snaking white jet stream left by high-flying aircraft. He sucked in a deep breath of air, then turned and headed down his front path towards his garden gate.

Somewhere at the back of his subconscious mind he registered the fact that the street seemed to be a little quieter than usual. Several of his neighbours were retired or elderly and could usually be found in their front gardens. No one was walking their dog. A few curtains twitched on the opposite side of the street.

He was still pondering this when the sound of heavy footfalls from behind snapped him out of his daydream. He turned just in time to see a large man, his mop of blond hair flying up in the wind, his tie flapping behind his neck, bearing down on him at high speed.

Before he could say a word the man had launched himself towards him in a vicious rugby tackle that knocked Bevan down to the ground and forced all the wind out of him. As he lay gasping for breath, clutching at his sore ribs and trying to rub his bruised shoulder, the rest of them appeared.

They came from all directions. Men in suits, men and women in police uniforms. So many of them that he quickly lost count. They emerged from behind cars; they vaulted over hedges; they appeared from around corners – and all of them were rushing towards him.

The blond man was now on top of him, forcing his shoulders down and squeezing at one of the pressure points close to his neck. He had yet to say a word.

‘Jason Andrew Bevan?’ asked the blond man, an unmistakable snort of satisfaction in his voice. Bevan nodded weakly, still wondering what on earth was going on.

‘I am Detective Inspector Michael Carter of the Metropolitan Police’s Child Exploitation and Online Protection Unit. I am arresting you on suspicion of using a computer to groom a child. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be given in evidence against you.’