The Blissfully Dead (27 page)

Chapter 45
Day 14 – Patrick

S
uzanne knocked on the door of interview room one and beckoned for Winkler to come out. He pushed himself slowly up from his seat and loped out of the room. Before the door shut, Patrick caught a glimpse of Hammond sitting beside his lawyer – a red-headed woman whom Patrick didn’t recognise. Hammond had his trademark bag of nuts open in front of him and was staring into space, seemingly deep in thought. If you could hear a mind whirring, Hammond’s would be as loud as a helicopter.

‘How’s it going?’ Suzanne asked.

‘He’s still saying “no comment” to everything, on the grounds that he may incriminate himself. But I’m going to crack him. Don’t worry. We’ve got almost a whole day before we need to charge him. I’ve already caught him out lying, a ton of times. He looks up and to the right when I ask him anything tricky, which, as we all know, is a clear indicator that he’s fabricating instead of remembering.’

Winkler sounded so smug that Patrick couldn’t help snorting. ‘You’re kidding! You’d be laughed out of court if you use
that
as evidence!’

‘I want Patrick to join the interview,’ Suzanne said.

‘No way!’

Patrick was tempted to say ‘Yes way’, but resisted, even though the horror on Winkler’s face had brightened his mood considerably.

‘Patrick has interviewed Mr Hammond before and I believe he was very communicative then.’

‘Highly,’ said Patrick.

‘Yeah, well, Lennon gets on well with people who hurt kids.’

Suzanne stepped between them before Patrick could punch Winkler in the face. ‘Adrian. That is uncalled for. Patrick is going to lead this interview from now on—’

‘
Lead?
’ Winkler’s voice rose an octave.

‘—and if you make one more comment like that you’ll be
looking
at a transfer to traffic before the week is out. Do you
understand
?’

Winkler glared like a toddler who’d been told to share his
precious
sweets with his sibling. ‘This was my arrest, though, don’t forget that. I don’t want
him
getting all the credit.’

Suzanne hissed at him. ‘For fuck’s sake, we are a team. Do you understand that? I’ve a good mind to pull you out of this interview now and send Carmella in with Patrick instead.’

‘Good idea,’ said Patrick. ‘Where is Carmella?’

‘In interview room three, taking a statement from Hammond’s housekeeper, Miss Wattana.’

Winkler had gone purple. ‘You
. . .
You can’t—’

Suzanne pointed a manicured finger at him. ‘I won’t do that. Yet. But I want a word with you after this interview. Just get
Hammond
to talk. Both of you.’

She turned and marched away, leaving both Patrick and
Winkler
looking after her. Patrick opened his mouth to say something conciliatory to Winkler, to try to make peace before they went into the interview room. If they didn’t put up a united front, this interview was doomed. But before he could speak, Winkler pushed open the door and went inside, giving Patrick no choice but to follow him.

Winkler threw himself down into the chair farthest from the wall, leaving Patrick to sit down in the ‘driving’ seat, beside the tape recorder.

‘Bringing in the good cop now, are we?’ Hammond said,
smirking
as Winkler glared at him. ‘Detective Lennon, have you met my lawyer, Cassandra Oliver?’

The red-headed woman reached across the table and shook
Patrick’s
hand. Her grip was cold, but she was an attractive woman in her late forties, with green eyes and pale skin. Her name was familiar and Patrick had the feeling she’d been involved in several celebrity trials. No doubt she was ludicrously expensive.

He switched on the recorder and told the machine the time and date and who was present. Hammond watched him expectantly.

‘Mr Hammond, as you know, you are being questioned regarding the unlawful killings of Rose Sharp and Jessica McMasters. Can you tell me where you were between the hours of 7 p.m. and 11 p.m. on Thursday, fifth of February, and Saturday, seventh of February?’

‘Your “bad cop” colleague has already asked me these questions,’ Hammond snapped.

‘But I believe you didn’t give him an answer.’

Hammond sat back in his chair.

‘Mr Hammond, can you answer my question?’

‘What question was that?’

Patrick sighed and was about to go through the process of repeating his words when the PR man said, ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, I don’t have an alibi for either of those dates, nor when the policewoman was murdered. They happen to be the only three
evenings
this month when I wasn’t either working, at a social engagement or at the gym.’

‘What a coincidence,’ muttered Winkler, so quietly that the tape machine wouldn’t pick it up. Raising his voice, he said to
Patrick
, ‘He’s got no alibi for Nancy Marr’s murder either.’

Patrick nodded. They didn’t know exactly when Mrs Marr had been killed, but he assumed Winkler had ascertained that Mervyn had not been out of the country or otherwise engaged for the entire period they were looking at.

‘So where were you on the dates I mentioned?’ Patrick asked, still using his politest tone.

‘I was at home. On my own. I am allowed to relax occasionally, you know.’

‘What were you doing?’

Hammond looked directly at Winkler. ‘I was playing with my train set, as your colleague would no doubt put it.’

Patrick blinked. ‘Train set?’

Mervyn popped a nut into his mouth and chewed. ‘It’s my hobby. I collect and build model railways. I have an incredibly busy life, and it’s how I relax. Unfortunately, it’s something I do on my own. So no, nobody can corroborate my “story”.’ He waggled his fingers.

‘What about your housekeeper? Did she see you?’

‘She doesn’t work during the evenings unless we have a
function
.
I’m not a slave-driver.’

‘You have a bodyguard, don’t you? Kerry, er . . .’

‘Mangan. Yes. But he doesn’t work when I’m at home on my own. I don’t expect thugs to come into my home and attack me or my property.’ He looked pointedly at Winkler and Patrick thought,
Oh God, what did Winkler do now?

Cassandra Oliver spoke up. ‘I think we’ve established that
my client does not have an alibi for the times you’re interested in. That doesn’t mean he murdered anyone. And these allegations tha
t Dete
ctive Winkler mentioned before you joined the interview, Detective Lennon, are pure malicious hearsay, lies from a former tabloid journalist with a grudge against my client.’

‘What about the underwear?’ Winkler said, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘How do you explain that?’

He reached beneath the table and produced an evidence bag containing the pink knickers that had been found on Mervyn’s property. It was the first time Patrick had laid eyes on them, and
seeing
them now, slightly crumpled inside the transparent bag, caused a wave of sadness to hit him. He would never forget the way Sally Sharp’s face had folded in on itself as she’d told him what Rose had been wearing the night she was killed.

He took a deep breath. ‘Mr Hammond, this item of clothing was found inside a bin bag at your house. Do you deny that?’

Hammond shrugged, a gesture that Patrick reported verbally to the tape recorder.

‘How do you explain its presence on your property?’

Hammond leaned forwards. ‘I can’t explain it. There was a party at my house last night. Dozens of guests, waiting staff,
cleaners
in this morning. This underwear must belong to one of them.’

‘Are you aware that Rose Sharp was believed to have been wearing an item of underwear matching these the night she was
murdered
?’

‘Only because your colleague told me.’

The lawyer spoke up again. ‘Primark knickers. There must be hundreds, thousands of young women walking around London right now wearing the exact same pair. Have these been DNA tested already?’

Patrick looked at Winkler, who said, ‘Not yet.’ Patrick suppressed a sigh. Evidence like this would normally be sent straight to the lab for testing, but he guessed Winkler had decided the impact of presenting them in the interview took precedence.

Cassandra Oliver raised her palms. ‘Then you don’t even know if they were Rose Sharp’s. This is ridiculous. You should release my client right—’

Winkler cut her off. ‘When we do test them, which we will immediately after this interview, I am sure they will match Rose Sharp’s DNA. We received information—’

‘An anonymous tip-off.’

‘Information that Rose Sharp’s underwear could be found at your house, Mr Hammond. I then undertook a search after questioning your cleaning staff who reported finding the item I was looking for. What were they doing at your house?’

‘Like I said,’ Hammond replied. ‘They must have belonged to one of the party guests. I can only assume that somebody sneaked off to one of the bathrooms or bedrooms and got carried away. It all did get,
ahem
, slightly out of control towards the end. Some people were totally off their heads, skinny-dipping, shouting – actually I wondered if someone had spiked the drinks. The rational explanation is that some daft bint had a shag and was too out of it to put her knickers back on.’

‘Only if they don’t contain Rose’s DNA.’

‘And if they do – why, if I killed this poor girl, would I leave her underwear lying around at my house?’

It was a good question, Patrick thought, and one that Winkler had no answer to. Something else occurred to him as he watched Hammond pick up another nut.

‘Mr Hammond – are you right-handed or left?’

Hammond scowled. ‘Well, I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything – but I’m left-handed.’

Cassandra Oliver leaned forwards. ‘If this underwear did indeed belong to the victim, it seems clear what’s happened,’ she said. ‘My client has been framed. Somebody planted it at his house and called you anonymously. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out.’ She looked pointedly at Winkler.

Patrick paused, thinking about what to do next. He was tempted to suspend the interview, get the underwear sent for DNA testing, but Suzanne had instructed them to get Hammond to talk, and so far he had said nothing useful.

‘Let’s move on,’ he said. He decided to take a risk, to try to get things moving. ‘Mr Hammond, do you have a sexual interest in underage girls?’

Mervyn Hammond’s expression was one of pure outrage. ‘No, I do not!’ He thumped the desk. ‘How dare you?’

Winkler sneered. ‘What were you doing visiting St Mary’s
Children’s
Home last Monday night?’

For the first time, Hammond’s air of superiority wobbled. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘You were seen,’ Winkler went on, ‘entering St Mary’s
Children’s
Home in Isleworth at 18.49 that evening. What were you doing there?’

‘No comment,’ replied Mervyn.

This was interesting, Patrick thought.

‘Have you interviewed the staff of this children’s home?’ asked Oliver.

‘There’s a pair of officers on their way now,’ Winkler replied.

‘Why did you go there?’ Patrick asked before Winkler could say anything else.

‘No comment.’

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with your murder investigation,’ Oliver interjected.

‘We believe,’ Winkler said, ‘that it shows a pattern of behaviour, that Mr Hammond here enjoys the company of schoolgirls.’

‘This is preposterous,’ Hammond said, spluttering.

‘Then why won’t you tell us the purpose of your visit?’ Patrick asked.

‘Because it’s none of your fucking business, that’s why.’

Patrick sat back. Could Hammond actually be guilty? They knew he was sleazy. He had paid off Roisin McGreevy after Shawn Barrett hurt her. No doubt that wasn’t the only occasion he’d had to help shut someone up. Patrick also knew that Hammond had represented a rock star who had been shacked up with a fifteen-year-old girl in the eighties, helping this ageing rocker win public sympathy by portraying the girl as a gold-digging hussy who lied about her age.

So Hammond had shown little moral fibre when it came to the issue of underage sex. Also, he had no alibi. He definitely had the access to teenage girls. It would be easy for him to
promise
that he would introduce them to members of OnTarget, get them
tickets
to concerts and signed merchandise, or deliver messages to the boys. Now he was refusing to answer a simple question about this
children’s
home, was flustered, his usually cool
demeanour
heating up.

‘So you’re not willing to tell us why you visited St Mary’s?’
Patrick
asked.

Hammond folded his arms. ‘No.’

‘OK. I’m suspending this interview. The time is 12.25.’