The Last Straw (16 page)

As he had finally drifted off to sleep, Warren had been haunted by one last image. The look of uncomprehending fear in Severino’s eyes just before he threw up, ending the interview. Was it the look of a guilty man who had just been caught, or the look of an innocent man facing his worst nightmare?

After a shower and shave, Warren tiptoed quietly downstairs. He’d put on his best suit and smartest tie. His dress uniform remained in the wardrobe in a plastic suit carrier. Unlike some officers, Warren believed that, now he was in CID, the uniform should remain for purely ceremonial occasions and a conference to update the press on the progress of a murder case hardly counted, he felt. His lesson learnt from the day before, Warren quickly made some sandwiches and grabbed several pieces of fruit. Despite Susan’s nagging he’d never really been a breakfast person, but this morning he was ravenous, his paltry diet from the previous day having left its mark. Not willing to risk slopping milk down his suit and tie, Warren settled for toast and marmalade and a slug of orange juice, tucking a tea towel into his lapel to catch any crumbs.

Warren arrived at the station at the same time as Severino’s solicitor. In the early morning sun, Stock looked even younger to Warren. He drove a battered, twelve-year-old Vauxhall Corsa and his trousers weren’t an exact match for his suit jacket — the same suit jacket he had been wearing the day before when his client had vomited in his lap. The two men exchanged a cordial good morning, then separated as they entered the police station, Warren heading up to his office, the young solicitor to the reception desk to announce his presence and get a visitor’s pass.

Warren’s office was pretty much as he had left it the previous night, with the exception of a number of scribbled messages, including several different ones from the numerous divisions within Welwyn’s forensic department that were assisting on the case. Warren decided to deal with them later in the morning after he and Sutton had their first go at cracking Severino. Besides which, it wasn’t even eight on a Sunday morning, he could spend hours playing voicemail tennis before tracking down what he wanted — he might as well just wait until a more civilised hour. The final note confirmed that CCTV from Tesco corroborated Clara Hemmingway’s alibi. Warren made a note to remove her from the suspects board.

At eight a.m., Sutton poked his head around the door. “Morning, guv. Good night out with the in-laws?” Jones’ grunt said all that needed to be said.

“How we going to play this, then?”

“I’m not in the mood for pissing about this morning. Let’s just haul him in, give him a chance to confess if he wants to, then turn up the heat. The super wants to give a press conference at eleven. If Severino confesses first thing, we’ll charge him and announce it at the conference. Otherwise, we’ll just keep the press dangling. Regardless, I want him charged by this evening at the latest, and in front of the magistrate tomorrow morning.”

Sutton nodded his approval. “Sounds like a plan, Chief. I’ll ring downstairs and get them to bring him in.”

Chapter 15

By eight-fifteen, the two detectives were ready to start again. The custody sergeant had led Severino and his lawyer back into the interview suite a few minutes earlier. Their client conference had finished and they were now waiting for the interview to recommence. Sutton and Jones stood outside the room sipping coffee. “No rush, Tony. Why don’t we let Dr Severino soak up the ambience of the room?”

Sutton smiled. “Seems only fair considering his contribution to that ambience.” Warren had already been in the room to check the PACE voice recorder was working correctly. The pungent smell of bleach almost, but not quite, masked the smell of stale vomit from the previous day’s interview. He doubted it would help the accused’s frame of mind. Good.

Finally, crumpling his cup and tossing it in a nearby bin, Warren led the way into the room. “Sorry,” he apologised insincerely. “Urgent business.”

A more experienced solicitor would have recognised the officer’s tardiness for what it was — a crude attempt to unnerve his client. Although unable to do anything about it, he would have at least shot a scowl in the officer’s direction. Severino’s lawyer simply looked slightly bemused. Underneath the harsh fluorescent lighting, the mismatch between the solicitor’s jacket and trousers was even more obvious. Warren felt a slight twinge of sympathy for the young man, quickly suppressed. As a newly qualified solicitor he was probably earning little more than a probationary constable, with the added burden of thousands of pounds of student debt. The chances were he only had the one work suit. This could well be his first serious case.

Good, thought Warren, pushing the sympathy aside, that’ll make our job easier.

After starting the tape recorder, enquiring after the accused’s health and reminding him that he was still under caution, they started in again. As before, the interpreter sat mutely in the corner, her services not needed.

“Dr Severino, as we said yesterday, it would greatly help us if you could confirm your whereabouts between nine-thirty and ten-thirty p.m. on Friday the twelfth of August.”

“No comment,” answered the young man, this time more confidently. Clearly, his lawyer had explained to him that with no evidence disclosed he should continue to make no comment.

We’ll soon rattle that cage, thought Warren.

Opening his briefcase, he pulled out a glossy A4 print and pushed it across the table to Severino and his lawyer.

“DCI Jones is showing the accused an image, taken from CCTV cameras in the lobby of the University of Middle England’s Biological Sciences building. The image shows a figure in a grey hoodie entering the building at 21:35 hours on August twelfth — approximately the time that post-mortem analysis indicates Professor Tunbridge was murdered. A second image—” he slid it across the table “—shows the same figure leaving the building via the same door at 22:10 hours, this time carrying what appears to be a large black plastic bag. We have reason to believe that the person on these images is Dr Antonio Severino before and after he murdered Professor Tunbridge.”

Severino blanched again, what little colour there was in his cheeks immediately disappearing, although to everyone’s relief he showed no indication that he was feeling sick.

He looked at his lawyer, clearly unsure what to do. His lawyer was unable to request a break for a conference, that being the responsibility of the accused. Nevertheless, there were ways around that and, inexperienced as he was, he was practised in those basic tricks. “I would just like to remind my client that he is under no obligation to answer any questions and that he can ask for a break to speak to his legal representative at any time.”

Picking up on the massive hint, Severino requested the break.

* * *

Standing down the corridor, away from curious ears, Sutton and Jones held a hurried meeting of their own.

“Bloke’s clearly shitting himself,” opined Sutton. “I reckon if we keep to the game plan we might even get a confession. As long as he can keep his breakfast down.” He smiled wolfishly.

Warren couldn’t help a small smile himself. “I hope for his poor lawyer’s sake that he does — where the hell can you get dry-cleaning done on a Sunday?”

Sutton grinned. “Doesn’t matter, guv. This time of year, all of the major supermarkets are flogging school uniforms. Probably be cheaper for him to buy new.”

The two men were still chuckling when Severino’s lawyer signalled they were ready to restart the interview.

* * *

The moment that they were all seated and the voice recorder restarted, Severino’s lawyer went on the attack. “This is nonsense, Officers. My client denies categorically that this picture is of him. In terms of physical appearance, that individual is right in the middle of the bell-curve. Half the men in Middlesbury could be in that photo, myself included. If that’s the best you’ve got I demand that my client be released without charge immediately.”

Warren ignored the man’s bluster. “Tell me, Antonio, how would you describe your relationship with Professor Tunbridge? We know that the two of you had a big argument recently and that there were issues surrounding you writing up your research for publication. What were your feelings towards him?”

Severino’s lips clamped tight. “No comment,” he managed.

Now it was Sutton’s turn. “If that person shown entering the building isn’t you, Antonio, perhaps you could help us all by telling us where you were that night?”

Severino shook his head.

Warren again. “I think you won’t tell us where you were Friday night because you
can’t
tell us where you were. I think that picture is of you.” Severino continued to shake his head. “Tell me, Antonio, where did you do your first degree?”

The Italian blinked in surprise at the non sequitur, answering without thinking, “University Trieste, in Italy.”

Warren nodded, sliding another picture across the table.

“This, I believe, is the logo of the University of Trieste, just here above the left breast on the hoody that you are wearing.” The image enhancement was blurry but clear enough for a positive identification.

“It’s a little clearer here on the baseball cap.”

Severino’s eyes bulged. “No, there must be some mistake.”

“How many people in Middlesbury do you think own a University of Trieste hoodie and baseball cap, Dr Severino?”

“That’s circumstantial at best, DCI Jones,” interjected Stock before his client could answer.

Warren ignored the interruption. “Tell me, Dr Severino, if this person, who looks like you and is dressed in your old university’s hoodie, is not you and is in fact somebody else — then why did they swipe into and out of the building using your swipe card?” He thrust the annotated printout from university Security at Severino and his lawyer.

Warren generously decided to interpret Severino’s strangled squawk as a request for a break and client conference. For the first time since they had started the process, Warren saw doubt in Daniel Stock’s eyes. That’s good news for us, he thought with satisfaction. When even your own solicitor doesn’t believe you, maybe it’s time to think about cutting a deal.

* * *

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be as simple as cutting a deal. When Sutton and Jones re-entered the room, Stock again went on the attack.

“This evidence is purely circumstantial, Detectives, and I again request that my client be allowed to go free. You are coming perilously close to the twenty-four-hour detention limit. Either charge him or release him.”

“We’ve plenty of time, Mr Stock,” answered Warren pleasantly. “Now, Dr Severino, we can easily clear all of this up. Where were you on Friday night?”

Severino was slumped in his chair. He looked exhausted. Friday night’s excesses, followed by almost twenty-four hours in a police cell, had clearly taken their toll.

“I was at home, watching TV.”

“I see, and can anyone confirm that, Dr Severino? Was anyone with you at the time?”

He shook his head. “No, I was alone.”

Warren nodded in satisfaction.

Good, no alibi.

“So, you have no alibi and the building’s entry log registered your swipe card being used around the time of the murder. Tell me how that could happen if that isn’t you on the CCTV?”

“No. There must be some mistake. I have not been into the university for at least a month. I don’t even know where my swipe card is.”

At a silent signal from Jones, Sutton took over. “Ah, yes, tell us about that. Why haven’t you been to work for a month?”

Severino looked discomfited. “I have been working from home, finishing up before my contract runs out and I start a new job.”

“Really? Where is that new job? I heard that the University of Leicester had turned you down.” It was a calculated risk, since Jones had only Crawley’s impression to go on. Severino swallowed hard. “I have applied for a few different posts,” he tried weakly.

Jones glanced again at Sutton, who took the cue and leant forward slightly. “Look, we know that’s you on the footage — why did you decide to go into the university? Did you want to speak to Tunbridge? See if you could get your old job back? Or a better reference maybe? As I said before, we all know what a bastard Tunbridge was and we know how he held your career in his hands. I imagine you wanted to try and reason with him in private when you knew that nobody is listening.”

Severino shook his head vigorously. “I did not go into university Friday night. I stayed at home, watched some TV, had a drink, a bit of puff then fell asleep. Next thing I remember, the doorbell is ringing and you are standing at my door.”

The lawyer spoke up. “My client is innocent. The evidence that you have shown is circumstantial. Your case seems to rest on nothing more than an inability to provide an alibi; a motive that from what I hear is shared by half the university to a greater or lesser degree; and some poor quality CCTV images that show nothing of any value at all. As for the swipe-card evidence, my client has not been into the university for over a month. Who knows what has happened to his swipe card?

“By my watch, you have less than two hours to charge or release my client.”

Warren shook his head, reaching inside his jacket pocket. “Not quite. Detective Superintendent Grayson has agreed to my request for a further twelve hours’ detention. Don’t go anywhere, Mr Stock — this isn’t over yet.”

Chapter 16

Leaving Severino to stew a bit, Jones jogged up to Grayson’s office to discuss the upcoming press conference. As he’d predicted, Grayson had taken the opportunity to dig out his dress uniform. To be fair to the man, a small police unit such as Middlesbury didn’t get to make these sorts of announcements very often, so Warren couldn’t really blame him for milking his fifteen minutes of fame — fifteen seconds by the time it was edited.

Grayson had two different sheets of paper on his desk. He gestured at them. “Which one do I use, Warren? The one that describes how we have just charged Professor Tunbridge’s murderer; or the one where I feed the gentlemen of the press the exact same thing we gave them yesterday evening?”