The Last Straw (34 page)

“Don’t get me wrong, sir, nobody thinks otherwise.”

He took another sip of his pint.

“Before you came here, I did a bit of digging about you and it turned up a couple things. That you are a good copper, well regarded and that you are ambitious.”

“OK,” drawled Warren, unsure where this was leading.

“As to the ambition, it’s figured that you are tapped for greater things, that Middlesbury is just a stepping stone before you move on to senior officer positions. Give it a couple of years and there will be a few vacancies in Welwyn that you can pursue.” Warren said nothing; Sutton wasn’t completely off the mark. But ambition wasn’t a crime, was it? He said as much.

Sutton agreed. “Far from it. But ambition can be used by others. If Middlesbury CID closes, we’ll all be transferred to Welwyn, closer to the rest of the force. Some might say, ‘closer to the action’. Some might suggest that such a move would be advantageous to those with ambition…”

Sutton took a long sip of his pint, eyeing Warren shrewdly over the rim of the glass, watching for his reaction. Warren’s head spun at the implication.

“What about Grayson? His opinion will carry far more weight than mine.”

Sutton all but snorted. He paused, then, clearly emboldened by drink, leant forward. “Between you and me, guv, Grayson’s just marking his time card. He’s got a few more years before he can retire and everyone reckons he’s just after one more promotion to boost his pension. It doesn’t matter to him if the promotion is here or at Welwyn.”

Warren was slightly shocked at the man’s candour, but decided to let it slide. “So why are you so keen to cosy up to him?”

“You’re right that Grayson’s opinion carries more weight than yours, but he’s a follower, not a leader. If you make it clear that Middlesbury is the place to be, then he’ll probably take your advice. But failing that we’ve got to make it attractive for him to stay here and an easy collar like Severino makes the likelihood that he’ll be promoted in post more likely.”

Warren sat back, his head reeling and not just from the effect of two pints of bitter on an empty stomach. What the hell had he landed in? He’d come to Middlesbury expecting to further his career and his education in an environment that would allow him to experiment and stretch himself, away from the pressure cooker of big-city policing. Instead he had stumbled across a rat’s nest of intrigue, politics and back-biting. Listening to Sutton talk, Warren felt himself wondering if he was witnessing the start of a mutiny. He said as much.

“Look, we’re fighting for our survival here. Shutting us down as soon as Gavin was arrested would have been too obvious — he acted alone and you can’t punish a whole CID unit for the actions of one man. However, rumour has it that we will be subject to a review in a few months’ time and they’ll probably claim that we just aren’t cost-effective enough to justify maintaining.

“That’s why solving this case so quickly is so damned important. We’ve also earned the gratitude and admiration of the university, local politicians and saved a major conference from being moved out of the region. All of these are vital for the survival of our CID.

“Yet now, you want to turn this whole thing around. Tell everyone we’ve got the wrong person. You want to announce that out there a killer is still loose and we’ve got an innocent man in prison?” Sutton’s voice was starting to rise, his cheeks flushing.

“With all due respect, sir, are you fucking mad?” he carried on before Warren could interrupt. “We’ve got a man with a prior conviction for assault, with a huge motive, no credible alibi and to top it all the murder weapon, his blood-splattered clothes and CCTV footage and computer logs placing him at the scene of the crime. Jesus wept, sir, what the hell else do we need? Are you really going to scupper this entire prosecution and with it the future of this police unit on the basis of a fucking hunch?

“Christ, sir, you know how a murder investigation works. There is almost never a single piece of irrefutable damning evidence. Every piece of the jigsaw can be removed and discarded if needs be, every bit of evidence can be argued to be circumstantial with enough imagination — it’s what it all adds up to that counts. And this adds up to a clear conviction. It might not be as polished as we’d like, but who gives a shit? We’ve done our job. Now we let the lawyers and the courts do theirs.”

Sutton leant back in his chair again, breathing heavily, his face flushed. Warren said nothing, letting the man cool down as he got his own thoughts in order. When he judged enough time had passed, he started again.

“Now you listen to me, Tony, let’s be absolutely clear on one thing. I am not here to do anybody’s dirty work and I have no intention of getting involved in this political dispute. As far as I am concerned, I am a detective chief inspector assigned to this unit to run major operations under the command of Detective Superintendent Grayson. When it comes to the future of this particular CID unit and its place within the larger police force, I neither have nor want any influence. If asked my opinion, I will state it clearly based on the evidence I have seen and I will not be swayed either way. Do I make myself clear?”

Sutton grunted non-committally.

“Second, as Officer in Charge of the Tunbridge murder, it is my duty to uncover the truth, no matter what that may be. I don’t give a shit how that plays in terms of your personal agenda, DI Sutton. Let me make one thing absolutely crystal — try and circumvent me again by going behind my back and I will kick you off my team and put you in charge of domestic violence. Believe me, I can play as dirty as anyone when I need to.”

Sutton said nothing, but was unable to conceal a wince at the threat of reassignment. Domestic violence was an important and vital part of modern policing, but the cases were messy, frustrating and often unsatisfying. It took a special kind of person to do the job and Warren had read Sutton like a book — both of them knew that he wasn’t that kind of person.

“Finally, you told me that you are a copper’s copper. Well, if that is the case put aside the political bullshit and look at this case as a bloody professional. You worry that if we reopen this case and admit we arrested the wrong person we’ll look like fools. Well, think what we’ll look like if it gets to court and it’s shown that we had the wrong man! You don’t have to believe that Severino’s innocent, but you have to admit that there is mounting evidence that at the very least he had an accomplice.”

Sutton shrugged, still seemingly unswayed.

“Look at it this way, even if he is the killer and acted alone, the case against him as it stands is flawed. If I can see the holes, then so can his defence team. If Severino walks because we put forward a weak case then Middlesbury CID will be closed overnight — and you know what? I’ll be the one closing it.”

His piece said, Warren drained the last of his beer and sat back. Sutton stared moodily into space. After a moment’s thought, Warren gestured to the barman again. Sutton said nothing as another foaming pint was placed in front of him. Warren glanced at his wallet. He had no more cash — if Sutton didn’t start contributing soon, Warren would have to find a cashpoint.

“I’m off for a piss,” growled Sutton, lurching to his feet. Warren noticed that he wobbled slightly as he headed toward the gents’ toilets. Glancing at his watch, Warren saw that it was almost five-thirty; soon the pub would start filling up with office workers. He’d also better phone Susan; he had a feeling that he had a lot more work to do with Sutton. Dialling her number, he refrained from opening the conversation with his customary, “Hello, darling,” in case Beatrice answered again.

By the end of the conversation, he almost wished that his mother-in-law had answered. Susan had been extremely displeased when he explained that he was working late, not least because he slurred his speech slightly and was forced to admit that he was working in the pub. That ended the conversation rather abruptly.

Sutton still hadn’t returned from the toilet, so Warren decided to make use of the cashpoint he’d spied next to the bar. Drawing out fifty pounds, he was not impressed to be charged a further two pounds for the privilege of accessing his own money. A further couple of pounds were exchanged for a random selection of bar snacks, the closest thing Warren had had approaching a meal since breakfast. Retaking his seat, he knocked the table with his knee, slopping beer over the dark wooden surface. Steady on, he admonished himself, time to start slowing down. If he drank much more, he would risk his professional standing.

Finally, Sutton reappeared.

“OK, I still think Severino did it, but let’s see if he had an accomplice,” he started without preamble. “Who could it have been and did they commit the murder with him, or were they just accessories?”

Good, thought Warren. If not a victory, then at least some progress.

“Let’s look at the second question first and go back to motives.” Warren held his hand out and started ticking things off on his fingers.

“First, Spencer. Tunbridge treated him like shit and may well have screwed his career — he has as good a motive as Severino, I would say.”

“But his alibi is tight. He was locked in that PRC room or whatever the damn thing’s called.”

“I agree. He looks safe for now. If he was involved it was just during the planning — he may have told Severino when Tunbridge was alone and vulnerable. We could do with a look at his phone, but we’d need a warrant and we haven’t got probable cause. OK, let’s stick him on the possible list. Actually, have you got any paper?”

Sutton pulled out his notebook. “No, that’s too small. Have you got any A4 paper?”

Sutton looked at him incredulously. “Do I look like a branch of bloody WHSmiths?” He started patting his pockets. “Hang on a minute, I’m sure I had a ream of photocopy paper here somewhere.”

Despite himself, Warren started to laugh. Sutton’s scowl turned into a grin. “Maybe the barman has some.” He scrambled to his feet and wound his way to the bar. Gaining the man’s attention, he asked for a few sheets of A4 paper and a couple of coloured pens. The barman’s response was much the same as Sutton’s had been to Warren a few moments before. Reaching into his wallet, Sutton pulled out his warrant card. “Detective Inspector Sutton, Middlesbury CID.” He made a show of sniffing the air, before looking at the two old men with their tobacco and rolling papers. “Smells a bit smoky in here. You wouldn’t be letting punters smoke in here, would you? That’s against the law now, you know — hefty fine.”

The barman rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…wait here.” He disappeared through the kitchen doors, presumably heading towards an office. A few moments later he returned with a dozen sheets of laser-printer paper and some black and red ballpoint pens.

As Sutton returned to his seat Warren smirked, pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one to use that little trick to ensure co-operation. “Community policing at its finest, DI Sutton.”

For his part Sutton shrugged. “I think we’ll have to move on for the next one — we may have overstayed our welcome.”

Returning to the matter in hand, Warren spread the paper out on the table, careful to avoid the spilt beer. He jotted down their notes about Spencer.

“Moving on, who’s next? What about the wife?”

Sutton nodded. “She’s just found out that he wants a divorce and she knows that he stands to make a load of money if his company takes off. But what does she gain by killing him now?”

“He has life insurance and she’ll be entitled to his pension. We should check and see how much that’s worth. However, we know that she was at a restaurant that night, so she might be an accessory but wasn’t the killer.”

“In which case, what could she offer Severino? Half the life insurance money — a cut of the pension?”

“Hmm, when you put it like that, it doesn’t seem worth it for either of them — stick her on the unlikely list, I reckon. Same would go for his kids.”

Warren ticked off another finger. “Crawley. Again, his alibi’s sound. The question is, what does he have to gain? He told us that he isn’t in a position to take over the lab and that he’s too expensive to find other employment. On the face of it, he’s the last person who would want to kill Tunbridge at the moment.”

“Strike him off, then.” Sutton reached for the pen but Warren shook his head. “So far we only have his word for it that he wouldn’t want to run the lab, but we know that he is financially under pressure. And if Tunbridge’s research has been stolen, there can’t be many who would be in a better position to exploit it.”

“It would be a bit suspicious, though, don’t you think? Tunbridge is murdered and two years later his former experimental officer is making millions out of his research.”

Warren shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no idea if that would be suspicious or not. Tompkinson implied that it was a hot topic of research — surely that means that there must be others capable of one day catching up? In that case, it might not be a surprise at all if he’s the one to do so. Leave him on the maybe list and make a note to do some more digging around his private life. I’ll have a word with Tompkinson about what will happen to Tunbridge’s research group and research, now he’s gone.”

“Speaking of Tompkinson…”

Warren shook his head. “I don’t see it. He has some motive, I grant you, but if what he says is true he isn’t in any state to benefit from Tunbridge’s death. We need to confirm everything he says about his health and double-check his alibi, but it’s a hell of a stretch.

“Next up, Hemmingway.”

“Now, of all of the suspects so far, I could see her being one. She’s a hard-nosed bitch, mark my words.”

Warren blinked in surprise. “I didn’t have her down as particularly likely.”

Sutton leant forward, his former reluctance apparently gone now as he became involved in the intellectual challenge.

“Well, think about it. She has a hell of a motive — Tunbridge was an absolute bastard to her. Trust me, people have killed for less.”

“Maybe so, but she didn’t kill him. She has a strong alibi for the night in question, so she could only have been an accessory. In which case we’re back to who else benefits? And how likely is it that she and Severino decided to team up and get revenge on the man that ruined their lives? I can see them both being happy that he’s gone, but I can’t see any prior link. Did they really get to know each other so well during her handful of visits to the lab to discuss her essay that they would later get together to kill him? And I can’t see any possible financial motive.”