Western Approaches (Jimmy Suttle) (42 page)

‘But you knew.’

‘Yeah. Me and Tash don’t have secrets. The shag money was for the film fund. The one I told you about.’

‘Sure. I believe you. But the fact is your partner was having sex with another man.’

‘He was crap at it. Why would that worry me?’

‘Because it might not end there.’

‘What?’

‘Because Kinsey might want more of Tash than you thought. The man had money, lots of money. Tash is a professional actress. Just lately, as we understand it, she hasn’t done much. She’s still attractive. She might still dream about making the big time. Kinsey could help that happen, couldn’t he? With all his money? All the support he could give her? And all those doors he could open?’

Symons was staring at her. He was visibly upset. Rosie had touched a nerve. Suttle was tempted to applaud. At last, he thought.

‘I don’t have to listen to this, do I?’ Symons was looking at his solicitor.

‘Mr Symons?’ Tremayne was waiting for an answer. ‘Milo?’

Symons, angry now, abandoned his solicitor and turned back to Tremayne.

‘You think Tash lied to me? Is that what you think? You’re telling me she had something else going on with him?’

‘I’m asking you a question. I’m suggesting that might have been a possibility.’

‘Then the answer’s no. No way. We’re like that, me and Tash, always have been.’ He interlinked his forefingers and tugged them hard. ‘You know what I mean? Tash would never do that to me, never.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she wouldn’t.’

‘But why?’

‘Because she knows what it would do to me. How I’d feel about it.’

‘And how would you feel about it?’

‘I’d feel shit about it. I’d hate it.’

‘So what might you do . . .’ Rosie gestured at the space between them, which had been warmed by this sudden burst of temper ‘. . . if you got really angry?’

Symons stared at her. It was beginning to dawn on him where these questions might be going.

‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘I’m asking you whether you have a temper. The answer appears to be yes. I’m also asking you whether Tash was – is – important to you.’

‘Of course she’s important. She means everything to me, Tash.’

‘So what would you do to keep her? If you thought she might be tempted to go off with someone else?’

‘But she wouldn’t. Not Tash.’

‘But she might, Milo. Or you might
think
she might.’

‘Never. I never thought that. Never.’

‘I don’t believe you. Look at it from our point of view. Tash means everything to you. You’ve just admitted it. You know she has sex with this man Kinsey. You know that Kinsey has the kind of money that might make a big difference to her career. You also know he’s mad about her. Are you really telling me you were never – ever – worried she might leave you?’

‘For him, you mean?’ He laughed. ‘You’re mad. This is crazy.’ He looked at his solicitor again. ‘Tell her to stop.’

The solicitor gestured him closer. Suttle wished he could lip-read. Maybe he’s telling his client to relax, he thought. Or maybe he’s starting to see it Tremayne’s way.

‘My client needs to be clear about the precise allegation you’re trying to make,’ he said.

‘Our allegation is this, Milo. That you were drunk on that Saturday night. This we know from your own account. That you had and have a passionate relationship with your partner, Tash. This too we know. That something probably happened that Saturday night, some remark, something inappropriate between Tash and Kinsey that later sparked a row between you both. Are you with me?’

Symons nodded. He looked transfixed. She might have been telling him a story, Suttle thought, about someone else.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘That you went back to the apartment that night, back to Exmouth Quays, either with Tash or without. That you got into the flat with Tash’s key. And that you killed Kinsey.’

‘
Killed
him?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why? How?’

‘Why, I think we’ve dealt with. How has, at this point, to be supposition. In the end he fell from his own balcony. Perhaps you’d like to tell us exactly what happened before that moment?’

Symons began to shake his head. Disbelief had given way to something else. Fear.

‘You really think I killed him? Kinsey? Jake? You think
I
did that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why? Why would I have done it?’

‘I think we’ve covered that. You were jealous. And you knew he had money.’

‘How?’

‘Because you’d seen the slip from the ATM. One hundred and seven thousand pounds, Milo. Think about it.’

‘So I killed him? You really believe that?’

‘Yes.’

From this point on, the interview went nowhere. The two D/Cs came at Symons from every point of the compass. They pointed out how heavily all the circumstantial evidence weighed against him. They thought it entirely reasonable that he would want to remove the threat of Kinsey from his private life. They agreed that one hundred thousand pounds would ease a lot of problems about funding Symons’ precious film. Rosie Tremayne even hinted that the idea might have been Tash Donovan’s in the first place, in which case Symons would earn himself a much lighter sentence by testifying against her.

The latter suggestion sparked another outburst from Symons. Tash had never said anything of the sort. And even if she had, there was no way he’d grass her up. To think otherwise was totally vile. This whole thing, he kept saying, is sick. He’d never hit anyone in his life, let alone killed anyone. After stopping at the ATM in Exmouth, he and Tash had gone home. Theft? Yeah. Murder? No way.

Mid-afternoon, Houghton called a meet in a borrowed office at Torbay. Donovan and Symons had been escorted back to their respective cells to ready themselves for the next round of questioning. In the meantime Houghton had to assess where
Constantine
might go next.

Suttle had driven over from Exeter with Rosie Tremayne. He was still convinced there was a way to go with Symons.

‘We haven’t bottomed him out yet,’ he said. ‘The guy’s more of a firework than I thought. Press the right buttons and we might still be in business.’

Houghton wanted Tremayne’s opinion. She said she was doing her best but deep down thought Symons was telling the truth.

‘How does that work?’

‘He gave us everything on the ATMs. He coughed the lot. Frankly, I think murder’s a bit out of his league. He wouldn’t have the bottle for starters. Plus he comes over as quite a gentle guy.’

‘He was pissed,’ Suttle said. ‘And that can change everything.’

Houghton turned to Frank Miller. She wanted the TIA’s take on Tash Donovan. How had she reacted to the suggestion that she’d been complicit in Kinsey’s death?

‘She laughed. I think she was genuinely amused. This is a woman who plays a thousand roles before breakfast. I think the killer thing quite appealed to her.’

‘But she denied it?’

‘Big time. She said Symons was too pissed to manage a shag that Saturday night, let alone kill anyone. She also said that vegetarians try and avoid that kind of thing.’

‘She’s a veggie?’

‘So she says.’

‘And that’s some kind of defence?’

‘Definitely. She says veggies never kill people.’

‘What about Hitler?’

‘Good point, boss. Maybe we can bring that up in the next session.’

Houghton didn’t share the ripple of laughter that went round the room. She and Nandy would be conferencing on the phone any time now. She had to know where this thing was headed next.

It was Suttle who broke the silence.

‘We keep on at them both. That’s the only option we’ve got.’

‘We’ve nothing new to throw at them?’

‘No.’

‘So without a confession . . .?’

‘You’re right.’ Suttle nodded. ‘We’re fucked.’

The next session began at half past four and lasted into the early evening. This time Suttle was monitoring the Donovan interview. Sitting beside Miller, watching the video feed, he knew the TIA had called it exactly right. Donovan was putting on the performance of her life. Not because she was trying to hide something but because she at last had an audience. She said she felt sorry for Kinsey. That last second and a half of his life, she said, would have been seriously crap. Exmouth Quays in the rain was a shit place to die. She hadn’t the first idea why he’d done it, and if she’d ever suspected him of suicidal tendencies she might have put a lot more effort into keeping him happy.

The latter phrase appeared to offer at least the hint of an opening. Had this relationship of theirs been more substantial than she’d ever admitted? Might he have ended his life because she wouldn’t commit to more than visiting rights? To both questions she answered with a flat no. Kinsey, she said, was an impossible man to get close to. No wonder his wife had done a runner.

In his heart Suttle knew she was right. At ten past seven he took a call from the TIA at Heavitree. After consultations with his lawyer, Symons had decided to go No Comment.

Within half an hour both interviews had been terminated. Det-Supt Nandy was waiting with Houghton in her office at Middlemoor. She’d obviously briefed him already. The atmosphere was grim.

‘The PACE clock stops at five tomorrow morning,’ he pointed out. ‘The briefs will kick up if we insist on another session tonight, and to be frank I can’t see what we’d achieve. We could try for an extension and start again tomorrow morning but D/I Houghton’s right. We’ve got nothing left to fire at him. We’re out of bullets. There’s nothing left.’ He paused. ‘Jimmy?’

Suttle knew the question was coming. This was his party, his idea. He’d led them up this cul-de-sac. How did he propose to get them out?

‘Are we talking fresh lines of enquiry?’ Suttle asked.

‘Yes.’

‘There aren’t any, sir. Not immediately. Not that I can see.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘I suggest we charge them anyway. And leave it to the jury.’

‘You mean the CPS.’

‘Of course.’

‘Charge them with what?’

‘Theft, obviously. Plus murder.’

There was a silence. Bold move. Two of the D/Cs exchanged glances. Rosie Tremayne was looking at her hands.

‘But we have no evidence, Jimmy. All we have is supposition, which, if my memory serves me correctly, is where we began.’

‘I still think he was killed.’

‘By them? By these two?’

‘Everything points that way. Motive. Opportunity. You said it yourself, sir. Other people are a mystery. No one really knows. What you see isn’t necessarily what you get.’

‘That’s true. Do you think the CPS feel the same way? We need evidence, Jimmy. And we haven’t got it. This is very nice, very tidy. But it doesn’t
prove
they did it.’

‘No, sir. It doesn’t.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘I don’t know, sir. It’s your call not mine.’

He nodded. Suttle thought he caught a hint of disappointment in his face.
Maybe I’ve given up too easily
, he thought. Maybe Nandy was expecting more of a fight. Fat chance.

‘Carole?’ Nandy had turned to D/I Houghton.

‘I suggest we go for an extension, sir. A night in the cells sometimes does the trick.’

‘And what are we proposing in the way of fresh evidence? Mr Cattermole will need to know.’

Cattermole was the duty uniformed Superintendent. Without active ongoing inquiries, he wouldn’t sanction a custody extension.

Suttle stirred. He was looking at Houghton.

‘There’s still one call I need to make,’ he said.

‘On who?’

‘Pendrick.’

It was gone nine when Suttle made it down to Exmouth. The light was on in Pendrick’s flat, and Suttle’s finger on the bell brought him to the door. His lower face was still swollen from last night and when he led the way upstairs he seemed to have difficulty walking.

‘Is this personal?’

‘No.’

‘What do you want then?’

‘I need to talk about Kinsey. We made a couple of arrests last night, Tash and Milo Symons. We’ll be charging them tomorrow.’

‘For what?’

‘Theft and murder.’

‘Murder?’ The word drew the faintest smile. ‘You think they killed Kinsey?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can prove it?’

‘We can get a result in court.’

‘How does that work?’

Suttle walked him through the evidence: a hundred grand’s worth of motivation and the key to Kinsey’s door.

‘But why? Why would they do it?’

‘You know why they’d do it. Symons was jealous as fuck and they both wanted the money. A couple of minutes in the apartment? The two of them? No CCTV? Middle of the night? Job done.’