Cath Staincliffe - Ruthless

Could it have been any balder? ‘What time on Friday was it?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘Afternoon, evening?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘Was it dark?’ Janet said.

‘Yeah.’

Janet felt a prick of doubt. One-word answers were never a good sign.

‘How did you get into the warehouse?’

‘Off of the bridge, by the canal, there’s a broken bit in the panelling there, you can get through then to the building. In one of the doors.’

‘The door wasn’t locked?’

‘Padlock’s long gone.’ More voluble now.

‘Had you been there before?’ Janet said.

He hesitated. Why? ‘Yes.’

‘Why was that?’ Janet said.

‘To get some stuff.’

‘You mean drugs?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Who did you get the drugs from?’

‘The nignogs.’

‘Are you referring to the victims, Lydia Oluwaseyi and Victor Tosin?’

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘On Friday you went in the warehouse door, then what?’ Janet said.

‘Shot ’em, like I said.’ He rolled his shoulders back, twisted his head to and fro as though he was tired of the situation.

‘Whereabouts were they?’ Janet said.

‘Just inside. That was their squat.’

‘Whereabouts in the space?’ she persisted.

‘Just there,’ he said.

‘Standing, walking, sitting?’

He seemed unsure. ‘Standing.’

Janet didn’t miss a step. ‘Who did you shoot first?’

‘The bloke.’

‘Victor. Where was he?’

‘In the place, I told you.’

‘Was he sitting or standing when you shot him?’

‘Standing,’ he said.

‘Where did you hit him?’ she said.

‘In the chest.’ He banged a fist on his own breastbone.

‘How many times?’

‘Once.’

‘Then what?’

‘I did her.’

‘Lydia, where was she?’

He started to shrug then gave another sickly grin. ‘Trying to get away.’

‘You shot her how many times?’

‘Don’t remember,’ he said.

‘Try and remember,’ Janet said.

‘Once, in the back.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I poured the petrol on them, lit it up.’

Janet nodded though her mind was racing, trying to work out how what she was hearing fitted with the facts. Or didn’t. ‘And after that?’

‘Went home.’ He shuffled in his seat, rubbed his hand on his forearm where the fancy lettering spelled out the infamous quotes from Hitler’s bible.

‘Did anyone see you arrive home?’ Janet said.

‘Mum was out.’

‘What about Neil?’

‘Dunno,’ he said.

‘He wasn’t involved?’ Janet said.

‘No comment.’

‘Where’s the gun now?’

He fell silent.

‘Don’t you know?’ she said.

A shrug.

‘Was it the same gun that you used to kill Richard Kavanagh?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Where did you get the gun?’

He shook his head.

‘You need to speak,’ Janet said.

‘No comment.’

‘What about the petrol, where did you get that?’

‘Same as before,’ he said, ‘the Shell place.’

‘So let me be clear, when you shot Victor he was standing how far away from you?’

‘Few feet.’

‘How many?’ Janet said.

‘No idea. Didn’t measure it.’

‘Was he facing you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘He was praying,’ he sneered. ‘Lord save me!’ Noel Perry widened his eyes and shook his hands in some ghastly parody.

‘Did you go to the warehouse intending to harm the victims?’ Janet said.

‘Yeah.’ Amusement in his eyes.

‘Why was that?’

‘Immigrants. Coons. Shouldn’t be here. Parasites spreading AIDS. Taking British jobs, houses.’

‘You were happy to buy drugs from them?’ Janet said.

‘Business.’

‘The drugs in your home, did you buy those from Victor and Lydia?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘You didn’t steal them?’ Janet said.

‘No.’

‘When did you buy them?’

He paused. His face hardened. ‘Can’t remember.’

He scratched his arm, shifted in his seat. It was all off kilter. What he’d said did not mesh with the forensics.

‘How could you see?’ Janet said.

‘What?’

‘The windows in the warehouse are boarded up, there are no lights. How could you see, to shoot them?’

He was silent for several beats then said, almost with relief, ‘There was candles.’

‘Did you touch the bodies after you had shot them?’

‘No way!’

‘Where did you pour the petrol?’ Janet said.

‘On them and all around.’

‘And they were both lying on the floor?’

‘Yes.’

‘How far apart?’

‘Dunno.’ He shifted in his seat again, threw his head back in a show of boredom.

‘Approximately?’ Janet said.

‘Fifteen, twenty feet.’

‘When did you buy the petrol?’ she said.

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Whereabouts did you shoot Victor, where on the body?’

‘I’ve told you. For fuck’s sake-’ He turned to his solicitor. ‘I’m not saying any more. I did it. Game over.’

‘He’s lying,’ Godzilla said to Rachel and Janet and Lee.

‘The details don’t stack up with what we know.’ She summarized the problems with Noel Perry’s confession, counting them off on her fingers. ‘One, we’ve no accurate time of day given for the shootings. Two, the description of the actual killings is wildly inaccurate. He doesn’t refer to the victims sitting, he can’t even get the number of shots fired right. Three, his claim to have started the blaze with petrol is contradicted by the hard evidence. If we contrast this with the joint accounts of the Richard Kavanagh murder, which were consistent, coherent, detailed and supported by forensics, I think we are looking at a false confession.’

Janet agreed. ‘Minimal detail, the less you say, the easier to keep on top of the lies. The only bit that seemed coherent was the account of previous visits and how he gained access.’

‘So I think we can accept that he was familiar with the warehouse,’ the boss said. ‘And he admits going there to buy drugs but his brother is no comment. From what we’ve seen so far these two don’t even fart without the other joining in, so I don’t buy Noel Perry suddenly going solo and committing a double murder. And I don’t think Neil has any idea that his brother has confessed.’

‘With Kavanagh,’ Rachel said, ‘they both suddenly owned up, didn’t they, couldn’t get a cigarette paper between the stories, but this time only Noel does.’ It was a weird one all right.

‘With Kavanagh they had time to discuss it before we picked them up,’ Janet said, ‘“if it’s getting close to charge we’ll own up,” that sort of thing. But they were already in custody when the warehouse victims were discovered so they’d not have any chance to talk about it.’

‘Even if they were responsible,’ Rachel added sarcastically.

‘Why a false confession, Lee?’ Her Maj said.

‘There are different types, different categories, but in this context I’m thinking attention-seeking. More stripes on his sleeve,’ he said.

‘Or is he protecting someone?’ This from the boss.

‘Greg Tandy?’ Rachel said. ‘Or Marcus Williams if it is drug-related?’

‘So we don’t charge Noel Perry?’ Janet said.

‘Wasting police time,’ Rachel joked.

The boss’s phone went and she rolled her eyes. She pulled it out, then held up a finger, red claw at the tip, signalling she had to take it.

‘Harry, what you got?’ she said.

Her face sharpened as she listened, then she thanked the caller.

‘What?’ Rachel said, alert to the shift in tension in the room.