Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

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

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.”