Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

“Tell DCI Jones about this Friday.”

Severino perked up slightly. “I gave her my number in the pub, before we decided to go clubbing. She called me Tuesday night and asked if she could come over on Friday night.”

Warren blinked. The girl, if she existed, could potentially supply Severino with an alibi. Why in God’s name was he only just mentioning this now? He put the question to the young researcher. Severino looked embarrassed. “She never came. I went out and bought some drinks and sorted out some weed from a friend. She said that she be over about eight p.m. When she didn’t turn up I phoned her, but it wasn’t answered. She didn’t have any voicemail. I text her, but she didn’t reply. I phone her a few more times but nothing. In the end I smoked the weed and I think I must have drunk all of the booze. I don’t remember anything until you woke me up banging on the door.”

Warren mulled this over silently. If Severino was telling the truth — and he was far from convinced yet — then this mysterious girl could have set him up. Seducing him in the pub, stealing his clothes and swipe card, then later making sure that he was home alone without an alibi whilst the murder was committed. It seemed almost too far-fetched.

“And you have no idea who this girl was? Can you think of any other details about her? What she was wearing maybe?”

Severino screwed up his face in concentration. “I was so drunk… I think she might have been wearing jeans and a pink top. That’s all I can remember.”

Suddenly, Warren had a thought. “If she phoned you Tuesday and you texted her Friday, then you must have her number.”

Severino looked excited, then dismayed. “I never saved the number.” Then he perked up again, speaking at the same time as Warren and his lawyer. “The phone’s call log!”

Forensics had seized Severino’s mobile phone and laptop computer when his house was searched. Warren made a note to have Welwyn prioritise their analysis; he also noted down the need for a warrant to look at Severino’s phone records.

With nothing else forthcoming from the prisoner, Warren stood up to leave. As he did so Severino leapt to his feet, his expression desperate. Ignoring his solicitor’s repeated instructions to sit back down, he half lunged towards Warren, who backed up so fast he knocked his chair over.

“Mr Jones, you must believe me. I did not kill Professor Tunbridge. I am innocent.” With Warren safely out of reach, he turned to his lawyer who still sat, his mouth open in surprise. He grabbed the young man’s wrist, pulling him closer. “Please, Mr Stock, you must get me out of here. I am innocent.” At the sound of raised voices, the guard, a large white man with a shaven head, entered the room, grabbing the thin Italian, pulling him backwards as he shouted for assistance. Stock tried to pull away, but Severino was stronger than he looked. Warren grabbed at the man’s hands, trying to prise his fingers from the terrified lawyer’s wrist. The door crashed open and two more guards raced in.

Barely pausing to assess the situation, the newcomers waded in. The first guard rapped Severino smartly on the forearm, breaking the man’s grip, whilst the second struck him twice on the back of the knees, causing them to buckle. Finally the three of them wrestled the now barely coherent Severino to the hard, concrete floor. With practised moves, the guards pulled Severino’s hands behind his back and secured them with plasti-cuffs. Face down now and breathing heavily, Severino had quietened to a whisper. “Please get me out, I didn’t kill him,” he repeated again and again.

Warren took the shaken solicitor by the shoulders and led him out of the room. Unable to resist one last glance back, he looked at the accused prisoner, lying face down on the floor, sobbing. Twisting his head, Severino managed to look towards the departing men, locking tear-filled eyes with Warren. “Please,” he mouthed as the door clanged shut behind them.

Shaken more than he would have thought possible, Warren nevertheless looked over to the solicitor. The young man was a ghastly shade of white, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He had clearly never experienced anything like that in his short career. Warren felt sorry for the poor lad.

“Puked on and attacked by the same client within three days. I hope you charge extra for that type of treatment.”

The white-faced brief looked at Warren for a few long seconds, before managing the barest of smiles. “No chance. God, I hate fucking legal aid cases.”

After collecting his belongings and being let back out of the prison, Warren headed immediately back to the station. Ordinarily, Warren experienced a sensation of relief as he drove away from a prison visit. The feeling usually gained in intensity as he put more miles between himself and those places of misery.

Today was different somehow. Warren didn’t feel his usual cynical annoyance. Naturally the prisoner had professed his innocence — rarely if ever did they call you in to confess — so that didn’t bother him. Even the tears hadn’t fazed him or the violent end to the meeting. He’d experienced them all before. It was the eyes, he decided. The raw terror and pleading had left him feeling more shaken than he’d been willing to show in front of Stock or the prison staff.

Stopping by Sutton’s desk, he filled the detective inspector in on the interview. Sutton had been unimpressed the previous evening when Warren had received the phone call, describing the visit as a waste of time. Today, he went further, his rudeness bordering on the insubordinate.

“Of course he claims he didn’t do it. And this mysterious bird who’s supposed to have seduced him then stolen his clothes and his swipe card, who he conveniently can’t describe, frankly I’m disappointed that’s the best he was able to come up with after spending twenty-four hours cooling his heels at Her Majesty and the tax-payers’ pleasure.”

Warren briefly considered hauling Sutton into his office for a tongue-lashing about his attitude, but he decided to choose his battles. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to let Sutton have it all his own way.

“Well, whilst I’m out checking Severino’s story, you can keep yourself busy tracking down his missing fiancée. He claims that she returned home to her parents in Germany a few weeks ago. See if you can speak to her. She’s been here for several years, so she should speak English.” He handed over the details that he had taken from Severino’s lawyer. “I’d also like you to speak to the Italian police and see if they have had any previous contact with him. Check with International Liaison about what warrants might be needed and who is the best person to contact.”

Sutton didn’t even try to hide his groan. Trying to get information from one EU country was hassle enough. Dealing with two countries promised to be a nightmare. Warren successfully hid his smile until he had his back turned.

Before he wasted any time tracking down a mystery woman that might not even exist, Warren phoned Welwyn’s IT department. As a matter of routine, they’d requested Severino’s phone records when they had arrested him on Saturday. The delay caused by the weekend meant that they had yet to appear from the phone company. Warren had seen no point at the time in asking for a rush job, since they hadn’t seemed important. Now he wished he had.

According to the helpful civilian worker at the end of the line, the phone provider had promised the records would be with Warren by late afternoon. Unwilling to wait that long, Warren asked to be reconnected to the evidence room.

After identifying himself to the officer in charge and giving the case number, he asked for Severino’s mobile phone to be pulled out. His next request was met with some incredulity.