Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

“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.”