Stephen Booth - Dying to Sin

Elder’s long grey beard did make him look a little bit like Santa Claus, though a Santa who’d been down too many chimneys and drunk too much of the sherry.

‘I’m sure we’ll have this sorted out soon, sir,’ said Cooper, sitting across the interview-room table. ‘There are just a couple more questions I’d like to ask you. One or two things that we’re not clear about.’

‘What’s that, then?’ said Elder.

‘Well, for example, you said in your previous interview with DS Fry that you had never been to Pity Wood Farm. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. I was never at the place. I saw the Suttons in the pub, and that was all. I stayed away from their old farm.’

‘And my colleague put to you a statement from a witness who claims to have seen you going in and out of the farm many times with your lorry.’

Elder shook his head. ‘Not me. They were wrong.’

‘You see,’ said Cooper, in his best kindly manner, ‘since we had to arrest you, Mr Elder, we took your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA when you arrived in custody, as you know. That’s standard procedure, and it’s not significant in itself. But it does mean that we can compare your prints, and your DNA profile, with any that we have on file. Those will include samples that have been collected from crime scenes over several decades.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s amazing what technology can do now. We’re clearing up an awful lot of old crimes, just by comparing DNA samples to the database.’

‘What has that got to do with me?’

‘Well, it’s like this,’ said Cooper. ‘How shall I explain it? If you told us you’d been at Pity Wood Farm, then there would be no problem. But since you’ve insisted twice now that you’ve never been there, it means that, should we happen to find your fingerprints, or some DNA evidence that does put you at the scene, then … well, we know you’ve been lying to us. And that looks very suspicious, doesn’t it?’

Elder licked his lips and twisted a finger in his beard. ‘Suspicious?’

‘We’d have to draw certain conclusions from the fact that you were lying. Especially since we’re engaged in a murder enquiry here. Probably a double murder, Mr Elder.’

‘Even if I was there, it doesn’t mean I was part of any murder,’ said Elder.

‘Surely it would have to be something as serious as a murder to make you sit here and lie about whether you’d visited Pity Wood,’ said Cooper reasonably. ‘I mean, what other reason would you have to do that?’

He could see Elder was starting to get anxious. His fingers twisted tighter and tighter until they must have hurt. Cooper let him think about it for a few moments longer before he asked again.

‘So, what do you say? Shall we put your previous answers behind us, and I’ll give you a chance to answer again? Have you ever been to Pity Wood Farm, Mr Elder?’

‘’Course I bloody have,’ blurted Elder. ‘You know damn well I have, loads of times. You and your fingerprints and your DNA, trying to catch me out. If you find my blood at Pity Wood Farm, it’ll be because of that bastard Derek Sutton. Mad as a weasel, he was. He would have killed me, if his brother hadn’t pulled him off. And just because I had a bit of a joke with him.’

‘A joke?’

‘I used to do some vermin control when I was in farming. I still turn my hand to it now and again. That day, I’d been clearing some Larsen traps. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Yes, they’re used to catch carrion crows.’

‘Aye. Well, I kept one bird in a trap, and I had it with me when I went up to Pity Wood. I slipped it into the cab of Derek’s Land Rover when he wasn’t looking. By God, he went berserk when he found it flapping around inside there, shitting on his seats.’

‘Hold on, who else was there when this happened?’

‘As well as me and Derek? Just his brother, Raymond.’

‘What about Alan?’

Elder hesitated. ‘Alan?’

‘We do know about Alan, the third brother,’ said Cooper.

‘Ah, well, I never really knew that one. He was gone by the time this happened. They always said he couldn’t stand living with the other two, and you can see why.’

‘All right. So Derek was angry about the bird in his car?’

‘Angry? I’ve never seen a bloke so mad in all my life. Like a wild thing, he was. Smashed his fist right through my jaw.’

‘He broke your jaw?’ said Cooper.

‘Aye. Why do you think I have this beard? They took days putting my face back together.’

‘So what happened? Was there a charge of assault against Derek Sutton? It would be grievous bodily harm, surely?’

Elder went suddenly quiet, his eyes wary. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘But you did report the assault, Mr Elder?’

‘Raymond did. It was him that called the police, and the ambulance. But there were never any charges.’

Watching his manner change, Cooper guessed the answer to his next question.

‘What was the name of the police officer who dealt with the incident?’

Elder stared at him, a question of his own clear in his eyes. But he evidently read what he wanted from Cooper’s face, and realized he wasn’t giving away any information that Cooper didn’t already know.

‘PC Palfreyman turned up. He said he’d sort it out himself, the way he always did.’

Cooper had no choice but to go to his DI with the results of his interview. Hitchens had just received the results of the postmortem on Tom Farnham, and he was ready to hear some good news.

‘Blunt-force trauma from a severe beating,’ he said. ‘Blows to the arms and legs produced contusions and haematomas, and the radius of the left arm was fractured. Further blows to the chest caused extensive bruising, and an injury to the abdomen had damaged the spleen. And that’s before we get on to the penetrating trauma from two bullet wounds, one of which was actually what killed him.’

‘They wanted to make a proper job of it,’ said Cooper.

‘More than that. They didn’t just kill him, Ben, they were sending a message.’

‘Yes, I see.’

‘And I bet everyone in Rakedale has received the message loud and clear. Not that they needed any encouragement to keep their mouths shut, by all accounts.’

‘No, sir,’ said Cooper. ‘Except …’

Hollowbrook Cottage was low lying enough to avoid the hill mist that was clinging to the plateau now that the rain had stopped. Palfreyman was raking dead leaves from his path, and heaping the damp, black mass into a compost bin. He dropped his rake when the car turned into his drive and came forward to meet them. He led them into the house with hardly a word.

‘Mr Palfreyman,’ said Hitchens, opening the conversation, ‘you’ve told my officers that you visited Pity Wood Farm on several occasions while the Sutton brothers lived there.’

‘In the line of duty, yes.’

Palfreyman already sounded on the defensive. Of course, he wasn’t stupid, and he had experience of the job. A third interview, and the presence of the DI himself, would suggest that someone didn’t believe what he’d been telling them, or thought he had information he was keeping back.

‘That’s right. But according to other witnesses we’ve talked to, you actually became quite friendly with the Suttons. You were often seen drinking with them at the Dog Inn.’

Palfreyman smiled. ‘Now, that would be off duty, of course.’

‘Was that a regular occurrence?’

‘A regular occurrence? What sort of language do they teach you these days?’ Palfreyman gave a small sigh. ‘I used to go to the Dog regularly for a pint or two in those days. I still do, though not so often. I can’t really afford it. But Raymond and Derek were regulars there, too. It’s the only pub you can get to without driving a few miles.’