Paul Gitsham - The DCI Warren Jones Series Books 1–3

Jones chuckled. “Now, take my mother-in-law. No, please, take my mother-in-law,” he intoned in a fair interpretation of the comic’s rich, northern baritone. Sutton smiled in acknowledgement of Jones’ attempt at levity.

“Mother-in-law number one, Betty, is also still on the scene. She doesn’t like me very much either.”

Jones raised an eyebrow in surprise at the intricacies of Sutton’s personal life.

Sutton shrugged. “Long story, short — Angela and I got married far too young. Everybody said it wouldn’t work, but we were young, stubborn and in love.” He smiled wistfully. “Anyway we did our best for five, six years but it was hard work. I was a young copper on a constable’s pay; Angela worked shifts at the local hospital. We rarely saw each other and when we did, we never had any money to enjoy ourselves. So we did what hundreds of foolish young couples have done before us and decided to have a baby to bring us together.”

“And did it?”

Sutton snorted. “What do you think? At first it was great. Angela had a pretty good pregnancy and we were both thrilled when Josh was born. The excitement lasted a year or so, until Angela went back to work. Then it was as if the clock had turned back twelve months. We both still worked shifts, so we still hardly saw each other and when we did we could never have any time alone because Josh was there.

“Fortunately, Betty and her husband Doug lived nearby and loved Josh to bits, so they would babysit whilst we went out.” Sutton’s expression turned thoughtful. “You know, in many ways, although she didn’t like me very much, I really think Betty wanted me and Angela to succeed. The problem was, we were both feeling hemmed in. Angela wanted to go back to college to study for her nursing degree. I wanted to go to night classes and do a degree before studying for my sergeant’s exam, but that was no longer possible. So we carried on as we were for another year or two, before I fucked up. Big time.”

“What happened?” Warren asked cautiously. Sutton’s candour was unexpected and he didn’t want to kill the moment.

“It was such a bloody cliché. I got absolutely hammered at the nick’s Christmas party and woke up the next morning in bed with one of the civilian office workers. Needless to say, when I finally slunk home, Angela was furious. I didn’t try to deny it. There was no point — it was bleeding obvious what had happened. I packed my bags, left the house and kipped on a mate’s floor.

“That could have been the end of it. Angela kicked me out, fair play, and I’m sure Betty and Doug were happy to tell her ‘I told you so’, but there was still the issue of Josh. Angela never wanted to see me again, unsurprisingly, but amazingly Betty stood up for me. By now Angela was back with her parents and Betty basically said, ‘My house, my rules. Josh needs his dad and I’m not letting him get off scot-free.’ I think at first she was worried that I’d just piss off and leave them.

“As it happened, I was terrified that it would all have to go to court and I’d end up taking Josh to McDonald’s once a month if I was lucky. Anyway, she turned up at the bedsit I was renting and said in no uncertain terms that I was a shit husband but a good father and that a boy needs his dad. So that was that.” He shook his head slightly, as if he still couldn’t quite believe his own memory.

“Josh stayed with his mum and Betty and Doug helped her look after him whilst she went back to college. I started night school and with a little help from my own mum and dad managed to afford the rent on a two-bedroom flat so Josh could stay over. I saw him most weekends, and when he got a bit older and started going to school, Betty used to insist that Angela and I co-ordinate our shifts so that when Angela was on nights he could stay with me and I’d take him to school.

“Anyway, he’s seventeen now, starting to think about university. He’s always got on well with my second wife, Marie, and he probably spends as much time at mine as his mum’s. He has his own room in our house and he’s only a ten-minute walk from Angela’s so he often turns up in the evening to watch the footie with me on Sky. Angela and I still aren’t the closest of friends, but we both go to parents’ evening and any reports from school are sent around to me as well.”

Sutton shook his head again, as if in wonderment or disbelief. “It’s amazing. Betty still doesn’t like me very much, yet without her I’d be like half the fathers in this nick, barely seeing their kids and constantly going to court over broken access orders.”

Jones was at a loss for words. Sutton had just shared a clearly intimate part of his life with him. Maybe the two of them could work together.

“You make me feel guilty for all the wicked thoughts I’ve been having about my own mother-in-law, Tony. I’ll make sure I get an extra big bunch of flowers when I see her tonight.”

Sutton grinned, then turned sober. “Well, sir, may I suggest that we crack on, then? Sooner we’re done, sooner you can find a garage with a cut-price deal on daffodils.”

As Sutton headed back to the canteen to round up the rest of the team Warren unwrapped the cling film from his cheese and tomato sandwich. He carefully peeled back the top slice of bread and plucked the sorry-looking slices of tomato from on top of the micron-thin layer of Cheddar resting on a much thicker layer of margarine. The tomato’s juice had soaked the top layer of bread, making it soggy. Carefully wrapping the tomato in the cling film, he deposited it in a nearby waste basket. Why couldn’t a man just get a plain cheese sandwich? Biting into the sandwich, he grimaced. Where it wasn’t soaked with tomato juice, the starchy white bread was dry, verging on stale, and the cheese was indistinguishable in flavour from the margarine. One bite was enough, he decided, and the remains joined the tomato and cling film in the bin.

Rejoining Hardwick and Sutton in the briefing room, he saw that a number of other detectives had also returned to the station. There was a low buzz of conversation. Kent, he saw, had started making use of the whiteboards, summarising the information flowing in from the investigators. Doing his best to ignore the faint, tantalising smell of somebody’s microwaved ready meal — clearly somebody better prepared than he to work on a Saturday — Jones called the meeting to order.

By agreement, it was decided to leave Spencer and Severino until last, to see if anything else came out of the mix before they narrowed the investigation prematurely. Starting with DS Kent, he asked the man to fill everybody in on what information had been acquired so far.

First of all, the house-to-house inquiries at the few residential properties nearby had resulted in no leads; no strange noises or suspicious strangers hanging around during the time of the murder or in the hours preceding it. Similarly, as expected, none of the local businesses had CCTV that overlooked the university building. The traffic cameras along the roads adjacent to the department were also useless, focused as they were on the roads and a nearby junction rather than the building itself. It looked as though between the university’s CCTV blind spots and the patchy traffic camera coverage in the area, it would be quite possible to approach the building and enter it on foot undetected.

Turning to the call-centre logs that night, no reports had surfaced as yet of any crimes taking place within a mile or so of the Biology building. Overall it had been a fairly quiet Friday night with no more than the usual amount of closing-time fisticuffs, drunken vandalism and domestic violence.

Dr Crawley and the university’s Personnel and Student Services departments had been helpful in supplying the names and details of the laboratory’s various workers and students, including the undergraduate student, Clara Hemmingway, that Tunbridge had his alleged affair with. A list had been drawn up on one of the whiteboards, headed ‘Potential Suspects’ with additional columns such as ‘Motive?’ and ‘Alibi?’. Jones had a feeling that before the day was out, a second board might be needed.