Smith

SIXTY

  DEAD END

  “Where is he?” Chalmers asked Whitton. He looked around nervously.

  “Interview room one sir,” she replied.

  “We’d better be bloody careful. If the Super gets wind of this we’re in shit, especially after his presentation this morning.”

  “He won’t find out sir; I think he’s gone home for the day anyway.”

  “Just be careful anyway, if it becomes known that we’re still investigating the Willow murder we’ll both be looking for another job.”

  “Would you mind sitting in with me sir,” Whitton asked, “he doesn’t know you and I reckon a new opinion of him will help.”

  “Ok. If you think so. What have you got on him?”

  “I spoke to all of the law firms that Willow did consultancy work for. One of them prosecuted a woman for manslaughter; she killed her boss in a rage after he abused her. It seems like Martin Willow’s report doomed this woman to a few years in a mental home.”

  “What’s this got to do with our suspect?”

  “The woman was his wife.”

  “So he kills Willow’s wife in revenge,” Chalmers said, “seems far fetched if you ask me.”

  “There’s more sir,” Whitton said, “this woman was pregnant and Willow stated in another report that the woman was not fit to look after a baby.”

  “Still doubtful,” Chalmers insisted.

  “She killed herself sir. The baby died too. I think Willow’s wife was killed to avenge the death of our guy’s own wife. He tried to kill Penny Willow too. It fits exactly with Bridge’s eye for an eye theory.”

  “Let’s go and speak to your friend Dave then.”

  Dave was sitting in Interview room one by himself. The door opened and Whitton and Chalmers walked in.

  “Good Afternoon Miss Whitton,” Dave said.

  “Hello Dave,” she said, “this is Detective Inspector Chalmers; he’s going to sit in with me while I ask you a few questions.”

  “Anything for you,” Dave said, “shouldn’t you have a tape going?”

  “That won’t be necessary; this is just a friendly chat.”

  “Will it take long?” Dave asked, “I have to be back at work this evening.”

  “Then let’s begin,” Chalmers said, “Mr Lin, you knew Martin Willow didn’t you?”

  “I only found out when I read about the trial,” Dave said, “before then I wouldn’t have known him if I’d bumped into him in the street.”

  “So you didn’t recognise him when you drove him home on Christmas Eve?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “You weren’t present at your wife’s trial?” Whitton asked.

  “I was,” Dave said, “but that was a long time ago.”

  “So you can’t remember the Psychology expert who declared that your wife was mentally ill?”

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago and there were so many witnesses during the trial.”

  “But only one of them pretty much determined your wife’s fate.”

  “That’s not true, there were plenty of people involved in that; the judge with the funny voice; the prosecutor, even my own lawyer was pretty useless.”

  “So you didn’t kill Martin Willow’s wife in revenge?” Chalmers said.

  “Of course not,” Dave protested, “I couldn’t hurt anyone. Miss Whitton knows that and Mr Smith. Where is Mr Smith?”

  “He’s away,” Chalmers said, “Let’s get back to the night when you drove Martin Whitton and his family home. I believe you have an extraordinary memory?”

  “That’s right,” Dave smiled. “I picked them up at midnight and drove them home.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I had to go back where I’d come from; I picked up a young woman and drove her to Hull Road. I’ve already explained all of this to Mr Smith. It’s all on here.”

  He handed Chalmers a detailed print out of his routes that night.”

  “What did you think when your wife was sent to a mental institution?” Chalmers asked.

  “I was upset,” Dave replied, “but then I realised maybe it was for the best; Mae Lin had a temper on her and it was better than jail.”

  “When she died in there were you angry?”

  “Of course, I was very upset. She was my wife and my baby had died too; my life was a mess for months afterwards.”

  “Who did you blame for that?”

  “I blamed the hospital. They were supposed to be keeping an eye on her; it shouldn’t have happened.”

  “So you didn’t blame Martin Willow, the Psychology Professor?”

  “Of course not. I’ve told you, I hardly knew about him.”

  “Can I have a word outside Whitton?” Chalmers said.

  “Of course sir,” she replied.

  “I’m afraid this is a dead end,” Chalmers said in the corridor, “this guy has a watertight alibi and does he strike you as a brutal murderer?”

  “You’re right sir,” Whitton admitted.

  “Unless he’s a raving psychopath without a conscience, he’s not our guy. He doesn’t seem the least bit nervous about being here. Even the worst serial killers in history have cracked sooner or later. I’m afraid this is now definitely case closed, understood?”

  “Understood sir,” Whitton sighed, “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him we’re grateful for his time and show him the door.”