Neither of them spoke, but he could see from their expressions he had hit a nerve. ‘I can sort you out on that, if you give me the chance.’
Ignoring the comment, Guy Batchelor asked, ‘Could you tell us, Mr Brown, where you were last week on the afternoon and evening of Wednesday, April 20th?’
He held up the cigarette pack. ‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not permitted in this car, sir,’ Batchelor said.
‘Great.’
‘Could you tell us, Mr Brown, where you were last week on the afternoon and evening of Wednesday, April 20th?’ the detective repeated.
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ he replied.
‘I’d be grateful if you would answer the question, sir,’ Batchelor said, deadpan, watching him carefully.
The Independent Financial Advisor looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes – I – er – I was at work – until late, then I went home. I worked in my office at home for a while, then I had supper with my wife on a tray in front of the television.’ He began to look more relaxed. ‘We watched an episode of Homeland. We’ve been watching it forever. How does anyone ever get to the end of all these long series? You know, they take over – we haven’t watched anything else for weeks.’
‘You didn’t leave your office at any time during the day?’ Batchelor asked.
Brown shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’d love to have the luxury of taking time out. But no way.’
‘So,’ Batchelor continued. ‘You spent the entire day in your office, and then went home – at what time approximately?’
‘I left – I don’t know – about a quarter to seven.’
‘And your office staff – they could verify that you’d not left the office all afternoon?’
Brown hesitated. ‘Yes.’
‘Does the name Lorna Belling mean anything to you?’
Brown’s eyes shot all over the place. ‘No. Lorna who?’
‘Belling.’
He shook his head.
‘You didn’t visit her at her apartment in Vallance Mansions, on the afternoon of April 20th?’
‘Absolutely not.’
The two detectives exchanged a glance. Then Guy Batchelor said, ‘Mr Brown, I’m afraid in that case I’m going to have to ask you to accompany us to the police station for an interview.’
‘No way. I’ve got a very busy morning, as I’ve told you.’
‘So you are not going to come voluntarily, sir?’
‘What part of no way don’t you understand, officer?’
Again the two detectives exchanged a glance. Then Batchelor said, ‘In which case, sir, you leave us with no option. Kipp Brown I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Lorna Belling. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘What? You said I wasn’t under arrest! You bloody lied!’
‘No, sir,’ the DI said. ‘You’re the one who’s just lied.’
56
Monday 25 April
Misdirection! The first principle of a close magician. Direct your victim’s focus onto your left hand, while you do what you need to do with your right hand. Or have a fox chase a chicken across the room while you pick your mark’s pocket.
We’re all gullible, all easily suckered. The conman succeeds by offering something for nothing. Double your money . . . Treble it . . . Roll up, roll up! Three-card Monte! Find the lady! A tenner a go – easy money. Suckers! Marks!
He knew he just had to keep calm, keep remembering that the police are not superhuman. Not infallible. They could be misdirected, too, just like anyone else. Oh sure, he knew there were smart ones like Roy Grace.
You are smart, Detective Superintendent, but beware. You might just be too smart for your own good. You should cut a little slack.
Otherwise there won’t be any slack in that noose round your neck.
Not that I want to kill you. But then again, I didn’t want to kill Lorna Belling. Never intended to. Not sure I actually did. But hey, whatever. Get too much closer and I’ll need you dead.
Shit happens, eh?
He stared in the bathroom mirror at his face. A killer’s face.
This past week I seem to have aged ten years. I’m starting to think like a killer. Hey! I really might be a killer! There are all kinds of mitigating circumstances but let’s not risk that route. Juries are too unreliable, judges too mercurial. We’re into survival, self-preservation, Darwinian rules apply now. Survival of the fittest. Just remember, life’s a game. Keep hold of that. I have to win. Coming second is not an option. Coming second means going to prison. Banged up, locked away. Forgotten.
Like I always say, no one remembers who came second.
57
Monday 25 April
Roy Grace sat in the tiny observation room, watching on the screen the live video feed of Kipp Brown being interviewed by Guy Batchelor and Jon Exton. He was accompanied by his solicitor, Allan Israel, a smart criminal lawyer who had a practice opposite Brighton’s law courts and was a regular thorn in the side of Sussex police.
Brown’s face was familiar to him from his regular adverts in the media, although he looked a little older, and a lot less charming than he appeared on camera. In his mid-forties, now dressed in a crumpled police-issue tracksuit and old trainers, he had a hard, scowling face beneath immaculate, shiny black hair. He sat very upright, alert, as if he was the inquisitor, not the two detectives, looking around him with an air of contempt.
As Batchelor completed the interview formalities he looked at the IFA. ‘Mr Brown, are you aware that having been arrested, we are now empowered to search both your home and your workplace and seize anything that we deem appropriate to the investigation?’
‘You’ve already taken my phone and laptop.’
‘We are aware of your very respected position in this city,’ Batchelor continued. ‘I am hoping that if you are cooperative now, we may be able to avoid any embarrassment for you.’
‘Embarrassment? You just discoed my car outside Brighton College!’
‘Discoed?’ Batchelor frowned, looking at Exton, who was also frowning.
‘I’m a Kiwi. Grew up in New Zealand. That’s what we say when the police stop a car – all the flashing lights. Disco. Gettit?’
‘Ah.’
Exton grinned and nodded.
‘Mr Brown,’ Batchelor said. ‘If you had told us the truth when we were talking to you before, we could have avoided all this.’
‘I told you the truth.’
Looking at his notes, Batchelor continued. ‘I asked you if you had left your office at any time during the afternoon of Wednesday, April 20th last week, and you said you had not. Is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘I also asked you if the name Lorna Belling meant anything to you, and you said it did not. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’ Brown shot a glance at his lawyer, who was busy making notes, then again checked his own notes.
‘I further asked you if you had visited Lorna Belling at her apartment in Vallance Mansions, Hove, on the afternoon of that day – Wednesday, April 20th – and you replied, “Absolutely not.” Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are sure, Mr Brown?’
‘Yes.’
Batchelor made a note, then nodded at his colleague, DS Exton.
‘Mr Brown, can you tell us about your relationship with Lorna Belling?’
Brown stiffened and looked at his solicitor.
Allan Israel intervened. ‘What relevance does this have? This is very intrusive into my client’s personal life.’
‘It’s very relevant,’ Batchelor said.
Brown looked embarrassed. Then he shrugged. ‘Yes, I don’t deny it. She’s an ex-girlfriend of mine – from some years back. My wife and I are going through a bad p
eriod – since our third child was born she’s gone off sex. Like most of the wives of my golfing pals who’ve had kids. OK?’
‘When we talked to you earlier today,’ Exton said, ‘you denied knowing her. Your full phone records put you in the vicinity of Vallance Mansions, where she had an apartment, on three occasions in the past week. The first was early afternoon Friday, April 15th. The second was for a two-hour period, 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. on Monday, April 18th, and the third – here’s the interesting bit – between 1.45 p.m. and 3.55 p.m. on Wednesday, April 20th. Can you explain that? Can you tell us who you were visiting?’
Brown turned to his solicitor and whispered to him. After nodding several times, Allan Israel requested five minutes alone with his client.
Batchelor went outside for a smoke, head bowed against the pelting rain, while Jon Exton sheltered in the doorway, discussing tactics with him. Roy Grace joined them moments later.
‘What do you think, Roy?’ Batchelor asked.
‘Early doors, but so far from what he’s saying and from his body language, I’m seeing a serial adulterer, but I don’t feel I’m looking at a killer.’
Grace’s phone rang. He switched it to silent and let it ring on.
‘We’re going to need his DNA sample sent for fast-track analysis, sir,’ DS Exton said. ‘It might be different if we get a match with Brown.’
‘Actually, Jon, I don’t think that would take us any further.’
‘Why’s that, sir?’
‘Because we think Brown and Lorna Belling were shagging,’ Grace said.
His phone vibrated. He looked down at the screen and saw he had a voicemail message.
‘I disagree that it won’t take us further, boss,’ Batchelor interjected. ‘We don’t know what happened between Lorna and Brown – maybe she was blackmailing him. Threatening to expose him. A married man, in a vulnerable position. You’ve seen all his adverts around the place. Trust Kipp. How much damage would it do to his reputation if she’d gone public in some way? Put it out on Twitter or Facebook, for instance?’
‘Do you really think that with her violent husband she would have dared do that?’
‘People don’t always act rationally, boss.’
Grace nodded, pensively. ‘That’s for sure.’
‘Interview with Kipp Brown, in the presence of his solicitor, Allan Israel, resumed at 11.17 a.m.,’ Batchelor said for the benefit of the recording. Turning to Brown, he asked, ‘Is there anything you would like to tell us?’
Visibly blanching, Brown said, ‘OK, look, I didn’t tell you the truth, because – well – hell – I didn’t want this to get back to my wife. I – I did go and see her a few times, yes. We had sex. But that was all, I didn’t kill her. I mean – you know – I really liked her. Hadn’t seen her for years and by sheer chance we bumped into each other in a pub – the Friday before last. She was upset and I gave her a shoulder to cry on. You know how it is. And we’d been in regular contact since.’
‘You didn’t kill her?’ Batchelor retorted. ‘Why did you say that, Mr Brown?’
‘I read in the Argus that she was found dead the next day. You guys bloody scared me. I didn’t kill her, it wasn’t me. I’m not a bloody murderer.’
‘We’ve established that you have lied to us – why should we believe you didn’t kill her?’ Batchelor pressed.
‘I liked her! Jesus! I thought she was lovely, always have. She told me about her shit life with her husband who abused her. He’s the guy you should be looking at, not me for God’s sake.’
‘Can you give me one good reason why we should believe you, after establishing you’ve lied to us?’
‘You just have to believe me.’ He looked at his solicitor. Israel, busy making notes, did not react.
‘We have to believe you?’ Batchelor said. ‘We should believe a liar, should we? How do we know anything you tell us is the truth?’
There was a long silence. ‘I did not hurt Lorna,’ he said, lamely.
‘Did something happen between you and her last Wednesday that made you angry?’
‘Not at all. We had a nice time – OK – we made love, then I left – I had to get back to work. We arranged to meet again on Friday. Then – then I read in the paper – the Argus – that she had been found dead.’
‘You didn’t think to contact us when you read that?’ Batchelor asked.
‘No. Maybe I should have done – but – I thought if I came forward, the news would get out – and my wife would hear about it. It’s one of the downsides of being well-known.’
There was a long silence. ‘Is there anything else you would like to tell us?’
‘No – I – to be honest, I knew very little about her life now, apart from what she told me. As I said, I really liked her. I thought she was very attractive, smart, funny. A nice lady. She was . . .’ He shrugged.
‘She was what, Mr Brown?’
‘Vulnerable, I guess. She was someone I felt I wanted to get to know all over again.’
‘So not someone you needed to kill?’
He threw his arms in the air. ‘That’s ridiculous! Why would I want to kill her? I actually thought—’ He ran his hand over the back of his head. ‘I actually thought this was someone I might have a future with. I know it might sound unconvincing to you guys – but it’s the truth.’
‘How did you contact Lorna?’ Batchelor asked.
‘She gave me her numbers – you’ll find them on my phone.’
After a few moments, Allan Israel said, ‘Gentlemen, if you have no further questions for my client, I would ask you to release him. He is, as you know, a highly respected member of the local business community, and he is not going to do a disappearing act on you. He will be available for further questioning whenever you require.’
Batchelor and Exton left the room to parlay with Roy Grace. They returned a few minutes later and informed Kipp Brown that he was being released on bail.
‘My client would like the laptop and mobile phone that you seized from his car returned to him immediately,’ the solicitor said.
‘They’ll be returned to your client when we have finished examining them,’ Batchelor replied.
‘This is outrageous!’ Brown glared at them. ‘I need them for my business.’
‘I’m sorry about that, sir, and I appreciate the inconvenience. As soon as the Digital Forensics team have made copies of their entire contents they will be returned to you.’
‘How long will that be?’
Batchelor decided not to inflame him further by telling him that the team were currently running on a six-month backlog. He would put in a request to have them fast-tracked. ‘As soon as possible,’ he said.
‘This is not acceptable,’ Allan Israel retorted. ‘These are the tools of my client’s trade. I hope you understand that Sussex Police will be held accountable for any financial loss my client suffers?’
‘We understand,’ Batchelor replied. ‘We will return these items to him as soon as possible.’
‘So where’s my Porsche?’ Brown demanded.
‘It’s being forensically examined, sir,’ Exton said.
‘How long’s that going to take?’ He glared again at both detectives.
‘All being well, a couple of days, and then it will be returned to you.’
Turning to his client, Allan Israel said, ‘I’ll give you a lift to your office.’
‘My car had bloody well better not be damaged or I’ll be suing you.’
Guy Batchelor really hoped it was. Not that he was malicious or anything. He just didn’t like the man.
58
Monday 25 April
Back in his office, Roy Grace listened to the voicemail that had come in earlier. It was an apologetic-sounding message from a DS in Professional Standards, following up on a request from the Independent Police Complaints Commission to investigate the death of Corin Belling.
He was about to return the call when there was a rap on the door, and as usual without waiting for h
is reply, Glenn Branson sauntered in.
‘Hey, mate, heard you’ve been making a right pig’s ear of everything in my absence!’
‘Very funny. Good holiday?’
‘Brilliant! Stayed at Siobhan’s parents’ villa near La Cala – it was fabulous.’
‘So the romance is flourishing? Siobhan hasn’t seen through you?’
Branson frowned. ‘What?’
‘Nah, she couldn’t have done, could she?’
‘What do you mean? Couldn’t have done?’
‘Coz you’re too thick-skinned!’
‘Thanks, I don’t know why I bothered to come back.’
‘Because you missed me?’ Grace ventured.
‘Yeah, a whole seven days with no one insulting me started to get on my nerves. So, what’s up?’
‘Where do you want me to begin?’
‘At the beginning – that might be a good place.’
‘You know what? A couple of days ago I actually thought I was missing you. Now—’
‘Now you know you can’t function without me, yeah?’
‘Dream on.’
Branson perched on Roy’s desk. ‘So, start with Bruno, give me the full download.’
Grace filled him in, briefly, on meeting him in Germany, and bringing him home, Bruno going to the football with Jason Tingley and his son, the way he had seemingly taken to Noah, and swimming last night.
‘No lingo problems?’
‘He’s pretty much completely bilingual.’
‘And he starts at St Christopher’s today?’
‘He’s having his assessment.’
‘If he gets accepted, that’s going to cost you!’
Grace shook his head. ‘Sandy had a stash of money – from a rich old auntie who died. There’s a trust fund set up for Bruno.’
‘Great Dr Hook song that – about a rich old uncle who died.’ He cocked his head in response to Grace’s blank expression. ‘Yeah, he’s a bit young for your generation. He didn’t come on the scene until the late 1960s.’
‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.’
‘So, work,’ Branson said. ‘Lorna Belling – you’re leaving Guy in charge?’