A Price to Pay

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Do you know if anything came of it?’ asked Grimshaw, writing down the names.

  Dorridge shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone that he definitely did have an affair with?’

  Dorridge looked uncomfortable.

  ‘It would really help us, Ray,’ said Warren. ‘We just want to know what sort of man Stevie was. He’s beginning to sound like a real bully.’

  Dorridge sighed. ‘Look there were rumours that he might have been seeing someone more seriously. I don’t know, because she stopped coming to the Stag. Her fiancé had a bit of a reputation for hitting women. I heard he may have even spent some time in jail for assaulting an ex.’

  ‘Can you give me some names?’

  Dorridge paused before answering. ‘Anton. Rimington, I think. His missus was called Vicki. She was a bit young for him if you ask me. Stevie was probably more her age, if that makes any difference.’

  ‘And you think the relationship was more serious than just a bit of flirting down the pub?’

  ‘Yeah, that was the rumour. A couple of people reckon they saw him near their flat when Anton was away, visiting his family.’ He paused. ‘Somebody also reckoned she looked pregnant. Draw your own conclusions.’

  Warren glanced at Grimshaw. Yet another person aware of Cullen’s affair. It was getting harder and harder to believe that Rimington was unaware of his fiancée’s infidelity. Perhaps that was why he put the pieces together so quickly when looking at the baby scans. Rimington’s lack of alibi was looking more and more problematic.

  In the meantime, Ray Dorridge’s relationship to Cullen hadn’t been fully explored yet. With the farmer apparently at ease, Warren decided to wrong-foot him.

  ‘You’ve been really helpful, Ray, although from what you’ve told us, the list of people that Stevie Cullen angered is getting longer. We’re going to need another suspect board!’

  Dorridge joined in with the chuckles from Warren and Grimshaw.

  ‘There are going to be a few relieved husbands and boyfriends now that he’s no longer making a nuisance of himself,’ said Grimshaw.

  ‘Yeah, there were probably a couple of blokes who have thought about killing him over the years,’ said Dorridge.

  ‘Were you one of those people, Ray?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You told me last time we spoke how hard it was to find a woman, what with all the hours you work. I’ll bet you were really annoyed when Stevie turned up in Café Rouge last February and scuppered your date. Tell me, did you ever see that woman again, or did she decide that your little temper tantrum was a turn-off?’ asked Warren.

  ‘How did you …’

  ‘Bit of a kicker two days before Valentine’s day,’ said Grimshaw. ‘I’d have been pretty annoyed.’ He looked towards Warren. ‘According to the witnesses in the police report, she left shortly after Cullen.’ He turned his gaze back to Dorridge. ‘Say, you don’t suppose she caught up with Cullen, do you?’

  Dorridge’s solicitor had clearly been unaware of his client’s caution; nevertheless he attempted to step in.

  ‘This seems to be rather flimsy, DCI Jones. Do you have any more substantial allegations?’

  Warren and Grimshaw both ignored him.

  ‘What happened that night, Ray?’ asked Warren.

  Dorridge scowled and folded his arms. ‘Not a lot, I’m sure it’s all in the report.’

  ‘I’d like to hear your side of the story, Ray, because it sounds to me as though you might also be on the list of men with a reason to want Stevie Cullen out of the picture,’ said Warren.

  ‘Oh, come on! That happened months ago. We settled it there and then. End of story.’

  ‘Settled it with a police caution for you and nothing for him,’ replied Warren. ‘Why didn’t you tell the arresting officers who you were fighting? Seems a bit unfair that you get the criminal record, whilst he gets off scot free.’

  ‘This is old ground,’ interjected the solicitor. This time all three men ignored him.

  ‘Fine. You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you.’ Dorridge glared across the table. ‘You’re right, it is bloody hard to find a good woman, so yes, I was really pissed off when that prick Cullen decided to mess things up.’ He took a sip of his water.

  ‘I met Carrie online about a month before the … incident. It wasn’t our first date; we’d gone for coffee the Saturday before. We’d got on really well and she agreed to come out for dinner on Friday night after work. Nothing too serious, just a bite to eat in Café Rouge and maybe a drink afterwards.’ He turned his glare towards Grimshaw. ‘And yes, I was thinking about asking her out again on Valentine’s day, although it was on a Sunday, so I thought I might offer to cook, rather than try and book a table somewhere.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well the restaurant was busy two days before Valentine’s, and we were on a little table squeezed into the front window. Everything was going great, then suddenly, Stevie’s standing next to me. He’d clearly been drinking, and he starts asking me to introduce him to my “lovely friend”. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere, and I didn’t want to be rude in front of Carrie, so I introduced him. Then he starts asking if we were “on a date”.’

  Dorridge’s lip curled. ‘He was like a teenager. Carrie laughed, although I couldn’t tell if she was being polite or not. Anyway, I persuaded him to clear off and leave us alone. At which point he took her hand, kissed it and said “enchanté” in a really embarrassing French accent.’

  Warren watched Dorridge closely; it was clear that even nine months later, the memories of that evening still angered the man.

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘I got up to use the toilet, and when I came back the bastard was sitting in my seat, pouring Carrie a glass of wine. He must have just moved around the corner to the bar and waited for me to leave. I don’t know what he was saying to her, but she was laughing.’

  Dorridge stopped, looking down at his hands. His ears were flushed a dark red.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You know what happened.’

  ‘Tell us in your own words.’

  ‘I was so annoyed with him. I’d been paying a subscription to that damned matchmaking website for years, and I’d had three proper dates out of it. All of them lost interest when they realized what being a farmer really meant. Carrie was different. Her family used to be in farming. She wasn’t put off.’ Dorridge paused. ‘Then along comes fucking Stevie Cullen, and he thinks it’ll be funny to mess it up for me. I don’t think he was even that interested. To him it’s all just a game.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Dorridge cleared his throat, the redness of his ears spreading to his cheeks, the base of his throat turning a blotchy pink.

  ‘I told him to piss off. He got up and said that was no sort of language to use in front of a lady, then turned to Carrie and said, “I’ll see you again. Maybe we can finish that drink.”

  ‘So, I threw a punch at him.’

  Dorridge closed his eyes, briefly. ‘I can’t believe I did it. It was like I was back at school again, and the bullies were stealing my pencil case and throwing my bag out of the window to get me into trouble. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but that big ape of a brother wasn’t with him, so I guess I thought I stood a chance.’ He snorted. ‘I haven’t thrown a punch since I was a kid. I missed him completely and ended up sending the table of the couple next to us flying. He didn’t even try to hit me; he just gave me a shove and sat me down on my arse. By the time I got back to my feet, the bar staff were running over and Stevie was legging out of the door laughing and blowing kisses. Carrie left about a minute later.’

  Dorridge’s voice hardened. ‘In all my life, I’ve never been so humiliated. It cost me two hundred quid by the time I’d paid for everything, and I have a fucking police record. In answer to your next question, no I didn’t see Carrie again. I called her to say sorry, but she said that her ex had
had “anger management issues” and she didn’t think it would be a good idea to continue the relationship.

  ‘So yeah, I fucking hated Stevie Cullen. But that was nine months ago, and I’m not going to suddenly kill him over a ruined date.’

  Ray Dorridge’s solicitor suggested a short break; Warren and Grimshaw moved into the corridor to discuss what they’d learnt.

  ‘It might have been nine months ago, but he’s clearly still furious,’ said Grimshaw.

  ‘But is he furious enough to kill Cullen?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Maybe he hooked up with Anton Rimington?’ said Grimshaw. ‘He’s lied to us about how well he knew Cullen, I’ll bet he knows more about Rimington than he’s letting on.’

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Martinez, who’d been watching the interview remotely. ‘I still can’t imagine him killing Cullen over a date.’

  ‘Well that might not be the only motive,’ said Warren. ‘Let’s go back in and see what else he has to say.’

  ‘When we last spoke, you denied having any sort of business relationship with Mr Cullen,’ said Warren.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Dorridge had regained his composure during the short break.

  ‘However, witnesses claimed that you and Mr Cullen were seen arguing in the White Stag pub over the payment for services.’

  ‘And I said they must be mistaken.’ Dorridge’s tone was defiant.

  Warren opened the folder in front of him and removed a sheet of paper. ‘According to Middlesbury council, you reported illegal fly-tipping on your land on three separate occasions last year.’

  Dorridge shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Yeah, dirty bastards. They’ll dump their shit anywhere.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to a witness who confirms Mr Cullen ran a business that involved collecting rubbish from households and businesses for a fee, and then dumping the rubbish illegally on land, such as farmland, where the council would ultimately pick it up for free.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’

  Warren removed a second sheet of paper. ‘This is a copy of your phone logs.’ He pointed to three highlighted entries. ‘You received calls from this mobile number two or three days before each reported incident of fly-tipping.’

  ‘So?’ Dorridge’s tone was defiant.

  ‘The timing seems rather coincidental. Who does the number belong to, Mr Dorridge?’

  Dorridge’s eyes darted around for a few seconds, before he suddenly relaxed. ‘It’s one of my neighbours. He spotted the rubbish on my land and kindly called me to let me know about it.’

  ‘Who is this neighbour?’

  Dorridge shrugged. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Do a lot of strangers have your mobile number?’

  ‘You don’t have to answer that, Mr Dorridge,’ interjected the solicitor. ‘In fact I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning.’

  Warren ignored him.

  ‘We did a search online for this mobile phone number, and it turns out that it’s the contact number for a “Middlesbury Refuse Disposal Service”. One phone call and they’ll take any unwanted rubbish away and dispose of it properly. They promise to beat any quote.’

  ‘And?’ It was clear Dorridge wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

  ‘We have been unable to find any licensed disposal services with that name or linked to that phone number. Tell me, Mr Dorridge, do you know the owner of this telephone number?’

  Dorridge swallowed. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Well that’s strange, because not only did you receive calls from this very helpful – but unknown – neighbour, you also made calls to them on a regular basis.’

  Dorridge had turned a pasty white colour. He licked his lips.

  ‘Does this number belong to Stevie Cullen?’

  Dorridge looked over at his solicitor, who gave a tiny shake of the head.

  ‘No comment.’

  Warren fought to repress a smile of triumph; Dorridge had all but confirmed that the number belonged to Cullen. The question was, did the relationship – which he had been denying – extend beyond the fly-tipping scam?

  ‘Why were you calling this number?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I’ll ask you again, Mr Dorridge. Did you have a business relationship with Mr Cullen?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Warren gave a big sigh. ‘Look, Mr Dorridge, we have already established that you lied about how well you knew Mr Cullen the last time you were interviewed. You need to help me here. I’ll be honest, I’m not that fussed about a bit of illegal dumping. All I want to do is work out what happened to Mr Cullen.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Are you sure about that, Mr Dorridge?’ asked Warren.

  ‘What are you hiding, Ray?’ asked Grimshaw.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I would remind you that my client is here voluntarily,’ interrupted the solicitor. ‘He has already made it clear that he doesn’t wish to discuss his dealings with Mr Cullen. He is not under arrest, and so you shouldn’t be drawing any inferences from that decision. Mr Dorridge has been very cooperative, not least in allowing you to search his property for evidence linking him to Mr Cullen’s death.’

  ‘The search has been authorized by a warrant,’ Warren reminded the man.

  ‘Which I would question, on the basis of what we have heard so far. In fact, I’d go as far as to suggest that this is a fishing expedition, and request that you cease the search.’

  Dorridge looked over at his solicitor and licked his lips. ‘I want to take a break.’

  Chapter 19

  Whilst Dorridge spoke to his solicitor, Warren and Grimshaw met other members of the team who had been watching the interview remotely.

  ‘He’s shitting himself,’ was Grimshaw’s considered opinion.

  Warren had to agree. But over what? Getting the council to remove illegally dumped waste was definitely a crime, and he’d be liable for a large fine, but Dorridge had looked terrified.

  ‘How’s the search of Dorridge’s farm going?’

  ‘Nothing so far. They’re going through his wardrobe and laundry basket to see if there’s any clothing matching the description of the killer. They’ve taken several knives, and they’re dismantling the sink traps and the washing machine to look for any blood.’

  ‘It’s a farm,’ said Grimshaw, ‘he could have just hosed himself down in the middle of a field, and burnt his clothes, and we’d never be any the wiser.’

  ‘Let’s hope he isn’t that smart,’ said Warren.

  ‘Assuming he’s even the killer,’ cautioned Martinez. ‘I still think he’s an unlikely fit, based on what we’ve seen so far.’

  ‘Well let’s allow Forensics to do their job,’ said Warren. ‘It’s too early to dismiss him just yet.’

  ‘What if he continues no commenting? Do we have enough to arrest him?’ asked Grimshaw.

  Warren thought for a moment. ‘Enough to arrest, yes, but not enough to charge within the next twenty-four hours, and we haven’t got enough to extend his custody yet. I’d rather not arrest him until we’ve got more.’

  The custody sergeant poked his head around the door. ‘He’s back.’

  ‘Well at least it appears that he’s decided to stick around for a bit,’ said Warren, before finishing the last of his coffee in one big gulp. ‘Put your fags away, Shaun, let’s strike while the iron’s hot.’

  ‘Stevie’s been dumping on my land for the last few months. I’m not the only one. At least half the farms in the area have been dealing with his crap.’

  Ray Dorridge looked tired. He’d regained some of his colour, but he sounded weary. The statement matched the records from Middlesbury council, who’d recorded almost two dozen incidents of fly-tipping on farmland in the past financial year alone.

  ‘Tell me how it works,’ said Warren.

  ‘The first time it happened, I
didn’t know anything about it until I stumbled across it.’ Dorridge thought for a moment. ‘That’d be about a year or so ago. The bolt on the gate down by the small field had been cut through. There’s an unpaved, single-track road, with a turning circle down there. It’s pretty out of the way if you don’t know the area, and I can’t see it from the house. It looks as though somebody had ripped out their kitchen, including appliances. I knew immediately that it was a professional job, because there was too much to get in the back of a car.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I spent all bloody morning loading up my trailer, before hauling it down to the tip. At which point they told me that they don’t accept commercial waste, and I ended up paying two hundred pounds to get it disposed of properly.’

  ‘How did you find out that it was Stevie Cullen that was responsible?’ asked Warren.

  ‘I was complaining about it down the Stag, and one of my mates told me the same thing had happened to him. I said I was going to go to the police about it, but he said that I didn’t want to go upsetting the Cullens.

  ‘Anyway, I figured I’d just have to leave it, but I couldn’t afford to keep on paying out two hundred quid every time the bastards dumped it on my land. If it kept on happening, I wouldn’t have any choice.’

  ‘So, what happened?’ asked Warren.

  ‘Stevie must have heard that I was badmouthing him, and so one night he confronted me in the car park outside the Stag. Him and that bloody great brother of his. He told me to keep my gob shut, or there’d be consequences. I was still pissed off with him and told him what to do with himself and drove off.’

  Dorridge shook his head. ‘I knew as soon as I said it, that I shouldn’t have. I spent all night awake, wondering what they were going to do to me. I mean you know their reputation as well as I do. I figured even if I didn’t get a kicking, they’d probably burn my barn down.

  ‘Anyway, the next morning, I was in the house having lunch when the doorbell went. Who’s there, but Stevie Cullen and his brother? I don’t mind telling you, I nearly shat myself.’