by Peter James
‘And you went?’ Grace asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When was that?’
His eye movements revealed to Grace he was telling the truth. ‘About a fortnight ago.’
‘Where did the meeting take place?’ he asked.
‘In the street outside her home.’
The two detectives shot a glance at each other. ‘What was the address?’ Batchelor asked.
‘A block of flats. Vallance Mansions. Right opposite the King Alfred leisure centre.’
Grace wrote on his pad: 1. Did not know before. 2. Been in contact. 3. Met. 4. Why there?
‘Can you tell us what happened at the meeting?’ Batchelor asked.
‘Yes. I thought she seemed a straightforward woman. The car looked nice – better than she had described it, in fact. Maybe I should have twigged then.’
‘Twigged?’ Batchelor asked.
‘That I was being set up for a con.’
Grace gestured with his hands. ‘Just continue with what happened, for a moment, please.’
‘We took the car for a short test drive. I liked it a lot, but I couldn’t afford more than £2,800 – I’d been offered a loan, but it was at extortionate rates. She’d advertised it for £3,500 but no one pays the asking price, do they?’
Neither detective commented.
‘So I told her £2,800 was my best offer, she said she was in a hurry to sell and would take it. We agreed I’d make payment on eBay through PayPal – that was what she wanted – I would have been happy to give her folding, but she wanted it through PayPal. I understand why now. I should have smelled a rat then.’ He gave a bitter laugh.
‘Smelled a rat?’ Batchelor asked.
Belling glanced at his solicitor, who gave him a nod of encouragement. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever bought a second-hand car, detective, perhaps your police salaries are so high you don’t need to?’
‘I wish,’ Batchelor said.
Darling and his solicitor both gave fleeting smiles. ‘Yeah, well in all my past experience, vendors negotiate. I offered what I thought was a ridiculously low price, expecting her to come back with a counter – perhaps three-two. But she didn’t. She just said, fine, she’d accept £2,800. I asked her how quickly we could complete the transaction – I wanted to get the car valeted, and then put it outside our house, with a ribbon around it and some flowers in the boot, so my wife would be blown away on her birthday. She said I could take the car away just as soon as she received payment and she sent me her PayPal details. So that’s what I did, the following day. I told her the payment had gone through, then the bitch told me she’d not received any money. She was lying.’
His body language was consistent with someone telling the truth, Grace thought.
‘What happened then?’ he asked.
‘We’d agreed I would collect the car last Saturday morning. I had made payment in full through eBay’s checkout page into her PayPal account on the Thursday – the one she had given me. The money should have been there instantly, but she denied all knowledge of receiving it, the bloody thieving bitch.’
‘The Economic Crime Unit think you may have been a victim of online fraud,’ Grace said. ‘Did you consider that?’
‘Yes. Yes, I checked, of course, right away, with PayPal. They told me there was no such account, the details she had given me were not for a PayPal account.’
Batchelor frowned. ‘What account were they for?’
‘I still haven’t found out. She was a bloody scam artist. Instead of arresting me and locking me up, perhaps you’d like to go and recover my sodding money for me, so I can do something nice for my dying wife?’
Still watching him closely, Grace asked, ‘Would you like to tell us your feelings about Lorna Belling?’
Doris Ishack raised a warning hand and leaned over to her client. Belling nodded, then answered, once more his eyes moving left, first. ‘I’ve just told you, she was a con artist.’
‘What makes you feel it’s her who was the con artist and that you’ve both not been a victim of cybercrime fraud?’ Grace went on.
‘How would you feel if you were in my position, detective? You’ve just paid out more money than you can afford, and you find out you’ve been screwed. Go on, how would that make you feel?’
Privately, Grace considered that perhaps Darling knew he had been conned but had thought he might bully or frighten Lorna Belling into handing over the car – given the man’s track record of violence. But he would leave that one for the prosecution counsel, if it came to court.
‘Angry enough to kill that person?’ Grace tested.
‘That’s a leading question, Detective Superintendent,’ the solicitor interjected.
The two detectives sat whilst Darling and Ishack conferred in whispers. Then, with an irritatingly smug expression, Darling said, ‘No comment.’
Grace leaned forward and pressed a button on the recording control in front of him. ‘Interview suspended at 9.20 a.m.’
46
Sunday 24 April
Grace, followed by Batchelor, stepped out of the interview room, closing the door behind them.
‘What do you think, boss?’ Batchelor asked in the corridor.
‘We know there’s been a spate of frauds around PayPal recently,’ Grace replied. ‘Mick Richards at the Economic Crimes Unit briefed me on it yesterday. Mainly Romanians involved. They bring homeless people over here, give them a chunk of change, get them to open bank accounts then send them home with a nice lump sum. They track eBay and Gumtree transactions, spot a transaction such as this one with Lorna Belling’s car, upload malware and give the purchaser a fake PayPal account number. The purchaser – in this case Mr Darling – pays the money in and, whoosh, it’s gone. Washed through an account and immediately transferred abroad. All his body language says he’s telling the truth about the purchase. He’s a victim of cybercrime fraud, in my view.’
‘Where does that leave us?’
‘With one very angry man.’
‘Angry enough to kill her? Judging from his past form?’
‘Let’s go back in and see what we can find out.’
They entered the interview room again and sat back down.
Pressing the record button on the control unit, Roy Grace said, ‘Interview with Seymour Rodney Darling recommenced at 9.25 a.m.’ He turned to the suspect and reminded him he was still under caution, then continued. ‘Mr Darling, can you tell us where you were on the afternoon and evening of Wednesday, April 20th?’
Darling’s eyes went to his left. That indicated to Grace the man was constructing a lie. ‘I was working that day. In the afternoon I went to measure up for a fencing quote for a customer in Hurstpierpoint.’
‘Can you let me have the customer’s name and address?’
Hesitantly. ‘Yes. Stuart Dwyer – at West Point Lodge, Church Lane.’
‘Mr Dwyer could verify that?’ Grace asked.
Hesitantly again. ‘Yes.’
‘And after that?’
‘I went home. The wife and I had a row.’ He shrugged, seeing the intent stares of the two detectives. ‘The medications she’s on make her very edgy. I went out, took the dog for a long walk.’
‘Where?’
‘Up on the Downs.’
‘Did anyone see you – could anyone verify that, Mr Darling?’ Batchelor asked.
‘I didn’t see anyone.’
‘What time did you leave the house and return?’ Grace watched his face intently.
‘I left about five – I got back around nine p.m.’
‘A four-hour walk?’
‘I often go for long walks.’
Grace noticed how uncomfortable he looked. ‘Do you and your wife row frequently?’
‘We rowed all the time before her diagnosis. I’ve been trying to be understanding since. But –’ He fell silent.
‘But?’ Batchelor prompted.
Darling looked each of them in the eye, in turn. ‘Just because someone has
terminal cancer, it doesn’t mean they’re any less of a fucking bitch than they were before.’
Doris Ishack gave him a cautioning stare, then turned to the detectives. ‘You need to understand my client is under a lot of stress at the moment.’
‘I imagine Lorna Belling found being murdered quite stressful, too,’ Grace retorted. He looked at Darling. ‘I am very sorry to hear about your wife’s circumstances.’
‘Is that right?’ Darling said, bitterly. ‘Do you have any idea what it feels like to know you are going to lose your wife?’
‘I can only try to imagine.’
‘Then try a bit sodding harder.’
Ignoring this last outburst, Grace said, ‘I’d like you to think back to Wednesday night very hard. Are you absolutely sure you went straight home after your walk on the Downs?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was the route you took on this walk?’
‘Is this relevant?’ the solicitor asked.
‘It is.’ Grace looked at Darling.
‘From where we live, it’s a few minutes to the tracks of the old railway line that used to run from Aldrington Halt up to the Dyke. I took the dog there – it’s a safe place to let him off the lead.’
‘I used to live in Hangleton some years ago,’ Grace said. ‘I know that route. You walk through beautiful countryside, with great views on a fine day to the south, of Brighton and Hove and Shoreham.’
Darling nodded agreement.
‘To get up to the Dyke and back would take about ninety minutes, from memory, although I may be a little rusty. It was some years ago,’ Grace went on, ignoring Batchelor, who was giving him a strange look.
‘If you went straight up and back down, yes,’ Darling said.
‘But of course it would be longer if you carried on and went down into the village of Poynings, to the Royal Oak pub there, or even further to the village of Fulking and the Shepherd and Dog pub. Would that be correct?’
‘Yes,’ Darling said. ‘That’s exactly what I did. I went down into Fulking.’
‘Did you stop anywhere?’
‘Yes, actually, I had a pint at the Shepherd and Dog.’
‘Did you talk to anyone in the pub? Is there someone who would remember you were there?’
‘I had Shane, the dog, with me, couldn’t take him inside. So no, I didn’t talk to anyone. Got my pint and went straight back outside.’
‘Did you ask for a bowl of water for your dog?’
‘There was a bowl outside.’
Watching his eyes intently, Grace asked, ‘Would the person who served your pint remember you?’
‘Possibly.’
‘What beer did you order?’
A moment of hesitation. ‘Harvey’s.’
‘Do you remember the person behind the bar who served you?’
‘It was very busy in there – I don’t – don’t really recall.’
Grace made another note. ‘How did you pay for your drink?’
‘Cash, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Yes, yes it was cash.’
‘So you took your pint of Harvey’s outside, sat down with Shane, you drank your pint, and then you walked home. That accounts for those four hours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you certain you’ve not forgotten anything, Mr Darling?’
‘I’m certain.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said.
‘You’ve heard my client’s account,’ the solicitor said. ‘Unless you have anything further to add, I’m requesting that you release him immediately. He has a very sick wife to take care of and it is inhuman, given his domestic circumstances, to prevent him from going home to her any longer.’
‘I do have some further things to add,’ Grace said. ‘I am mindful of your client’s domestic circumstances, but my priorities lie at this moment with the victim of the brutal murder I’m investigating.’ He turned to Darling. ‘So after your walk you went home, arriving at around 9 p.m., you said. Is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘What happened when you came home?’
Darling shrugged. ‘I had some supper, then watched television – well – I had it watching television.’
‘What did you eat?’
‘Really, Detective Superintendent!’ the solicitor said.
‘Some leftovers in the fridge.’
‘What exactly?’ Grace asked, ignoring the solicitor.
Darling thought for some moments. ‘Lasagne – I microwaved it. Had it with a bit of salad that was in the fridge.’
‘What kind of lasagne? Meat? Fish? Vegetarian?’
‘Really, Detective Superintendent, is this important?’ the solicitor said.
‘It could be.’ He looked quizzically at his suspect.
‘Vegetarian. My wife’s on a special vegetarian-only diet for her cancer.’
‘What about the dog – Shane – did he eat?’
‘He only eats once a day, in the morning. It’s meant to be better for them.’
‘So you ate your vegetarian lasagne and salad in front of the television?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you watch?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘How would you describe your memory, Mr Darling?’
‘Describe it? What do you mean?’
‘Do you have a good memory in general?’
Darling hesitated for some moments, his eyes flicking between the two detectives, as if aware they were trying to catch him out. ‘Normal,’ he said. ‘Pretty average, I’d say.’
‘Are you sure?’ Grace pressed.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure I agree. I don’t think you have a very good memory at all, Mr Darling.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, when we arrested you, you couldn’t remember your own name, or date of birth, or star sign. You don’t remember who served you a pint last Wednesday. You were hesitant about how you had paid. You don’t remember what you watched on television that evening. Is there anything else about that evening that you don’t remember?’
Darling shrugged. ‘No, nothing.’
‘You arrived back home from your four-hour dog walk, ate microwaved lasagne and salad from the fridge whilst watching television? Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do after that?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘I went to bed.’
‘And your wife?’
‘This is very personal,’ the solicitor interrupted.
‘It is actually relevant,’ Grace replied, sternly.
Ishack turned to her client. ‘You don’t need to reply.’
‘I’m fine,’ he told her, then turned to Grace and Batchelor. ‘She was asleep in bed, as she is every night from around 9 p.m.’
‘You didn’t go out after your supper?’ Grace asked. ‘You didn’t take your dog out for a final night-time walk?’
‘No, I never do. I just let him out in the back garden to do his business.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said, courteously. Then he leaned forward and pressed the pause button on the recording control and said, ‘The time is 9.45 a.m. Interview with Seymour Rodney Darling suspended.’
Addressing the solicitor, Grace then said, ‘DI Batchelor and I are going to step out for a short break. I’d strongly advise you to ask your client to think further about his actions and whereabouts on the afternoon and night of last Wednesday.’
The two detectives went out.
47
Sunday 24 April
‘I need a snout,’ Guy Batchelor said as they entered the corridor, closing the interview suite door behind them.
‘I’ll come out with you,’ Grace said.
They let themselves out into the courtyard and stood outside the grim facade of the building. A marked police car, with two uniformed officers in the front and a thin, miserable-looking man in the back, drove past and entered one of the receiving bays. Just one of the doz
ens of people who would be arrested every day and brought up here to Custody for processing, Grace thought. Burglars, muggers, drunk drivers, drug dealers, abusive partners, shoplifters. Many of the city’s low-lifes were frequent flyers here. And mostly their childhoods would have a similar dysfunctional pattern. Followed by their first arrests – for petty thieving, joy riding, street running for drug peddlers – and their first time banged up in a young offenders’ institute. Welcome to the criminal justice system, where a life of crime beckoned.
A dry, blustery wind blew and spring seemed a long way off. Batchelor pulled out his cigarette pack and offered one to Grace. He shook his head. ‘Thanks – too early for me – but I’ll enjoy yours passively!’ He yawned again, then smelled the sudden waft of smoke as his colleague sparked up.
‘What do you think, Roy?’
‘It’s going our way, Darling’s walked straight, slap-bang into it, the lying little scrote. Let’s see what he has to say for himself in a few minutes.’ He grinned.
Batchelor nodded.
‘The time is 9.57 a.m. Interview with Seymour Rodney Darling recommenced.’ Grace once more repeated the caution. Both Darling and his solicitor seemed confident, almost cockily so, presumably bolstered by the chat they’d had whilst he and Guy had been out of the room. They wouldn’t be quite so smug in a few minutes, Grace thought.
He made a deliberate play of looking down at his notebook before he looked back at the suspect. ‘Mr Darling, do you possess a mobile phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you let me have the number?’
Darling gave it to him and he wrote it down. Then he asked, ‘Have you at any time during the past week lost your phone?’
Darling was silent for a moment. ‘No.’
‘Where do you keep it?’
The solicitor looked anxious, having an inkling where this might be going, but said nothing.
‘With me,’ Darling replied.
‘All the time?’
‘Yeah. All the time, like most people.’
‘Are there any occasions when you don’t have it with you?’
‘No. Not intentionally. I’ve left it behind at home, on occasions.’
‘Did you leave it at home on Wednesday, April 20th?’