Finally, he seemed to accept his fate, and, his voice sounding like that of an automaton, said dully, ‘Yeah, we did it. Me and Wayne. Can I go back to my cell now? I feel sick.’
‘There’s a bucket in the corner,’ Casey told him bluntly. ‘I suggest you make use of that if you need to throw up.’ He had brought it in anticipating that one of their sobering suspects might need to vomit. The interview room was basic, its ambiance unlikely to be improved by the stench of vomit, but, he didn’t see why the cleaners’ task should be made even more unpleasant by the likes of Dean Linklater. ‘We’ll need some details.’
Dean looked blankly at him. ‘Details? What do you mean? I don’t know no details. We done it, that’s all I know. Wayne’s the details man.’
And although they worked hard to get concrete evidence from him on the Bansi arson, Linklater’s memory proved poorer than Gough’s. Interspersed with groans as he periodically vomited the contents of his stomach into the plastic bucket, he claimed to be unable to remember anything and in answer to their questions, moaned, ‘ask Wayne. He’ll know.’
He couldn’t even remember where he’d bought — or more probably stolen — the petrol Gough claimed they had used to set the fire. Casey had earlier ordered his teams to check out the local filling stations and their security videos, but their two suspects hadn’t featured on any of them. Of course, they could have got the petrol further afield, but why would they go to the trouble when neither denied their guilt?
Like Wayne Gough, Linklater soon tired of their persistent probing. Unable or unwilling to tell them anything more, it was at least in his favour that he lacked his friend’s eager desire to boast of their achievements. Instead, he sat sullen and miserable, hunched over the now foul-smelling bucket. Eventually, when Casey produced the photograph of Chandra and Leela, he took refuge in silence. And although he apparently retained sufficient sense of shame to flush as he gazed at the picture, he also had the sense to finally take notice of his solicitor and he volunteered nothing further.
Now that his adopted swagger — which Casey suspected was put on in imitation of his pal — had melted away, the real Dean was clearly seen. His eyes were restless as though seeking an escape route. His buttocks, too, seemed unable to find ease. Though whether this desire to escape was in anticipation of what he could expect in prison, or from the retribution his friend would mete out if he attempted to save his own skin and backtrack on his admission of guilt, wasn’t clear.
Weak, painfully immature and easily-led, Casey could believe that ‘Little Sir Echo’ had followed sheep-like behind Gough’s evil lead, too much under his brash friend’s influence to develop a mind or a life of his own. And although every bit as guilty as his friend, Linklater had still retained sufficient decency to have a sense of shame as his ugly flush had revealed. Without the older Gough’s Svengali-like influence, Linklater might have had a chance to grow into a decent human being. Of course, if the case went to court and they were found guilty they would both go down. But that was a long way in the future. And far from certain, even after the two confessions.
That neither of them could supply convincing details of the Bansi arson worried him. His only hope was that a night’s sleep would encourage the return of memory.
Casey suggested to Dean that it was long past time he started thinking for himself. He was old enough to take responsibility for his actions. Old enough, too, to decide for himself what those actions should be.
Linklater glanced at him but said nothing. Though from the way Dean was biting his lip as he was led away, Casey thought something had got through.
Superintendent Brown-Smith was jubilant. He even went so far as to clap Casey on the back and tell him, ‘Well done.’
Casey managed an uneasy smile. He tried to explain his misgivings to the superintendent, but Brown-Smith brushed them away. ‘They were both drunk out of their minds,’ he said. ‘Of course they’re going to be vague on details. What else can you expect with scum like that?’
Casey’s doubts made him persist. ‘I’d like a little more time to investigate their movements before I charge them. Even if these two idiots can’t remember details they might have boasted of them to their friends before drink drowned their memories. I know you’ll want this case to be as solid as I can make it.’
Brown-Smith’s button brown gaze narrowed as if he suspected Casey was trying to delay or even deny him the congratulatory laurels that were probably already resounding in his head. But he hadn’t reached the rank of superintendent by not covering all the bases and now he said, ‘Very well. Check them out by all means. As you said, we want no mistakes on this one. I’ll arrange an extension to their detention period to give you the time.’
Casey nodded. Unfortunately, in spite of Brown-Smith’s confidence, Casey didn’t feel as certain as the superintendent that the investigation was concluded. And although neither Gough nor Linklater had retracted their statements once they had sobered up, they had both become very quiet.
Casey had set Catt to finding and questioning their families and friends — a racially non-sensitive pursuit to which even Brown-Smith could have no objection, conscious that in spite of his brushing aside of Casey’s anxieties, the superintendent would recall them all too readily if the prosecution failed and blame Casey for not pressing his point more strongly.
Chapter Nine
The inquest on Chandra and Leela Bansi opened the next morning. Casey, as investigating officer, attended. He was accompanied by Superintendent Brown-Smith. Of the family, only Rathi Khan and his son, Devdan attended. Casey had intended to speak to them, but the opportunity didn’t present itself as they slipped away quietly from another exit before he had the chance.
The press was there en masse and managed to turn what should have been a solemn, formal occasion into something of a scrum. Thankfully, the inquest was simply a formality and had been quickly adjourned pending further enquiries.
Afterwards, on the steps of the Coroner’s Court, Brown-Smith spoke to the assembled media. He took the opportunity to criticise irresponsible journalism. His words were carefully chosen and moderate and designed to impress those with police promotion in their gift; this was Brown-Smith’s public face. Public relations was something he excelled at. Casey often thought he would have made a superb politician - not because he would be likely to achieve anything worthwhile - but because, like any politician with ambitions for high office he could spin truth on its head and come out sounding both sincere and honest. It was quite a skill and one Casey had never mastered.
Brown-Smith was careful not to mention Gwyn Owen, the local newspaperman and his speculative article and he spoke more in sorrow than anger. Casey guessed he was still seething about it inside but anger was reserved for his other face, the one presumably only his family and lower-ranking officers like Casey ever saw.
Casey, conscious of his promise to Brown-Smith, had made sure to keep Thomas Catt well away from the proceedings. He had sent him off with DC Jim Heron to continue his attempts to interview Gough and Linklater’s friends and family. Their friends, at least, had so far proved elusive. For some reason they weren’t keen to speak to the police. But too much was riding on these interviews and although Casey would have preferred to go with Catt himself he had to attend the inquest and time and the superintendent were pressing. He had told Catt, if he managed to find one of their elusive interviewees, to take as long as he needed, but to come back with some answers.
Back in the office later that morning, Casey concentrated on working his way through the many reports. They added little to the sum of his knowledge unfortunately. By the time he had finished the afternoon was rapidly drawing on to evening.
Catt stuck his glossy head round the door of Casey’s office just as the phone rang. Casey waved him to a chair as he picked up the phone.
‘That was the lab,’ he told Catt when he put the phone down five minutes later.. ‘The gas chromatography tests on the debris at Chandra’s flat confir
m the presence of an accelerant. Petrol.’
The report confirmed what they had already suspected.
‘They also found several tiny pieces of some red material. The twisted metals they found strewn about were pieces of jewellery, rings and bangles, apparently.’
‘Strange they weren’t on the body,’ said Catt.
‘Chandra was a widow, remember. According to Shazia Singh Hindu widows aren’t supposed to wear jewellery.’
‘But Chandra was a modern girl, westernised. Would she have taken notice of such old-fashioned restrictions? Particularly when she was alone.’
Casey shrugged. ‘Whether she would or not she wasn’t actually wearing any jewellery when she was found. These rings and bangles, and so on, which is what the lab believes them to be, were just lying on the floor. Perhaps she was just having a trying on session to cheer herself up.’
Catt threw another idea into the ring. ‘Maybe this was a burglary gone wrong. You saw what a collection of rings our two heroes, Gough and Linklater wore. Maybe Chandra disturbed them as they were burgling the place and they committed double murder and arson as a panic measure.’
‘What, you mean this was their night for burgling and they brought petrol with them as a just-in-case measure?’
‘Put like that, it does sound unlikely,’ Catt admitted. ‘Unless they thumped her unconscious, went off to buy petrol and returned to finish the job. That way they’d get to do two of their favourite things in one.’
They looked at one another. It was a possibility, one that hadn’t previously occurred to Casey, though whether Gough and Linklater were the burglars...
‘So how did you get on? Did you manage to find any of Gough or Linklater’s friends? If you did, it’s clear from your comments that you didn’t get anything concrete.’
Catt shook his head. ‘I finally managed to track down Wayne Gough’s girlfriend. Sullen madam by the name of Tara Tompkins. Told me what sounded like a pack of lies. According to her, Gough was with her, not Linklater, at the time of the fire at Chandra’s flat. She turned sullen when I asked her to prove it and refused to say more, apart from claiming a local vicar as a witness.’ Catt scoffed. ‘A likely story. Can you see friend Gough hobnobbing with vicars?’
It sounded pretty unlikely, Casey admitted. ‘Though the fact that she didn’t come up with something more believable makes me think she could be telling the truth. Unless she’s stupid she must realise we’d find it hard to swallow such a tale. Shame she clammed up. Maybe she only told you half a tale because she’s scared that Gough would take exception. He wouldn’t like his girlfriend trying to protect him when it exposes him as a liar to his mates.’
Catt nodded. ‘I can imagine he’d be handy with his fists. Anyway, I tried contacting this vicar, but he’s away at present, so I wasn’t able to get her story substantiated one way or the other. I left a message for the vicar to contact us on his return.’
Casey nodded. And although Catt was still inclined to think it was a waste of time, Casey wasn’t so sure. If what the girl claimed was true it would not only make Gough’s confession worthless as far as the Chandra Bansi case was concerned it would probably mean that Linklater’s was too. Casey couldn’t see Linklater having the nerve to fire set without the bolstering bravado of Gough.
But until this vicar returned they would have to bear their impatience for answers as well as they could. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been half-expecting something of the sort ever since he’d listened to their confessions. Dryly, he asked, ‘Will you tell the superintendent or shall I?’
‘You, I think,’ Catt replied. ‘Privileges of rank, and all that.’
Casey nodded. ‘But not just yet, I think Like us, the superintendent can wait upon the vicar’s return.’
‘“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof”?’ Catt mocked.
‘No. Merely that until we’ve something definite to tell him there’s no point. You know as well as I do that he prefers things clear-cut.’ Casey sat and stared thoughtfully in to space. In spite of his reasoned arguments concerning the jewellery, after what Catt had told him he now had even more reason to doubt Gough and Linklater’s involvement. There was some niggling aspect of that scenario that jarred on him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Just because Gough, at least, had been so keen to claim the Bansi arson was no reason for him to believe the two were involved. It wasn’t as if their claimed recollections of the act were clear. It wasn’t even as if the Bansi arson bore the same MO as the earlier ones.
And then there was the matter of the baby, little Leela. The toxicology reports revealed the presence of drugs in the child. A large quantity of a sleeping draught, enough to knock such a small baby right out and very quickly. He told Catt about it.
Catt had a perfectly reasonable explanation. ‘The baby was a bawler. We already knew that. What could be more understandable than for Chandra, who sounded like she had plenty of reasons to be at the end of her tether, to just dope the kid up to the eyeballs so she could get some rest?’
‘It’s a possibility, of course. But no matter how tired, would a responsible mother give her child such a large quantity of drugs? According to the toxicology report, it was perilously close to a fatal dose.’
Always ready with suggestions, Catt put forward another one. ‘It would make sense if Chandra had already decided to kill herself in the classic sati manner and take the baby with her, but didn’t want the child to suffer. That would explain the drugs. It would also explain the fact that this one has a different MO. You already had plenty of doubts of our two suspects’ involvement. What if this turns out not to be murder at all? Or rather, a murder and suicide, by Chandra herself. Who could blame her if she had decided she and her baby were better off dead? It was what her brother implied, after all. The girl’s future sounded bleak. Sure, she could have refused to remarry, moved away and found herself a partner outside the Hindu community. But if she did that her family might have disowned her or set bounty hunters on her to punish her for so dishonouring the family. Besides, in that scenario her child came into the equation. Would Chandra condemn her daughter to an outlawed existence? With a mother always looking over her shoulder and obliged for her own safety never to see her family again?
‘The other alternative, of agreeing to accept the partner her father found for her, however unsuitable, was scarcely an improvement. She had already had one bad experience of marriage, of living with in-laws. Would she really have wanted to risk repeating it, particularly as Leela, too, might end up mistreated? And if, as Dan Khan suggested, it was an elderly husband in India her father was trying for, she would be isolated far from her family. The poor girl would have been in a fix whatever course she decided upon.’
Casey nodded. As usual, Catt had set out the facts plainly. Too plainly. With anyone else in such a position, Casey would think that infanticide followed by suicide was a strong possibility. But despite the theory Catt had put forward so persuasively, Casey wasn’t convinced. From all he had learned of Chandra he didn’t feel that suicide would be her natural choice. She had been strong, vivacious, not lacking in either confidence or courage. Even if she had been in a state of depression, it would surely have been a temporary thing only. After all, she had been a beautiful young woman. Casey couldn’t conceive of any young woman choosing to destroy her beauty and that of her little daughter.
And even if she had chosen death there were so many alternatives. And in spite of what he had learned from Shazia Singh, he felt that such a death would never figure highly on anyone’s list of suicide choices.
Casey sat back with a sigh. They had a long way to go yet. Theorising was all very well, but proof was better and they had little enough of that so far. Conscious that the hour of his daily tete-a-tete with Superintendent Brown-Smith was again approaching, he wanted something to give him and now, he questioned Catt again. ‘Did you manage to track down any of Gough and Linklater’s other friends?’
Catt shoo
k his head. Unsurprisingly, their friends had proved evasive, Gough had no close family. Linklater’s mother - the father had long since left home - insisted her son was innocent, though as she had been at work at the time of the arson, she was unable to substantiate her claims. Unlike Gough, Linklater had no girlfriend. Their only hopes of getting anything to confirm or negate the confessions were Gough’s girlfriend and this missing vicar.
Already tired from absorbing the vast quantity of paperwork the team had produced, his theorising with Catt had made his head spin. He felt stale and not in any state to conduct an important interview so perhaps it was just as well no one but the super was eager to talk to him.
What he needed, what they both needed, was a break and now Casey proposed an early night and a few beers. Starting the next day refreshed might be the best way to move on with the investigation.
He was surprised when Catt agreed. Although his sergeant lived alone his evenings were normally taken up with a veritable harem of lady-friends. Casey had a theory that Catt’s large number of girlfriends were a self-protection device designed to prevent any one of them getting serious and expecting commitment. After his abandonment as a toddler and subsequent upbringing in several children’s homes, Thomas Catt was naturally wary of commitment, of putting his emotional happiness into another’s hands. But Casey believed that in spite of evidence to the contrary, Tom secretly longed for a secure family life if only he could overcome his fear of abandonment.
After Superintendent Brown-Smith had wrung what remained of Casey’s energy from him, he and Catt adjourned to The Lamb. The Lamb, now called The Rat and Parrot, much to Casey’s disgust, was always referred to by them by its earlier name. Situated in the centre of the town, it was a busy pub, with a surprisingly wide menu. An additional attraction was its large garden, situated by the river and shaded by several large weeping willows, it was perfect for summer evenings.
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