by Paul Gitsham
‘Did you leave the house that night?’ asked Pymm.
Patel looked up at the ceiling, the tears starting to run down her cheek.
Finally, she spoke.
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘Good work, you two,’ said Warren. They were a long way from the truth of what happened that night, but cracks were starting to appear in the couple’s alibi.
‘Manoj Patel has decided to meet us head-on and request a lawyer straight off the bat,’ said Hutchinson ‘They just arrived and they’re having a conference now.’
‘Hopefully, Manoj will be expecting us to question him further about Jaidev’s movements on the day we told the family about Anish’s death,’ said Warren.
‘Sounds like a good opener, Sir,’ said Hutchinson, a note of relish in his voice. He clapped Ruskin on the shoulder. ‘Ready to go and meet Mr Charming?’
‘Lead on,’ said Ruskin.
Manoj Patel glared at the two officers throughout the interview preliminaries, speaking only to confirm his name. Beside him his solicitor – a portly, middle-aged man that neither officer had met before – sat similarly mute, his pen poised over his notepad.
‘Thank you for coming to see us again, Manoj, I appreciate that this is a difficult time for you and your family,’ started Hutchinson. It never hurt to try and get the interview off to a cordial start.
Patel curled his lip. ‘Didn’t give me much choice, did you?’
‘Well, as the officers explained, you are not under arrest. You have attended the station, voluntarily, to give a statement to help us with our enquiries.’ He inclined his head towards the solicitor. ‘As I am sure your legal representative has explained to you.’
Patel gave a sneer and leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
‘I imagine you have spoken to Jaidev about what happened the day that we visited your father to break the news of your brother’s death. I wonder if you could tell me what you recall about that day?’
Patel said nothing and just glared. Hutchinson and Ruskin waited patiently. Eventually, after a few tense seconds, he straightened in his chair.
‘Fine, whatever. My sister, Reva, called me to say that police were at the house. Something about Anish being dead. She was pretty cut up and wasn’t making a lot of sense. I jumped in the car and drove over. I met the officers that were there, and then stayed the rest of the evening with my family.’
‘Did you go straight there?’
‘Pretty much. I called Kelly, the girl who does the evening shift and asked her to come in early. It took about fifteen minutes for her to arrive, then I left and drove over,’ he sneered. ‘You can check the speed cameras, if you like; see if I stopped off to get petrol first.’
‘You and your late brother didn’t see eye-to-eye?’ said Hutchinson.
Patel sighed. ‘We’ve been through this before. No, my brother and I had our differences.’
‘So, you weren’t in contact?’ continued Ruskin.
‘No. We hadn’t spoken since he moved out of Mum and Dad’s house.’
‘What about by phone?’
‘No, I didn’t even have his number.’
‘What about his flat, did you ever visit there?’
‘Are you deaf or something? No, I was not in contact with my brother. I did not call him. I did not visit his flat.’
Up in the main briefing room, the team were gathered around the main screen.
‘Good, he’s getting annoyed,’ muttered Warren. ‘Keep on pushing his buttons boys, don’t give him time to think it through.’
‘But Jaidev was in contact with him, wasn’t he? In fact, he visited his flat,’ Hutchinson was saying.
‘Yeah, well Jaidev always had a bit of a soft spot for Anish. He’s as bad as Reva.’
‘And you didn’t approve? You followed your dad’s orders and left him well alone,’ said Ruskin. ‘Like a good boy?’
‘Hey, fuck you. You know nothing about my family.’
‘Officers, I remind you that Mr Patel is here voluntarily. I insist that you treat him with respect, or I shall be advising him to end this interview and leave.’
Ruskin raised his hands. ‘Sorry, you’re right. That was out of line.’
Hutchinson repeated the apology.
‘Tell me, Manoj. What happens to your father’s business when he dies?’ Ruskin asked after a moment.
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question, Mr Patel,’ said Hutchinson.
‘We inherit it, obviously.’
‘And who is we?’
‘Me and my brothers and sister.’
‘And what happens now that Anish is dead?’
‘I dunno, ask my father.’
Hutchinson opened the folder again and removed the photocopy of the will that Reva Vasava had brought into the station.
‘This is a copy of your father’s will. Are you familiar with it?’
Patel shrugged and said nothing.
‘It has been amended recently, are you aware of the nature of those changes?’ Hutchinson continued.
‘No comment.’
‘According to those changes, the will is to be split between all four children, providing they are married with children.’
‘No comment.’
‘As it stands, if your father were to have died before Anish passed away, Anish would not have been eligible for a share of the business?’
‘Well, obviously,’ said Patel.
‘Why obviously?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Because he’s fucking gay, and he would have to marry a woman and have kids of his own.’
‘Well, UK law recognises the marriage of same-sex partners, and adopted children are regarded, for inheritance purposes, in the same way as biological children,’ said Hutchinson. ‘It sounds to me as though you are familiar with your father’s will, namely the clause he inserted defining marriage as between a man and a woman, and children as being biologically related.’
‘No comment.’
‘Tell me, Manoj, were you aware that your brother had recently been seeing a woman, with a view to getting married?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘This is fucking ridiculous. Anish was a poof; everybody knows that.’
Hutchinson continued, regardless, ‘And that they were looking at having children of their own?’
Patel threw his arms up and looked at his solicitor. ‘Seriously, do I have to listen to this shit?’
‘You are free to leave at any time,’ said his solicitor, his own voice carrying an edge of annoyance.
‘OK, let’s change the subject,’ said Hutchinson, not wanting Patel to end the interview. ‘Tell me about that shop you manage. Who’s this Kelly for a start?’
Patel shrugged. ‘What’s to tell? It’s a corner shop and newsagent. Fags, booze, newspapers, a couple of shelves of food.’
‘Open late?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Yeah, till ten o’clock. You’d be amazed how many people fancy a Ginsters and twenty Bensons on the way home from the pub.’
‘Must be hard, working all those hours,’ Ruskin commented.
‘Kelly does the evening shift after she’s finished college. She has keys and locks up.’
‘On her own? That’s quite trusting. What if there’s a problem?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘She has my number, she can call me if she needs to, I’m only ten minutes away. And there’s CCTV and a panic button. I empty the till before I leave and she can’t open the safe, so there’s no point trying to rob her.’
‘Do you get a lot of problems?’ asked Ruskin.
‘No, the area’s OK and she’s got her head screwed on. I can’t remember the last time I had to go out there.’
‘So, you haven’t been called back after work recently?’ asked Hutchinson.
Patel’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, why do you ask?’
‘Do you drive a black Range Rover, Mr Patel?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you park on your dri
ve at home when you’re not at work?’
‘Yeah, ’course. I don’t understand, where is this going?’
‘Does your wife drive?’
‘Yes, she has a Vauxhall hatchback.’
‘Does she ever drive your car?’
‘No, she doesn’t like it; she says it’s too big. We didn’t bother adding her to the insurance.’
Hutchinson opened his notepad. ‘When you were interviewed previously, you stated that you spent the evening of November the 24th at home.’
Patel licked his lips. ‘I might have, I can’t remember. I was still a bit dazed after everything, you know?’
‘You did. I have the transcript of your interview here,’ said Ruskin.
The solicitor looked at the proffered print-out. Patel ignored it.
‘Is this your mobile phone number?’ asked Hutchinson, passing over a sheet of paper.
‘Yeah.’
‘According to historic location data for that evening, your phone didn’t leave the house.’ Hutchinson looked at Patel, who was now looking slightly shifty. ‘Presumably, that’s the number Kelly would phone if she had a problem?’
‘Yeah.’
Hutchinson opened his laptop. He spun it around so that Patel and his solicitor could see the screen.
‘This is CCTV footage of your driveway, the night that Anish was killed. The night that you said that you stayed in with your wife. Where were you going at eight forty-five, Manoj?’
‘I don’t know, I can’t remember.’
‘Your car doesn’t return for over five hours. Where were you?’
Patel went quiet. He looked over at his lawyer. ‘No comment.’
‘You’ve been lying to us, Mr Patel. I’ll ask again, where did you go the night that your brother was murdered, and why did you leave your phone at home?’
‘No comment.’
Hutchinson looked over at Ruskin, who gave a tiny nod.
‘Manoj Patel, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of your brother, Anish Patel, on or around November the 24th. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘What! Are you fucking kidding me?’
‘No, Mr Patel, this is not a joke,’ said Hutchinson sternly. ‘You have lied to us about your whereabouts on the night of your brother’s murder. You have repeatedly expressed your dislike of your brother, and we believe that you stand to gain financially from your brother’s death, particularly now that we know Anish was actively looking to circumvent the restrictions placed in your father’s will.
‘I suggest that this would be a good time to tell us where you were on the night of your brother’s murder and what you were doing.’
Patel folded his arms. ‘No. Fucking. Comment.’
‘Then this interview is suspended. You will be remanded in custody, whilst we execute a search warrant on your house, your vehicles and your place of work.’
Patel remained silent, as he stared over Hutchinson’s shoulder, seething.
‘Manoj Patel’s fingerprints don’t match the partial print found on the door handles in Anish’s apartment,’ said Rachel Pymm. ‘We’re still waiting for them to process Jaidev’s.’ Jaidev Patel and his wife had refused to tell Mags Richardson his whereabouts the night of the murder. Nevertheless, given that they had caught Jaidev in a lie about his movements that night, the desk sergeant at Cambridge nick had authorised his detention. His wife had been bailed.
‘No surprise, I think his insistence that he had no contact with his brother is probably the only thing I believe from his interviews,’ said Warren.
‘That’s backed up by the phone records we have, for his personal handset at least,’ said Pymm. ‘The only calls we have between Anish and his family are those calls to Jaidev and his weekly calls to his sister. Pretty much everything else was one-sided from Anish, and it looks as though they were ignored.’
‘Unless they were using a messaging app,’ Ruskin reminded them.
‘Forensic IT have both his and his wife’s phones, and are looking at what apps they have installed,’ said Pymm, ‘but don’t hold your breath.’ She frowned. ‘What we really need is Anish’s mobile phone, there are no messaging apps installed on the tablet that we recovered from his flat.’
‘And Manoj could have an unregistered phone,’ said Sutton. ‘We know that both he and Jaidev left their usual phones at home that night, so unless they’re completely incommunicado, they must have at least another handset between them. There are loads of calls and texts from unregistered phones on Anish’s call list that we haven’t managed to link to the people he met on Rainbow Hookups. He could be the owner of one of those numbers.’
‘Well, if he was using a burner phone, perhaps it’ll turn up during the search,’ said Warren.
Lavanya Patel had been informed of her husband’s arrest, but on the advice of her solicitor had said nothing further. Eventually, Grayson had authorised her release on conditional bail, after her arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.
Pymm’s desk phone rang; she looked at the caller ID as she picked up.
‘Meera Gupta,’ she mouthed; Gupta was leading the search teams at Manoj Patel’s house.
Warren raised an eyebrow; he wasn’t expecting to hear anything for at least a few hours.
He tried to listen in on the call, but Pymm’s side of the conversation was maddeningly vague.
‘Well?’ he asked when she hung up. She started to manipulate her computer mouse.
‘Well, so far they haven’t recovered any burner phones. They’ve bagged some clothes to look for traces of Anish’s blood, but aren’t hopeful.’
‘OK, but I’m sure she wasn’t calling to tell us that.’
Pymm smiled sweetly and pointed to her computer. ‘Take a look at what she just emailed me. They’ve been into the garden shed and look what they’ve discovered underneath an old carpet.’
Chapter 35
‘My client has explained why he sometimes stores excess stock at home, rather than at the newsagent,’ said Manoj Patel’s solicitor.
Patel’s second interview of the day was going about as well as the first. After furnishing Hutchinson and Ruskin with an obviously prepared explanation for why there were six hundred cartons of cigarettes hidden in his shed, he’d folded his arms again and refused to say anything else. His solicitor was getting as exasperated as his client; he probably had better things to do with his evening than sit in an over-heated interview suite, going around in circles.
‘You say it’s for security,’ said Hutchinson, ‘but I fail to see how a rickety wooden shed with a cheap padlock is more secure than your shop, which has metal shutters, five-lever mortice locks, CCTV and an alarm monitored 24/7 by a private security firm. It’s also damp, which can’t be good for keeping tobacco dry.’
‘It is secure if no one knows they are there,’ said Patel, finally breaking his silence, ‘and the cartons are wrapped in plastic, aren’t they?’
The explanation was certainly logical, if nothing else.
‘Look, I fail to see how the way that the Patels choose to run their business has anything to do with your investigation,’ said the solicitor. ‘You are supposedly looking into the circumstances of Mr Patel’s brother’s death – an affair that he categorically denies any involvement in. I don’t see the relevance of this find.’ He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. ‘In the interests of disclosure, I would be interested in knowing about anything relevant that you have found during your intrusive search into Mr Patel’s house, business and vehicles.’
‘All in good time,’ said Hutchinson with more confidence than he felt.
The solicitor wasn’t fooled.
Manoj Patel’s scowl remained fixed as the two officers suspended the interview again.
‘We’ll get an extension to custody granted, no question, but we need more
to justify holding him beyond tomorrow,’ said Grayson. ‘What have we got in the pipeline?’
Warren sighed and took a sip of his coffee. Grayson had taken pity on him and brewed him a cup of his private stash.
‘Manoj claims to have had no contact with Anish recently. We now know that both Manoj and Jaidev left their phones at home that night, perhaps to avoid being tracked. That raises the possibility that they may have access to another phone, which may account for one of the unregistered numbers on Anish’s phone records. We’re addressing that as a matter of priority.’
‘Supposition,’ said Grayson.
‘We know that Anish’s body was carried to the ditch in the hire car, but there may be secondary transfer in Manoj’s Range Rover if he got in it after killing Anish.’
‘Anything so far?’
Warren didn’t say anything.
‘I thought so,’ said Grayson. ‘And there are no tyre tracks matching a Range Rover at the site. What else have you got?’
‘Jaidev’s fingerprints match the partial on Anish’s door handle.’
‘Which he has explained away as a visit last year to check how he was,’ Grayson reminded him.
‘Forensic IT are looking at both brothers’ devices for evidence of contact, plus their wives’ phones.’
‘And how long will that take?’
‘Longer than we have,’ admitted Warren.
‘I take it we have no ANPR records that show any of the Patel family’s vehicles near the hotel on the night of the murder?’
‘No, although it is possible to get from Cambridge to the hotel, and from the hotel to the dumping site, without passing fixed cameras. If they drove below the limit, they wouldn’t have triggered the speed cameras either.’
‘Speculation,’ said Grayson.
Warren bit his tongue. Grayson wasn’t being obtuse, he was doing his job, and he wasn’t saying anything that Warren didn’t know himself. The case against the two brothers was flimsy at best. Releasing them on bail again whilst they investigated further was almost inevitable. Warren didn’t even ask about mounting surveillance on them to stop them destroying any evidence; the cost alone would be prohibitive and they’d need a lot more than they had to persuade a magistrate to sign a warrant.