by Paul Gitsham
‘Yes.’
Warren produced a Force-issue mobile phone. ‘Can you tell me its number?’
A look of puzzlement on his face, Kimpton reeled it off. Warren typed the number into the police handset and composed a text. A few seconds later, the phone in the evidence bag lit up, and made a loud ‘ding’ noise.
‘That’s the noise that your phone makes when it receives a text. Now I’m going to ask you again, Mr Kimpton, is this your only handset, and do you recognise the number I showed you a moment ago?’
Kimpton paused, looking to his solicitor for guidance. His solicitor said nothing.
‘No comment.’
Warren produced another evidence bag, this one containing an older black Nokia handset. He slid it across the table. ‘This phone was found in your house, hidden behind some DVDs on a bookcase in the living room. Do you recognise it?’
Kimpton licked his lips. ‘No comment,’ he repeated.
Warren picked up his police-issue mobile phone again. ‘I am entering the number that I just showed you. We’ve checked the SIM card and this phone regularly receives text messages from another, unregistered number. We don’t know what those messages are about – yet. Forensics are currently recovering everything that you’ve got rid of – but those texts do coincide with evenings that our victim, Anish Patel, used the Easy Break Hotel. They are typically sent about an hour after he checks in.’
The number entered, Warren stopped typing. His finger hovered over the send button.
‘On the night of his murder, this Nokia received one of those text messages. It then received a further six messages and a call, which this handset replied to, between 19:32 and 20:28. We’ll know pretty soon what those messages were about, but why don’t you save us all some time and tell us now?’
‘No comment,’ Kimpton whispered.
Warren pressed send. A moment later the phone in the evidence bag made a loud quacking noise.
‘According to a witness, the phone that they heard on the night of the murder – a phone that we have tracked to the Easy Break Hotel that night – makes a noise like a duck quacking when it receives a message. Our forensic IT department have been through your personal handset and they can find no ring tone matching that description.’
Warren gestured toward the black Nokia in the evidence bag. ‘I believe that you were carrying this phone that night. And all the other nights that Anish checked into the Easy Break Hotel. Can you explain this?’
‘This is rather circumstantial, DCI Jones,’ interjected Kimpton’s solicitor. ‘I’m sure that particular ringtone has been downloaded by thousands of people. Besides which, many people have more than one mobile phone.’
‘The phone isn’t mine,’ said Kimpton.
‘Really, then who does it belong to?’
Kimpton licked his lips. ‘I found it a few days ago in the car park of the hotel. I was thinking about selling it, you know making a bit of cash.’
‘I see. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘Just thought I was lucky.’
‘So why was it hidden in your flat?’
Kimpton blinked. ‘Look, I thought it might have been stolen. Then when that bloke was murdered, I thought maybe it was linked to his killing. I panicked and hid it.’
‘Why didn’t you hand it into the police? It could have been a crucial piece of evidence.’
Kimpton looked down at the table. ‘Yeah, I know I should have. But like I said, I panicked. And then you started questioning me and all and I thought maybe if you found it, you would think I was involved.’
Kimpton’s solicitor’s eyes narrowed. He could see the inconsistency, even if his client couldn’t.
‘So why didn’t you dispose of it?’ asked Warren.
Kimpton licked his lips. ‘I figured that when it all blew over, I still might be able to flog it. It’s a bit old, but I might have got some beer money.’ He looked up. ‘I’m really sorry; I know it was stupid.’ He sat back in his chair, a look of relief finally passing across his face.
‘OK, Nick, I can see how that would happen, but you’re going to have to help me out with a few of the details here,’ said Warren. ‘How long would you say you’ve had the phone? You found it after the murder? What day?’
Kimpton paused. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Ballpark figure; a week ago, longer?’
‘Yeah that’s probably about right. A week or so.’ Kimpton was looking visibly flustered. Beside him his solicitor opened his mouth as if to object. Warren jumped in quickly before he got a chance.
‘Where did you find it again?’
‘The car park. Behind a wheelie bin.’
‘How did you see it, if it was behind a bin?’
‘Dunno, I just spotted it out of the corner of my eye.’
‘So, it was easy to see?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘But not so easy that a trained crime investigation team, doing a fingertip search of that entire car park, would find it?’
Kimpton paused. ‘I must have found it before you guys turned up.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Warren could see the man’s solicitor trying to formulate some sort of objection, so he spoke quickly.
‘Well Mr Patel was killed on the night of Thursday 24th November, his body wasn’t found until the Sunday and it took us until Friday 2nd December to identify the Easy Break Hotel. That means you must have found the phone between the 24th and the 2nd?’
‘Yeah, sounds about right,’ said Kimpton before his solicitor had a chance to interrupt.
‘Well here’s the problem, Nick, you said that you found the phone a few days ago,’ started Warren.
‘Mr Kimpton was rather imprecise on the timing,’ interrupted the solicitor.
‘But you reckoned a week was about right?’ persisted Warren. ‘That’s what you said.’
‘I suppose that I might have been a little confused,’ said Kimpton. ‘I think I found it more recently.’
Warren suppressed a smile, Kimpton had finally noticed he’d walked into a trap of his own making and was now trying to leap back out. Unfortunately, he’d chosen the wrong direction to jump. His solicitor rolled his eyes.
‘Well we first brought you in to make a statement on Saturday the 3rd; that’s just over a week ago, and you say that you found the phone a few days ago. But you also say that you panicked and hid the phone after we interviewed you. Which is it, Nick? Did you find this phone before or after you became aware of the murder?’
‘No comment,’ said Kimpton eventually. Beside him, his solicitor relaxed slightly. At the moment, Kimpton was his own worst enemy; he really needed to keep his mouth closed. Warren hoped that he could persuade Kimpton not to.
‘Well, I don’t suppose it really matters,’ said Warren. ‘You found a mobile phone, you decided not to hand it in, and here we are. There are other, more important things I need to clear up, and I could really use your help. Can you do that?’
‘I would advise my client that he is under no obligation to make further comment in this interview,’ interjected the solicitor.
‘Of course, but we’ll let Mr Kimpton decide for himself,’ said Warren, addressing his remarks directly at the solicitor. The two men locked eyes briefly.
‘First of all, the ringtone on this phone matches the one that witnesses say they heard in the kitchen that night, which is one of the few places inside the building that a mobile phone signal can penetrate. They’ve also heard it on previous occasions, for that matter.’
‘Which you said was probably just a coincidence,’ said Kimpton, clearly unable to obey the sound legal advice that he was being given. ‘Loads of people have that ringtone. Maybe it was one of the waitresses’ phones?’
‘I don’t believe I said it was “probably a coincidence” that it had that ringtone, I said that it “seemed a bit of coincidence” that you should find a mobile phone with the same ring tone as one heard in your kitchen by witnesses on the ni
ght of the murder,’ said Warren mildly. ‘But for what it’s worth, none of the serving staff working that night have that ringtone.’
Kimpton blinked again.
‘But anyway, I have a more pressing concern. Regardless of when you claim you actually found this phone, it was sometime after the night that Anish was murdered. However, according to the historic location data for the handset, it has regularly been in the vicinity of the Easy Break Hotel since the SIM was activated back in January of this year. Obviously, the signal in the building is a bit patchy, but we’re confident that the owner of this phone works at the hotel.’
‘Then there’s your killer,’ said Kimpton. ‘It must have been another member of staff.’ He leaned forward. ‘Have you checked out other people who work there?’
‘Like who?’ said Warren. ‘Perhaps you could help us there. Is there anyone that you think might have been responsible?’
Kimpton leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. ‘I don’t know. Let me have a think about it.’ He turned to his solicitor. ‘I’d like to take a break now, I need a pee.’
‘Of course,’ said Warren. ‘Interview suspended.’
‘Get ready for the bullshit,’ said Sutton, as he handed Warren a cup of coffee.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Warren. ‘We both know who he’ll try to pin it on. I just hope he keeps on ignoring his solicitor’s advice to keep his mouth shut.’
‘Well so far, you’re playing him like a cheap violin,’ said Sutton.
‘How is everything else going?’ asked Warren.
‘No luck yet; nobody was home, but we’ve got teams out searching. The warrant has come through for the real-time intercepts, Rachel is speaking to the phone company right now.’
‘Good, keep me posted. Interrupt the interview if you need to.’
The desk sergeant popped his head around the door. ‘He’s done, Sir. Mr Kimpton’s ready when you are.’
Sutton clapped Warren on the back. ‘Go get him.’
‘The evidence disclosed is flimsy at best,’ said Kimpton’s solicitor. ‘You seem to be basing Mr Kimpton’s entire arrest on a ringtone installed on a phone that you have yet to establish Mr Kimpton was even in possession of the night that Mr Patel was killed. My advice to my client remains that he should not cooperate with what is clearly a desperate fishing expedition aimed at reinvigorating a stalled investigation.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Nevertheless, Mr Kimpton is a civic-minded individual, and he has insisted that he wants to offer whatever assistance he can.’ He looked sideways at Kimpton. ‘Whether I believe it to be wise for him to do so or not.’
Warren nodded gravely, his tone dripping with false sincerity. ‘Then I thank Mr Kimpton for his help and look forward to hearing what he has to say.’
He turned to Kimpton expectantly.
‘Obviously, I don’t know for sure that he is guilty, and I’d be as shocked as you are if he was involved, ’cause he’s a mate, but have you considered Leon Grime?’
‘Leon Grime? The handyman?’ Warren injected a note of surprise into his voice. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Leon has a record. You know, dealing and all that. I think he also has a violent past. He spent some time in prison.’
‘I see.’ Warren thought it best not to remind Kimpton of his own chequered history.
‘The thing is, Leon was told about the broken lock on the fire door ages ago. And he was supposed to get the CCTV fixed. I figured he was probably up to something when he didn’t get it sorted, but it was really handy for nipping out for a fag without anyone knowing. Leon’s office is close to the kitchen and you can get a signal in there also. I reckon if the volume on his phone was turned up really high, you could hear it in the kitchen, if it was in his office.’
Warren pinched his bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘That’s really interesting.’
Beside Kimpton, his solicitor stared into space, his face carefully neutral.
‘So, what do you think he was up to?’ Warren asked.
‘If I had to guess, I’d say that he was probably receiving deliveries, you know drugs or stolen gear. He wouldn’t want that on CCTV, and the alarm system would log every time the fire door was open.’
‘Hmm. Pretty smart,’ said Warren. ‘Where does the mobile phone come in?’
‘I guess whoever was delivering the drugs sent him a text when they were outside. He must have lost it at some point, and I found it.’
With Kimpton cooperating – after a fashion – Warren decided not to interrupt him and press for further clarification of when Kimpton had supposedly found the phone. It was clear that under the right circumstances, the chef was incapable of staying silent. Warren decided to let him keep on talking; hastily constructed lies were always the most damning.
‘Well, what you’ve said makes sense. The only thing is Mr Grime’s shift typically ends before the text messages were received, on the nights that Anish checked into the hotel.’
‘Leon was always hanging around the building at odd hours. I just figured he was on call.’
‘So, where does Anish come into it?’
‘I can’t help you there. Maybe he was a customer, or Leon was taking the drugs up to his room?’
‘And you think something went wrong, and Anish was killed?’
‘Sounds logical.’ Kimpton relaxed into his chair again.
‘I guess that would explain why Mr Grime’s fingerprints were found in room 201,’ said Warren.
‘There you go then,’ said Kimpton, a look of relief crossing his face.
‘Mind you, he was the hotel’s handyman; we might have a problem proving that his fingerprints shouldn’t have been there.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Well, it confirms what we already know. Mr Grime has admitted that he was receiving drugs and stolen property through that door. We currently have him in custody.’
‘Well then,’ said Kimpton, a note of triumph in his voice. ‘You’ve got your man.’
‘However, I have been wondering why your fingerprints were in the room. I mean you’re the chef, why would you be up in a guest’s room?’
Kimpton tensed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Your fingerprints were in room 201. On the edge of the sink in the bathroom. Both sides, as if you were gripping the sink bowl. Fortunately for us, the cleaning staff at the Easy Break Hotel aren’t the most assiduous. The inside of the sink was nice and glistening, but they’d clearly not bothered to wipe the outside.’
Kimpton started to speak, then thought better of it.
‘Why are the fingerprints of the hotel chef in a guest’s room on the second floor? You’ve never taken advantage of the twenty per cent staff discount, why would you? You only live a short cycle ride away?’
‘No comment,’ managed Kimpton.
‘Going back to the phone location data. We’ve tracked the Nokia with the quacking ringtone to the hotel – unfortunately, we can’t be any more precise than that. We can’t tell if it was in Mr Grime’s office, or the kitchen. But what we can do is show that it has spent time in your flat, for several months before you claim you found it. Why is that?’
Kimpton had gone pale. He swallowed hard before answering. ‘Leon comes around mine occasionally, you know just to chill, watch the footie if Chelsea’s on. Maybe he was carrying it then?’ he managed.
Warren took his time writing on his notepad. ‘I’ll be sure to check that out. In the meantime, why don’t we move on? Remind me, what time did you finish work the night of the murder?’
Kimpton swallowed again; he eyed the jug of water on the other side of the room but obviously decided that to ask for water might be seen as evasive.
‘About 10 p.m.,’ he said.
‘Your usual time?’
‘Yes.’
Warren opened the folder in front of him, taking out a series of glossy photographs.
‘You’re a man of habit, I’ll give you that.’ He fanned several of the pict
ures across the tabletop.
‘There’s a CCTV camera on a pole next to the bus stop nearest the hotel. These photographs show you passing it on the way home from work, every evening. They’re in black and white as they’re using night vision, but we have some shots of you cycling home after the morning shift, which are in the daylight and full-colour.’ He pushed one of them across the table. ‘Is that you in the photograph?’ Warren asked.
Kimpton stared at the picture. His throat bobbed. ‘Yes,’ he managed finally.
Warren pointed to the picture, turning slightly towards Kimpton’s solicitor. ‘As you can see, Mr Kimpton rides quite a distinctive bicycle. White and red stripes, with reflective safety tape wrapped around the frame. His lights are also quite old-fashioned; filament bulbs rather than the newer LED ones, and look, he even has a bell. Mr Kimpton’s fingerprints are on the handlebar grips, so we know that it’s his. Or at least it is now; it was stolen from some poor student last year.’
Kimpton closed his eyes briefly.
‘You also wear a fluorescent green jerkin with reflective strips, and a helmet with reflective tape. That makes it really easy to identify you on the night-vision cameras, even if we can’t see your face clearly.’
Kimpton said nothing. Warren continued. ‘Now on the night that Anish Patel was killed, you didn’t pass that camera at your usual time. We have you on the other side of the road travelling to work, but nothing when your shift ended. Obviously, we’ve allowed for the vagaries of human memory, and checked the footage for a couple of hours either side. We figured you might have left at a different time to normal – after all, you sent Shane Moore home early that night, shortly after the quacking phone received a text message.
‘Which was very generous of you, by the way, offering to load the dishwasher yourself. Shane wasn’t going to argue, obviously, although he did say it was a bit strange that when he came in the next morning the dishwasher was still running, as if you hadn’t actually set it off the night before. Why was that?’
‘Just forgot,’ mumbled Kimpton.