by Paul Gitsham
‘She does make a very nice lasagne,’ confirmed Warren. ‘How was Brighton? Perfect timing for a long weekend. Nice weather, the schools hadn’t started summer holidays, so not too busy.’ He pushed another photograph over. This time it was one of a hotel reception desk. ‘Mr and Mr Smith: very romantic. The owners always like to get a picture of their guests as they come in, you know, just in case. Anish’s credit card took a bit of a pounding that weekend.’
‘I’ll bet Bacton was busy,’ said Sutton. ‘August bank holiday weekend, lovely weather, Norfolk’s finest beaches according to the Tourist Information Centre.’ He slid several photographs over. ‘We don’t have pictures of everywhere you went that weekend, since not all the bars keep their CCTV that long, but we do have some lovely ones of the two of you drinking in the Fisherman’s Rest, because they have a new system with a massive hard drive.’ He pointed at the two of them standing at the bar. ‘Looks like Anish is buying the drinks again.’
Sutton sat back, his arms folded.
Beechey licked his lips. Finally he placed his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. His voice was muffled, but clear enough to understand. ‘OK, I admit it. The phone was mine and I was still seeing Anish behind Nick’s back.’
‘So you were at the Easy Break Hotel the night that Anish died?’ said Warren.
‘No,’ Beechey shook his head. ‘I used to meet up with Anish now and again, but never at the Easy Break,’ he snorted. ‘I like a bit of excitement as much as the next bloke, but I ain’t silly enough to cheat on my mate at the place where he works.’
‘So why did you lie about the phone, Jake?’ asked Sutton.
Beechey gave a sigh. ‘I knew how it would look, so I figured I’d point the blame back at Nick, he was the one who did it after all.’ His tone turned pleading. ‘But everything else I’ve told you was the truth, I swear. I didn’t kill him.’ His voice caught. ‘And I did love Anish.’
‘Do you think Nick might have known about the affair?’ asked Warren.
Beechey fell silent, before his eyes widened. ‘Son of a bitch … he did know! He knew all about it. That’s what happened.’ His words were now coming out so quickly Warren could barely keep up with them. ‘He found out about us and killed Anish, then tried to pin the blame on me! He even gave me Anish’s phone to get rid of. That absolute bastard!’
Warren had been happy to suspend the interview for a break. He needed to stretch his legs and wanted to catch up with the rest of his team.
‘Well done both of you,’ said Grayson as he met Warren and Sutton by the entrance to the CID office. ‘You’re playing those two jokers perfectly. Every time they have enough rope to hang themselves, you feed them some more.’ He turned to Warren. ‘Brilliant move with WhatsApp, I had no idea that you could back it up to a memory card and then read the messages on another device.’
‘You probably can’t,’ admitted Warren. ‘I imagine they’re still encrypted. You can thank Rachel Pymm for that particular piece of techno-bullshit.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, if you listen carefully to the recording, you’ll hear that I never actually said that we’d read the messages. Beechey just assumed we had and decided it was time to come clean about who the phone really belonged to.’
Grayson chuckled. ‘Nice one.’
Warren headed to the water fountain, before making a beeline for Pymm’s desk.
‘I hear you’ve been putting a good word in about me with the boss,’ she greeted him.
‘Yes, I told him not to trust a word you say about mobile phone apps. Seriously though, that was a brilliant idea. Now stop resting on your past successes and tell me something new.’
‘Mags and Moray have finished interviewing Leon Grime. You’ll get the full report when they get back from the Mount, but Moray thought you’d want a quick summary before then. I saved it as a voicemail for you.’
She pressed play on her phone handset.
Warren winced; beside him, Sutton jumped. ‘Christ, somebody has to let that lad know that phones were invented so that you could communicate over long distances without needing to shout.’
Pymm reached for the volume control on the handset as the two men listened intently. Ruskin’s report was short and succinct.
‘Just what we suspected,’ said Sutton, smiling broadly.
‘What else have you got, Rachel?’ asked Warren, recognising from long experience when Pymm was probably holding back the best bit to create a little more drama.
‘The fast-track DNA and the other evidence has come through,’ she reached over to the laser printer by her desk and handed over a sheaf of paper. ‘Exactly what you were hoping for, plus a little bonus on the fingerprint page.’
Warren flicked through the sheets to the section on fingerprint analysis.
‘Got you, you bastard,’ he said.
Chapter 52
The long, electronic beep from the interview suite’s recording equipment signalled the start of the day’s second round of interviews.
‘Thank you for your help earlier, Mr Beechey, you’ve given us a lot to consider. I just wondered if you would be prepared to go through everything you’ve told us, so we’ve got it all clear?’ Warren started.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Jake Beechey was slouched in his chair, giving the impression of a man whose cares had been lifted. Now that the finger was pointed firmly at his former cellmate, Beechey probably saw his current situation as an improvement.
‘You met Anish Patel through the Rainbow Hookups website in January of this year. You didn’t hit it off immediately, and instead introduced him to your friend Nicholas Kimpton, who started a relationship with Mr Patel, meeting him every few weeks in a room at the Easy Break Hotel?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘However, you continued to conduct an affair with Mr Patel behind Nick’s back, including weekends away?’
‘Yeah.’ Beechey looked down at the table.
‘Why Anish?’ asked Warren.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s be blunt here, Jake. You’re a good-looking lad in your twenties. You aren’t short of a bit of company if you want it, and you’ve had plenty of success on the Rainbow Hookups app. Anish Patel, by all accounts, was a lovely man, but he was close to forty, was embarrassed about being bald, and was of Asian heritage. Very different to your usual type. So why Anish? What was it about him that attracted you to him?’
‘Dunno,’ mumbled Beechey.
‘I think we all know why, Jake,’ said Sutton. ‘Money. Tell me, did you ever pay for anything when you went out with Anish?’
Beechey said nothing.
‘You’re a bit of a parasite, aren’t you, Jake?’ said Sutton, ignoring the frown from the man’s solicitor. ‘You not only saw a wealthy man with cash to splash around, you also saw a lonely man. A man who had been rejected by his family, who was still finding his feet but finally embracing who he was. A man who would be flattered that a young, handsome guy like yourself, was interested in more than a one-night stand.’ Sutton stabbed a finger in Beechey’s direction. ‘You saw an opportunity.’
‘So fucking what?’ snapped Beechey. ‘So what if he paid for everything? That’s not a crime. Anish was an adult, we both had fun. He enjoyed being seen with me and I enjoyed being taken to fancy restaurants where the starter costs more than I usually pay for a whole meal. It was a nice change to visit a pub without worrying that my debit card would be rejected when it was my turn to get the drinks in.’ He gave a defiant shrug. ‘Everyone was a winner.’
‘Let’s return to the matter in hand,’ continued Warren. ‘You never met Anish at the Easy Break Hotel, to avoid bumping into Mr Kimpton?’
‘No, I steered well clear,’ said Beechey, his voice still sulky.
‘However, you believe that Nick may have become aware of the affair, and decided to kill Anish and then blame it on you? As some sort of revenge.’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, thank you for your cooperation … eventually,’ s
aid Warren.
Beechey waited patiently, whilst Warren made notes on his pad. Beside him his solicitor didn’t look nearly as relaxed as his client.
‘I asked you earlier why Nick would be texting himself,’ said Sutton. ‘Obviously, we now know that the phone in your glovebox belongs to you.’ He leaned forward slightly. ‘So now there’s a different question. Why were you texting Nick’s quacking burner phone every time Anish checked into the Easy Break Hotel?’
Beechey’s eyes widened and he reached for his glass of water again; a sure-fire tell that he needed time to think about his answer.
‘I set them up,’ said Beechey. ‘So, I just wanted to give him a bit of encouragement, you know?’
‘Really?’ said Warren, his tone neutral.
Beechey managed a nod.
Sutton opened the evidence folder. ‘You told us that you’d never visited the Easy Break Hotel.’ Beechey’s eyes flicked toward the folder and he swallowed.
‘If that’s the case, can you tell me why your fingerprints were found on the headboard of the bed in room 201, alongside Anish’s?’
The colour slowly left Beechey’s face. He continued to hold his glass of water to his lips, even after he’d drained it. Warren held his breath. Beside him, Sutton sat sphinx-like; even Beechey’s solicitor seemed at a loss.
‘Jake, would you like me to repeat the question?’
‘No comment,’ whispered Beechey finally.
Warren opened the evidence folder again.
‘Can you tell me what this device is? We found it hidden behind the toilet cistern in your flat.’
‘No comment,’ said Beechey.
‘For the benefit of the recording, I am showing Mr Beechey a picture of a miniature covert video camera and charger,’ said Warren.
Warren pointed to the photograph. ‘Our forensics team have measured the diameter of the camera and it fits perfectly into a recently filled-in hole in the wall of room 201, above the TV, directly overlooking the bed. Now why would you have such a device, Mr Beechey, and why would you install it in a hotel room that you claim you never visited?’
‘No comment.’
‘They aren’t cheap, but then I suppose it’s all about the return you get on your investment. You were using this to blackmail Anish, weren’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘You’ve been using this every time you and Anish visited the Easy Break Hotel; gathering evidence that he was a homosexual. What did you threaten to do with the footage, Jake? Send it to his family? Or were you going to distribute it on a website?’
‘No comment.’
‘It didn’t work though, did it?’ said Sutton. ‘Despite appearances, Anish didn’t have any money, did he? In fact, he was pretty much skint. On the night that Anish Patel died, you confronted him with the footage. How much did you ask for?’
‘No comment.’
‘What did you do when he told you he couldn’t pay? Was that why he died?’
‘No, it wasn’t like that,’ said Beechey.
‘Really, then what was it like, Jake?’
‘This is bullshit,’ snapped Beechey. ‘It’s just a coincidence. There’s nothing on there to show that I was doing any of that.’
Warren smiled at him, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘Are you sure about that, Jake?’
He opened his laptop. ‘It looks as though you had the common sense to dispose of the memory card. But you really should have got rid of the camera as well,’ he tutted. ‘You forgot about the camera’s internal memory. It’s only a tiny amount; it’ll only store a few minutes footage, which is why you needed to buy a memory card. But the first time you used it, you didn’t think of that, did you?’
The laptop had already been set up and Warren pressed play. The screen came to life with a surprisingly clear video recording of a hotel room bed. A date stamp in the top right corner showed Thursday the 21st of January, the date that Anish Patel had first checked into the Easy Break Hotel. The sound was muffled, but voices could be heard in the background. With a twinge of sadness, Warren realised it was the only time he had ever heard Patel’s voice.
Beechey closed his eyes as the video continued. His solicitor watched transfixed as the two men came into view. Beechey was easily recognisable, his blond hair spikey; Patel wore a checked shirt and pale trousers. Patel said something, the sound too indistinct to make out the words fully. Beechey responded and both men laughed. Beechey pulled off the red sweater he was wearing, followed by his football top, exposing his distinctive Chelsea tattoo. Patel sat down on the bed, facing the camera directly, before Beechey moved to stand in front of him. It was unclear what the two men were doing, but after a few seconds, Patel’s shirt came undone. Moments after that, Beechey’s belt came off.
Abruptly the recording stopped.
‘Out of memory,’ said Warren. ‘I guess that’s why you bought the memory card that we found cut into little bits at the bottom of your kitchen bin; you wanted footage of the good stuff. We’ve sent it off to a specialist forensic unit who are pretty good at piecing these things back together.’
‘It was Anish’s idea,’ said Beechey.
‘What was?’ asked Sutton.
Beechey waved at the laptop. ‘This whole thing. He was really into movies, the thought of pretending to be secretly videoed, like some sort of Cold War spy, really turned him on,’ Beechey shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind, it sounded like a bit of a laugh. That’s why he always wanted the same room each time.’
‘Seriously?’ said Sutton. ‘I can accept that you and he fancied spicing things up a bit, but you expect us to believe that he drilled a hole into the wall? Why not just stick the camera on top of the TV with a bit of Blu Tac?’
‘He was a perfectionist.’ He sat back with his arms folded. Yet again, Beechey had come up with an explanation that, whilst bizarre, was just about feasible. However, the tabletop on which he’d been resting his hands moments before, retained a faint outline from his perspiration.
‘So, let’s start all over again, shall we, Jake?’ said Warren, allowing a note of irritation to creep into his voice. ‘Despite what you told us earlier, you did in fact visit the Easy Break Hotel to meet up with Anish Patel. Why didn’t you tell us that in the beginning?’
‘Well, it would have looked bad,’ said Beechey, after a long moment.
‘And how is Nick involved?’ asked Warren.
Now the pause was longer. Warren glanced at Sutton. It was time to stop letting Beechey play his games; he’d wasted enough of their time already. They had everything they needed and he was sick of hearing the man’s lies.
‘We know that Nick didn’t call you up in the middle of the night asking for a lift because he’d killed Anish and wanted to pin it all on you,’ he said.
Warren opened the folder again, and started spreading sheets of paper across the table, pointing to them in turn.
‘Anish’s hoodie. We know it’s his, because it has his DNA on it. It also has your DNA on the hem of the sleeves and the neck. You were the person on the hotel CCTV walking out the entrance dressed in Anish’s clothing.’
He pointed to the next sheet. ‘JJ Car Repairs. You phoned him the morning after Anish’s death and paid him to switch all of the tyres on Anish’s hire car to disguise the fact that it had been used to dump his body. Very clever, but we have call logs and location data linking the phone that we found in your glovebox to the garage. He also recognised a photo of you. As did the person who saw a man matching your description standing outside Anish Patel’s flat on both the Friday and the Saturday mornings, as you powered up his phone and used it to send text messages to his workplace and his sister. It’s only a ten-minute walk to Anish’s flat from the garage, which is convenient.’
‘You were in that room when Anish died, weren’t you?’ said Sutton. ‘You then tried to cover up his death by dumping his body in a ditch and tried to buy yourself some time by mutilating his body so it wouldn’t be easily identified, and imp
ersonating him so that we’d think he was still alive after he left the hotel. For the past twenty-odd hours you’ve been spinning us a pack of lies. Now stop wasting our time and tell us what really happened.’
Beechey placed his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
‘Yeah, you’re right. I was there, but I didn’t kill him.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Warren.
Beechey gave a long, shuddering sigh.
‘Anish checked into the hotel and asked for room 201. He did all his usual shit with the hire car and the false name because that’s what excited him. Then he WhatsApped me to let me know he had checked in. I walked down to the Easy Break, and when I got there, I texted Nick to let me in. I went up to the room and Anish was there.’
Beechey swallowed and turned to his solicitor, who obligingly poured him some more water. Warren and Sutton waited patiently. It had taken hours for the story to trickle out and neither man was naïve enough to believe that Beechey had completely given up trying to fool them, but by now Warren was confident that they could identify and counter any more of Beechey’s lies.
‘Anish was looking a bit hot, so I went to the bathroom and poured him a glass of water, then we sat down on the bed. We talked for a bit but then Anish stood up and said he wasn’t feeling very well,’ Beechey swallowed. ‘I asked him what the matter was, and his knees suddenly gave way. He went down backwards and smacked his head on the edge of the table.’ Beechey’s voice turned pleading. ‘You’ve got to believe me; I didn’t kill him. He just collapsed.’
‘So what did you do?’ asked Warren.
‘Well, he was still mumbling, so I just lifted him up onto the bed. I wasn’t sure what to do. Then I noticed that he’d stopped breathing, I checked his pulse and saw that there wasn’t one. He was dead.’
‘Why didn’t you call for an ambulance?’ asked Sutton. ‘Or phone down to reception for the duty first aider?’
Tears had started to form at the corners of Beechey’s eyes. ‘I panicked. I knew that if I phoned an ambulance they’d call the police. I wasn’t supposed to be in there and there’s no sign of me on the CCTV. Anish had checked in under a fake name so the first thing they’d want to know is what the hell was going on? Why had I sneaked into his room like I had something to hide? He had a bump on the back of his head – did that kill him? They’d never believe I wasn’t responsible … And he was dead. He wasn’t breathing and I couldn’t find a pulse. It was too late for him and Anish wouldn’t have wanted me to go to prison.’