by Sarah Flint
It started well. Barton confirmed that he had been alone in his flat on Sunday 2nd October 2016, the night Susan died, watching TV. He then stated that on Sunday 9th October, the date of JJ’s murder, he had been at his sister’s house. He had stayed there all night and he had not gone out at all. Charlie thought back to their last conversation; quickly realising that the woman would verify anything her brother asked, whatever it was. On Wednesday 12th October he had no such alibi. Hunter questioned him about his movements, pressing him to provide details. According to him he had needed some space. The pressure of his wife’s murder and his subsequent arrest was taking its toll. His daughter Emma believed he was involved in her mother’s murder and even his son, Mickey Junior, was acting cool towards him, probably having his mind poisoned by Susan’s parents who had never liked him.
Charlie watched him. He was clearly moved when he spoke about his children; there was no denying he had strong feelings for them. She recalled the way he had showed off the family photo. But could it have been that same passion that had driven him to kill?
Hunter asked him to describe in detail where he was the previous night. Barton said that as a scout leader for many years he knew how to look after himself, how to survive in the open in all weather conditions and in all temperatures. He had access to the scout camping gear which was kept in a lock-up at the rear of St Matthew’s Church. He had borrowed a car from the garage where he worked and driven out towards Box Hill in Surrey and stayed overnight in a wooded area at the bottom of the Downs. He could not remember which car he’d taken, possibly a Vauxhall or Ford, but it was an estate so that he could fit the camping gear into it easier. He’d just picked a set of keys from the safe at the garage and driven on his trade insurance policy without contacting the owners.
While camping he had cooked on an open fire, using wood he had collected from the forest and food he had bought from a small local store, paying cash for the groceries. During the hours between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. he was alone in his tent, with no one who could verify this. He switched his phone off at the start of the evening and made no attempt to contact anyone, not even his family to let them know where he was or that he was safe. There was no one who cared anyway. He had remained out of contact until this morning when he saw Emma had been trying to ring and, even though they had not spoken for a while, he returned her call. He had just wanted to get away and have some time to himself. He could show the police where it was he had stayed if necessary.
Charlie watched as he talked, noting a slight hesitation as he spoke about the vehicle; the way he rubbed his hands together, as if worried. Maybe he was lying, or maybe he was just nervous for admitting to taking a customer’s car out without permission, an admission that could lead to him being charged with several offences.
On the subject of the garage, Hunter mentioned the find of Gamma-Butyrolactone. Yes, he knew they had it; he used it to clean the wheels of cars. Yes he had been made aware of it being known as GBL or G when they took delivery of it and had been apprised of the effects if taken orally. No, he had never tried it, personally. Why would he? He knew exactly what it did to ground-in dirt and oil. Did he realise that it was widely used in the gay community? Yes, he was aware of that but he wasn’t ‘one of them’.
Hunter broached the subject of Jason Jennings next. It led on nicely from Barton’s last comment. Charlie watched Barton’s body language with interest. He was definitely uncomfortable talking about him. He’d read about his death in the newspapers. Yes, he remembered the boy; he knew him as JJ. He was a disruptive influence who had needed calming. The boy had improved over time though, settling down more and becoming useful.
She thought ‘useful’ was a strange word for Mickey to choose, but Hunter hadn’t pressed it. It was a word better suited to describing a thing, an object, rather than a person. Maybe Barton did have a ‘use’ for JJ that he didn’t want anyone to know about? Maybe he had grown fonder of the boy than he should? She watched his mannerisms with renewed concentration as he continued.
He hadn’t seen JJ for ages but he had been part of the scout group for some years. He couldn’t remember how many, but he did come to several summer camps. They had worked together as JJ had grown older and become a leader but he was always a bit strange and aloof.
Hunter asked Barton if he liked JJ. She saw him almost squirm at the question. He was well and truly out of his comfort zone. Not in that way, Barton assured them. He knew JJ liked men. No, JJ had never made a move on him. The boy wouldn’t dare. He didn’t care if JJ was a ‘poof’ as long as he didn’t try anything with him. No, he didn’t hate gays. Everyone to their own. But not him.
Did he think homosexuality should be a crime? Or banned? Or was it morally wrong. Were gay people sinners?
She had to admire the way Hunter was using Father Antonio’s words. They were the words that Barton was likely to have heard during the church services that he would have attended with the scouts on Sunday parade. Did he believe them too?
Barton was struggling. She could see that, as a scout leader he was trying to be politically correct, but underneath his protestations of ‘everyone to their own’, she could also see that he was fighting with his own conscience.
Hunter moved on, his timing ruthless. Did he know Tanisha Fleming? He did know her. Everybody knew Tash. She turned up at St Matthew’s Church fairly regularly and she’d even turned up as the scout group were finishing on several occasions trying to ply her trade with the young boys; offering to help them lose their virginity for a few quid. The boys had been amused. He had been amused; if only he’d had the offer as a fifteen-year-old, but he’d had to put his foot down. He couldn’t have it on his doorstep. It was all right on the streets, in the town centre. If girls were happy to sell their bodies, who was he to say they were wrong. There’d always be men who would be willing to pay. He coloured slightly at these words.
Had he ever paid Tash? No, of course not. Had he ever paid another woman? No, of course not; why would a man like him have to pay? However, his voice had a tremor to it. His eyes flicked everywhere but at Hunter. He was lying and Charlie could see it and she knew Hunter could see it too.
Hunter moved on. When had he last seen Tash, spoken to her, conversed with her? He hadn’t seen her for ages; he couldn’t remember the last time. His voice wavered, his legs became twitchy. He was still hiding something.
Hunter moved in for the kill. ‘So, Mickey, tell me how Susan’s engagement ring came to be in the cistern of your toilet?’
‘I-I don’t know.’
‘Yes you do. You know exactly how it got there, because you put it there. Didn’t you?’
Barton was starting to sweat. Charlie could see the beads of perspiration building up on his forehead even as she watched. He wiped his sleeve across his face in a vain attempt to hide them but he was in too much of a state.
‘Yes, you’re right. I put it there that morning when you lot came round. I slipped it into the cistern while having a piss. That copper of yours didn’t notice.’
She winced at the look on Hunter’s face. Paul was going to cop it when they got out. As if he’d read his mind too, Barton perked up.
‘And before you bawl him out, it was under my pillow all the time when you two came in and you never noticed either. I slipped it out when I asked if I could use the toilet to get freshened up.’
Hunter looked as if he could explode. It was exactly the reason why she always liked suspects cuffed as soon as possible. You never knew what they were up to, when they were in a place they knew back to front. They were lucky it hadn’t been a weapon.
Hunter remained mute and Charlie realised that they were in danger of handing control of the interview to Barton. When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet and icy.
‘I don’t give a shit how you did it. The fact is you hid your wife’s ring in the cistern in an attempt to cover the fact that you had it in your possession. Did you take it off Susan when you murdered her?’
The question was brutal in its simplicity and it swept Barton’s feet from underneath him.
‘No, no, no. I didn’t murder her. I swear I didn’t. Why would I? I loved her and would never do anything to hurt her.’
‘So how did you come to have her ring?’
‘She gave it to me.’
‘That’s bullshit, Mickey. Why would Susan give you her engagement ring when she’d promised it to Emma all along?’
‘I swear she did.’
‘You swear a lot, Mickey. You saw Emma’s face when she told us it was missing; not in the place where her mother sometimes left it. You saw her crying; you saw her distressed, just like we did, so why didn’t you tell her then?’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why not, Mickey? Why not at least tell Emma that you had it? Why not show her the ring then? Tell her she could have it as a memory? Give something to your daughter to make her mother’s murder even the tiniest bit more bearable?’
‘I just couldn’t.’ Barton was sobbing now.
‘You couldn’t because you had taken it from Susan’s finger when you killed her.’
‘No, no, no.’
‘She’d left you Mickey and broken your heart but you thought you might still win her back. But then you found out she had started an affair with her boss, Vincent Atkins, and it made your blood boil. He’s not half the man you are, is he?’
Charlie watched Barton’s reaction. He seemed to have taken it in his stride and clearly knew about the affair.
‘So you took your revenge, didn’t you?’ Hunter continued. ‘You went to the house and let yourself in with your key. You offered her a drink laced with a substance that you knew you were allowed to have legally but that would render her unconscious. Then you punished her, didn’t you Mickey, for making you look stupid in front of your mates, for breaking up the home that you had put all your hard-earned cash into, for ripping your heart out and casting it to one side? You tortured her and killed her, didn’t you, Mickey? That’s why you couldn’t tell Emma you had Susan’s ring. That’s why you tried to hide it from us. That’s the real reason, isn’t it?’
‘No! No! No!’ Barton reared up, throwing his head back, his face red with exertion and clapped his hands to his face. ‘She gave it to me. It was mine. I paid for it.’
Charlie stood too; ready to restrain Barton if necessary. His solicitor slid his chair to one side, clearly not knowing what to do.
‘You’re lying, Mickey.’
Hunter remained seated, calm; his voice hushed. He leant back in his chair and stared straight at the man.
‘You killed Susan first. What happened then? Did you get a taste for it? Had JJ upset you too all those years ago? Had he made you feel stupid in front of the others? Had he outlived his usefulness; come on to you or do you just not like gays? Or do you like them really? I mean, really like them?’
Barton slumped back down on his seat and put his head in his hands. Hunter’s voice was even quieter now.
‘And Tanisha, the prostitute who kept coming round and offering her body? Did you get tempted, Mickey? As you said, who are you to stop her if that’s what she wants? You were missing all that night, weren’t you? No one knew where you were. Well I think we can guess, can’t we? Silencing her, so that she couldn’t out you. How awful would that be if people knew that the great Mickey Barton had to pay for sex, as well as losing his wife? You’d be a laughing stock.’
Barton looked around at his solicitor, his eyes bloodshot; his legs visibly trembling. He tried to speak but his voice just came out in a strangulated gurgle.
‘Tell him to stop, please. Tell him to stop.’
Chapter 32
Vincent Atkins seemed to have visibly shrunk in size, not that he’d been huge before. Charlie watched as he stood in front of the custody officer’s desk like a child about to receive a lecture from the headteacher. It was ironic really.
He was making hard work of the questions; his voice coming out almost as a whisper, struggling straightaway when having to admit he was still staying with a friend, rather than his own home address. The custody officer was beginning to lose patience.
‘Can you please speak up, Mr Atkins. I can barely hear you. Now, have you ever tried to harm yourself?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Have you ever tried to commit suicide before?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You don’t have to call me sir. Have you got suicidal thoughts now?’
He paused longer than he should, appearing to shrink even further into his skin. His eyes darted around the custody area, moving from officer to officer, prisoner to prisoner, cell to cell before resting finally on the floor. In the end, he didn’t answer at all.
‘Sorry, guys, he’ll be on a constant watch,’ the custody officer instructed. His arresting officer, DC George Robertson, mumbled something to his colleague and shook his head. It was not what they wanted to hear. Suicide risks and self-harmers were a daily eventuality, tying police officers’ hands; they had to have someone with them at all times and no detective or rookie wanted to have to sit at the cell door keeping an eye on their behaviour hour after hour, when there were so many more interesting or urgent things they could be doing.
‘He may even need an appropriate adult, judging by his ability to answer questions. I’ll get the doctor. It looks like he might be in the middle of some kind of breakdown.’
DC Robertson groaned out loud. He knew he’d pulled the short straw.
Hunter pulled him to one side. ‘Get Atkins booked in and interviewed as soon as you can, George. Ask him to account for his whereabouts last night, then get back to me. I’ll make a decision as to what we do with him based on how the interview goes. I don’t want you guys tied up too long if it’s not necessary. Barton is on the ropes and Abrahams has potential. Atkins is our weakest suspect. Unless something else comes up, I’ll kick him back out on bail if he says nothing of interest.’
*
‘Boss that was a great interview you did with Barton; the way you pulled everything together at the end.’
They were nearly back at the main office. Charlie was genuinely in awe of Hunter. They didn’t get to use their interview skills often these days and Hunter was an expert. It was always good when suspects talked, but it was also why most didn’t.
‘Yeah, well no one’s going to make us look like mugs. I’ll have a quiet word with Paul about how the ring got to be in the cistern, but other than the three of us, no one else really needs to know at the moment. These things happen; but I don’t like them happening right in front of my eyes.’
‘What are we going to do with Barton now?’
‘We’ll keep him banged up for a while and make him sweat and someone can interview him again later. We’ve great circumstantial evidence for him killing Susan and he has the motive and links with the other two but there’s no way the Crown Prosecution Service will run with a charge yet. We may have to bail him out again pending further enquiries. We’ve no hard evidence and with nothing coming up much on forensics from the crime scenes, we really need to find the missing fingers.’
They lapsed into silence, each mulling over their own thoughts. As they opened the door to the office, they were met with a whoop of excitement.
‘Look, boss, I think we’ve cracked it again. Quick, come over and we’ll show you!’ Bet beckoned them over to where she and Paul sat in front of several computers. Charlie walked over and stared at the grainy picture, paused ready to be played. Hunter leant in close and squinted towards the screen. Naz and Sabira came over too and peered over their shoulders. Paul was smiling broadly.
‘Right, I started by searching the CCTV on Brixton Hill. Here you go. You can see Tanisha by the bus stop.’
He pointed to the first computer. The picture was in colour, although at the time of night the recording was taken, the colours appeared muted. Tanisha’s figure, in the same distinctively coloured turquoise leather jacket as when she’d been found at the crime s
cene, could be seen coming in and out of the bus stop and beckoning towards the drivers of slow-moving cars coming up Brixton Hill.
‘The CCTV concentrates more on the road, so you can’t see that much of the area on either side of the street. There was nothing much of note on the road; lots of cars but none with Abrahams’ registration number.’
‘It’s a shame we don’t have a definite model or index for the car Barton claims to have been driving that night,’ Hunter murmured.
‘It might not matter. Look, boss.’
Paul pressed the play button on the next computer and it whirred into life. He pointed to a large dark-coloured car, being driven slowly from Arlingford Road, Brixton, into Tulse Hill. It drove up Tulse Hill before quickly turning right into Craignair Road.
‘Look, it’s a Vauxhall Vectra Estate, just like in Susan’s murder, and it has a defective rear light.’
‘Just like Abrahams’ car?’ Charlie edged forward. She’d been out driving that night looking for Miller. She wondered if she’d passed it without realising.
‘Not the same registration number unfortunately but look.’
He rewound the recording and zoomed in on the rear of the car.
‘It’s a bit blurry but you can still read the number all right. The index plate reads GN09MHK. When we first see it the time is about 23.37 and it has just one occupier, the driver. I’ve zoomed in as much as I can but we’ll never get a good enough image of the driver to ID. All we can say is he appears to be quite a large guy.
‘Now look back at Tanisha.’ He started up the Brixton Hill recording again. ‘The time is showing just after midnight. She’s sitting at the bus stop, then look. She stands up and turns round, as if someone has called her. She then walks off into the grassy area behind. I’ve tried to follow her but she goes out of shot and we don’t see who she meets up with.’
‘Dammit,’ Hunter pursed his lips.
‘Don’t worry, look boss.’ Bet pressed the other screen this time. ‘Here we go.’ They watched as the same dark Vauxhall Vectra Estate swung back out from Craignair Road and followed the same path down Tulse Hill and into Arlingford Road. She paused the recording and rewound the tape again, stopping it and zooming in. ‘It’s the same vehicle. Same registration number, but this time it has two occupants and the passenger is wearing what appears to be a turquoise jacket. The recording will need enhancing but as they go past a street light, it picks the colour up better. It’s got to be Tanisha.’
