Dead Weight

by Frank Smith

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Before going on to talk to Stephen Lorrimer, Paget and Tregalles returned to the incident room for a word with Ormside, where they found him talking to Molly Forsythe. ‘Has anyone mentioned to Stephen Lorrimer that we have Jim Bradley in custody?’ Paget asked.

  Molly shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen Mr Lorrimer today,’ she said, ‘so no.’

  ‘I didn’t mention it,’ Ormside said. ‘Lorrimer knows his wife and stepson are here, of course, which was why he came down in the first place.’

  ‘Good,’ said Paget. ‘That is all I need to know. Come on, Tregalles. Let’s go and see if we can wrap this up once and for all.’

  But instead of leading the way to interview room number two, he went instead to room number three, explaining to Tregalles what he was about to do. ‘It’s a bit of a gamble, I know,’ he said, ‘but with all of them lying their heads off, we just need one of them to crack.’

  ‘I really must protest,’ said Arthur Williams as soon as they entered the room. ‘My client has told you everything he knows, and I want him out of here now.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Mr Williams,’ Paget said as he took his seat at the table, while Tregalles began entering the pertinent information into the recorder. ‘Sorry it took so long, but we do like to get it right.’ Paget opened a slim folder. ‘We’ve been talking to Mr Mills’s mother, and it seems she’s had a change of heart, and she had quite a lot to say in the end.’

  He looked across the table at Sebastian and held his gaze for some fifteen seconds. ‘And you,’ he said deliberately, ‘have been telling us a pack of lies, haven’t you, Mr Mills?’

  Sebastian’s only response was a cautious narrowing of the eyes.

  ‘Do you know very much about duct tape, Mr Mills?’ Paget continued. ‘No? I thought not. Amazing stuff, duct tape, especially the adhesive, because it holds impressions and the DNA of anyone touching it. And being waterproof, it preserves the DNA from things like sweaty fingers, especially when it’s stuck to something like a plastic bin bag.’

  Paget continued to eye Sebastian thoughtfully. ‘We have your mother in custody, and she’s finally acknowledged that Justine did die on the Saturday night, and she lied about seeing her go off to mass on Sunday. We’ve heard several versions of how Justine died, but the one I favour is where you barged into her room with your bottle of wine; she took exception to that, and she ended up dead on the floor. Does that sound familiar, Mr Mills?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say that!’ Sebastian burst out. ‘It was an accident, for Christ’s sake. She knows that! She was there when it happened. It was him. He pulled the bottle out of my hand and that silly bitch got in the way and it hit her. It was him, not me. I’m not taking the blame for that.’

  ‘By him, you mean …?’

  ‘Stephen! Serves him bloody well right, sleeping with that woman. She was half his age. And he gets to go back to Worcester, leaving us to clean up after him.’

  ‘Hardly seems fair,’ Paget agreed. ‘Tell me about that.’

  ‘Now let’s see what Stephen Lorrimer has to say for himself,’ said Paget as they walked down the hall.

  ‘You were taking a bit of a chance in there, boss,’ Tregalles observed. ‘I mean, that story didn’t come from his mum; that came from Bradley, and he could have made it all up.’

  ‘Sebastian may have thought it came from his mother,’ Paget said, ‘but if you listen to the tape, that’s not what I said. I knew at least one of them had to be lying, and, good as Mrs Lorrimer is, I still felt that Bradley was telling the truth, although I have the feeling he’s still holding something back.’

  ‘Mr Lorrimer,’ said Paget as he and Tregalles entered the room. ‘Your solicitor not with you? Are we waiting for him?’

  ‘I don’t need a solicitor,’ Lorrimer grated. ‘What I need are some answers. I came down here to tell you my wife is innocent, and I’ve been arrested on some trumped-up charge. Julia had nothing to do with Justine’s death. She only did what she did out of loyalty and concern for me. I couldn’t believe it when she told me yesterday that it was Jim who … well, was there when Justine had that accident. And I demand—’

  ‘You are in no position to demand anything!’ Paget snapped. ‘You and your family have lied to us, you’ve wasted hundreds of hours of police time, and you have done your best to cover up a brutal murder. So sit down and we will begin this interview properly. Sergeant, are we ready?’

  ‘Tape’s running, sir.’

  ‘Right,’ said Paget, and he proceeded to caution Lorrimer again for the record.

  ‘Now, let’s forget about this ridiculous story made up by you and your wife about Jim Bradley and Justine. And just to make matters clear, your stepson, Sebastian Mills, tells us that it was you who struck Justine with a bottle of wine, and it was your wife who told you to get back to Worcester without being seen, and orchestrated the clean-up after you left. He claims it was an accident during a scuffle between the two of you after he found you in Justine’s room when you were supposed to be in Worcester. And he’s prepared to sign a statement to that effect.’

  Paget leaned forward across the table. ‘And I am prepared to accept that the blow to Justine Delgado’s head might well have been an accident, but her death was no accident, was it, Mr Lorrimer? That was deliberate, cold-blooded murder. And for what? Your precious career?’

  Lorrimer reared back in his seat. ‘Deliberate?’ he spluttered. ‘You just said it was an accident, so what the hell are you talking about? Cold-blooded murder? That’s crazy. It was an accident. Justine had just told me she was pregnant when that drunken idiot, Sebastian, came bursting in and came at me. He tried to hit me with a bottle. I tried to get it away from him, but, even drunk, he’s strong. We struggled. He was shouting obscene, disgusting things and Justine was trying to get us parted …’ The words died in his throat. His face crumpled and he sank back in his chair, half gasping, half sobbing. ‘It was an accident,’ he whispered. ‘I would never harm her. You have to believe that.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Paget. ‘But that’s not why she died, is it, Mr Lorrimer? I think once that happened, you realized how it would look if she were taken to hospital and the story came out, so you had to make sure it didn’t. Which is why you finished the job by suffocating her. The autopsy report made the cause of death very clear. It showed that Justine Delgado choked on her own vomit as a result of pressure on her nose and mouth.’

  Slack-jawed, Lorrimer stared at Paget. Colour drained from his face; he tried to speak, but no sound came. He pushed his chair back and tried to stand, but suddenly his eyes rolled up, his legs gave way and he slid sideways on to the floor.

  Saturday, 19 May

  ‘I take it you’ve seen this?’ Superintendent Amanda Pierce was standing by the window, holding a copy of the morning paper in her hand when Paget walked through the door of her office at eight o’clock the following morning. ‘How is Mr Lorrimer doing? Have you heard?’

  ‘He’s fine, according to the doctors,’ Paget replied. ‘As far as they can tell, he simply fainted, but they kept him in overnight just to be sure. He’ll probably be released today, but he’s still under arrest, of course, so he’ll be brought back here.’

  ‘But you haven’t charged him yet?’

  ‘Not with the murder, no. He and the others will be charged with conspiring to conceal a murder, lying to the police, wasting police time and so on, but at least one of them is a killer, and some, if not all, are accessories to murder and guilty of aiding and abetting.’

  ‘But you don’t think it was Stephen Lorrimer?’ said Pierce. ‘Why not? He had the most to lose.’

  ‘What I saw last night, when Lorrimer collapsed,’ said Paget, ‘was not the reaction of someone who’s been caught out. What I saw was genuine shock. He didn’t know that was how Justine died. I’m sure he thought she died as a result of the blow to the head and hitting her head on the mantel. I think his wife actually suffocated Justi
ne while he was taking Michael back to bed, and I think Sebastian helped her. Then she got her husband out of there and on his way back to Worcester as quickly as she could in case he became suspicious.’

  Pierce threw the newspaper on the desk and waved Paget to a seat. ‘What about Bradley?’ she asked as she sat down herself. ‘Are you sure he’s telling the truth? I mean, is it possible that he could remain hidden in an alcove while all this was going on?’

  ‘Actually, it is,’ Paget told her. I went back there last night to take a look for myself, and it checks out. The lighting up there is extremely poor: high ceiling, the old forty-watt bulbs that look as if they haven’t been cleaned in God knows how many years, and alcoves that go back ten to twelve feet between the rooms as Bradley described. And you do have direct line of sight from the alcove next to Michael’s room into Justine’s room if the door is open. And Lorrimer’s account of events matches Bradley’s.

  ‘I think once Julia realized that we’d narrowed the time of death down to Saturday night and Sunday morning, she knew she would be in the frame because she’d lied about Justine being missing, so she decided to confess to being an unwilling accomplice who had been persuaded that it was the only way to protect her husband, and hoped the court would be sympathetic. The woman is a consummate actress, and, as things stand, she might even pull it off.’

  Pierce looked thoughtful. ‘Does Bradley know that Stephen Lorrimer has confirmed his story?’ she asked.

  ‘No. It’s on tape, but I haven’t spoken to Bradley this morning.’

  ‘So, without physical evidence, it really comes down to which story is most likely to be believed,’ Pierce said. ‘And I must say I thought Mrs Lorrimer’s story was quite believable. It’s the sort of thing that a young woman in those circumstances might feel forced to do, whereas this story of skulking around in dimly lit corridors is a bit harder to believe, and I’m not sure a jury would buy it. I think Mr Bradley should be made aware of that.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Paget, ‘so I think I’ll go down and have another word with him, because I still think he’s holding something back. Perhaps a night in the cells will have improved his memory.’’

  ‘Sleep well, did you, Mr Bradley?’ asked Paget as the cell door closed behind him. ‘No, don’t get up; you’re not going anywhere just yet.’ Bradley had been stretched out on the bunk with his hands behind his head, but now he swung his feet over and sat up. He looked drawn and hollow-eyed, and he didn’t bother to answer the question. Paget remained standing, arms folded as he looked down on the man.

  ‘You have a problem,’ he said gravely. ‘In deciding on the charges, it was felt that your story about hiding in an alcove and watching a struggle between Sebastian Mills and Stephen Lorrimer just isn’t credible without some sort of physical evidence to back it up. On the other hand, Mrs Lorrimer’s story of calling on you for help in dealing with Justine is much more straightforward and believable. You knew that once blackmail begins, there’s no end to it, so better to take decisive action now. Remove the threat of scandal that could destroy Stephen Lorrimer’s career, and your own to some degree, and Julia would be indebted to you for ever. Isn’t that what you were thinking, Mr Bradley?’

  Bradley stared up at him for a long moment, then shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You can’t be serious?’ he said as he got to his feet. ‘Have you talked to Stephen? And Sebastian?’ His jaw became set. ‘Just give me five minutes with that kid and he’ll be more than glad to tell you.’

  ‘Stephen Lorrimer is in hospital,’ said Paget. ‘He collapsed when I told him how Justine really died.’

  Bradley’s face became a mask. ‘How she really died?’ he repeated.

  ‘That’s right. Justine was suffocated.’ Paget’s eyes held those of Bradley. ‘But then you knew that, didn’t you, Mr Bradley? You knew that because it was you who killed her. You who held something over her face until she died, choking on her own vomit! Julia Lorrimer is right, isn’t she? She didn’t make that up, did she?’

  Colour began to rise in Bradley’s face, but before he had a chance to speak, Paget pressed on. ‘I don’t know if you two planned it together, or if you did it on your own, but what I do know, Mr Bradley, is that Julia Lorrimer will do everything she can to put the blame on you alone. She will say that she was so frightened and intimidated by you that she felt her own life could be in danger if she didn’t go along.’ A rueful smile creased Paget’s face. ‘And you know how convincing Julia can be when she really puts her mind to it, don’t you, Mr Bradley?’

  Jim Bradley was shaking his head. ‘You don’t believe that,’ he said. ‘You can’t believe that! You know Julia made it all up. I mean, that story about the girl and blackmail? It’s ludicrous!’

  ‘Ludicrous or not, my superintendent found it believable, and I suspect others will as well.’ Bradley drew a deep breath and put both hands to his head as if he thought it might explode. ‘What I told you yesterday was the truth,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘and I really thought you believed me.’

  ‘What I believe doesn’t matter. What does matter is evidence, and you have absolutely nothing to back up your story.’

  The silence between them stretched to more than half a minute before Bradley turned away and sat down. ‘There is evidence,’ he said hollowly. ‘I lied about when I left the alcove to go downstairs. I was about to go, but then I saw Justine’s legs move, and she was trying to lift her head. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Julia was kneeling beside her, next to the bed, and when she saw Justine move, she didn’t even have to think about it. She snatched a pillow off the bed and thrust it down on Justine’s face, and leaned on it. But Justine was struggling, kicking and squirming until Sebastian suddenly came to life and grabbed her ankles and held them down. Julia was on her knees, face buried in the pillow, pressing down for all she was worth until Justine stopped moving.’ Bradley paused to gulp down air as if he himself had been pushing hard. ‘And then it was over,’ he said, ‘and I knew Justine was really dead. When Stephen came back after getting Michael settled down, Julia didn’t even give him time to think. She made it very clear that if anything leaked out, he could kiss his career goodbye. She literally ordered him to get dressed and get back to Worcester as fast as he could, and leave the rest to her. And he did. Just like that! I didn’t actually see him leave, because I got out of there while he was getting dressed.’

  ‘And you did nothing to stop her?’ Paget said. ‘And even knowing what she’d done, you agreed to help her cover up her crime. Why?’

  Bradley looked down at the floor. ‘I thought …’ He sucked in his breath and let out a long, shuddering sigh. ‘I don’t know … I suppose I thought it would bring us closer together, that she would be grateful …’ He buried his head in his hands.

  ‘You said there was evidence?’ said Paget.

  Bradley nodded without looking up. ‘I have a lock-up in Birch Lane. It’s where I keep placards and signs and things like that. Stuff we bring out at election time or rallies and special occasions. I kept the pillow,’ he said tonelessly. ‘Her saliva’s on it. She’d shoved it out of sight under the bed, but when I was gathering everything together, I retrieved it and put it into a separate bin bag. Don’t ask me why; I just did. Perhaps I thought …’ He looked up at Paget. ‘It was insurance,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘Insurance because, deep down, I knew I couldn’t trust her. I loved her but I couldn’t trust her. Work that one out for me if you can, Chief Inspector, because I can’t.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Monday, 21 May

  Lunchtime had come and gone. They were all busy, but their thoughts were elsewhere. Their eyes kept flicking to the clock, and every time a phone rang, no matter whose it was, they paused to see if this was the one they’d been waiting for.

  ‘Still nothing on Twitter, and nothing on Facebook,’ Sophie told Molly when she asked, ‘and you’d think there would be by now.’

  ‘I don’t get it
,’ Tregalles fumed. ‘What do they think they’re doing over there? I know they have long lunch breaks, but this is ridiculous!’

  When Paget opened the door to the incident room at twenty past three, all eyes were on him as he closed it behind him.

  ‘They all pleaded “Not guilty”,’ he said. ‘Can’t say I expected anything else; they’ve all got good lawyers.’

  ‘Did any of them get bail?’ Ormside asked.

  Paget nodded. ‘All of them, subject to some very strict conditions, of course. As I said, they have good lawyers, so now it’s up to us to make sure that we give the CPS every scrap of evidence we have to make sure the charges stick.’

  Tregalles groaned. ‘They let that woman out on bail?’ he said. ‘I don’t believe it. I mean, we’ve got her bang to rights for murder. The pillow alone …’

  ‘Is the only piece of physical evidence against her,’ Paget pointed out, ‘and until we have the DNA results proving that the saliva on the pillow that was used to smother Justine is that of Julia Lorrimer, we have nothing but circumstantial evidence and Bradley’s word. However, Forensic should have the results by Friday, so keep your fingers crossed.

  ‘Now, beginning next week, someone from the CPS will be taking statements from each of you, so be prepared. Facts are what they’ll want, not opinions, and keep in mind that whatever you say will be remembered when this lot comes to trial. Understood?’

  A murmur of assent went around the room.

  He turned to Ormside. ‘That’s about it, for now, then, Len,’ he said. ‘You know what the CPS will want, so once that is done, we can close up shop until the next time … and I’m sure there will be a next time.’

  Sunday, 27 May

  Stephen Lorrimer sat alone in the kitchen. He looked at the clock on the wall. The hands had hardly moved since the last time he’d looked. Six twenty-five. Too early to call Richard. He lifted the coffee pot and topped up his mug. The coffee was lukewarm, but he couldn’t be bothered to make a fresh pot. He supposed he should have something to eat, but he wasn’t particularly hungry.