by Paul Gitsham
The man’s eyes were now shining, and he rubbed them with the back of his sleeve. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. ‘Anish was a spendthrift. I’m sure you have seen the car he drove, and the way he dressed. He was an attractive target. An easy target.’ His voice became angry and he started jabbing the table. ‘That is who you should be looking for, DCI Jones. Who took advantage of my son? Not chasing his brothers and sister. Look at his Facebook. Check his emails. That’s where you’ll find his killer.’
Patel collapsed back into his chair, the fire leaving him as suddenly as it had appeared.
‘I promise you, Mr Patel, we are following every lead,’ said Warren quietly.
Patel had a mercurial temperament to say the least. Warren had no idea how his next line of questioning would be received.
‘Can I ask you what will happen to your business when you are gone?’
A look of confusion crossed Patel’s face. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘Will your children inherit your business when you die?’
‘What sort of a question is that?’ His voice was angry once more.
‘I’m sorry, but I need to ask,’ said Warren firmly.
‘Well yes, of course. They have worked very hard to help build it up, for many years.’
‘And would Anish have inherited a share of the business?’
Patel said nothing for several long seconds, before pouring himself a beaker of water from the jug on the table.
‘All my children are included in my will, as long as certain conditions are met.’ He took a large sip of the water, then stared at the cup, avoiding eye contact.
‘And what are those conditions, Mr Patel?’ asked Warren.
The solicitor stirred. ‘I don’t see that is any of your concern, DCI Jones.’
Warren took out the copy of the will that Vasava had given him. The letterhead of the solicitor’s firm could be clearly seen.
‘Where did you get that?’ demanded Patel.
Warren ignored the question. ‘It says here that your children will only inherit if they are married at the time of your death. And the document specifically states that a marriage is defined as between one man and one woman. Presumably that would have excluded Anish?’
‘That is none of your business, DCI Jones.’ Patel turned to his solicitor who interjected again, although with little conviction. It was a reasonable line of questioning.
‘Tell me, Mr Patel,’ said Warren, ‘were you aware that Anish was in the process of arranging a marriage with a young woman that he had met recently?’
‘You have said that I am not under arrest, I would like to end the interview,’ said Patel. He was gripping the plastic beaker so tightly, Warren worried it would split.
‘Did you know, Gotam?’ repeated Warren.
‘My client has expressed a clearly stated wish to terminate the interview,’ warned the solicitor. Patel had placed his water down and was plainly about to walk out.
Warren ignored him, hoping to goad Patel into staying. ‘You see, to some that could be seen as a motive for murder.’
‘What! How dare you say such a thing?’ Patel stared at Warren in disbelief.
‘I advise you not to say anything else, Mr Patel,’ said the solicitor forcefully.
Warren shrugged, hoping he’d read the situation correctly.
He had.
‘To say such a thing …’ Patel ignored his solicitor’s pleas to say nothing. ‘I loved my son, how could you say that I murdered him?’
‘Did you know about his plans to get married? To ensure that he qualified for a share of the inheritance that you had attempted to deny him?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ stated Patel, but Warren could see the truth in his eyes; the man had known, or at least suspected.
Warren decided to push a little harder.
‘Were you also aware that Anish was investigating the possibility of fertility treatment to help him start a family? Thus circumventing the stipulation that your heirs also have to have children – biological, not adopted – in order to qualify for a share of the inheritance?’
Patel blinked. Now he looked more confused than angry. ‘You must be mistaken, DCI Jones.’
‘It’s here, in black and white,’ said Warren, pushing the document across the table. He pointed to the highlighted clause.
‘This is not an up-to-date copy of my will,’ said Patel, after fishing a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and taking a closer look. He passed the document to his solicitor.
Now it was Warren’s turn to be confused.
Patel pointed to the signature and date at the bottom. ‘I have amended my will since then.’
‘You’ve altered it? When?’
Patel sighed. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with weariness.
‘You are right; I did change my will to try and stop Anish from inheriting a share of my business. But that’s because it would not be fair for him to share in the fruits of our hard work.’
Patel removed his glasses and rubbed them on his jumper. ‘Manoj, Jaidev and Reva helped their mother and me run our business from the day they left school. Anish didn’t.’ Patel’s voice hardened. ‘He did not deserve to share in the rewards that our sacrifices brought.’
‘So you are saying that after you altered your will, you had another change of heart? You got rid of the clauses insisting that your heirs had to be married with children of their own?’
‘They still need to be married,’ said Patel.
‘But they don’t need to have their own children? Why did you change your mind?’ asked Warren.
‘I would like to speak to my solicitor in private,’ said Patel.
Moray Ruskin slid into his chair and gave a big sigh.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Hardwick. Warren had told everyone to take a break before they reconvened to go through the interview feedback.
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine,’ he muttered.
Hardwick looked at him with concern. The young Scotsman was usually a source of good humour, it worried her to see him so down. She suspected she knew why.
‘Come on, you need coffee,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll even treat you to a chocolate muffin.’
Ruskin gave her a tired smile and clambered to his feet. ‘Well if you put it like that …’
The coffee shop franchise that now ran the staff canteen was quiet when Hardwick and Ruskin entered, and they easily found a private table.
‘What’s bothering you, Moray?’ asked Hardwick. In the months since returning to work, she’d struck up a friendship with her fellow DC, acting as an unofficial mentor to the less-experienced officer. She’d found spending time with newer members of the team, such as him and Rachel Pymm, to be less emotionally draining. Ruskin had only known Gary briefly, and Rachel had never met him. Most of her other colleagues had served alongside Gary for years before his violent and unexpected death, and she knew that working with her brought up memories for all of them.
‘It’s the way that Anish Patel has been treated by his family – especially his father – because he’s gay.’ He gave another sigh, fiddling with the wooden stirrer that had come with his coffee. ‘It kind of reminds me of Alex’s situation.’ A mixture of sadness and anger flashed across his face. ‘You heard about our wedding, right?’
Hardwick nodded. She hadn’t been invited to Moray’s wedding, as she barely knew him at that time, but she had spoken to those members of the team that had attended.
‘None of Alex’s family came. It wasn’t a surprise of course; his parents disowned him the day he came out. I’ve never even met them. He puts a brave face on it, but I know how much it hurts him.’
‘Why did they react that way, if you don’t mind me asking?’ asked Hardwick.
Ruskin snorted. ‘Why do you think? Religion. I’m not even sure what flavour of Christianity they supposedly follow, but it’s clearly one that ignores all the bits in the Bible about love. Look, I get that so
me churches feel unable to marry same-sex couples, but these days few cast out members who are gay. Love the sinner, hate the sin and all that. It’s just cruel. I would never say it to his face, but you’ve got to question how much a parent actually loves their kid if they would rather follow the edicts of some two-thousand-year-old book than accept who their child falls in love with.’
‘I’m not going to disagree with you about that,’ said Hardwick, ‘but I’m not sure if that’s the reason the Patels shunned Anish. Jaidev suggested it was more to do with the conservative-minded circles that Gotam Patel moves in rather than religion. They aren’t even that religious, and from what I’ve read, it shouldn’t really be an excuse.’
‘I can’t decide if that makes it worse or not?’ said Ruskin. ‘If he can’t even use religious commandments to justify his views, what does that leave? Bigotry? Hatred? Just plain, old-fashioned, being a tosser?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hardwick eventually, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.
Ruskin gave a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Karen. Thanks for letting me blow off some steam.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘Did I ever tell you about when I came out to my parents?’
‘No, I’ve not heard that story.’
‘I was at university. My sister had known for years, but she respected my decision not to tell Mum and Dad – they can be a little old-fashioned.
‘Anyway, I used play football for the university’s LGBTQ team. One year we won the league, and the local paper took photos. It wasn’t until after I’d told Mum and Dad that I was going to be on the paper’s website I remembered our shirts were covered in loads of LGBTQ logos.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Hardwick, covering her mouth.
‘Anyway, I spent all night practising how I was going to tell them. By the time I rang them I had a little speech worked out with bullet points.’
By now, Hardwick was unable to stop her giggles. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. Please, carry on.’
‘So I called first thing Sunday morning, all fired up. Mum answered, but I never rang at that time, so she thought I’d been kicked off my course or I was ill; I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Eventually, I just blurted out “I’m gay!”’
‘What did she say?’
‘“Of course you are, your father and I have known since you were a teenager. Have you met somebody?” I was actually disappointed that I didn’t get to use my speech. I think I still have it somewhere. Mind you, I got it in the neck from my sister. She said that Mum phoned her afterwards and said that now I probably wouldn’t be giving them grandkids, it was all up to her. She was not impressed.’
Hardwick laughed. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘Yeah, when I met Alex and brought him home, Mum and Dad were great,’ Ruskin smiled. ‘They loved him to bits. Mum was so angry when his parents refused to come to the wedding that in the end she offered to walk him down the aisle at the same time Dad walked me.’
‘God, that’s beautiful,’ said Hardwick. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She had never got her opportunity to walk down the aisle; before she knew it, it was Ruskin comforting her.
‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’ she managed eventually. She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, back to your problem. Perhaps you should speak to DCI Jones, if it really bothers you this much. He’s pretty understanding. Perhaps he can reassign you so you don’t have to deal directly with the Patels? There’s plenty of other ways to contribute to the investigation.’
Ruskin shook his head. ‘No, I’m a professional; if I can sit across from somebody who has just committed murder or abused a kid, I can sit opposite somebody who hasn’t received the memo that it’s the twenty-first century.’ He waved his hand around the canteen. ‘And besides, I’m not going to give up this opportunity. DCI Jones and DI Sutton are probably the highest-ranking officers in the force – perhaps any force – that still interview suspects. And the clean-up rate for serious crime in Middlesbury is second-to-none.’
Hardwick agreed. Middlesbury – and Warren Jones – were all but unique. Middlesbury’s position as a ‘first response’ CID unit covering Middlesbury and the surrounding villages at the northernmost tip of the county was an anomaly within Hertfordshire Constabulary, which had years ago consolidated all of its major crime into one unit, along with Bedfordshire and Cambridgeshire. For years, there had been those who wished to close Middlesbury down and absorb it into the Major Crime Unit. But for all the money that would save, it was hard to argue that their approach didn’t work. The same went for DCI Jones, whose hands-on style, tolerated and even encouraged by DSI Grayson, delivered results that were the envy of his peers.
After her brief thoughts of leaving the police the previous year, she had come to realise that despite all the ghosts that sometimes haunted Middlesbury CID, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
‘Reva Vasava knew that her father had amended his will again, but she gave us the old copy. Why?’ said Warren. The team had watched the interview with Gotam Patel on the video feed.
‘And she came to us,’ said Sutton, ‘pointing her finger at her father as a possible suspect in the killing. Why?’
‘I figure there are two possibilities,’ said Ruskin. His chat with Hardwick had helped him clear his mind, and he was back to his usual self. ‘Either she genuinely thinks that her father was responsible, or she’s framing him.’
‘Framing him why?’ asked Warren immediately.
‘She could be protecting herself, or her brothers,’ said Pymm. ‘After all, they stand to gain the most now that Anish is dead.’
‘Gotam claims not to know anything about Suniti’s Sundries supplying the Easy Break Hotel,’ said Hutchinson. ‘He says that he leaves Reva to run that part of the business all by herself. Which makes you wonder if she could be laying another trail back to her father, if we don’t believe his denials.’
‘What does Jaidev say? Does he admit to delivering to the hotel or knowing Leon Grime and Nicholas Kimpton?’ asked Pymm.
‘No comment,’ said Sutton, who’d spent a fruitless twenty minutes with the man.
‘Well, let’s keep our knowledge of that connection to ourselves for the time being,’ said Warren. ‘I don’t want word getting back to anyone at the hotel that we’re looking at them. If Kimpton is involved, he probably thinks he’s in the clear at the moment.’
‘What would happen to the inheritance if Gotam Patel went down for murder?’ asked Ruskin. ‘Could they inherit sooner?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Richardson. ‘I looked at that will and aside from those specific clauses aimed at blocking Anish, it looks like a fairly straightforward division of his estate. If anything, mounting a defence against murder would eat into that estate. The solicitors that have represented them so far don’t come cheap.’
‘Could it be a power grab?’ asked Sutton. ‘That business is worth millions. With old man Patel out of the way, they could take over the running of the firm. Perhaps they want to wind it up and divvy up the assets now, rather than waiting until he dies?’
The team fell silent, as they pondered the suggestion.
‘It seems quite a convoluted way to do it,’ said Warren finally, ‘and it still doesn’t explain why Reva brought us that out-of-date copy of his will. It also doesn’t address the question of whether they were involved in the murder, or whether Reva just saw an opportunity when Anish was killed.’
‘I also wonder why he didn’t just strike Anish from the will and leave his share to the local donkey sanctuary,’ said Richardson.
‘Shame?’ suggested Pymm. ‘A will is a public document; there would have been questions asked about why Anish was deliberately missed out of it.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘For all his claims that he loved Anish, he still seems more bothered about Anish’s sexuality tainting his legacy. By slipping in some clause that Anish couldn’t meet, the family could just brush it under the carpet.’
‘Possible,’ conceded Warren. At the moment however, it didn�
��t really matter what the man’s motive was; the fact was, he had done it, and it was perfectly legal to do so under English law. There were far more pressing questions that needed answering.
‘Anything back from the search teams yet?’ asked Sutton.
‘Hutch called in a few minutes ago,’ said Pymm. ‘They’ve seized the footage from Gotam’s CCTV system. There’s a camera outside the front of his house that covers the driveway and the entrance of the converted barn that Reva and her husband live in. That should help confirm if they left the house the night of the killing. In addition, both the house and the barn have a number of connected smart home devices. A technical team are going to do an audit of them to see if they can pull any useful information off them.’
Sutton grunted. ‘Even your home spies on you these days.’
‘It gets better,’ said Pymm. ‘Those nice fancy Range Rovers that the brothers and their father drive have advanced telematic systems. All of their journeys are logged with Jaguar Land Rover. And Reva’s Merc is similarly connected. The vehicle unit down in Welwyn are raising warrants to see if they can get a copy of that data from JLR and Mercedes.’
Sutton whistled. ‘That’s a potential gamechanger; the brothers have an irritating habit of leaving their mobiles at home. Still bloody creepy though.’
‘I’m not going to disagree, but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth,’ said Warren. It wasn’t an exaggeration to claim that some crimes that might not have been resolved in previous decades had been cracked wide open by the fact that most people now carried an electronic spy in their pocket in the shape of their smartphone. Nevertheless, part of Warren missed the anonymity of years gone by. Maybe he was just getting old.
‘Whilst we’re waiting on that, what else have they found at the properties?’ he prompted.
‘It’s early days,’ said Pymm. ‘They’re going through their wardrobes and laundry bins looking for any bloodstained clothes. Whoever sliced his fingertips off and smashed his teeth in must have carried some evidence with them.’
