“Yes, it’s occurred to me. I’ll tell you something else that’s dawned on me, too. The most likely candidate is one who’s highly mobile, possibly absent from Landshaven for long periods of time. Someone like an MP.”
Her mouth fell open. “Shawforth was in London at the time his wife was murdered. Absolutely guaranteed. He was live on the BBC Parliament channel, for God’s sake.”
“So he was, but where was his money?”
He realised instantly that the idea punched a gaping hole in his theory, and Sam realised it too.
“That makes a mockery of your idea that…” She trailed off as Czarniak entered the room.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but we’ve just had a report from the path lab. Pubic hairs found in the area of Olivia Bradley’s upper thigh. DNA analysis says they came from Colin Ranworth. He had sex with her on Sunday night.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sam read the one-page report, ignoring the charts detailing the DNA structure, concentrating on the written text. Then she immediately despatched Czarniak to the magistrate’s court for warrants to search Ranworth’s home, car and office. From there, she ordered Barker and Larne to the harbour, along with a couple of uniformed officers, to bring Ranworth in.
Her earlier annoyance assuaged, she apologised to Drake. “It looks like dinner’s had it again. I’ll probably be here until about nine.”
“It’s no problem. You have your job to do.” He deliberately changed the subject. “I told you Ranworth had something to hide, didn’t I?”
“You did, and based on what you were saying just now, I think we can forget about our beloved MP. Working on the assumption that Barbara Shawforth was selling sex, what price Ranworth beat her to death as well as Olivia?”
Drake frowned. “I’m not a psychologist, let alone a psychiatrist, but I can’t see it. Where does the shooting of Alex Walston fit into it?”
Sam had an answer. “You know, it is possible that Walston’s murder is entirely unconnected. Think about it. He had a reputation for bedding any available woman, and he didn’t really give a toss about their marital status. There must be more than one jealous husband in this town. Whoever killed Walston visited the Villiards first, shot the husband, and compelled Christine to ring Walston and arrange to meet him before killing her.”
“Then why get him to confess to murdering Barbara?” Sam shrugged silently and Drake went on. “To be honest, the same idea occurred to me, and there is another possibility. Murder and suicide. Christine’s husband compelled her to ring Walston, then shot her, dealt with Walston, then came home and shot himself. Was the murder weapon found at their farm?”
“Haven’t a clue. SOCO are still working there.” Sam changed the subject back. “Do you need to observe the interview with Ranworth?”
“Not really, but it might be an advantage if I did, provided you have an earpiece in and I can contact you.”
“I don’t need your prompts, to tell me how the question a suspect.”
He grinned sheepishly. “In that case, I’ll clear off back to my hotel, and get on with my report for Iris.”
“You have reached a conclusion then?”
“No… Well, yes, but I’ll tell you about that when I’ve had enough time to clear my thinking.”
***
The moment Sam and Barker stepped into the interview room, Ranworth leapt to his feet and ranted at them. “What is the meaning of this? You sent two officers out to arrest me. Why? Because I had the audacity to report you on Monday? Because you were in the wrong, you got your backside kicked, and now you want to get your own back by hassling me?”
A short, chubby and balding man in his late fifties or early sixties, there was something absurd about the manner in which he tried to dominate the two police officers, both in better physical condition than him and many years younger.
“Sit down, Mr Ranworth,” Sam ordered as she and her colleague took their seats with Barker closest to the recorder.
“I want to know what is going on.” He pointed a quivering finger at Barker. “He threatened me with arrest if I didn’t come with him, and made me look a right bloody fool in front of my staff.”
“I said sit down, Mr Ranworth. I’ll be asking the questions, not answering them, and we have a lot to get through.”
“I will not sit down. I demand to speak to Neville Trentham.”
Tired of the frontal assault, Sam went on the attack. “Either sit down, or I will have Inspector Barker handcuff you to the chair. This interview is a CID matter and has nothing to do with Chief Superintendent Trentham or your petty demands for the paper trail to be in place two days ago. We need to talk to you on matters a damn sight more serious. Now sit down while we prepare the recorder.”
Ranworth eyed the exit, but a look at Barker was enough to dissuade him, and he finally took a seat. “I’ve not even been told what this is about.”
“It’s about your intimate relationship with Olivia Bradley, and her murder in the early hours of Monday morning. And, before we start with the lies, evasions and demands for correct form-filling, I will tell you that we have incontrovertible evidence that you had sex with her on the night she was murdered.”
Ranworth’s features coloured.
Sam ignored it and went on, “In a moment, Inspector Barker will start the recorder. We will identify ourselves, and you will be asked to identify yourself by name and address. After that, I will specify the particular evidence in question, and from there we will put the questions to which we need answers. You have the right to legal counsel if you wish.”
“I don’t know anything about this.”
Sam repeated herself more insistently. “Do you need a solicitor present?”
“No. I haven’t done anything wrong. And as far as the woman is concerned, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yet again, Sam ignored the bluster and nodded to Barker, who inserted a CD into the machine and pressed the record button.
“The time is fifteen fifty-eight, and this is the first interview with Colin Ranworth, in connection with the killing of Olivia Bradley. Present are myself, Detective Chief Inspector Feyer of Landshaven CID.”
“Detective Inspector Barker, Landshaven CID.” Barker looked across the table, and nodded to Ranworth.
“Colin Ranworth. Ninety-six Hunstanton Street, Landshaven.”
Sam went into her opening announcement. “This is a preliminary interview, Mr Ranworth, and I must caution you that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence. You have the right to a legal advisor, which you have declined. You’re not obliged to answer any of my questions, but I would advise you to do so. The more information we have, the bigger and better the picture we can build. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes. Get on with it.”
Sam set the forensic report in front of her, and concentrated upon her suspect. “As you’re already aware, the body of Olivia Bradley was found on the beach close to the harbour wall on Monday morning. She had been beaten to death. Early results from the pathologist revealed the presence of pubic hairs in the area of her upper thigh. When tested, those hairs revealed DNA which is a match for yours. The chances of them coming from anyone else are one in a billion.”
Ranworth’s mouth fell open again and Sam pressed on.
“Early tests also indicated condom lubrication in her vagina. The conclusion, Mr Ranworth, is inescapable. Using a condom, you had sex with Ms Bradley on the night of her death. Didn’t you?”
A marked, downward change came over Ranworth. Gone was the determined protagonist, and in its place was a frightened man.
“I’m waiting for your answer, Mr Ranworth.”
He nodded.
“You have to speak aloud for the recorder,” Barker said. “Did you have sex with Olivia Bradley on Sunday night?”
The answer was slow in comi
ng and delivered in a reptilian hiss. “Yes.”
While Barker wrote furiously, Sam pressed home her attack. “Footage from the traffic camera on Seafront Way confirms that Olivia left the Trafalgar Inn at about quarter to eleven, and made her way into Harbour Passage. Although we haven’t had time to watch all the footage from the traffic cameras in the area, we’re certain that she did not emerge via the alleyway again for over two hours. We have testimony from other women in the bar of the Trafalgar Inn that she was going to meet a client. We’re currently examining video recordings from the dock cameras, the footage you were so reluctant to let us have, to see whether you left the harbour area at about the same time, which then calls into question your reluctance to release those recordings when we asked. You can save us all some time, by telling us what actually happened.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Very well. Inspector Barker, escort Mr Ranworth to the detention block.” She stared at Ranworth. “We’re unlikely to get a solicitor here at this hour, so you will be held here overnight until we can get you legal advice in the morning, when we will pick up the interview.”
The harbourmaster was on his feet again. “You can’t do that. I can’t be spending the night in jail. I haven’t done anything wrong. I demand that you release me now. I demand that you bring Neville Trentham—”
Sam cut him off. “As matters stand, sir, you are suspected of involvement in the death of Olivia Bradley. At the very least you could be an accessory to murder, and for all I know, you may very well have committed the crime. You, Mr Ranworth, are going nowhere until I have answers to my questions.”
She nodded at Barker who spoke to the recorder. “Interview suspended at—”
As he checked his watch, Ranworth spoke up again. “Wait, wait, wait. Just tell me what it is you want to know.”
Sam was satisfied, and for the sake of the recorder, Barker mentioned that the interview would continue.
“Olivia Bradley received a phone call while she was in the Trafalgar on Sunday night. We believe it was you and before you try to wriggle out of it, we will check the call records from your office.”
Ranworth stared at the floor. “I wasn’t at work. I phoned her, er, from home. I always do.”
Sam came to full alert. “Always? You mean Sunday wasn’t the first time?”
Ranworth’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I was a regular, er, regular client. Not often, you understand. Just now and again, when I felt the need. And I always called Olivia.”
Stunned as she was by the confession, Sam brought the interview back on track. “Let’s concentrate on Sunday night. You met her in Harbour Passage?”
“No. No, I was parked on Town Hill. I always wait there for her.”
“Why?”
“I live off Thirsk Road. Not far from Ruth Russell’s where Olivia lives… lived. Whenever I called her, I’d drive to town, round the inner ring road, down Town Hill, and park opposite the passage. Outside the Simla Tandoori House. You can’t wait for long there because there are double yellow lines all the way down the street, and you never know who’s hanging around, even on a Sunday night, so I ring her, and she comes to me. When she’s in the car, I do a U-turn and go back the way I’ve come. That’s the way I did it on Sunday night.”
“Thank you for the detail, but you have not answered my question. Why that particular regime?”
“I, er, I’m aware of the traffic cameras on the junction of Town Hill and Seafront Way – the ones you’re checking out. A lot of my people are friendly with the police, and I don’t want anyone to know about my, er, meetings with Olivia. There’s also the danger that if I come down to the seafront, some of my crew might see me. I’m in charge of the docks. I have a position to uphold. So I go back the way I came.”
Sam doubted that his use of prostitutes would be a secret on the dock, but she refrained from saying so. It was not an issue she was particularly interested in anyway. “So what happened on Sunday night?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. We got back to my place, did the, er, did the business, and afterwards we had a cup of tea, and I offered to run her back to Ruth Russell’s. I always do. But she asked me to drop her back on Town Hill instead. So I did.”
“What time was that?” Barker demanded.
“Oh… It was after midnight. Maybe ten or quarter past. I watched her go back into Harbour Passage, then turned round and went home. I was on duty at six Monday morning, as you well know, so I had to get some sleep.”
“Did she explain why the change from your normal routine?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. For all I knew, she had another client lined up.”
“But she didn’t say who.”
The moment she asked, Sam realised it was a ridiculous question, and Ranworth confirmed as much with a scowl.
Barker took up the reins. “She was alive when you left her?”
“Yes.” Ranworth was almost pleading. “Look, you don’t have to take my word for it. All right, so I avoid the traffic cameras and our security cameras around the harbour, but you have others on the roads from town out to where I live, and I was probably caught on them, taking her into town, and then going home on my own. If you study the images, you’ll see that I have a passenger going in, but not on the way out.”
“A passenger? Not a body?” Barker asked.
“Check my car, if you don’t believe me. You won’t find any blood on it, and according to the lad what found her yesterday, she was a right mess.”
“Rest assured, Mr Ranworth, we will check your car,” Sam said. “I have an officer at the magistrate’s court right now seeking a warrant. I’m not particularly interested in your fun and games, but I will ask you this; did the sex between you and Olivia Bradley involve violence of any kind? Restraint, inflicting pain, anything like that?”
“No. I mean, what do you take me for?” The harbourmaster was obviously offended. “I’m straight. It’s sex. Oral, her on her back, her on top, a bit of doggy now and then. You know. Sex.” He seemed eager to stress the point. “Look, I’ve been widowed for ten years now. My missus was killed in a car crash. I’m not looking to get seriously involved with any woman, so girls like Olivia provide me with the relief I want, when I want it.” He appealed to Barker. “You’re a man, you must understand what I mean. Fifty quid every so often. It’s not too big a price to pay.”
Barker did not rise to the bait. “But it’s exclusively Olivia Bradley?”
He nodded sadly. “I tried a few others, but they weren’t as good, not as keen as Olivia. She was a natural. Good at her job.”
Sam pressed on. “Do you know what I mean by the term scarfing?”
Ranworth’s face remained blank. “What?”
“Erotic asphyxiation. Semi-strangulation. It heightens orgasm.”
“I told you, I’m not into anything like that.”
While Sam pondered which way to go with the interview, Barker stepped in again, obviously concentrated on Monday and the acerbic debate with Sam. “What happened to Olivia’s underwear?”
The harbourmaster frowned. “What?”
With an insight into his boss’s feelings, Barker could feel his irritation rising, and took a deep breath to quell it. “Her knickers. Where are they?”
“I don’t bloody know, do I? She put them back on when we were finished. She must have done. They’re not at my house. You can search the place, if you like.”
Sam took over. “I already said that we’re applying for a warrant, the search will take place this evening, the moment we’re finished here. In the meantime, you obviously recall the Shawforth murder, four years ago.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Did you ever have sex with Barbara Shawforth?”
Ranworth gaped. “What?”
“You heard, Mr Ranworth. There is a suspicion that Barbara Shawforth was charging for sexual services. As a man who admits to using prostitutes, I’m asking did you ever pay Barbara Shawforth for se
x?”
“Did I hell as like. I didn’t even know she was on the game. If you’re going to try and pin her murder on me, you can—”
Sam cut him off. “Very well. That’s all I need to know. We’re waiting for Sergeant Czarniak to return from the magistrate’s court. In the meantime, you will be held here, and when he gets back, we’ll make our way to your home.”
“I’ve nothing to hide.”
“And I’m not going to give you the opportunity to hide anything.” Sam nodded to Barker who made the necessary announcement to the recorder, and shut it down. As they got to their feet, Sam said, “I’ll have some refreshments sent in, and when the warrant is here, I’ll arrange for a team to go to your home with you, where they’ll carry out the search.”
Ranworth made one last attempt to get out of the station. “I can make my own way home.”
“No you can’t, because I don’t want you to dispose of any potential evidence before we get there. You’re staying here until we’re ready.”
As they were about to leave, Ranworth called her. “Ms Feyer, does this, you know, does this have to become public knowledge? I have a position to uphold, and if this got out it could cost me my job, not to mention my standing in the community.”
Sam noticed that she had suddenly become ‘Ms Feyer’. “I really don’t know. I don’t deal with the media. I leave such matters to your friend Neville Trentham.”
“This could ruin me.”
Her irritation began to rise again. “Quite candidly, Mr Ranworth, I don’t give a flying one for your reputation or your sexual preferences. I care about a young woman who had her life brutally cut short two nights ago. I intend to see her killer jailed and right now you were one of the last people to see her alive.”
Chapter Thirty
Sam did not get to the station until half past nine the following morning, and less than five minutes after she arrived, a furious Neville Trentham marched into her office.
“Samantha, would you mind telling me what is going on?”
The Frame - from the author of the Sanford Third Age Club (STAC) series (A Feyer and Drake Mystery Book 2) Page 17
