The Cyclist

by Tim Sullivan

  'Have you and Jean been in touch with Debbie since then?' Cross asked.

  'Other than the other day? No,' he replied.

  'That's a bit odd, isn't it? You find out she's pregnant and you don't get in touch? Why was that?' Cross asked. Andy didn't answer. 'Was it because you couldn't tell her you knew? Because then, she'd know that Alex had been there that night, and now he was dead. You couldn't afford anyone to know. To have the finger pointed in your direction. What is more, you couldn't rely on Jean to keep it to herself, particularly if she'd been drinking,' Cross said. He’d finished. There was no answer. Cross looked at the man across the table from him. The confidence of just a couple of minutes ago had vanished completely.

  'So back to that night. How did Alex get to you?' Cross asked.

  'How do you mean?'

  'Mode of transport. Car, taxi, bus?'

  This should've been an easy question to answer, but Andy seemed to be calculating how to answer it. Finally he said, 'I don't know. I have no idea.'

  'Bike perhaps?' Cross asked.

  'Maybe,' said Andy.

  'I mean, it would make sense, wouldn't it?'

  'Like I said. I don't know.'

  'You don't know? All right... well I can help you there,' said Cross. 'You see we have him on CCTV leaving the airport where he'd attended a meeting at seven thirty seven. You live a good hour away, which almost accords with what you say. That he arrived around eight. On his bike. Except it was more like eight thirty.'

  'I didn't see his bike,' said Andy

  'Really? I find that difficult to believe. I mean he was in his cycling gear. He'd just come from Bristol airport on his bike. Quite a trek, but nothing to him, I suppose. Just a warm-up, really. He was probably wearing his cycling helmet. People tend not to take those off when they call round on someone, till they know they're at home. And he would have walked funnily, because he wears those shoes that clip into the pedals. Cleats, that's right. So, all in all, I think you should be able to remember if he had his bike with him.'

  'Well I don't,' replied Andy tersely.

  'I cycle. To and from work mostly,’ Cross continued conversationally, 'but I used to take my not very expensive, just functional bike with me into the station. Until I successfully lobbied for a bike shelter to be built. You probably passed it on the way in, on the right. I also take it into my flat when I go home. For the simple reason I don't want it to be stolen. Because it's such a hassle if it is. And Alex had the added consideration that his bike was worth thousands of pounds. Carbon fibre. He wouldn't have left it outside your flat; he would have brought it inside. Unless he didn't come inside? Did he stay outside?' Andy didn't answer. Cross hoped that he was feeling a little cornered. 'Would it help if I showed you a photograph of his bike?' He took a photograph out of his folder. 'Here.'

  Andy looked at the photograph. 'The man holding it is the police diver, who got it out of the canal where you had thrown it, by my calculations, at two thirty two yesterday morning,' Cross continued.

  'And how exactly can you prove that?' Andy asked.

  'I was there. Well, not quite there because I had a puncture. Does that ring a bell? A puncture? Because you stopped to help a damsel in distress, did you not?' Andy looked a little pale. 'Mackenzie?' Cross called out. The door opened and Mackenzie walked in. She was slightly annoyed at her heart beating ten to the dozen, as she played her little part in Cross' arranged theatrics. She'd also never been in the inner sanctum of the interview room, when it was in action.

  'Do you remember my "daughter", Andy?' asked Cross.

  Swinton said nothing. 'That'll be all, Alice,' said Cross, as he produced an evidence bag from his pocket, containing a mobile phone in an amount of uncooked rice. 'We also found this in the vicinity of the bike, on the bed of the canal. Alex's mobile. The one you used to text Matthew and tell him Alex wouldn't be making the trip. That was a mistake, because it meant that whoever killed him knew about Tenerife. I thought the phone would be quite ruined, but it's amazing. Did you know if you put a wet mobile phone – say you've dropped it in the lavatory or the bath or a swimming pool, you understand what I mean – if you've dropped it in water, you just pop it into a bag of rice like this and...'

  But the solicitor had had quite enough by now. 'I think we'll take this opportunity...'

  'Oh, I think you should,' said Cross, interrupting him back.

  Chapter 28

  The solicitor and Andy returned a little later. Ottey was already there. Cross then appeared and organised his folder and pieces of paper equidistantly on the table. This seemed to take longer than usual. Ottey was watching Andy. He was obviously wound up by having seen it several times now. Once Cross was satisfied, he sat down and looked up expectantly.

  'Is that supposed to make me feel nervous or something, or are you just plain weird?' said Andy.

  'Mr Swinton...' said the solicitor. Cross just continued to stare at Andy, who exhaled dismissively and looked away. Cross looked at the solicitor, who began reading a prepared statement.

  'I was in the vicinity of the canal, on the night in question. I was on twenty-four-hour call and was called out to a...'

  'I'm going to stop you there, if I may. The fact is, we're running out of time. Well I am, and so I'd like to move things along. A word of advice, Andy. All this changing what happened, not being able to remember anything, then suddenly having a detailed recollection about the events of that night, or any other night for that matter, doesn't help anyone. It's so much better just to tell the truth because, you see, in these circumstances I will get there in the end. In fact, I believe we already have.'

  Andy looked at his solicitor. 'Are you going to finish reading that, or what?'

  'Why don't we listen to what the detective has to say?' he replied.

  'So, Mr Swinton, here's what you know we know. We have Alex at your house the night of the murder. We have you dumping the aforesaid's bike and mobile phone in the canal, the night before last. What you don't know, and what I'm going to disclose to you now, is that forensics have found blood, the victim's blood, in your kitchen, where you attempted to clear it up.' He looked at Andy, who didn't show a flicker of emotion.

  'We have a witness who saw a South West Plumbing van, early on the morning of the ninth, reversing into the garage where Alex's body was dumped, at such speed it damaged the flank of the van. Your van. Which went in for repairs the following day. The paint left on the garage door frame is an exact match for the specific paint used for South West vans. You see, your boss is quite fussy about appearance, as I'm sure you know. The blue paint, on close inspection, has tiny metallic elements to give it a slight sparkle, I suppose you’d call it.' He looked at Ottey for confirmation. She nodded.

  'Which makes the paint easily identifiable,' he continued. 'We also have the plastic roll from that van. The plastic you used to wrap Alex's body in and leave in the garage. We know that because you see, when you cut a piece of plastic like that with a knife or scissors, whatever, it doesn't really matter, you leave a unique signature along the cut. The plastic wrapped around the body was cut from that roll. It's a perfect match. So, all in all, that's a pretty convincing case, wouldn't you say? Oh, I forgot to mention the fact that the garage you used had been in Jean's family for years. You knew it was now disused, so you could leave the body there till you'd decided what to do with it. What you weren't to know, was that the demolition would be brought forward, before you had a chance to move it.'

  'I'd like to talk to my client,' said the lawyer.

  'I think, in truth, we're a little beyond that. Don't you Andy?' said Cross. Andy looked at him. He was cornered by the evidence and he'd had enough of Cross. There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

  'It was an accident,' he said.

  'Andy Swinton, did you kill Alex Paphides on the night of May eighth?' Cross asked.

  'Not intentionally,' he replied.

  'Would you like to make a statement now?'

  Andy looked
at his solicitor, who nodded.

  'Yes.'

  'Then would you excuse me? An officer will be in to take it. Is there anything you'd like to ask before I go?'

  'No.'

  Very well.' Cross then got up and left, followed by Ottey.

  'Why didn't you ask him what happened?' she asked.

  'It'll go into the statement,' he answered, slightly distracted. She knew something was going on. They always went through a confession after it was made. Particularly Cross, who liked to ensure that the narrative of facts was laid out coherently. But before she could press him any further, Carson walked up to them, extending his hand. Cross didn't take it. No matter how many times this happened, Carson still carried on doing it. Ottey wondered whether it was because he just didn't concentrate; didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him.

  'Well done,' he said. But Cross was looking far from happy – which Ottey would describe as his default expression. She'd learnt this from numerous enquiries, where she'd asked him if he was all right, only to be greeted by a puzzled reaction and told that he was fine, and that this was how he always looked. This time, maybe, was different, as the unhappiness was accompanied by a fixed look of concentration. 'What is it?' said Carson. 'It's a result, cut and dried, George.'

  'He manifested no sign of relief. No sign of anything. It's as if it's just one more piece of an agreed narrative. For him, it was just a question of when it happened, not if,' said Cross.

  'George, come on. Don't do this. Again. Please,' Carson went on.

  'We should interview Jean. Tell her Andy's being charged, and that she's being released on police bail.'

  'You just don't know when to stop. This is that time, George. Let it go,' said Carson.

  'Up until this point they have been each other's alibis. We haven't actually checked this information. We should check South West Plumbing's work roster for that night, and also the mobile phone records of both Andy and Jean,' said Cross, as if he was thinking out loud. Carson was about to remonstrate again, but Cross was already walking off to the custody sergeant, and asking for Jean to be brought to the other interview room. Carson turned to Ottey.

  'Josie. Do something,' he pleaded.

  'You're the boss,' she replied.

  'A concept our friend over there seems to have a little difficulty in grasping at the best of times.'

  As soon as they told Jean that they were about to charge Andy, and she would be released on bail until the CPS had decided what to charge her with, she burst into tears.

  'So I can go?' she asked. Cross detected an element of disbelief through the tears.

  'For the time being,' said Ottey.

  'Okay, then I'm assuming we're done here?' said Jean's solicitor.

  'Not quite,' said Cross. This time it was the solicitor, not the suspect, who sighed and sank back into her chair. Like a child at school who is told to stay where she is after the end-of-class bell has sounded, because the teacher wants to have a word.

  'I'm curious about one thing. We know that Alex came to the house to tell you about the pregnancy. How did he feel about it?' Cross asked.

  'How do you mean?'

  'Was he happy?'

  'I don't know. He just told us,' she said.

  'But you must have had a sense of how he felt,' Cross went on.

  'He just said he'd do the right thing – whatever that means.'

  'Presumably, marry her,' suggested Cross.

  'I guess so. Married at sixteen, with a kid at seventeen.' she shook her head.

  'Sound familiar?' Cross asked.

  'You trying to be funny?'

  'How do you feel about your being pregnant at sixteen? In hindsight? How did it affect you?'

  'It messed up everything. My parents practically disowned me. It was such a mistake.'

  'What was? Getting pregnant?'

  'Well, what do you think?' she said.

  'I don't know. Which is why I'm asking you.'

  'The whole thing was a bit of a fuck-up. It was complicated,' she said.

  'But you ended up marrying the father?' he asked.

  'Yeah.' She laughed a little mournfully. 'That was the problem.'

  'How do you mean?' Cross asked.

  'We weren't suited. He was older. You shouldn't get married just because you've been stupid enough to get pregnant. It's not the answer.'

  'What is? Termination?'

  'Maybe. Or adoption. Funny, isn't it? I can't think of me having an abortion because of Debbie. You know? She might be a little shit a lot of the time, but I still love her. I mean, she's mine. So abortion wouldn't have been the answer for me.' She laughed a bit. 'But then thinking about it, I can't talk about adoption either, with her. Now I know her.'

  'Much easier to talk about those things before,’ Cross suggested.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Much easier to talk about a termination or adoption, before the baby is born.'

  'I guess so,' she said. Ottey could see where this was going, which was just as well, as Cross looked at her in that way that said "you take over". He must've felt it might be a better conversation between two women.

  'Is that what happened when Alex came round?' Ottey asked.

  'What?' Jean asked.

  'He didn't actually want the baby, did he?' she said.

  'What? No, I just told you, he said he wanted to marry her. Have the baby,' she said.

  'I don't think that's true, is it Jean? He wanted her to have an abortion. That's why he hadn't even told his mother. Because he didn't want to be talked out of it,' Ottey said.

  'No,' said Jean. 'You've got that arse over tit. He was all for it; it was...' but she stopped.

  'It was what? Jean?'

  'Nothing. Can I go now?'

  'She's telling the truth,' said Cross.

  'Thank you,' said Jean.

  'To an extent,' Cross went on. 'Alex did want the baby. He wanted to look after Debbie, in a way that her own family hadn't.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Or, more accurately, in a way that her mother hadn't. It was Debbie who didn't want the baby, wasn't it Jean?' But she didn't answer. 'You see, what puzzled me about all of this, Josie, is why would Alex bother to go and tell Jean and Andy that Debbie was having a baby? Debbie had left home. Things weren't good. He hadn't told his own family, who were much more supportive as a whole. Much tighter. So why go and tell Debbie's parents, if she was just going to go ahead with having the child? There was no urgency. He didn't have to go then. Unless, of course, Debbie had decided she didn't want the baby. She wanted to get rid of it. I should imagine by termination. Because she knew that as her pregnancy became more obvious, there was no way on this earth that Helena, a proud and fiercely protective matriarch, would let her put the baby up for adoption. Abortion was the only way. Is that closer to the truth, Jean?'

  She thought for a moment and then began to speak, but without looking at either of the two officers.

  'He blamed me. He said she didn't want it because of me. Because of what had happened to me, being a mum so young. She didn't want that happening to her.'

  'Had you been drinking when he came round?'

  'What do you think?' she said.

  'You had a row,' Cross said.

  'He said it was my fault. That Debbie was killing his baby because of me. He got more and more angry. It was my fault, because I had been such a shit mother. Because I hadn't been a mother at all.'

  There was a knock at the door, and Mackenzie entered with a piece of paper, which she handed to Cross.

  'For the tape, Police Staff Officer Alice Mackenzie entered the room and has now left,' said Ottey. Cross looked at the paper, and if it was in any way relevant or of interest to the case, he didn't show it.

  'What happened then?' asked Cross. She thought for a minute.

  'Andy got involved. He said Alex had no right to come into his house and speak to me in that way.'

  'How did you feel about what Alex was sayi
ng? About the baby?'

  'I thought he was wrong. I thought Debbie was right to want an abortion,' she said. 'I told him he couldn't see it now, but it would be better in the end. Debbie was right. She didn't want her life ruined in the way she'd ruined mine.'

  Ottey couldn't help herself at this point. 'You're honestly saying, you think that Debbie ruined your life?'

  'Look at me? I never had a chance. Any hopes I had were taken away from me by her.'

  'Are you serious?' said Ottey.

  'Josie...' said Cross, his usual role with her reversed somewhat. Cautioning her to keep her feelings to herself.

  'It's the truth,' said Jean.

  'How did Alex react to this?'

  'He said it was bullshit.' She started to cry. 'He said I would've ended up a hopeless drunk, whether or not I'd had her, and he'd told Debbie that. But she didn't believe him, and that's why she was going to get rid of it.'

  'Why was he there, though? He didn't just come round to have it out with you and Andy, did he?'

  'He wanted me to talk to her and tell her not to do it. I said I didn't think she would listen to me. But then I said that I wouldn't talk to her, because I thought what she was doing was right. I thought she should get rid of it. That's when it really kicked off. Andy stepped in. It was so quick. They grabbed each other and started fighting, then suddenly they both fell over, with Andy on top of him. He cracked his head open on the edge of the kitchen countertop. It made a horrible noise. There was blood everywhere. I went to get some kitchen roll, but when I got back, Andy said he was dead.' She stopped and looked up at Cross. He'd seen this before. She was trying to work out whether he believed her. He just looked back at her. 'That's what happened,' she said. He thought she said it, not with a certainty that she'd remembered that night clearly, but that she'd remembered her script perfectly. 'That's what he must've told you.'

  'He's making his statement now,' said Cross.

  'Well it'll be in there, just like I told you,' she said.

  'Oh I'm sure it will. As long as he remembers the story as well as you did. Doesn't leave anything out,' Cross said.

  'What do you mean?' said Jean.

  'I think there's some truth in it. Mainly the fight and his skull's fatal connection with the edge of the kitchen surface,' he replied.