Secrets of Death (31 page)

‘Three years or so?’ he guessed.

She tossed back her hair. ‘About that long.’

‘Was there any reason for that?’

Her face fell into a stiff mask and her lips pressed tightly together.

‘Nothing in particular,’ she said. ‘We just drifted apart.’

Cooper thought about the prisoners he’d seen when they were released from a long spell inside. Many of them, too, found their families had drifted away from them. They were often cut off from society completely, left at sea with no anchor. It rarely ended well – for them or for society.

Simon Hull was in the first interview room with the duty solicitor. He’d already been interviewed once, but a second session often produced results. Suspects became impatient or frustrated. They got tired of the tedium of walking from a cell to an interview room
and back again, listening to the same old questions over and over. Sometimes, they would do and say anything to bring it to an end.

Hull was aged in his mid-forties, with heavy shoulders and large, thickly knuckled hands that he planted firmly on the table when Ben Cooper and Diane Fry entered. Cooper sat to the side and let Fry take the lead. It allowed him to study Hull more carefully. He had sandy, almost ginger hair cut in a ragged fringe. A silver stud glinted in one ear. During his time in a cell, he’d already developed that blank, hooded stare familiar from a thousand custody suite images.

Fry started the digital recording and they introduced themselves. Hull wearily repeated his name, then sat back in his chair as if he’d completed his part of the process. The solicitor glanced at his watch and ostentatiously made a note.

Fry didn’t start straight away. She’d brought a dauntingly thick file of papers with her, which she placed on the desk with a thump. Most of the reports couldn’t possibly refer to Simon Hull. They were just padding, to give the impression she had far more information than she actually did. She took her time studying it before she looked up, knowing Hull would be watching her with growing unease.

Then she met his eye and smiled. Cooper knew that smile. He hoped it was making Simon Hull even more uneasy.

‘You won’t have met my colleague before,’ said Fry. ‘Detective Inspector Cooper is from Edendale CID in Derbyshire.’

Hull
looked at him then and narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t have anything to tell you,’ he said. ‘I have no idea what this is about. You’re going to have to let me go really soon.’

The solicitor nodded and made another note. Apart from the time the interview had started and finished, he could only have been writing down the names and ranks of the interviewers. But it was all for show, all part of the charade, like Fry’s padded file and Hull’s protestations of innocence. If the evidence was there, they all knew there would be charges. If not, Hull was right – he would be walking out of St Ann’s very soon.

‘DI Cooper is here because the death of Mr Roger Farrell occurred in his area,’ said Fry. ‘But you knew that – didn’t you, Mr Hull?’

Hull’s eyes flickered. ‘No comment.’

‘But you did know Roger Farrell? Is that right?’

‘No comment.’

Fry drew out a form. ‘This is a statement from your previous employers, Arno Vale Motors. They confirm that you and Mr Farrell were both employed at their premises during the same period. I can give you the dates, if you’d like.’

Hull said nothing, but stared back at her.

‘You worked together,’ said Fry with unusual patience.

‘Farrell was a salesman,’ said Hull reluctantly. He could see there was no point in denying it when the evidence was right in front of him. ‘I worked in the bodyshop. We didn’t mix.’

‘But you knew each other.’

‘If
you like.’

Cooper expected her to produce the photograph at that point, the one he’d found in Roger Farrell’s car. It was indisputable evidence that Hull and Farrell had been friendlier than Hull was suggesting. But she didn’t do that. She must be saving it, keeping her cards close to her chest to allow her suspect to show himself a liar.

‘So when did you last have contact with Roger Farrell?’ asked Fry instead.

‘You’ve asked me this before.’

‘I’m asking again.’

‘No comment.’

‘Have you ever visited his address in Forest Fields?’

‘No comment.’

‘And where were you last night, Mr Hull?’

‘At home.’

‘All night?’

Hull couldn’t resist a smirk. ‘Weren’t you lot watching me, then?’

‘Why should we?’

He sat back and folded his arms. ‘I told you – I have no idea what this is all about.’

‘It’s about the nature of your relationship with Roger Farrell,’ said Fry. ‘So what was it?’

‘No comment.’

The solicitor cleared his throat and intervened.

‘Detective Sergeant Fry, could you clarify what exactly my client is accused of? It might help us to make progress.’

‘Accessory to murder,’ said Fry.

Hull
laid his hands on the table again. ‘What?’

‘We’re investigating a series of murders here in Nottingham. We have evidence that you were associated with Roger Farrell and that you were in the area at the time of at least one of the murders. I would be considering a charge of accessory to murder at least, if not conspiracy to murder.’

Hull’s face flushed angrily and he turned to the solicitor. ‘Can they do that?’

‘Well, it depends on the nature of the evidence.’

‘That’s bollocks. They haven’t got anything.’

Fry didn’t react, except with a small, confident smile. That seemed to unnerve Hull more than anything else.

Cooper recalled his impression from the photograph of a physical resemblance between Roger Farrell and Simon Hull. He couldn’t see it now. People changed, of course. They moved on in their lives, headed in different directions. Inseparable friends could drift apart.

Fry turned her head slightly towards him and Cooper understood the gesture. It was his invitation to come in. A switch of interviewer kept the suspect off balance.

‘So, Mr Hull,’ said Cooper, waiting for the man’s eyes to swivel his way, ‘what I’m wondering is this – which of you went around the Forest Road area asking questions about Roger Farrell? Was it you?’

Hull hesitated for a second. ‘No comment.’

That was interesting. Had he been on the verge of denying it for that second? Cooper pressed on quickly.

‘Or was it your friend Anwar Sharif? Was that
his
job?’

But
Hull shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Both of you, then?’

‘No comment.’

To distract his attention, Cooper slid across the printouts Luke Irvine had produced from his online search for
Secrets of Death
.

‘Does the name of this website mean anything to you, Mr Hull?’ he asked.

The solicitor leaned over to examine the printouts, then glanced at his client.

‘Is this—?’ began Hull. But the solicitor shook his head and Hull changed his mind. ‘No comment.’

‘Mr Hull, we believe you knew what Roger Farrell had been doing,’ said Fry. ‘You were aware that he was responsible for the murders of at least three young women. You found that out in some way, didn’t you?’

‘No comment.’

‘I wonder how you came by the information. It seems to me there aren’t many possibilities. Was it some bit of gossip you picked up when you were visiting prostitutes yourself, perhaps?’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Hull, going even redder.

But Fry nodded thoughtfully. ‘It seems feasible to me. You might have heard something and put two and two together, worked out it was your old colleague they were talking about.’

‘No way.’

‘In that case,’ said Fry, ‘I can only conclude that Roger Farrell told you himself.’

That
took even Cooper by surprise. He hadn’t considered that possibility. Had it come into Fry’s mind just now as she was speaking?

Whatever the case, the comment seemed to have struck home. Simon Hull sat dumb, all the colour draining from his face. For a few seconds he was unable to control his reactions. His fists clenched spasmodically and he scowled at Fry, his expression a mixture of anger and fear.

The solicitor looked alarmed too and stepped in to intervene.

‘Detective Sergeant Fry, I think I’d like to consult with my client.’

Fry nodded calmly. ‘Interview suspended.’

‘What do you think?’ said Cooper when they left the interview room. ‘Was there anything there, behind the “no comment”s?’

‘Not much,’ said Fry with a shrug.

‘But you definitely had a hit with your suggestion about Farrell telling them himself about his murders. That was inspired.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Hull didn’t know how to answer that. You can push him on it later.’

‘That’s what I intend to do.’

Fry didn’t take compliments very well. She had never learned how to do it with any grace.

‘And I did wonder about the website stuff,’ she said. ‘He almost reacted to that.’

‘Yes, I thought so too.’

‘It’s
nice that we agree on something.’

Cooper had never heard the word
nice
used in quite that way before. But this was Diane Fry. She could give anything a different meaning.

‘And maybe when I put it to him about one of them asking questions around Forest Road,’ said Cooper. ‘I had the feeling he considered trying to point the finger at Sharif on that one, when I gave him the opportunity. I’m hoping he’ll reflect on that.’

‘We’ll get more out of them,’ said Fry confidently.

‘Do you think so?’

‘We picked them up separately and they’ve been kept apart since. One of them will let something slip eventually. I think we might be able to tie them in to some of the girls in the Forest Road area. I’m hoping a search of their properties will produce something useful in that respect.’

‘Tie them in how?’ asked Cooper.

‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Hull and Sharif may be running some of those girls themselves? Setting them up in suitable properties, distributing pay-as-you-go phones, arranging the clients? And taking a cut of the proceeds, of course.’

‘You didn’t mention that theory.’

Fry shrugged. ‘It seemed a fairly obvious possibility.’

Cooper forced himself to ignore her tone. Now wasn’t the time for being at loggerheads. They had to work together, as best they could.

‘Well, it would explain why they might have been trying to intimidate Farrell and scare him off without incriminating themselves,’ he said.

‘Yes, it
would. But it’s speculation at the moment. I’ll let you know what we turn up.’

‘By the way,’ said Cooper, ‘has Simon Hull’s vehicle been examined – the Jeep Grand Cherokee?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘I’m wondering if there was any recent damage on it.’

‘I don’t think so. The examiner would have mentioned it, if there was. Did you think there would be?’

‘It was just a possibility. I might not recognise a make of vehicle as well as I think I do.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Cooper reminded himself that Simon Hull ran a garage and would have had plenty of time to carry out a few repairs and do a respray.

He followed Fry along an unfamiliar corridor to the next interview room.

‘Diane,’ he said, ‘one more thing. The person who was asking questions about Farrell – are you sure it was Hull or Sharif?’

‘Our one willing witness isn’t good on description, as you might have gathered.’

‘What about getting her in to look at some photos, then?’

Fry sighed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If she’ll come.’

Before they moved on, Cooper called up Gavin Murfin.

‘Surveillance here,’ he answered.

‘What’s Anson Tate doing, Gavin?’

‘Nothing. It’s all quiet.’

‘All quiet’ was the surveillance equivalent of ‘no
comment’. An accumulation of negatives might eventually lead to something positive. Or so it was hoped.

‘He’s still at home?’

‘He hasn’t budged. I’ve established which is his flat on the top floor and I’ve found a spot where I can see the window. He’s definitely there. He’s passed by the window a couple of times. I think he’s probably eating his dinner.’

‘Okay.’

‘So what do you want me to do? I could chat to a couple of the other tenants, see what they know about him.’

‘No way,’ said Cooper.

‘I’m good at it,’ said Murfin. ‘It’s my job, don’t forget.’

‘It
was
your job. It didn’t work out.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘You can knock off,’ said Cooper. ‘He won’t be planning anything now.’

‘Fine. I’ll get back to my car.’

Murfin seemed to be breathing hard and Cooper pictured him labouring up Buxton Road, which was on a definite hill.

‘Then I might pop down to May’s Café for a pie and a cuppa before I go home,’ said Murfin.

‘But, Gavin—’

He was too late. Murfin had gone. He would have to find out the bad news for himself about the loss of May’s Café.

Anwar Sharif seemed much more composed than Simon Hull. In Interview Room 2, he sat looking relaxed with
a bottle of water in his hand, chatting quietly to his solicitor. And this was his own legal representative, as Fry mentioned before they entered the room. Was Sharif the more organised of the two and perhaps the one with the money?

From his photograph, he’d looked to be in his late thirties. But closer up, in the unflattering light of the interview room, Cooper thought he was probably the wrong side of forty. He was trying hard to look cool, with a neatly trimmed beard and gelled hair.

‘Mr Sharif, we’d like you to tell us about your relationship with Roger Farrell,’ began Fry without hesitation when the recording had started.

Sharif put down his bottle and stared at her.

‘No comment,’ he said.

Cooper sighed inwardly. This one would be a hard nut to crack, even for Diane Fry. The only hope was that a search of their homes would produce something.

That evening at home in Foolow, Cooper checked his mobile phone for messages, then the answering machine on his landline. Of course, there was no reason to think that
she
would have his home number. But she’d taken the trouble to get his mobile number, hadn’t she? So you never knew.