No rushing in to check on his stepmum. No looking for any sign of a break-in. No concern that there might be an intruder still inside. No thought for his dad or brother. Nothing. From what his wife had said, an innocent son would have presumed a nasty fall. An innocent son would have dashed in to help. But that wasn’t Paul. He knew what was behind that door. He knew that no amount of CPR could save Hilda. He knew of the massacre he would face should he venture in.
When the first PC had emerged, horrified by the carnage she had stumbled across, Paul hadn’t even bothered to ask what had happened to his family and whether his dad and brother were OK. A person’s inactions can be as damning as their actions. Paul was already slowly but surely sealing his fate.
With all of these anomalies, by the early hours of the following morning, George Smith had had enough. He strode back into the interview room where Paul was resting his head on his folded arms.
‘Paul Teed, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of George Teed, Hilda Teed and David Teed. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so but anything you do say may be used in evidence,’ he declared with all the necessary formality such a step warranted.
Stunned, Paul was taken, quietly protesting, into the tiny cell block at Shoreham Police Station, not realizing he had just drawn his last breath as a free man for the next quarter of a century.
Over the next thirty-six hours, Paul faced a series of interrogations designed to scrutinize every detail, every comment, every last piece of evidence to test his truthfulness. None of the modern-day techniques that Grace insists on were available then. No profilers like the fictional Dr Julius Proudfoot, no advanced interviewers, no online volumes of case law to refer to, no tape recorders. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act, which governs how the police interview suspects, had yet to take effect.
This was an intellectual duel, a game of poker with the highest stakes imaginable. Neither could lose. For one it would smack of failure in the eyes of his bosses — it was unthinkable in those days to fail to elicit a confession from such a high-profile suspect. For the other, second prize would lead to a lifetime behind bars.
The questioning covered everything: the timing and exact route of Paul’s trip to Bradford, his reaction to Helen finding Hilda, his acrimonious relationship with his dad, even the small amount of cannabis found in his bedroom. Paul remained resolute. Other than the dope, he thought he could explain or deny everything. He believed he had the upper hand. He was convinced he was walking. Then came the killer question:
‘Paul, you’ve been here for two days. We’ve interviewed you many times. We’ve listened very carefully to your answers. We have made you go through every detail time and time again. You have continually tried to assure us you had nothing to do with the murders. You’ve been certain of that, Paul. If that is true why have you, not once, asked us how your dad, stepmum and brother died? Why is that, Paul?’ George queried softly.
Silence.
‘Paul?’
Silence.
‘Paul, why have you never asked?’
‘I think I’d like to see a solicitor now, please, Mr Smith,’ was all the crestfallen prisoner could mutter.
‘I’ll see what I can do. Just think about it,’ insisted George as he walked the tearful Paul back to the cold, lonely cell.
‘Sir, he has asked for a solicitor,’ announced George as he entered the makeshift incident room.
‘I didn’t hear that,’ replied the clearly irritated DCI.
‘He has asked for a solicitor. He knows his rights. He’s got previous convictions and he’s in custody for three murders,’ said George.
The atmosphere was tense. The seated D/Supt was conspicuously ignoring the argument that was brewing. The stifling silence was eventually broken when the DCI brusquely ordered George, and Dennis Walker who had witnessed the whole confrontation from the open doorway, out of the office.
George was taken aback. He knew he was of a different generation to those above him but surely they could see the risks in such a denial. Assistant Chief Constable (ACC) Alison Vosper treated Grace badly on many occasions, pressurizing him to get results and get them at all costs. The priority would be to make the boss look good, deliberately ignoring that a conviction attained through dubious means is a hollow victory.
With no choice, George obeyed but not before writing every word down in his notebook as a precaution — as Grace did in You Are Dead when protecting himself against his nemesis ACC Cassian Pewe. Despite the overwhelming pressure later to remove it from his witness statement, he had a Pontius Pilate moment — ‘What I have written, I have written.’
More interviews with Paul followed, including one led by the Detective Superintendent, but they yielded nothing more, just denials and him glossing over inconvenient facts, protesting his innocence.
Faced with no firm admission, no forensics yet — that took weeks in those days — and no eyewitnesses, George had little choice but to bail him from custody. However, Paul went nowhere. Some warrants for non-payment of fines had been discovered in Leeds, and this meant Sussex Police could instantly rearrest him.
Over the previous two days, some of George’s team had been in Bradford, ten miles from Leeds, making enquiries. Their brief was to speak to anyone and everyone who knew the Teeds, to get under their skin, find out what Paul had been doing there and leave no stone unturned. Now, George volunteered to drive Teed up north to answer his warrants, which conveniently would give him a chance to see how the Sussex detectives were doing but more importantly would give them five hours in the car together, perhaps giving him the chance to open up. This close contact between investigator and suspect would never be allowed now, but at the time it was not uncommon.
The car journey did give George and the highly respected Dennis Walker an opportunity to get to know their frightened yet stoic suspect better. Paul’s tongue loosened but he kept his counsel about any involvement in the bloodbath.
Lady Luck visited again just as George had handed Paul over to the burly Yorkshire custody sergeant.
One of his team slipped him a folded scrap of paper which George hurriedly opened, reading the scribbled note as he strode out of the cell block.
‘Guv, pls phone DC David Gaylor in the Shoreham incident room — URGENT!!’
Darting into a nearby office, George grabbed a phone and dialled the number he knew by heart. He listened intently and a rare smile broke his usual dour expression. He called his team together in the Bradford CID office to update them on the news.
‘Chaps, we have a breakthrough. We know that these killings have aroused the interest of the national press. Well, it seems that has got someone a little scared. One of Paul’s friends has become spooked that we may be looking for him.’
‘What, have we got the wrong man?’ came a voice from the back.
‘Let me finish,’ George insisted. ‘This fellow, Larry [not his real name], says that Paul approached him some weeks ago. They are old friends but he now lives in London. Paul asked him if he would kill his dad for the insurance.’
You could hear a pin drop.
He continued. ‘He told him there would be £1,700 in the safe and he would give him another £5,000 when the insurance came through. He even offered Larry a sawn-off shotgun and a map of the flat. When he turned it down he thought that would be the end of the matter. Until he saw the news, that is. He got scared. He’s no angel; he has form for armed robbery but, as he said, he’s no killer. For the first time in his life, Larry has provided a full witness statement and has handed over Paul’s sketched map. Gentlemen, we’ve got him, well, almost.’
Meanwhile, DC David Gaylor — who later in his career would become the inspiration for Roy Grace himself — DC Chris Cox and the rest of the incident room team back at Shoreham were beavering away, trying to turn suspicion and intelligence into something that might stand up in court.