“Do you know what evidence this was all related to? Did she tell you that?”
“Jodie said that she’d found out later what it was all about, because she mentioned it to this reporter she knew, and he’d given her a hundred quid and was going to give her more if she could find out some more. He told her that what she had overheard related to the murder of a woman from a long time ago.”
“Did the reporter tell Jodie the name of the woman?”
“Jodie didn’t tell me any name, but the reporter told her it was Peter’s wife. That’s when I told her she needed to be really careful.” Kerri-Ann looked solemn. “And I was right wasn’t I? This got her killed. You can see now why I’m scared, can’t you?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAY FOURTEEN: 7th December.
It was exactly seven-thirty-two am when the convoy of unmarked police cars, and Scenes of Crime vans, turned off the main trunk road and coasted into St. Margaret’s Avenue. Twenty seconds later all seven vehicles fell neatly into line, parking up one after another, nose-to-tail along the cul-de-sac.
Hunter and Grace were first to step out onto the street, followed by Tony Bullars and Mike Sampson.
They closed their car doors with as little noise as possible and tiptoed across the road to Alan Darbyshire’s semi-detached home.
As Hunter neared the gate, he glanced back over his shoulder and signalled to the search team and forensic teams to hang back. Then, followed by Grace, he trotted down the drive to the front door. Tony and Mike slipped around the side and secured the rear.
Hunter checked his watch, noted the time in his head and banged sharply on the front door. Then he took a step back and glanced up at the bedroom window. He saw the light come on and ducked back out of sight.
Less than a minute later the hallway light came on and he heard heavy footfalls coming down the stairs towards them. As the key turned in the lock, Alan Darbyshire called out, “Who is it?”
“Police,” Hunter shouted back.
For a few seconds there was no movement, then Hunter heard a security chain being released and the door opened.
A blast of warm air greeted Hunter, as did a bleary-eyed Alan Darbyshire, wearing his dressing gown. He was fastening the belt around his oversized stomach.
Alan asked “What do you two want at this godforsaken hour?” but Hunter could tell from the look of resignation that he knew why they were there. When any cop called at this time of the morning it was only for two reasons — to be the bearer of bad news, or to arrest. Alan Darbyshire’s face paled as he stared over Hunter’s shoulder and spotted the line of cars parked opposite.
He said, “What on earth’s this?”
Hunter wanted to say so many things, but he composed himself and stepping into the hallway announced, matter-of-factly, “Alan Darbyshire, I am arresting you on suspicion of perjury.” Then he cautioned him. The retired DCI was forced to take a step backwards.
Grace followed Hunter into the carpeted, well-lit hallway, speaking softly over her radio set, telling everyone they were in.
She left the front door open and out in the street they heard the sound of cars doors banging, followed by the chattering of voices. The teams were getting ready to do their respective jobs.
Still drained of colour, Alan said loudly, “You’d better have something bloody good on me, because you’re not going to hear the last of this.”
“Believe me, we have,” said Hunter. “I think you’d better get dressed, because we’ve got a nice warm cell waiting for you.”
Darbyshire coloured and his eyes widened, “You need to be very careful about what you say to me young man. Do you understand?”
Hunter was about to react when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned sharply to see Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate behind him. She had travelled in the convoy with DS Mark Gamble, to oversee the operation and offer the team support, given the fact that their target was a retired DCI.
She said, “Mr Darbyshire, I am Detective Superintendent Leggate. I am in overall charge of this operation. I am here to make sure this job runs professionally.” She paused and then said. “After all, there can be no room for error, can there? We don’t want anyone accusing us of a miscarriage of justice, do we?”
Hunter could have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye. He returned his gaze to Alan Darbyshire, whose face was the colour of beetroot. Hunter said, “I want you to get dressed now Alan and then we’re taking you down to the station for questioning. You’ll already know this, but you’ll be able to contact a solicitor once we get there.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll be overseeing a search of your home,” added SIO Dawn Leggate. “Is there anyone else in the house we need to be aware of?”
He gulped, “My wife, Pauline, but she’s not very well. She’s made up with flu. She’s sleeping in the back bedroom.”
“Well, we’ll inconvenience her as little as possible, and we’ll try our best not to damage anything. Now if you’d get dressed please and my officers will escort you back to the station. I will see you later and update you.” The SIO beamed a broad smile at him. “After all, we want to make sure you have no grounds for complaint.”
Hunter thought he heard Alan Darbyshire swear beneath his breath as he trudged his way upstairs to dress.
* * * * *
Once they had left Darbyshire’s house, Hunter wanted as little contact as possible with their prisoner before his interview. He arranged for the retired DCI to be escorted back to the station by Tony Bullars and Mike Sampson, and for them to book him in at the custody suite. He knew that what lay ahead would challenge everything he had learned over the years, and so when he returned to the office he drafted an outline plan of how he intended to approach the interview. Twenty minutes later his pre-interview notes were ready. He cast his eye back over them, double-checking, matching times and dates against the evidence and information which had been recorded on the incident white boards. Finally he selected the exhibits he required, checked they were all labelled correctly, and that they corresponded with his notes. He slipped everything into a folder.
“Ready?” he asked, looking across his desk to Grace. She was resting her head in her hands.
“This is a first,” she said getting up, “You making notes prior to an interview. After all these years, you’re finally going to conduct an interview according to the rules.”
He smiled. “You’re know what they say about wit?”
“Anyway while you were preparing your stuff, I nipped next door to the HOLMES team and had a chat with Isobel. Things are really stepping up a gear.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She tells me that they’ve done quite a few checks on Peter Blake-Hall and Ronnie Fisher. Associates, vehicle ownership and premises checks mainly. They’ve got an address for Ronnie and guess what?”
Hunter raised an eyebrow.
“Swansea have confirmed a black Mitsubushi Shogun Sport listed to that address. Ronnie is right in the doo-dah now. The boss has asked Tony and Mike to do some discreet enquiries to confirm if he’s still living there and see if they can spot the vehicle. The gaffer’s apparently trying to get hold of Headquarters Surveillance Team to target him and Peter, especially now that we’ve pulled in Alan Darbyshire.”
“Well, we’d better make sure we can sign, seal and deliver everything at our end then.” He picked up his folder and a pen and made for the door.
In the interview room Alan Darbyshire was already seated at a table with the duty solicitor Miles Harper. As solicitors went, Hunter knew that Miles was one of the more amenable ones, who, providing the rules of PACE were adhered to, would allow the interview to flow without interruption.