“That doesn’t always stop people.”
“Besides, since when has leering been against the law?”
“So you were leering at her.”
“Don’t put words into my mouth.”
“What were you doing on the road so late?”
“Coming home. That’s not a crime, either, is it? I work in London. I usually spend the week there.”
“A commuter, then. What do you do?”
“Computers. Software development.”
“Are you usually that late coming home?”
“It varies. As a rule, I try to get away by mid-afternoon on a Friday to beat the traffic, or early evening at the latest.”
“What was different about last Friday?”
“There was a meeting. We had a deadline to meet on an important project.”
“And if I called your company they’d verify this?”
“Of course. Why would I lie?”
“For all I know,” said Templeton, “you drive up and down the motorway looking for young girls to rape and kill.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Do you read the papers? Watch the news?”
“I try to keep abreast of current affairs.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Well, I don’t suppose you’ve been following the story about the young woman murdered on the road from the A1 to Eastvale, have you? The same road you took. You were following her, weren’t you? Waiting for your opportunity. A dark country lane. You cut her off. What happened next? Wasn’t she your type after all? Did she struggle? Why did you shoot her?”
Cropley got to his feet. “This is absurd. I don’t even own a gun. I’m going to call my solicitor.”
“Where’s the gun, Roger? Did you throw it away?”
“I told you. I don’t own a gun.”
Templeton looked around the room. “We can get a search warrant. Make a mess.”
“Then get one.”
“It’ll be better if you tell us all about it,” said Winsome in a soothing voice. “We know these things happen, people lose control. Please sit down again, sir.”
“Nothing of the sort happened,” said Cropley, straightening his tie and glaring at Templeton. He sat down slowly.
“Come on, Mr. Cropley,” said Winsome. “Get it off your chest. There were two of them, weren’t there?”
“Two what?”
“Two girls. Claire Potter and Jennifer Clewes. What were you doing on the twenty-third of April?”
“I can’t remember that far back.”
“Try,” said Templeton. “It was a Friday. You’d be on your way back from London. Get away late that day, too, did you?”
“How do you expect me to remember one Friday out of all the rest?”
“Always stop at Watford Gap services, do you? Like the food there? Or do you stop at other places? Newport Pagnell? Leicester Forest? Trowell?”
“I stop when I feel the need.”
“What need?”
“It’s a long drive. I usually take a break when I feel like it. Just the one. Use the toilets. Have a cup of tea. Maybe a sausage roll, a chocolate biscuit.”
“And look at the girls?”
“There’s no crime in looking.”
“So you admit you do look?”
“You’re doing it again. I simply said there’s no crime in looking. Don’t twist my words.”
“Were you at Trowell services on the twenty-third of April?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I usually stop before then.”
“But you have been there on occasion?”
“On occasion. Yes.”
“And maybe you were there on the twenty-third of April?”
“I’ve told you. I doubt it very much. I don’t recall being there at all so far this year.”
“Very convenient.”
“It happens to be the truth.”
Templeton could feel his frustration level rising. Cropley was a cool one and he seemed to have mastered the art of not giving anything away. Why would he need to do that unless he did have a secret?
“Look, Roger,” said Winsome, “we know you did it. The rest is just a matter of time. We can do it the easy way, like this, in the comfort of your own home, or we can take you down to the station. It’s your choice. And believe me, every choice you make now will come back to haunt you down the line.”
“What would you do?” Cropley said to her. “If you were innocent and someone was trying to say you’d done something terrible. What would you do?”
“I’d tell the truth.”
“Well, I am telling the bloody truth, but a fat lot of good it’s doing me, isn’t it?”
“Watch your language,” Templeton cut in. “There’s a lady present.”
“I’m sure she’s heard worse than that.”
“And you a God-fearing man.”
“I didn’t say I was a saint. Or a pushover.”
“Right, let’s get back to that, shall we. Your unsaintly acts. We might not be able to prove you killed Claire Potter, but we’ve got a damn good chance of proving you killed Jennifer Clewes.”
“Then you don’t need anything from me, do you?”
“Don’t you understand?” Winsome said. “It would make things easier for you later on if you told us now.”
“And what would it do for me? Knock a year off my sentence? Two years? Three years? If I survived that long.”
“That’s good, Roger,” Templeton said. “You’re talking about doing time, now. Jail. Shows you’re moving in the right direction. What it might mean is the difference in the quality of care once you’re inside. See, people like you are on about the same level as child molesters as far as the general prison population is concerned, and the court has some discretion as to whether you’re to be isolated or not.”
“That’s bollocks,” said Cropley. “There are strict prison guidelines and it doesn’t matter a damn whether I confess or not. Besides, you’re both missing the point completely. Read my lips: I didn’t do it. I have never, not once in my life, raped or killed anyone. Is that clear enough for you?”
Templeton glanced at Winsome. “So be it,” he said. “Like I told you, we’ll be able to make out a good case from evidence and witness statements.”
“Circumstantial. It means nothing.”
“People have been convicted on a lot less.”
Cropley said nothing.
“What time did you start out on Friday?”
“About half ten.”
“What time did you get home?”
“About five.”
Templeton paused. There was something wrong here. “Come off it. It doesn’t take that long to drive from London to Eastvale, even with a stop or two. Unless you couldn’t go straight home after you’d killed the girl. What did you do? Drive around until you calmed down, felt able to face your wife?”
“As a matter of fact, my car broke down.”
“Pull the other one.”
“It’s true. I had a breakdown just a short distance past Nottingham.”
“That’s very convenient.”
“It wasn’t convenient at all. I had to wait over a bloody hour for the AA to come. They said it was a busy night.”
“The AA?”
“That’s right. I’m a member. Want to see my card?”
Templeton felt his forehead getting hot. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “Can you prove this, about the breakdown?” he asked.
“Of course I can. Ask the AA. They’ll verify what happened. I was stuck on the hard shoulder from about one o’clock till half past two. Wait a minute-”
“What was the problem?”
“Fan belt. That’s put a spoke in your wheels, hasn’t it? You never told me what time this girl was killed. It was while I was waiting for the AA, wasn’t it?” Cropley smirked.
Templeton suppressed a sudden urge to break Cropley’s nose. He felt himself running out of steam. If Cropley had been stuck on the M1 until well after two o’clock, he could hardly have killed Jennifer Clewes. “Your mobile phone records will bear this out?”
“Should do. Will that be all?”