CHAPTER TWELVE
Sally and Jack left the petrol station and drove to the restaurant. “It’s getting on for eleven. They should be open by now,” Sally said.
“Do you really think the boyfriend could be the killer?”
“No, but we still need to question him, Jack. You know that. They obviously met up last night. The burning question is why they went their separate ways during the course of the evening.”
“Maybe the killer witnessed them having an argument or something along those lines and pounced on the opportunity to comfort her.”
Sally turned to look at him. “I’m impressed with your feasible assumption. Let’s see what John’s take is on the evening before we start thinking along those lines, eh?”
The manager of the restaurant greeted them in jeans and a T-shirt. “Sorry about the dress code. We’re just getting set up, not due to open for another hour or so. Police, you say?”
“That’s right.” Sally showed the man her ID. “We’d like to chat with John Hartman if that’s possible.”
“He’s busy preparing for a group party we have booked in at lunchtime. Can this wait until after his shift has ended?”
“No, sorry, it can’t. Is there somewhere private we can have a chat with him?”
“If you must. My office, I suppose. I’ll go and get him for you.” The man stomped off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. He returned a few seconds later with a man dressed in chef’s whites. Sally immediately thought of the victim’s knife wounds. Knives were a chef’s tools of the trade.
The manager introduced them then showed the group into his office. He closed the door behind him, leaving Sally and Jack alone with a perplexed chef.
“What’s this about? The kitchen is really busy preparing for a long day ahead.”
Sally invited the man to take a seat and perched her backside on the desk in front of him. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her thighs. “We have reason to believe that you know Tracy Brand. Can you confirm that?”
“I can. Why?”
She smiled. “When did the pair of you last meet?”
“Last night. Why?”
“Where did you go?” Sally asked, ignoring the man’s question for the second time.
“Out to the pub, as usual.” Hartman shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Did something happen between you last night?”
“Depends what you mean. If you’re talking about sex, no.”
“I’m not, but thanks for the clarification all the same. That fact might come in handy later on in our enquiries.”
“What are you on about? What enquiries?”
“What happened after you left the pub?” Sally continued to ignore his questions. All her interviews took place on her terms, never on anyone else’s. The sooner this confrontational young man realised that, the better.
“Me and the lads went to the nightclub. Why?”
“Did Tracy join you there?”
“No.”
Sally raised an eyebrow. “Why do I sense that there is something you aren’t telling me?”
“Like what?” His eyes drifted off to the left.
“I don’t know. You tell me. You venture out for the evening with your girlfriend and end up going to the nightclub with a group of lads. Where did Tracy go?”
He shrugged again. “If you must know, I dumped her halfway through the evening.”
“What? Why?”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed into a warning glare. “Less of the crappy attitude, Hartman. What transpired with Tracy?”
“She left the pub about thirty minutes before us. What’s the frigging problem? Couples fall out all the time. Is that an arrestable offence? I got bored with her.”
“Bored enough to kill her?” Sally shot back at him.
His gaze drifted between Sally and Jack as his brow furrowed deeply. “Of course not, what a dumb bloody question.”
“Guilty as charged! I tend to ask a stream of dumb questions during a murder enquiry. It’s usually how I obtain the truth.”
“What murder enqu…” Panic appeared in his eyes as the realisation dawned. “You’re kidding me! She’s dead?”
Sally nodded and folded her arms. “Yes. And as you were the last known person to see her alive, the onus is on you to tell us why we shouldn’t arrest you for her murder. After all, you wouldn’t be the first boyfriend to ‘get bored’ with his girlfriend and kill her.”
Hartman took a step towards Sally, a menacing look in his eye, as if he meant to strike her, but Jack jumped in between him and Sally. “Not advisable, pal. You’re in enough trouble already.”
“For what? I didn’t kill her.” He seemed confused one minute and annoyed the next. His hand scratched at the stubble covering his chin, and he turned his back on them. “I swear. Anyway, I have a bunch of witnesses who’ll vouch for me.”
“Ah, your loyal friends. Yes, don’t worry, we’ll be questioning them all. Maybe they were all there at the scene. Someone is sure to slip up. The truth usually comes out in the end.”
“Get lost. I’m innocent. Jesus, what a way to bloody tell me my girlfriend is dead. You’re sick.”
Sally grunted. “I’ve been called far worse, I can assure you. Sorry to correct you, but I think you’ll find that Tracy was your former girlfriend, which means that our interest in you went up several notches. Now, here’s how we are going to deal with this: first, you’re going to accompany us to the station to give us a full statement. After you’ll give us a list of the friends you were out with last night. Then, depending on how much you cooperate with our investigation, we’ll either let you go or charge you with your girlfriend’s murder.”
He shook his head vehemently. “I ain’t done nothing. How many more times do I have to tell you? She left the pub before we did, ages before we headed for the nightclub. I never saw her after she left. I swear.”
“So you said. Okay, did you see anyone suspicious hanging around the bar? Is the pub a regular haunt of yours?” Sally asked.
“Yes. I don’t know about anyone suspicious lurking. I was having too much of a good time to notice.”
“What? Dumping your girlfriend?” Sally asked, her temper rising.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the sort. From now, I think it would be sensible of you to choose your words more carefully.”
“Okay. I didn’t notice anyone, either inside the pub or outside. My mind was on other things. How’s that?” he said, his response dripping with sarcasm.
“It’ll do for starters. Well, would Tracy be likely to go off with a stranger?”
His lip curled up at the side, and his right shoulder hitched a little. “How the hell should I know? You women are a law unto yourselves most of the time. There’s no point us men trying to fathom you out.”
“Oh, right! And you men are so easy to read, of course. Let’s not go down the battle-of-the-sexes route, shall we? I’m asking you to really think. Close your eyes and cast your mind back to yesterday evening.” Hartman did as she requested. “Now, can you see anyone sitting in the pub, either at the bar or at a table? Alone perhaps?” Sally often referred to the training course on cognitive thinking she’d attended a few years back when someone had trouble recalling.
Slowly, he nodded. “Yes! There’s a man at the bar.”
“Keep your eyes closed. Can you describe him?”
“Not his height obviously, because he’s sitting down. Quite broad, not fat, mousy brown hair.”
“Long or short?”
“About my length, I guess.”
“Okay, open your eyes. Do you remember that man leaving the pub?”
“Can’t say I do. Come to think of it, he did keep looking over at me and Tracy when we were… er… arguing. I just assumed it was because we were shouting at each other. By the way, she always gave as good as she got. How did she die?”