AF: Mr Brotherton, we've now spoken to Ramsgate again and they've confirmed all their vans were definitely at Bicester on the morning of April 1st. Martyn Ramsgate was on holiday, but that was the week before, and both he and his van were logged in at the hotel site by 8.00 a.m. that day. So I'm going to ask you again `“ who else could have had access to your van?AB: No comment.[to his lawyer]
I can say that, right?AF: There's a big difference between being able to say it, and it being a good idea.JH: Inspector `“AF: I don't understand your reluctance, I really don't. We know you were at your grandmother's funeral that morning, and we have CCTV footage of you at the John Radcliffe at the time Sasha Blake went missing. Help me out here, can't you, because I really don't get it.AB: Yeah, well that's my business, ain't it.AF: Well, if that's how you want to play it, it's your call. But you should be aware that we've asked Ramsgate Renovations for permission to search the van.AB: You can't do that `“ it's my bloody van!ES: I'm afraid we can, Mr Brotherton. They're the registered owner of the vehicle, not you.AB: But I've got private stuff in there `“ES: That makes no difference. Sorry.AF: I would also like to repeat our previous request for fingerprints and a DNA sample. As we said before, this is entirely voluntary, to allow us to eliminate you from our enquiries. Feel free to discuss it with Mr Hoskins.AB: [confers with lawyer]
OK, yeah.
[pause]
But only if you back off on the other thing, OK? I'll give you the prints and stuff but only if you drop the van.ES: I'm afraid that's not how it works, Mr Brotherton.AB: Well, fuck you `“
JH: [restraining his client]
We agree to the DNA and fingerprinting. I trust my client will be free to go home after that?AF: In due course. The van, however, will be subject to a forensic search. I'm afraid your client will be taking the bus.* * *
Adam Fawley
5 April 2018
14.09
`Do you still think he's lying?' asks Somer as we walk back up the stairs.
I shake my head. `No. We got the truth this time. Though more by omission than any wish to be actually helpful on his part.'
Somer nods; she knows what I'm getting at. `There's something in that van, isn't there. Something incriminating. That's why he's so keen to keep us out of it.'
`Well, let's bloody well hope so. And cross our fingers that any DNA we do find is in the bloody database. Because otherwise we'll be going nowhere fast. Again.'
* * *
`PC Atkins will give you a lift to the hospital and back, Mr Brotherton. He's going to bring a car round to the front.'
Everett offers the old man a hand getting up but he waves her away. `Thank you, young lady, but if I start taking help it won't be long before I can't do anything without it.'
She smiles; he reminds her of her grandad. He was a bolshie bugger too.
Outside, the rain has stopped, but it's cold, and the old man's coat doesn't look thick enough to be warm.
`I'm sure the car won't be long,' she says, feeling the need to break the silence.
He turns to face her. `Thank you. You didn't need to go to all that trouble, but you did. And it's appreciated. And tell Ash,' continues the old man, `that I'll come to the station again when I get back from the JR. Someone needs to look out for him.'
`He has a lawyer, Mr Brotherton.'
The old man's eyes narrow. `His kind of support costs two hundred quid an hour. I'm talking about someone who actually gives a toss. And the only one in that corner is me.'
* * *
Adam Fawley
5 April 2018
16.16
`And you're sure?'
I'm on the phone to Challow and the rest of the team are gathered round my desk. They can tell by the tone of my voice that it's not good news.
I finish the call and look up at them. `All they've got from Ashley Brotherton's van so far is one used condom and a quantity of what looks like semen on a tartan blanket. Our Mr Brotherton clearly knows how to show a girl a good time.'
Quinn's face falls. `And that's it?'
`There was also a plastic bag containing a princely fifteen grams of marijuana. Which won't even get the CPS out of bloody bed in the morning.'
`But it could explain why he was so shit scared about the search,' says Somer resignedly. `Perhaps none of this has anything to do with Faith. Or Sasha. He was just worried about us finding the drugs.'
`And losing his job as a result,' mutters Ev.
Ev is obviously a fully paid-up member of the Ashley Brotherton fan club, though for the life of me I can't fathom why. On the other hand, I'm starting to think Somer has a point `“ in fact, I'm not far off coming to the same conclusion myself.
`They're running the swabs for DNA but we won't get the results for at least a day or so.'
`What about prints?' asks Gislingham. Ever the optimist.
`Nothing doing. There are a few partials but nothing usable apart from Brotherton's own. They'll check his DNA against the profiles on the Tesco bag we found at the allotments but I'm not holding my breath. So if anyone else has any ideas, I'm all ears.'
Quinn looks peevish. `So we're just going to send that bolshie little git home?'
I shrug. `We don't have any choice.'
`What about the plaster dust?' asks Somer. `There must have been loads of it in that van.'
`Good question. And yes, there was. But it'll take them a while to establish the exact chemical formulation. And Challow's already warned me building firms tend to source their plaster from a small number of big wholesalers, so the stuff Ramsgate uses won't be anything like unique. So even if what's in the van does match what we found on Faith, it won't be enough for an arrest. Not on its own.'
`And Brotherton's just going to carry on insisting no one else could have borrowed it,' says Gis with a sigh.
Baxter is frowning. `Well, he's right, isn't he? I mean, the van keys would either have been on him or in the house. How could someone else have got hold of them without him knowing?'
Ev shrugs. `Perhaps they keep a spare door key under a flowerpot? That's what my gran used to do.'
`In Blackbird Leys?' says Quinn, openly incredulous. `You're having a bloody laugh. The place would be cleaned out in under a week.'
`No, it wouldn't,' says Everett. `That community `“ they look after their own. And Mr Brotherton is one of them.'
I get to my feet. `Well, that's one question we should at least be able to answer. Let's find out, shall we?'
* * *
It's pouring now, and at the search site Barnetson is up to his knees in dirty river and in danger of losing his footing at every step. He moves gingerly forward, feeling the mud slip under his waders as he steadies himself with his pole. The Cherwell is over its banks in places now, bleeding brown sludge across the fields on either side, where cows steam dejectedly in the teeming rain. With the water so high, all the rubbish and dead leaves and pleasure-boat litter is swirling downriver and catching in the overhanging trees. A few yards away Barnetson can see a bicycle frame, a shopping trolley and several old carrier bags caught in low branches and rimmed with white bubbles, one ripped against the bark, another bloated with `“
No, he thinks.
Please
No
* * *
Adam Fawley
5 April 2018
17.22