Niall Paternoster turned to his solicitor, who shook his head.
‘No comment,’ Paternoster said.
Exton held up another sheet of printout, which he passed across the table. ‘This contains triangulation plots obtained from the two phone companies to which your phone and the anonymous phone were registered. When you sent that text, the location of the anonymous phone was in one of a number of houses in Barrowfield Drive, Hove. At 5.30 p.m. your phone and the anonymous phone had both moved to a point where they came together at a location three miles to the west of Brighton. This location has been identified as the vicinity of the car park of the Devil’s Dyke beauty spot. It indicates you had a rendezvous with the owner of the anonymous phone at this location. Can you tell us anything about this?’
Paternoster, looking very concerned now, again turned to his solicitor, who shook his head once more.
‘No, look, I’ve told you I loved Eden. That’s all I’m saying.’
Potting interjected. ‘Niall, I’d like to remind you that you are under caution. That means, as I’m sure your solicitor has explained to you, that anything you say may be admissible in court. “No comment” does not go down well with juries and we are inviting you to provide information to confirm what you are telling us about your wife’s disappearance.’
In the observation cubicle, Grace glanced at Branson. Clearly, the surprise phone evidence had rattled the solicitor.
Whispering, although he didn’t need to, Branson said, ‘Did you pick up on that, boss? I loved Eden.’
Grace nodded tersely. ‘Freudian slip?’
‘Quite a slip, wouldn’t you say?’ Branson added, then was silent for a moment. ‘But people get het up in interviews — they can be pretty intimidating. Can’t always take everything at face value. Yet there’s something else he said in a previous interview that’s significant and which maybe backs up this slip. He said, Do you people seriously think I would have killed the gravy train when I was down on my luck? Gravy train. That’s a pretty strange remark, don’t you think?’
‘Very,’ said Grace. ‘Like implying, I love my wife because she brings in the money. Not because she’s anything else. Not because he loves her to bits. She’s just his cash cow — for want of a better expression. And now we see he had a get-together up on Devil’s Dyke later that Sunday. What kind of person are you going to meet at a local beauty spot late afternoon? Your accountant?’
Branson grinned.
‘There’s definitely something going on here. Speak to Chris Gee and get his team to search through all the paperwork in the house and see if he can find Eden Paternoster’s will — Niall said they’d both made one. That might be revealing. I’ve already given Emily Denyer the action of getting us a full report on their finances. I’d like to know what he might have to gain by Eden’s death.’
In the interview room, Exton said, ‘Last night we told you about the evidence we have discovered that suggests you may have harmed your wife. A central part of your explanation was your visit to Tesco for cat litter, but we now know you didn’t need any cat litter. Further, and perhaps more significantly, nobody in Tesco saw your wife there to corroborate your story. We have now made you aware that we know about your contact that same afternoon with an unknown person. Why don’t you tell us the truth?’
‘No comment,’ Niall said flatly. ‘I’m not answering any more of your questions.’
Rattigan said to the detectives, ‘Gentlemen, it is now 8.40 a.m. You have until 9.45 a.m. to either charge or release my client.’
‘Thank you,’ Norman Potting replied politely. ‘We have until 9.47 a.m., actually, but let’s not split hairs. Interview terminated at 8.40 a.m.’ He reached forward.
The monitor went blank and silent.
62
In the observation cubicle, Glenn Branson asked, ‘How are you reading Paternoster’s body language?’
‘Extremely uncomfortable,’ Roy Grace replied. ‘You?’
‘Copy, boss.’
Grace smiled. ‘You’ve been watching too much American TV.’
‘Would you rather I said “well dodgy”?’
Grace smiled thinly, then fell silent.
After some moments, Branson said, ‘So, what do we think?’
There was no reply.
He glanced round. Grace was crying.
Branson waited patiently in silence.
After a couple of minutes, Grace sniffed, wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and apologized.
‘You don’t have to apologize for anything. I wish I could do something, say something. I can’t begin to think what you’re going through — I can feel some of your pain, but not the enormity of what you’re facing.’
‘What would you do?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, in my situation. Hang on for a miracle, which isn’t going to happen, if the medics are right? Give him the dignity of keeping his body intact for his funeral? Or—’ He fell silent again.
‘Or donate his organs?’ Branson prompted.
‘Yes.’
Branson took a few moments before replying. ‘If we’re dismissing the possibility of his ever recovering?’
‘We are.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve already said that the longer you leave it to make a decision, the more likely it is that some of the major organs won’t be viable for donation, if I understood it?’
‘Yes, correct.’
‘OK, well, once someone’s dead, their soul — if we have one — departs elsewhere, leaving behind an empty shell. That’s how I see it. The shell just rots away. If you could have the knowledge that his death has helped some others to live, and some others to have a better quality of life, wouldn’t that at least make some small sense of what’s happened — and give you and Cleo the knowledge that you’ve done a good thing?’
Grace gave a slight smile which was layered with sadness. ‘I appreciate it, you’re pretty much echoing what Cleo said to me earlier. Yes, you’re right.’
‘But, ultimately, it’s only you and Cleo who can make the decision, and it has to feel right.’
‘Thanks, it is feeling right.’
‘Why don’t you go now and deal with it — that’s far more important than what’s going on here, I can handle this.’
‘I will, but another fifteen or twenty minutes isn’t going to make a difference. So let’s just review the footage from last night, OK?’ He spoke firmly, as if he’d now made up his mind and his decision had freed him.
‘OK.’
‘Norman and Jon did a good job, but—’ He hesitated.
After some moments, Branson prompted, ‘But?’
‘Let’s look at it now.’
Branson pressed the control buttons and the interview from the evening before began to replay. Both of them watched it, Grace particularly intently. Suddenly, he called out, ‘Stop!’
Obediently, the DI hit the pause button.
‘Replay that and watch Paternoster’s reaction,’ Grace said.
Moments later, the segment played again.
Norman Potting was speaking. ‘During the search of your house last night, two large sacks of cat litter were found at the rear of a cupboard, in the utility room off your kitchen. Do you have any explanation for that?’
Niall Paternoster stared back in silence for some seconds, then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t believe you.’
‘Pause it again!’ Grace said.
The image froze.
‘He’s either a damned good actor,’ Grace said, ‘or he’s telling the truth.’
‘And we know he’s not telling the truth.’
Grace looked pensive. ‘Roll it on.’
Norman Potting was speaking again. ‘Do you have any explanation for how they got there, or are you saying the police planted two sacks of cat litter in your house?’