Darling nodded agreement.
‘To get up to the Dyke and back would take about ninety minutes, from memory, although I may be a little rusty. It was some years ago,’ Grace went on, ignoring Batchelor, who was giving him a strange look.
‘If you went straight up and back down, yes,’ Darling said.
‘But of course it would be longer if you carried on and went down into the village of Poynings, to the Royal Oak pub there, or even further to the village of Fulking and the Shepherd and Dog pub. Would that be correct?’
‘Yes,’ Darling said. ‘That’s exactly what I did. I went down into Fulking.’
‘Did you stop anywhere?’
‘Yes, actually, I had a pint at the Shepherd and Dog.’
‘Did you talk to anyone in the pub? Is there someone who would remember you were there?’
‘I had Shane, the dog, with me, couldn’t take him inside. So no, I didn’t talk to anyone. Got my pint and went straight back outside.’
‘Did you ask for a bowl of water for your dog?’
‘There was a bowl outside.’
Watching his eyes intently, Grace asked, ‘Would the person who served your pint remember you?’
‘Possibly.’
‘What beer did you order?’
A moment of hesitation. ‘Harvey’s.’
‘Do you remember the person behind the bar who served you?’
‘It was very busy in there — I don’t — don’t really recall.’
Grace made another note. ‘How did you pay for your drink?’
‘Cash, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Yes, yes it was cash.’
‘So you took your pint of Harvey’s outside, sat down with Shane, you drank your pint, and then you walked home. That accounts for those four hours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you certain you’ve not forgotten anything, Mr Darling?’
‘I’m certain.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said.
‘You’ve heard my client’s account,’ the solicitor said. ‘Unless you have anything further to add, I’m requesting that you release him immediately. He has a very sick wife to take care of and it is inhuman, given his domestic circumstances, to prevent him from going home to her any longer.’
‘I do have some further things to add,’ Grace said. ‘I am mindful of your client’s domestic circumstances, but my priorities lie at this moment with the victim of the brutal murder I’m investigating.’ He turned to Darling. ‘So after your walk you went home, arriving at around 9 p.m., you said. Is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘What happened when you came home?’
Darling shrugged. ‘I had some supper, then watched television — well — I had it watching television.’
‘What did you eat?’
‘Really, Detective Superintendent!’ the solicitor said.
‘Some leftovers in the fridge.’
‘What exactly?’ Grace asked, ignoring the solicitor.
Darling thought for some moments. ‘Lasagne — I microwaved it. Had it with a bit of salad that was in the fridge.’
‘What kind of lasagne? Meat? Fish? Vegetarian?’
‘Really, Detective Superintendent, is this important?’ the solicitor said.
‘It could be.’ He looked quizzically at his suspect.
‘Vegetarian. My wife’s on a special vegetarian-only diet for her cancer.’
‘What about the dog — Shane — did he eat?’
‘He only eats once a day, in the morning. It’s meant to be better for them.’
‘So you ate your vegetarian lasagne and salad in front of the television?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you watch?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘How would you describe your memory, Mr Darling?’
‘Describe it? What do you mean?’
‘Do you have a good memory in general?’
Darling hesitated for some moments, his eyes flicking between the two detectives, as if aware they were trying to catch him out. ‘Normal,’ he said. ‘Pretty average, I’d say.’
‘Are you sure?’ Grace pressed.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure I agree. I don’t think you have a very good memory at all, Mr Darling.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, when we arrested you, you couldn’t remember your own name, or date of birth, or star sign. You don’t remember who served you a pint last Wednesday. You were hesitant about how you had paid. You don’t remember what you watched on television that evening. Is there anything else about that evening that you don’t remember?’
Darling shrugged. ‘No, nothing.’
‘You arrived back home from your four-hour dog walk, ate microwaved lasagne and salad from the fridge whilst watching television? Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do after that?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘I went to bed.’
‘And your wife?’
‘This is very personal,’ the solicitor interrupted.
‘It is actually relevant,’ Grace replied, sternly.
Ishack turned to her client. ‘You don’t need to reply.’
‘I’m fine,’ he told her, then turned to Grace and Batchelor. ‘She was asleep in bed, as she is every night from around 9 p.m.’
‘You didn’t go out after your supper?’ Grace asked. ‘You didn’t take your dog out for a final night-time walk?’
‘No, I never do. I just let him out in the back garden to do his business.’
‘Thank you,’ Grace said, courteously. Then he leaned forward and pressed the pause button on the recording control and said, ‘The time is 9.45 a.m. Interview with Seymour Rodney Darling suspended.’
Addressing the solicitor, Grace then said, ‘DI Batchelor and I are going to step out for a short break. I’d strongly advise you to ask your client to think further about his actions and whereabouts on the afternoon and night of last Wednesday.’
The two detectives went out.
47
Sunday 24 April
‘I need a snout,’ Guy Batchelor said as they entered the corridor, closing the interview suite door behind them.
‘I’ll come out with you,’ Grace said.
They let themselves out into the courtyard and stood outside the grim facade of the building. A marked police car, with two uniformed officers in the front and a thin, miserable-looking man in the back, drove past and entered one of the receiving bays. Just one of the dozens of people who would be arrested every day and brought up here to Custody for processing, Grace thought. Burglars, muggers, drunk drivers, drug dealers, abusive partners, shoplifters. Many of the city’s low-lifes were frequent flyers here. And mostly their childhoods would have a similar dysfunctional pattern. Followed by their first arrests — for petty thieving, joy riding, street running for drug peddlers — and their first time banged up in a young offenders’ institute. Welcome to the criminal justice system, where a life of crime beckoned.
A dry, blustery wind blew and spring seemed a long way off. Batchelor pulled out his cigarette pack and offered one to Grace. He shook his head. ‘Thanks — too early for me — but I’ll enjoy yours passively!’ He yawned again, then smelled the sudden waft of smoke as his colleague sparked up.
‘What do you think, Roy?’
‘It’s going our way, Darling’s walked straight, slap-bang into it, the lying little scrote. Let’s see what he has to say for himself in a few minutes.’ He grinned.
Batchelor nodded.
‘The time is 9.57 a.m. Interview with Seymour Rodney Darling recommenced.’ Grace once more repeated the caution. Both Darling and his solicitor seemed confident, almost cockily so, presumably bolstered by the chat they’d had whilst he and Guy had been out of the room. They wouldn’t be quite so smug in a few minutes, Grace thought.
He made a deliberate play of looking down at his notebook before he looked back at the suspect. ‘Mr Darling, do you possess a mobile phone?’