‘You were right.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And Tash?’
‘She didn’t see it that way. She said the guy’s dead so we might as well help ourselves. She also said that Kinsey had kept the account secret so no one would know about it.’
‘Why secret?’
‘I don’t really know. To hide the money, I suppose.’
‘To hide the money from who?’
‘I don’t know. The taxman? I don’t know.’
By now, he said, they had £400. A couple of days went by and nothing happened so they made another withdrawal and then another. In the end, he said, it became a kind of routine. Like the money was their own.
‘But it wasn’t, Mr Symons.’
‘I know.’
‘It belonged to Kinsey, to his estate. We call that theft.’
‘Sure.’
‘But you just carried on.’
‘We did.’
The interviewing D/C wanted to know how long these withdrawals would have gone on. Rosie Tremayne was a woman in her thirties, one of Houghton’s stars, and Suttle admired the cool rapport she so quickly established with Symons. It had been Houghton’s idea to put her alongside the man in the belief he responded well to older women, and in every respect it had worked. He told her they’d have kept hammering the ATMs until the account was empty.
‘And what would you have done with the money?’
‘There’s a project I’m trying to get off the ground, a film. Kinsey had helped me already, so in a way I was telling myself it wasn’t really theft, just something he might have done in any case.’
‘But you didn’t know that, did you?’
‘No. He’d promised me £45,000 but not that much, not a hundred grand.’
‘So it was still theft? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes. We stole the money. That’s what we did.’
It was at this point that Suttle felt the first prickles of apprehension. Milo Symons was playing these questions with the straightest of bats. He wasn’t evasive. He wasn’t attempting to justify himself. He didn’t seem to be hiding anything. On the contrary, there was a naivety — even an innocence — in his willingness to cooperate. From Constantine’s point of view, this would be a quick win when it came to a theft conviction. But would this man really have killed someone?
During the coffee break Suttle phoned the Tactical Interview Adviser supervising the other interview. His name was Frank Miller and — like Suttle — was an incomer from another force. After an uneasy start, Devon and Cornwall had definitely grown on him. Not least because major crime investigations exposed him to suspects like Tash Donovan.
‘She’s nuts, mate. Totally barking. We could have sold tickets for this morning.’
Like Symons, her description of the Saturday night in Exmouth Quays hadn’t departed one jot from her initial witness statement. One of the two interviewing D/Cs was Luke Golding. The TIA had told him to press her on the relationship with Kinsey, and when he’d done so she’d happily complied, offering detailed descriptions of the movement sessions they’d shared up in his apartment. Once she’d even got to her feet in the interview room to demonstrate a particular cycle of gesture therapy and it was only her solicitor, in the end, who’d managed to get her to sit down again.
‘What about the rest of it?’
‘The sex, you mean? We got lots of that too. She had this guy for breakfast, but he was paying good money so he must have got something out of it. Five hundred quid for a quickie? Maybe they were both barking.’
‘You think she liked him?’
‘I don’t think liking came into it. The woman’s an actress. She can play a part. Bottom line, Kinsey was a punter. End of.’
Confronted with the evidence from the ATMs, Donovan — like Symons — had admitted everything. Yes, she’d lifted an initial 200 quid from his account that Saturday night. Yes, she meant to give the money back. And yes, once she knew that Kinsey was dead, she’d seen no point letting all that money go to waste.
‘She said that? She used that phrase?’
‘Yeah. It was like she had some right to it. The dosh was hers. It was written in the stars. It was the earth giving her a little prezzie. Total bollocks, of course, but quite amusing. You have to hand it to this woman. Second house starts any time now. If you’re looking for something a bit different, you should pop across.’
Suttle declined the invitation. He wanted to know how Donovan had been so sure they’d never get caught.
‘To be honest, mate, I’m not sure that ever really occurred to her. At one point she told us that Kinsey was always boasting about his money, and how clever he was, making all this moolah. He told her about his ex-wife too, and how he’d managed to dream up some clever scheme to hide loads of dosh from the old dragon. Donovan said he called her the Gobbler. I think she assumed the Jacobson account was part of all that. I guess it was empty when the wife walked out and Kinsey filled it up again and kept it going.’
‘She was specific about that? Donovan?’
‘Not in so many words, but that was the drift. Like I say, Donovan lives on another planet. I don’t think it’s ever dawned on her that some of the stuff she does might have consequences. It’s all hippy shit, I know, but it seems to work for her.’
‘You think she’s worried?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘You think she killed Kinsey?’
‘I’m starting to wonder.’
The interviews recommenced at 12.45. This, Suttle knew, was the moment of truth. It fell to Rosie Tremayne, in Exeter, to suggest that Symons’ misdemeanours might not have stopped at theft.
‘In your statement to D/S Suttle you denied that your partner, Tash, had any kind of relationship with Kinsey.’
‘I said he fancied her. Like everyone fancies her.’
‘But you also said it ended there.’
‘Yeah. That’s true.’
‘But it isn’t, is it? Because your partner, Tash, has told us she had regular sex with Kinsey.’
‘For money.’
‘Yes. But it happened, didn’t it? So it didn’t — as you put it — end there?’
‘That’s shagging. That’s all it is. For money.’
‘But you knew.’
‘Yeah. Me and Tash don’t have secrets. The shag money was for the film fund. The one I told you about.’
‘Sure. I believe you. But the fact is your partner was having sex with another man.’
‘He was crap at it. Why would that worry me?’
‘Because it might not end there.’
‘What?’
‘Because Kinsey might want more of Tash than you thought. The man had money, lots of money. Tash is a professional actress. Just lately, as we understand it, she hasn’t done much. She’s still attractive. She might still dream about making the big time. Kinsey could help that happen, couldn’t he? With all his money? All the support he could give her? And all those doors he could open?’
Symons was staring at her. He was visibly upset. Rosie had touched a nerve. Suttle was tempted to applaud. At last, he thought.
‘I don’t have to listen to this, do I?’ Symons was looking at his solicitor.
‘Mr Symons?’ Tremayne was waiting for an answer. ‘Milo?’
Symons, angry now, abandoned his solicitor and turned back to Tremayne.
‘You think Tash lied to me? Is that what you think? You’re telling me she had something else going on with him?’
‘I’m asking you a question. I’m suggesting that might have been a possibility.’
‘Then the answer’s no. No way. We’re like that, me and Tash, always have been.’ He interlinked his forefingers and tugged them hard. ‘You know what I mean? Tash would never do that to me, never.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she wouldn’t.’
‘But why?’
‘Because she knows what it would do to me. How I’d feel about it.’
‘And how would you feel about it?’
‘I’d feel shit about it. I’d hate it.’
‘So what might you do. .’ Rosie gestured at the space between them, which had been warmed by this sudden burst of temper ‘. . if you got really angry?’