Symons stared at her. It was beginning to dawn on him where these questions might be going.
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘I’m asking you whether you have a temper. The answer appears to be yes. I’m also asking you whether Tash was — is — important to you.’
‘Of course she’s important. She means everything to me, Tash.’
‘So what would you do to keep her? If you thought she might be tempted to go off with someone else?’
‘But she wouldn’t. Not Tash.’
‘But she might, Milo. Or you might think she might.’
‘Never. I never thought that. Never.’
‘I don’t believe you. Look at it from our point of view. Tash means everything to you. You’ve just admitted it. You know she has sex with this man Kinsey. You know that Kinsey has the kind of money that might make a big difference to her career. You also know he’s mad about her. Are you really telling me you were never — ever — worried she might leave you?’
‘For him, you mean?’ He laughed. ‘You’re mad. This is crazy.’ He looked at his solicitor again. ‘Tell her to stop.’
The solicitor gestured him closer. Suttle wished he could lip-read. Maybe he’s telling his client to relax, he thought. Or maybe he’s starting to see it Tremayne’s way.
‘My client needs to be clear about the precise allegation you’re trying to make,’ he said.
‘Our allegation is this, Milo. That you were drunk on that Saturday night. This we know from your own account. That you had and have a passionate relationship with your partner, Tash. This too we know. That something probably happened that Saturday night, some remark, something inappropriate between Tash and Kinsey that later sparked a row between you both. Are you with me?’
Symons nodded. He looked transfixed. She might have been telling him a story, Suttle thought, about someone else.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘That you went back to the apartment that night, back to Exmouth Quays, either with Tash or without. That you got into the flat with Tash’s key. And that you killed Kinsey.’
‘Killed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why? How?’
‘Why, I think we’ve dealt with. How has, at this point, to be supposition. In the end he fell from his own balcony. Perhaps you’d like to tell us exactly what happened before that moment?’
Symons began to shake his head. Disbelief had given way to something else. Fear.
‘You really think I killed him? Kinsey? Jake? You think I did that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Why would I have done it?’
‘I think we’ve covered that. You were jealous. And you knew he had money.’
‘How?’
‘Because you’d seen the slip from the ATM. One hundred and seven thousand pounds, Milo. Think about it.’
‘So I killed him? You really believe that?’
‘Yes.’
From this point on, the interview went nowhere. The two D/Cs came at Symons from every point of the compass. They pointed out how heavily all the circumstantial evidence weighed against him. They thought it entirely reasonable that he would want to remove the threat of Kinsey from his private life. They agreed that one hundred thousand pounds would ease a lot of problems about funding Symons’ precious film. Rosie Tremayne even hinted that the idea might have been Tash Donovan’s in the first place, in which case Symons would earn himself a much lighter sentence by testifying against her.
The latter suggestion sparked another outburst from Symons. Tash had never said anything of the sort. And even if she had, there was no way he’d grass her up. To think otherwise was totally vile. This whole thing, he kept saying, is sick. He’d never hit anyone in his life, let alone killed anyone. After stopping at the ATM in Exmouth, he and Tash had gone home. Theft? Yeah. Murder? No way.
Mid-afternoon, Houghton called a meet in a borrowed office at Torbay. Donovan and Symons had been escorted back to their respective cells to ready themselves for the next round of questioning. In the meantime Houghton had to assess where Constantine might go next.
Suttle had driven over from Exeter with Rosie Tremayne. He was still convinced there was a way to go with Symons.
‘We haven’t bottomed him out yet,’ he said. ‘The guy’s more of a firework than I thought. Press the right buttons and we might still be in business.’
Houghton wanted Tremayne’s opinion. She said she was doing her best but deep down thought Symons was telling the truth.
‘How does that work?’
‘He gave us everything on the ATMs. He coughed the lot. Frankly, I think murder’s a bit out of his league. He wouldn’t have the bottle for starters. Plus he comes over as quite a gentle guy.’
‘He was pissed,’ Suttle said. ‘And that can change everything.’
Houghton turned to Frank Miller. She wanted the TIA’s take on Tash Donovan. How had she reacted to the suggestion that she’d been complicit in Kinsey’s death?
‘She laughed. I think she was genuinely amused. This is a woman who plays a thousand roles before breakfast. I think the killer thing quite appealed to her.’
‘But she denied it?’
‘Big time. She said Symons was too pissed to manage a shag that Saturday night, let alone kill anyone. She also said that vegetarians try and avoid that kind of thing.’
‘She’s a veggie?’
‘So she says.’
‘And that’s some kind of defence?’
‘Definitely. She says veggies never kill people.’
‘What about Hitler?’
‘Good point, boss. Maybe we can bring that up in the next session.’
Houghton didn’t share the ripple of laughter that went round the room. She and Nandy would be conferencing on the phone any time now. She had to know where this thing was headed next.
It was Suttle who broke the silence.
‘We keep on at them both. That’s the only option we’ve got.’
‘We’ve nothing new to throw at them?’
‘No.’
‘So without a confession. .?’
‘You’re right.’ Suttle nodded. ‘We’re fucked.’
The next session began at half past four and lasted into the early evening. This time Suttle was monitoring the Donovan interview. Sitting beside Miller, watching the video feed, he knew the TIA had called it exactly right. Donovan was putting on the performance of her life. Not because she was trying to hide something but because she at last had an audience. She said she felt sorry for Kinsey. That last second and a half of his life, she said, would have been seriously crap. Exmouth Quays in the rain was a shit place to die. She hadn’t the first idea why he’d done it, and if she’d ever suspected him of suicidal tendencies she might have put a lot more effort into keeping him happy.
The latter phrase appeared to offer at least the hint of an opening. Had this relationship of theirs been more substantial than she’d ever admitted? Might he have ended his life because she wouldn’t commit to more than visiting rights? To both questions she answered with a flat no. Kinsey, she said, was an impossible man to get close to. No wonder his wife had done a runner.
In his heart Suttle knew she was right. At ten past seven he took a call from the TIA at Heavitree. After consultations with his lawyer, Symons had decided to go No Comment.
Within half an hour both interviews had been terminated. Det-Supt Nandy was waiting with Houghton in her office at Middlemoor. She’d obviously briefed him already. The atmosphere was grim.
‘The PACE clock stops at five tomorrow morning,’ he pointed out. ‘The briefs will kick up if we insist on another session tonight, and to be frank I can’t see what we’d achieve. We could try for an extension and start again tomorrow morning but D/I Houghton’s right. We’ve got nothing left to fire at him. We’re out of bullets. There’s nothing left.’ He paused. ‘Jimmy?’
Suttle knew the question was coming. This was his party, his idea. He’d led them up this cul-de-sac. How did he propose to get them out?
‘Are we talking fresh lines of enquiry?’ Suttle asked.