He was lying. Of that, Minshull was convinced.
A night in the cells and several meetings with his solicitor had transformed Mark Lingham from a penitent confessor to a determined victim. The early hour wouldn’t be helping, either, with Anderson requesting the team to start work at six a.m. to keep Lingham on the hop.
The disclosure of the mannequin’s discovery had clearly unnerved him, as they’d hoped. But the longer they spoke to him, the more Minshull was convinced that Lingham’s understanding of the truth was tenuous, to say the least.
‘I didn’t say that. I said whoever did this to me – to my friends – wanted to frame me for it.’
‘So, who did this to you, Mr Lingham?’
‘I told you: I don’t know.’
‘I think my client has more than sufficiently answered your question, DS Minshull.’
That was another thing: Jasper Carmichael had apparently googled ‘how to be an effective legal counsel’ overnight; his interjections frequent and his attitude bullish this morning. Yesterday, he had seemed happy to let his client dig a hole: today, he’d realised holes weren’t the most desirable outcome. It was good for Lingham but annoying for Minshull and, judging by his superior’s fierce foot-tapping beneath the interview desk, a red rag to an incandescent Caledonian bull for Anderson.
‘I’m just trying to understand what happened,’ Minshull replied, careful that none of his frustration was evident in his voice. While Anderson fidgeted and glared beside him, Minshull remained the picture of calm. Maybe the double-act would be effective. Precious else appeared to be…
‘My client has told you what happened.’
‘With respect, Mr Lingham has told us some of what happened. There are still areas he hasn’t addressed. The purpose of this interview is to get as clear a picture as possible of what happened in the unit at 62 Januarius Street. If we are to find the person responsible,’ he let his emphasis lean heavy on those three words, ‘it’s important we know everything.’
‘Someone wants me blamed for this,’ Lingham interjected, a dent appearing in the plastic cup in his hands as he gripped it. ‘They want me sent down, or they’ll kill me.’
The bedtime story had worked, then. Minshull pressed on. ‘Why do you think someone would have hung that mannequin in Evernam Woods?’
‘I told you: it’s a warning.’
‘Do you have any connection to the woods?’
‘No.’
‘Any links we should know about?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you think the mannequin was left there? It seems strange to me, considering it was such a remote location. How would anyone know to look there?’
‘Well, someone did. They told you about it.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘DS Minshull, what is this line of questioning trying to achieve? The mannequin was hung while my client was in custody here. It had his name attached to it. If you’re implying that Mr Lingham had anything to do with that…’
‘I’m implying that whoever hung it in Evernam Woods and tipped off police had a link to the four murders in the Januarius Street retail unit. Which means they had a link to your client. Which means he must have an idea of who that might be.’
Jasper Carmichael sat back in his seat, eyes trained on Minshull. ‘I don’t think you have anything. No evidence, no link, nothing to place my client anywhere near the site of the hanging mannequin.’
‘We have your client running from an abandoned retail unit where four of his friends had their throats slashed, covered in blood and claiming it was his fault,’ Anderson exploded. ‘That’s pretty compelling evidence.’
‘I’m being set up!’ Lingham whimpered.
‘Then help me, Mark,’ Minshull replied, his own frustration beginning to show. ‘Who else knew of the plan to leave the country? Who else knew that you, Otto, Tim, Krish and Denz would be meeting in Januarius Street on Monday morning?’
‘No one.’
‘Could any of your friends have told someone? Let the details slip?’
‘No. I told you. We kept it between ourselves. We couldn’t risk anyone from our circles finding out.’
Our circles. A callous and dismissive way of describing wives and girlfriends, children, work colleagues and employees. How many lives had the plan – and the four murders – irrevocably altered?
‘Could someone in your circles have uncovered the plan? Someone who stood to lose everything if you succeeded?’
‘What? No.’
‘You sound very certain of that.’
Lingham screwed up his features, the deep purple shadows beneath his eyes sharp against his pale skin. How much sleep had he managed last night? Minshull himself was feeling the effects of a broken night’s rest, which culminated in him pacing his home at four a.m., unable to sleep.
‘I told you: nobody else knew.’
In the seat beside Minshull, Anderson placed his hand flat on his notes, his signal that he wished to step in. Minshull was glad of it: with Lingham’s continued denials, they were just going around in circles.
‘Help us here, Mark,’ he said, the merest hint of threat edging his words. ‘If you’re being framed for the murder of your friends, we want to apprehend the person – or persons – responsible.’
Was that a flinch? Lingham quickly regrouped, but his reaction to Anderson’s mention of persons had been noticeable.
‘Who might wish you harm?’ Anderson continued. ‘Who could gain from you being blamed for the deaths of your friends?’
‘Someone who had a grudge against us. Someone who wanted us to suffer. Me to suffer…’
‘Who holds a grudge against you, Mark?’
Lingham’s eyes grew wide as if realising he’d said too much. ‘Nobody.’
Carmichael glared at Anderson. ‘We’re getting into speculation here. I think we’ve established that my client doesn’t know who must be doing this.’
‘I’m trying to understand why your client would assume someone had a sufficient grudge against him to do this,’ Anderson returned, switching his attention back to Lingham. ‘What I don’t understand is why the five of you chose such a strange location for your pre-flight celebration.’
‘I told you: Krish had the key to the place.’
‘So, could Krish or someone he knew have been in on the details? Is there anyone who might wish Krish harm?’
‘I don’t know! I’ve already told you: I’m being framed for the murder of my friends, and whoever did it is still out there. They want me to keep quiet and accept responsibility, so they hung that horrible thing in the woods. I didn’t do this. They know it!’
‘Pointless,’ Anderson spat as they left the custody suite, Minshull almost breaking into a run to keep up with him. ‘Why insist he was being framed and then lead us a merry dance to bloody nowhere?’
‘He’s bluffing,’ Minshull replied. ‘It’s the only explanation.’
Had they been wrong to disclose the details of the mannequin last night? Minshull wasn’t sure. Lingham had been spooked, but beyond that, where were they? No nearer to securing evidence and perilously close to the deadline for holding Lingham.
At the door to the stairs, Anderson stopped. ‘We’re stuffed, Rob. CPS won’t give us murder if we can’t conclusively prove Lingham premeditated the deaths.’
He was right, of course. But the fact spoken aloud by his superior made it a depressingly bleak prognosis. What did they have beyond a bottle of drugged champagne, four dead bodies and a hoax in Evernam Woods?
Wheeler raised a hand as Minshull and Anderson entered the CID office.
‘Word, Guv?’
‘In my office,’ Anderson barked, striding past Wheeler’s desk. ‘Come with us, Rob.’
Wheeler and Minshull exchanged glances as they hurried in Anderson’s wake.
‘Okay, what is it?’ the DI demanded as he flopped down in the chair behind his desk.
Minshull closed the door as Wheeler gingerly approached Anderson.
‘I just had a call from Kirsty Morris in Forensics,’ Wheeler replied. ‘Results from the knife found at the scene in Januarius Street.’
Anderson brightened a little. ‘Good. What’s the verdict?’
‘Lingham’s prints are on the handle. Ninety-nine per cent match.’
‘At last! I was beginning to think we were jinxed.’
Wheeler didn’t smile. Nerves balled in Minshull’s gut. Dave Wheeler without his usual sunny countenance was the darkest harbinger.
‘There’s more, I’m afraid, Guv. Alongside Lingham’s prints, they also found four more sets.’
‘You have got to be kidding me…’
Wheeler nodded. ‘Significant matches for Krish Bhattachama, Otto Wragg, Tim Stapleforth and Denz Markham.’
Anderson’s expletive reverberated around the walls of his office.