When Cross got back to his office Warner was already studying something on his desktop computer.
‘Jesus,’ he said as Cross sat at his desk. He then began to type furiously on his keyboard. He leant forward and looked at the screen even closer.
Cross found a report from Swift about the chisel waiting for him on his desk. He’d noticed that when Swift came across something important to a case, he printed the report up and left it for him, rather than just emailing a copy across. Cross understood the logic. If it was in a folder on his desk it was natural to look at it immediately, as soon as you saw it. Whereas an email could just sit in your digital inbox, ignored for a while. He read the report carefully. The blood on the blade was a match for Alistair Moreton. Cotterell’s DNA was also present on the handle which was unsurprising as it was his chisel. It didn’t, per se, prove anything. But what drew Cross’s attention was the fact that there was an unidentified partial fingerprint. It wasn’t in the system.
‘Were you aware before you spoke to Sandy Moreton that there was an unidentified fingerprint on the chisel?’ Cross asked Warner.
‘Of course,’ he said, still concentrating on his computer screen.
‘Doesn’t that concern you?’
‘It’s probably the wife’s. It’s irrelevant. His DNA is on the weapon because he killed him. And with this,’ he said, nodding at his screen, ‘it’s irrefutable. The print’s neither here nor there. Check your email.’ He looked at his watch then got up and left.
Cross checked his email. There was a new flagged one from Catherine who did all their CCTV and traffic camera investigation. ‘Please view the video ASAP’ was all the email said. Cross clicked on the attached video file. It was footage from one of Moreton’s security cameras on the back of his house. It was motion-activated and showed the front of the Cotterells’ barn and the entrance to their drive. At 20.02 on the night of the murder the Cotterells’ car with the couple in the front seats left the property. The next piece of footage was time stamped 20.52 and it showed the same car coming back into the drive. The automatic security lights caused a whiteout flare of the image then Barnaby Cotterell got out of the car and went into the house. At 20.57 he reappeared with a small holdall in his hand. He put it in the boot of the car then walked round to the driver’s window. As he was about to get in the car he looked up in the direction of the camera, at Moreton’s house. He leant into the car to talk to his wife. Then looked over at the house again. After a couple of seconds he walked towards the camera and out of sight. The footage stopped then started again as Cotterell ran over to the car, got in and drove away at speed.
Cross replayed the footage carefully before getting up and leaving the room. He went to a room adjacent to the interview room, where Warner’s interview with Cotterell was being relayed onto a monitor. Carson was already there.
‘George, has Bobby told you what’s going on?’ he asked.
‘He has not.’
‘But do you know? He seems pretty excited.’
‘I do,’ said Cross turning his intention to the monitor and watching as Warner began. Carson decided not to pursue it as he was about to find out anyway. Murray entered the interview room and sat at Warner’s side. Carson hadn’t made any comment about what he saw as Cross’s being sidelined in the case. It was up to Warner how he ran his team. At the very least this meant that he’d have fewer personality clashes between them to deal with. If Warner was as quick as he claimed to be, he’d leave them soon enough, go back to his own unit and Ottey would return.
Cross looked at Warner. He had begun to understand his colleague’s facial expressions and body language, having studied him in the past few days. Warner looked confident and almost pleased with himself. Like a schoolboy at the end of year prize-giving who, having been given insider knowledge that he was definitely getting the top prize, then attempted to look innocently and genuinely interested in ‘discovering’ the outcome, while giving nothing away. It resulted in an air of smug complacency.
‘Barnaby,’ Warner began, ‘you told us you left your house at around eight o’clock on the night of Alistair Moreton’s death.’
‘Correct.’
‘And you filled your car at a local petrol station shortly after,’ Warner said slowly, consulting his notes as if to make sure this was accurate and that he wasn’t getting anything wrong.
‘You have the receipt,’ Cotterell pointed out.
‘We do,’ Warner confirmed. ‘So, what happened then?’
‘I’ve already told you this,’ replied Cotterell with the first signs of irritation. ‘We drove to London.’
‘You have. But the trouble is that’s not true, is it? It’s a lie,’ said Warner, the threat unmistakable despite the overtly friendly tone. Cross detected a triumphal eagerness in Warner. As if he couldn’t wait to deliver the damning evidence he had. Cotterell made no reply. He could obviously sense that Warner had something up his sleeve.
‘What actually happened is that you went back to your house in Crockerne almost an hour later,’ he said.
‘Tamsin had forgotten her hospital overnight bag. She insisted on going back for it,’ said Cotterell.
‘And did you forget to mention it?’ asked Warner.
‘Obviously not.’
‘So why not tell us?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘Because you killed Alistair Moreton and it might be a bit of a giveaway?’
‘I did not. But I knew it would cause suspicion,’ replied Cotterell.
‘At last, a little bit of honesty. But not quite enough. You know it would play out a lot better in court if you just told us now, what happened. How you came to kill him,’ said Warner.
‘I didn’t bloody kill him,’ Cotterell refuted.
Warner opened his laptop, taking his time to find whatever it was he was looking for. He turned it to face Cotterell.
‘Perhaps you could explain this then,’ said Warner. ‘For the tape I’m now showing Mr Cotterell video taken from the victim’s security camera at the back of his house. The tape appears to show that after arriving back at the house and retrieving a bag he stops to talk to his wife as he’s about to get into the driver’s seat. He looks in the direction of the camera, therefore Mr Moreton’s house, twice, before walking towards it and disappearing from frame. Which would indicate he went to the house. The motion-controlled camera then records him shortly after, running from the house, and getting into his car which then drives away at speed.’
‘We’ve got him,’ said Carson, together with an involuntary handclap.
Cross said nothing.
‘What happened, Barnaby? Why did you look at Moreton’s house? Did he shout at you? You complained in court that he would often shout abuse at you from his kitchen window when you were in your drive or garden. Is that what happened? Was it one insult or threat too many?’ Warner pushed on.
‘I’d like a word with my client,’ said the lawyer.
*
Cross followed Carson out of the room. They met Warner in the corridor outside.
‘Congratulations,’ said Carson, extending his hand.
‘Thanks. Told you he was our man,’ Warner replied, looking directly at Cross. ‘Instincts may not be to everyone’s taste, but I have a lot of faith in mine, sir. They can sometimes lead to the heart and soul of a case. Wouldn’t you agree, George?’
‘On the contrary,’ Cross replied, noting Warner’s use of his Christian name. He thought this was probably an attempt to make his remark all the more patronising as Cross had made it perfectly clear he preferred Warner to use his rank and surname when being addressed.
‘Nothing good about a sore loser, George,’ replied Warner.
‘I had no idea this was all a game to you, DI Warner,’ said Cross.
‘All right, all right,’ said Carson attempting to head off any potential conflict. ‘Very impressive, Bobby. I’ll get straight on to the CPS.’
Cotterell was kept in police custody overnight.
*
The evidence was compelling, even for Cross. Cotterell had lied to them about the chisel. His DNA was on the handle. Now it appeared he’d lied about his movements on the night. Most damning of all it did appear he went in the direction of Moreton’s house at the time of the murder. In his office the next day Cross studied the footage a few more times. He then saw Dr Michael Swift come into the open area of the office with a cup of coffee for Mackenzie. He attempted to give it to her in front of everyone, in a relaxed ‘So I’m just bringing a colleague a coffee, nothing to be read into it. We are definitely not in a relationship’ kind of way. So nonchalantly did he place it on the very edge of her desk, that he almost missed it entirely. This of course screamed out to the assembled collective of gossip-starved detectives in the office, THEY’RE SO SHAGGING! Their repeated dismissals when the subject was brought up did nothing to allay the rumours. But he still persisted in bringing her coffee whenever he came over, despite her pleas for him to stop. He saw no harm in it. She told him this was because he worked in an entirely different building and didn’t have to deal with the smirks and knowing, sometimes pitiful, looks which followed his every visit.
‘How would you feel if the boot was on the other foot and I did it to you?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Brought you coffee in your office?’
He thought about this for a moment.
‘Um, grateful?’ he tried to suggest.