Warner decided to have ‘one more go’ at Cotterell that morning and see if he could get a confession out of him before he was charged. It would make everything much neater. Cross watched the interview on the monitor in the next room. Barnaby Cotterell already seemed a different man to the one who’d been brought in the day before. He was now dressed in a baggy tracksuit top and bottoms provided for him by the custody sergeant, as his own clothing had been taken away for testing. He looked shrunken. People often did after a night in the cells. But whether this was because he’d been caught and it was all over or because he couldn’t believe the nightmare he found himself in when he’d done nothing wrong, Cross couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t just the fact that it was all too easy that meant Cross wasn’t sure about his guilt. The evidence definitely pointed in his direction and he certainly hadn’t helped with all the inconsistencies in his statement. But, for Cross, there were still some questions to be answered.
‘Barnaby, why don’t we just get this over and done with. Man to man. Have done with it,’ Warner began. ‘Look, I completely understand that Alistair Moreton was a tricky old bugger. It must have been so difficult. I know how these things can get out of hand in a second. I see it all the time. You’re a busy man in a high pressure, stressful job. Quite physical, orthopaedics, I’m reliably informed. The house in Crockerne, the weekends there were supposed to be peaceful. Your little pool of calm, if you like. But then you find yourself with the neighbour from hell. Determined to stand in your way at every turn and make your life difficult. Before you’d even moved in, for heaven’s sake. Before you’d even met him, he’d become a pain in your arse. Your wife is pregnant. What did he say that night that finally made you snap?’
‘No comment,’ replied Cotterell.
‘What was it that finally made you lose it after all that time?’
‘I didn’t lose anything. I thought I heard something.’
‘Okay, and what was that?’
‘Something that didn’t sound right.’
‘What?’
‘A scream, or a yell. Shouting. Dogs barking. I thought Moreton might be in trouble, so I went to investigate.’
‘You went to help the man who was the bane of your life? I don’t think so. Just tell us what he said, Barnaby.’
‘I went in and he was at the bottom of the stairs,’ continued Cotterell, ignoring Warner.
‘Now that’s just not true, is it?’ said Warner quietly.
‘I checked his pulse. He was dead.’
‘Because you stabbed him with your chisel,’ said Murray holding up the evidence bag with the tool inside it. Cotterell couldn’t look at it.
‘He was still warm,’ said Cotterell, now almost speaking to himself.
‘Because you’d just killed him. You checked his pulse instinctively to find out what you’d done. How far this had gone,’ offered Warner.
‘It could only have just happened,’ said Cotterell, thinking out loud. Something dawned on him. He looked up at the SIO across the table from him for the first time in the interview. ‘He was still there. Must’ve been. The killer must’ve still been there when I went in.’
Warner paused. But he wasn’t considering this possibility.
‘I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth, Mr Cotterell. Let me jog your memory. This is how I see it. You went in. He was upstairs. You challenged him for whatever he’d shouted at you. Maybe it was something about your wife that really hit a nerve. But it was enough to make you go in and attack the old man. I’m not sure you actually meant to kill him. But you did. That’s it, isn’t it? It was an accident. It was over before you knew what had happened and then you were taking his pulse,’ said Warner.
‘I didn’t kill him; accidentally or otherwise. I did not stab that man.’
‘With your chisel. You did not stab that man with your chisel?’ asked Warner as if pointing out the absurdity of this claim. Something occurred to Cross as he watched this exchange. He made a note in his book.
Warner was suddenly gimlet-eyed as if he’d now made a decision he didn’t really want to make. Had done it with great regret. Forced into it by the man sitting opposite him.
‘We’re done here. Barnaby Cotterell, you’re going to be charged with the murder of Alistair Moreton on 17th September 2023.’
He then got up with a look of completely insincere regret, that he’d done all he could to help, that it was now out of his hands, and left.