‘The All Saints alumni page on Facebook. Are you a member?’ Cross asked Montgomery.
‘I am.’
‘Would that include membership of the closed group Victims of AFM?’ Cross continued.
‘Yes.’
‘Who is AFM?’
‘Alistair Moreton, obviously,’ Montgomery answered.
‘Did you interact with this group on a regular basis?’
‘You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t already know.’
‘Please answer the question,’ said Ottey.
‘I do.’
‘Quite a few of your posts were deleted or not approved by the group’s moderator – is that true?’ asked Cross.
‘Maurice Simpson? He’s a wanker, that man. He knows nothing. I was only saying what others were thinking. He doesn’t understand, because he’s persuaded himself it was all okay. That most of it never happened. He’s in denial.’
‘Were others thinking of killing him? Inflicting violence on him?’ Cross paused. Montgomery held his look. The solicitor looked slightly alarmed. ‘You made several unambiguously violent, abusive threats against Mr Moreton. Which I would imagine were against Facebook’s policies as much as Mr Simpson’s. Also, bizarre fantasies about retribution, which for the benefit of doubt I’m going to imagine were made under the influence of alcohol or some other substance. Do you take drugs, Mr Montgomery?’ Cross asked.
‘I do not.’
Cross drew a line through something in his notes.
‘Did you really want to get a bamboo cane and “shove it so far up his arse it would give his tongue a splinter”?’ Cross asked.
‘Probably,’ said Montgomery laughing. ‘You have to admit that is quite a good one.’
‘This one I don’t quite understand. Albeit it’s on a similar theme. “I’d like to get hold of Mozart and shove it up Moreton’s fundament so far his head comes out of his mouth.” What does that mean?’ Cross asked.
Montgomery thought for a moment before answering, ‘No comment.’
‘What has a composer of some genius got to do with all this?’ Cross asked.
‘No comment.’
‘Is it a typo?’
‘No comment.’
‘But a typo of what? I’ve tried to work it out. I’m quite a fan of puzzles. Jigsaw puzzles, sudoku, cryptic crosswords. Are you a fan of puzzles, Mr Montgomery?’ Cross went on. ‘But I’ve studied a computer keyboard and tried to see if maybe the keys adjacent to M-O-Z-A-R-T might form another more plausible instrument that you might want to use in this way. But to no avail. Then I thought it probably wasn’t a typo at all as you specifically say you want to see Mozart’s head protrude from your chosen victim’s mouth.’
‘No comment.’
‘My father used to have a collection of busts of composers. Mind you, he had a collection of lots of things,’ Cross reflected.
‘Tell us about Sandy Moreton,’ Ottey chimed in.
‘A loathsome little man. What about him?’
‘Were you a direct contemporary of his?’ she went on.
‘I wasn’t. He was three years above me, unfortunately.’
‘Why was that unfortunate?’ asked Cross.
‘As a senior he always picked on the junior boys. He became even worse when he became head boy.’
‘When he beat other boys himself?’ asked Ottey.
Montgomery laughed.
‘Why’s that funny?’ asked Cross.
‘Because, to his credit I suppose, he never did. I mean, I think he did once or twice but that was it. Always threatening to. Walking round the place swinging his cane about.’
‘Why do you think that was?’ asked Cross.
‘You’d have to ask him. Maybe he realised the perversity of the idea, even at that age.’
‘Unlike his father who was rather partial to a beating,’ suggested Ottey.
‘I’ve never heard it put like that before. But I think you’re right. I think there was, I mean there had to be, an element of gratification in it for him. It was like the man was obsessed with the idea of beating us.’
‘Have you seen Sandy Moreton recently?’ Cross asked.
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘At the funeral.’
Cross paused very deliberately and then flicked through his notes very carefully.
‘That’s odd. Because you just told us you’d never been to Crockerne,’ Cross said.
‘I didn’t put two and two together,’ Montgomery replied weakly.
‘That the funeral was in Alistair Moreton’s village?’ asked Cross. Montgomery said nothing.
‘Did the two of you speak?’ Cross continued.
‘No. I kept my distance.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Well, I was hardly going to offer him my condolences, was I?’
‘Isn’t that the point of going to a funeral?’ asked Cross.
‘No, and I wasn’t paying my respects either.’
‘So, what were you doing there?’ asked Ottey.
‘It was, what’s the American word for it? “Closure”. It felt like I was finally closing that chapter of my life.’
‘You’re in your fifties. That’s a bloody long chapter, Peter. It’s practically a whole book,’ Ottey commented.
‘You sound like my wife,’ Montgomery replied.
‘Isn’t that the point though? You couldn’t put it past you. It’s obsessed you all your life. The physical abuse. No one believing you when you told them. The effect it’s had on you long term. A never-healing sore of injustice,’ commented Ottey.
‘I suppose so,’ came the quiet reply.
‘You didn’t speak to Sandy Moreton at all?’ Cross asked again.
‘Like I said. No.’
‘Did you go to the pub after for refreshments?’ Cross asked. Montgomery paused slightly before answering.
‘Yep.’
‘Yes, you did. Where, according to several witnesses, you had an altercation with Sandy Moreton. Who you claim you didn’t speak with,’ Cross pointed out.
‘No comment.’
‘Have you ever been to Sandy Moreton’s house?’ asked Cross.
‘Oh, on several occasions. I’m hardly ever out of there,’ Montgomery replied sarcastically.
‘Really?’ replied Cross who hadn’t expected this.
‘Oh yeah. Parties, dinners, tennis weekends. You name it. I was first name on the guest list.’
‘So, you were a friend then, despite your experience at school?’ Cross asked.
‘Mr Montgomery is being sarcastic, DS Cross,’ Ottey explained.
‘I see.’ He crossed out the sentence he’d just written in his file. ‘Have you ever been to Sandy Moreton’s house?’ Cross repeated as if he hadn’t already asked the question.
‘No comment.’
‘Did you break into his house in Dorset a few weeks ago?’
‘No comment.’
Cross looked at the suspect for a long moment. Then went back to his file. He looked through it like someone who’s lost their place in a book they’re reading.
‘Let’s go back to Mozart. Is it not true that Alistair Moreton named his canes? The canes he used for beating boys?’ Cross asked.
‘Yes. Sick bastard.’
‘And one of those was called Mozart. Is that correct?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Really? That seems odd. Mozart the cane was infamous. Almost a novelty. Rather a special cane, was it not?’
Montgomery said nothing.
‘Because it was concealed inside an umbrella. Moreton would take it on walks. The joke among the boys was that Moreton was never further than a hundred yards away from a cane. It’s claimed by some old pupils that boys would misbehave deliberately on these walks to provoke Moreton into unsheathing Mozart. Is that true?’ Cross asked.
‘No comment.’
‘You have no recollection of Mozart the umbrella cane?’ Cross persisted.
‘No comment.’
‘Could you explain this photograph?’ Cross asked, suddenly changing the subject. He showed him the picture of Montgomery standing over Moreton’s grave. ‘Could you tell me where you are in this photograph?’
‘At Alistair Moreton’s grave,’ Montgomery replied.
‘It looks more like you’re over his grave. Why pose like that? Standing with your legs each side of his freshly dug grave?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose it is a bit childish in retrospect.’
‘Looks like the pose of someone who’s glad whoever is in the grave is dead. Victorious even. The pose of the occupant’s killer,’ Ottey suggested.
‘No. I mean I can see what you’re saying. It could look like that. Except I didn’t kill him,’ Montgomery protested.
‘What’s in your hand?’ asked Cross.
The lawyer furrowed his brow and leant forward for a closer look.
‘An umbrella,’ replied Montgomery.
‘And can you describe to me how the handle is fashioned?’
‘No comment.’
‘It’s a bust of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, is it not?’
‘No comment.’
‘It is in fact this umbrella, isn’t it?’ said Cross as he produced it from a large evidence envelope. ‘Or, more accurately, this umbrella cane. Alistair Moreton’s Mozart?’
‘No comment.’
‘The very same, notorious Mozart from your schooldays. Schooldays which have scarred you so badly. Have affected the course of your life. The same Mozart you wanted to anally rape Alistair Moreton with? You really don’t recognise it? That seems strange as we retrieved this from your flat when you were arrested. Sandy Moreton kept it at his house as some kind of morbid souvenir, until you broke in and stole it.’
‘I’d like to speak with my client.’
*
Later that afternoon Cal Napier returned to the MCU. Napier and Gallinis had walked free from the county lines investigation. They had been unable to prove that they had occupied Moreton’s cottage against his will. It was obviously an area of the law that needed reframing. Cross was surprised that he wanted to help and came voluntarily back to the station. Somewhere he would normally avoid like the plague.
Napier had offered to help the investigation into the murder of Alistair Moreton in any way he could. Despite having taken a beating at the old teacher’s hands, both he and Gallinis seemed to have developed a fondness for the old man. If they could help bring the killer to justice, they were ‘up for it’ they’d told Cross.
He was taken into a room with a monitor which showed Montgomery in the interview room next door with Ottey.
‘Weird being on this side of it,’ he joked.
‘Is the man sitting with DS Ottey the individual who came to the door of Mr Moreton’s cottage while you were there?’ Cross asked.
‘Nope,’ Napier answered confidently.
‘Are you certain?’
‘Definitely, because that’s the geezer who was sitting in his car in the road outside. The one we thought was police. But he didn’t come to the door. No way.’