‘My client admits he did break into Sandy Moreton’s house, where he obtained the umbrella cane.’
‘“Obtained”? That’s certainly a novel way to describe a theft,’ Cross commented.
‘What was the real reason for breaking in? I mean, you can’t have known he had Mozart. It would have made more sense if Moreton senior had been in possession of it, wouldn’t it?’ asked Ottey.
‘The truth?’ asked Montgomery.
This response always puzzled Cross. Obviously, they wanted the truth. Why would they want anything else?
‘Yes,’ replied Ottey.
‘Curiosity.’
‘About what?’ asked Cross.
‘I don’t know. To see how he lived. How things had worked out for him.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘Well, nothing. I did just that. But then I saw Mozart sticking out of his umbrella stand and I couldn’t resist.’
‘Why did you go through Mr Moreton’s private correspondence?’ asked Cross.
‘Like I already said. Curiosity.’
‘What was the real reason for the break-in?’ asked Ottey. The two detectives had upped the tempo of the interview and started to dovetail with each other.
‘I just answered that,’ Montgomery spat.
‘Isn’t the actual truth, rather than the version you’re attempting to fob off on us, the fact that you were looking for an address? Alistair Moreton’s address?’ Ottey pushed.
‘Mr Montgomery, had you ever been to the village of Crockerne before the funeral?’ asked Cross.
‘I had not.’
‘Had you ever been in the vicinity of Crockerne?’
‘No.’
‘Can you explain this Airbnb booking for the first of September of last year then? Two weeks before the murder? A room in the village of Shirehampton?’
‘I was taking a break.’
Cross addressed the lawyer. ‘You remember Shirehampton. I mentioned it earlier the first time your client lied about never having visited Crockerne. It’s the neighbouring village to Crockerne.’ He turned back to Montgomery.
‘Quite the coincidence. A visit to the next-door village, just weeks before the murder. Don’t you think?’
‘No comment.’
‘You were staking out the property, weren’t you?’
No answer.
‘To observe Moreton’s movements. What you didn’t know was that Moreton had two unwelcome guests staying in his cottage at the time. As a result, he never left the property for the two days you were there.’
‘No comment.’
‘Is this your car?’ asked Ottey. She showed him a photograph Napier took on his phone from Moreton’s cottage. It showed a car parked in the road outside with someone sitting in the driver’s seat.
‘No comment.’
‘I suggest it’s time for you to hold good to your offer of telling the truth, Mr Montgomery.’
‘No comment.’
‘Mr Montgomery, would it help you in your recollection of your recent movements if you knew that we have an eyewitness who saw you sitting in your car outside Mr Moreton’s house?’
Montgomery’s lawyer leant forward and whispered in his ear.
‘It is my car. Yes,’ Montgomery finally said.
‘Why were you there?’ asked Ottey.
‘I wanted to confront him.’
‘Why now, after all these years?’ Ottey pushed.
‘Why do you think? My wife had left me, my business was in trouble. He’d screwed up my life. I wanted him to know.’
‘And did you? Confront him?’ asked Cross.
‘No.’
‘But you went to the door,’ suggested Cross even though Napier had said it wasn’t him.
‘No.’
‘Well, someone went to the door and spoke to him. According to our witnesses he was quite shaken up,’ said Cross.
‘Then maybe you should find whoever that was and talk to him. Because it wasn’t me. That’s your bloody killer right there,’ he said looking at his solicitor as if he’d stated a blindingly obvious solution to the crime. ‘I didn’t go up to the house. He had two real dodgy-looking men there. So, I kept away.’
‘Until you went back a couple of weeks later and killed him,’ suggested Ottey.
‘I did not kill Alistair Moreton. I almost bloody wish I had. But I didn’t. Am I glad he’s dead? Yes! But I didn’t kill him!’
‘Do you own a dog, Mr Montgomery?’ Cross asked.
‘And that’s another thing!’ Montgomery answered with a bitter laugh. ‘You know about his dogs, right? All seven of them. He used to walk around with them at night like a prison guard checking the perimeter wall. So, I hate dogs. I’m terrified of them. Even a small thing like a Chihuahua will have me cross to the other side of the road to avoid it.’
‘They can be quite vicious, Chihuahuas. Don’t be fooled by their size,’ said Ottey, who wasn’t a particular fan of dogs.
‘You’re cynophobic,’ Cross commented.
‘What?’ asked Montgomery.
‘You have cynophobia. A morbid fear of dogs. Not to be confused with cinephobia, a hatred or fear of watching movies,’ Cross informed him.
He studied him for a good few moments. No one said anything. Then Cross got up and left.