Before he was escorted from Lincoln police station, Aaron Buckland told Michael Robinson that he knew his rights; he wouldn’t consent to be interviewed without a solicitor. Robinson had relayed this to Superintendent Thornton, who’d asked for the duty solicitor. It turned out to be Sandra Hicks again. She arrived shortly before Buckland was expected. Tim briefed her quickly.
‘Naturally you’ll allow me some time to talk to my client before the interview begins?’ she said in her no-nonsense way.
‘Naturally,’ Tim agreed. If she detected the irony in his voice she didn’t show it.
Aaron Buckland was due to arrive sooner than he’d first thought. He debated whether to keep Aaron waiting until after the interviews with Marriott and Nathan Buckland were over but decided against it. Aaron might be able to give them clues to Fovargue’s whereabouts; and there was also the tantalising possibility that he was somehow mixed up in the other vehicle thefts. They’d have to make sure that Nathan Buckland didn’t know his brother was in custody. Nathan had been helpful – in fact indispensable – so far, but blood was thicker than water. Tim asked for sandwiches to be sent in to Nathan and Marriott; the desk sergeant was detailed to sit with them in the interview room and make sure they stayed put.
Buckland arrived wearing his motorcycle leathers. Bizarrely, his helmet was swinging from one hand. The other was handcuffed to DI Robinson, who flashed Tim a sly, conspiratorial wink.
Tim tried not to show his astonishment in front of Buckland. Michael Robinson, carrying out mundane escort duties! He led them both to Interview Room 2, where Sandra Hicks was waiting. Michael Robinson unshackled himself and cuffed Buckland’s hands behind his back.
‘Are the handcuffs really necessary?’ asked Sandra Hicks with a frown.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Tim. ‘For now, anyway. We’ll give you five minutes to talk to Mr Buckland before we come back to interview him. Is that all right?’
‘I expect so. I’ll ask if I think we need more time.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ said Tim. She didn’t miss the irony this time. She flashed him a look of disapproval.
He took Robinson into the kitchen.
‘Tea?’ he said. ‘I’m amazed to see you here. It’s very good of you to bring Buckland yourself, but don’t you have better things to do?’
Michael Robinson clapped him on the back. It was an unsettling gesture, almost rough.
‘I thought I ought to be in on the action. Dennis tells me you think you’ve caught our murderer. It’s a bit unsporting of you not to have told me yourself. When can I see her?’
‘I would have told you, of course I would. But there’s no prospect of your seeing her today. From what we can tell, she’s had a complete mental collapse. We’ve asked for a doctor to assess her.’
‘I understand you think there might be two killers?’
‘Susie Fovargue has implicated her husband in the crimes. We haven’t had time to work through the evidence yet, so we don’t know if it’s true.’
‘The guy’s scarpered, though, hasn’t he? It doesn’t look good.’
‘I agree; and as you know, we’re still searching for Martha Johnson. According to Susie, Fovargue killed her, working on his own. That’s what pushed Susie over the edge.’
‘Hmm. Not sure I buy that. How does Buckland fit in?’
‘All we know so far is that he tried to steal the vehicle he was driving when your cops caught him.’
‘But you think there’s more to it than that?’
‘Possibly,’ said Tim. He was reluctant to share his ideas with Robinson; he knew from experience that in short order they would become Robinson’s own.
‘Mind if I sit in on the interview with Buckland?’
‘I was going to ask Ricky…’ Tim began. However, Ricky had his work cut out co-ordinating the search operation and Tim also wanted him to identify Buckland. If Ricky said Buckland was the man who’d assaulted him the previous Monday, Hicks would be sure to kick up about his being in on the interrogation.
‘Okay. That would be helpful. As you know, we’re pretty stretched here.’ Tim looked at his watch. ‘I think they’ve had their five minutes now, don’t you? Let’s get on with it.’
As they emerged from the kitchen, they bumped into Superintendent Thornton.
‘DI Robinson, what brings you here?’ Tim noted the lack of warmth in Thornton’s greeting.
‘Hello, Dennis. After you’d filled me in I thought I’d come down, see if I could help,’ said DI Robinson guilelessly.
‘Oh. Yes. Well, don’t get in DI Yates’s hair, will you? He’s a busy man, and he’s had a pig of a day already. And by the way, I think we should preserve the formalities when we’re on duty, don’t you? Observe rank and title and so on?’
The Superintendent brushed past the two DIs and disappeared into the kitchen, clutching his mug.
‘I wonder what’s eating him?’ said Michael Robinson, clearly disconcerted.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Tim, trying not to laugh. ‘He’s probably in a bad mood because he’s having to make his own tea.’