Aaron Buckland was taller and several years older than his brother Nathan, but the family resemblance was striking. Both had the chiselled good looks and olive-coloured skin often associated with Roma heritage. Both were muscular and physically powerful men.
‘Mr Buckland, you already know DI Robinson, of the North Lincs Police. DI Robinson and I will interview you together. We will tape the interview. For the benefit of the tape, the interview is commencing at 15.09 hours on Saturday 30th September.’
Sandra Hicks immediately wrote something on a piece of paper and shoved it in front of Buckland, who nodded.
‘Mr Buckland, you were apprehended by PC Mark Rawlings and PC Justin Smith in Wood Lane, near Lincoln, this morning, in a vehicle that was not your own. Can you provide an explanation for this?’
Buckland eyed Tim warily.
‘I was borrowing it.’
‘You were borrowing it. That implies that the owner, Mr Jack Fovargue, gave his permission for you to take it. Is that the case?’
‘No, but he wouldn’t of minded. We’ve got an agreement.’
‘What kind of agreement?’
Buckland paused. He glanced at Sandra Hicks, who shook her head.
‘No comment.’
‘Okay. Mr Buckland, you are probably aware that we’re looking for Mr Fovargue ourselves. He disappeared from the Lincoln showground immediately before you took his lorry. Do you know where he is now?’
‘No,’ said Buckland, with some force.
‘Have you been in contact with him at all today? Say, by mobile phone?’
‘No,’ Buckland repeated defiantly, scowling.
‘How did you know that Mr Fovargue wouldn’t be nearby when you approached the vehicle?’
‘It wouldn’t of mattered if he was. As I said, we’ve got a deal.’
‘So it was a coincidence that you came along just a few minutes after he left the showground?’
Buckland whispered to Sandra Hicks. She nodded.
‘All right, I was watching him. I saw him go.’
‘Where were you when you were watching him?’
‘On the other side of the ’edge, near to the road.’
‘How did you get to the showground?’
‘On my bike.’
‘So your bike will still be there now?’
Buckland bristled.
‘It had better be. If someone’s nicked it, there’ll be ’ell to pay.’
‘It’s all right, Mr Buckland,’ Michael Robinson put in smoothly. ‘I’ll ask my officers to fetch the bike and put it in the police pound. If you’d like to write down the registration number, I’ll get on with it now.’
Buckland suddenly became evasive.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Tim. He didn’t want to tackle Buckland about the stolen motorbike just yet. ‘It will do later. I’m sure no harm will come to it. But while we’re talking about motorbikes, a motorcyclist attacked Mr Fovargue outside the guest house where he was staying yesterday evening. One of my officers was there and attacked as well. Were you the motorcyclist?’
Buckland set his jaw. Once more he turned to Sandra Hicks for support. She certainly had the knack of gaining the trust of her clients rapidly.
‘DI Yates,’ she said severely, ‘I consider the attack you mention to be outside the scope of this interview. The brief you gave me concerned the theft of the vehicle only.’
Tim swallowed. He’d planned the inquiry about the assault as a lead-in to a much bigger question. He anticipated she was preparing to close down the interview, perhaps demand Buckland’s release on the grounds that there was no proof Fovargue hadn’t lent him the lorry. It was now or never.
‘Mr Buckland, you must be aware that there’s a massive police search under way for a young woman called Martha Johnson. She worked at Mr Fovargue’s farm. Do you know her?’
Sandra Hicks put her hand on Buckland’s sleeve, but he angrily shook himself away from her.
‘Yes, I know her,’ he said.
‘Did you play any part in her disappearance?’
‘DI Yates, I really…’ Sandra Hicks began. Aaron Buckland cut her off, raising his voice to shout over her objection.
‘No, I didn’t!’ he spat at Tim. ‘I wouldn’t harm a ’air of her ’ead. And if that bastard’s done something to her, ’e won’t be long for this world ’imself, let me tell you. If it wasn’t for needing the lorry, I’d’ve done for ’im meself already.’
‘What did you need the lorry for, Mr Buckland?’
‘You don’t have to answer that question,’ Sandra Hicks said urgently.
‘What’s the use of not saying? What’s the use of any of this?’ said Buckland bitterly. ‘It’s a racket. We started it in a small way and we was struggling to make it work. I knew quite a bit about how Josh had done it years ago, but not enough. I tried to talk to him about it, give him a cut, but he wasn’t having any. It was Kezia who said we needed a big vehicle. She said Jack Fovargue had just what we wanted.’
‘We’re talking about shifting stolen vehicles, aren’t we?’
Buckland nodded.
‘So you went and asked Fovargue to lend you his lorry so that you could transport stolen vehicles in it?’ said Tim incredulously.
‘It wasn’t like that. I went to take a look at it at one of them shows. I couldn’t understand why they needed such a big brute for the stuff they carried around with them. To be honest, it struck me that Jack was up to some kind of scam himself. So, when I got chance, I followed him. Turns out he kept a nifty little bike in the lorry and went out picking up tarts after he’d been to a show. I saw him at it once, in Mansfield it was.’
‘Was Susie with him?’
Buckland let out a short laugh.
‘What do you think? No, of course she wasn’t.’
‘How long did you stay?’
‘In Mansfield, you mean? Long enough for him to agree a price with the tart. I took photographs to prove it.’
‘And then you blackmailed him into letting you borrow the lorry when you’re out stealing vehicles?’
Again, the short bark of a laugh.
‘Call it blackmail if you like. I’d call it a business arrangement. And not when we’re stealing them – we’d soon be caught in a bloody great thing like that, wouldn’t we? But afterwards, when things have died down. The deal is we take the lorry out overnight from wherever Jack and Susie are staying, return it before they want to leave the next morning.’
‘Does Susie know about this ‘deal’?’
‘She doesn’t know the reason for it. She knows we borrow the lorry sometimes, that’s all. She’d shop us to you lot as soon as look at us if she’d known. I’m not sorry Jack’s been cheating on her. She’s a first-class bitch. But he had to put his filthy paws on Martha, too.’
‘Why do you mind about it so much? Was Martha your girlfriend?’
‘I wish! No, but I thought I was in with a chance there. Until Gentleman Jack muscled in on her, that is.’ Buckland’s features were distorted into a sneer.
‘How did you know her?’
‘Her dad’s a vicar. He visited me when I was inside – he came to the prison regularly. He kept in touch when I got out and she was with him when he met me sometimes. I couldn’t believe my luck when she said she was going to work at Silverdale. But then it was all about Jack. Jack, Jack, bloody Jack.’
‘Her choice, though.’
‘Yes, but he was making her miserable. He had her right where he wanted her – she’d do owt for him. It wasn’t the right kind of life for her. She’d tell Nathan about it sometimes. Promise me you’ll catch that bastard. If ’e’s ’armed her I’ll catch up with ’im if it’s the last thing I do.’
‘I think we should terminate this interview now,’ said Sandra Hicks. ‘I need to talk to my client.’
‘Agreed,’ said Tim. ‘Interview formally terminated on Saturday 30th September at 15.43 hours. There’s just one more thing. I’d like to ask Mr Buckland to stay there for a minute while I introduce him to someone.’
‘Is that okay with you?’ Sandra Hicks asked Buckland.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Tim went to the door. Ricky was waiting outside.
‘Afternoon, Mr Buckland,’ he said, as he entered the interview room. ‘I think we’ve met already.’