27

Zac Bentley was in reception glad-handing a couple of suits when they arrived at the Meadham and Ferreira saw his professional composure slip, just a few degrees, the megawatt smile dim and drop from his eyes. He looked less together in general. His topknot not quite as neat as last time she’d seen him and did that Sleaford Mods T-shirt really go with the hacking jacket and the red trousers? It all seemed a bit desperate.

They walked straight past him, into the bar where the lunch-hour trade had slowed to a couple of small groups. Sutton was restocking one of the fridges and he straightened up sharply as if he’d felt their eyes on him.

‘Afternoon.’ Looking between them, smiling. ‘What can I get you?’

‘A chat,’ Zigic said. ‘Somewhere more private.’

That killed the smile.

‘Smoking Room’s empty.’

‘That’ll do.’

They followed him out through reception and Zac Bentley called after them. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No problem,’ Zigic said, eyes dead ahead.

They went into the same wood-panelled room as the last time they’d been here. Ferreira wondered if it was actually open to the public because there were no signs of use and the heating was off.

Sutton went to the bar. ‘Are you sure you don’t want something?’

‘We’re on duty,’ Zigic said, taking a seat. ‘But go ahead if you need one.’

‘Force of habit.’ Sutton joined them at the table, sat down, stood again, shoving his chair a foot back, giving himself leg room his stature didn’t require. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Corinne,’ Ferreira said.

‘I thought it might be.’

‘You and Corinne.’

He scratched his neck. Not quite a tug at his collar but the same impulse and he was right to feel uncomfortable. Zigic had called Von Sherman on the way into the city centre and didn’t get any joy from her but a couple of minutes later her husband called back and Zigic stuck the phone on speaker. Joe was hesitant at first but obviously Von had pushed him to speak to them and what he said caused Ferreira to put her foot down, wanting to get Sutton’s side of the story as soon as possible.

‘We have a witness’, Zigic said, ‘who saw you coming out of an office here with Corinne last summer. The office you use during the Trans Sisters events when you need privacy.’

Sutton smiled nervously. ‘There’s no law against it.’

‘There is if you were coercing her,’ Ferreira said.

‘I didn’t coerce anyone. She knew what she wanted.’ His eyes brightened at the memory, like he was sharing with friends rather than police officers.

‘Did you have sex with her?’

‘Just a blow job.’

‘How often did this happen?’ Zigic asked.

‘Only the once.’

‘That must have been disappointing for you,’ Ferreira said. ‘Why didn’t she want a repeat?’

Sutton shrugged, looked genuinely unconcerned. ‘It was a pissed-up fumble, not the beginning of a bloody relationship. You don’t know what that lot are like when they’ve had a few, totally out of control most of them. They can’t let loose anywhere else.’

‘Handy for them having you around to play with.’

‘All consenting adults.’ Sutton smoothed his palm along the thigh of his black wool trousers. ‘They’re a good group of girls. Bloody stunning most of them. I’m not made of stone.’

‘And the fact that most of them are still technically men doesn’t bother you?’

Sutton shot Zigic a furious look. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘And the fact that Corinne was in a relationship?’

‘That was her business.’

Ferreira thought she saw something stirring behind his eyes as he tried to hold himself still in the leather chair.

‘What about Simone Trent?’ she asked. ‘Another consenting adult?’

He nodded. ‘Beautiful girl. She’s been missed.’

‘Do you know why she hasn’t been coming to the Trans nights?’

‘I heard she got beat up.’

Ferreira held out her phone, showing Sutton a photo of Aadesh, glammed up in that striking gold dress. ‘Do you know her?’

‘Jasmine, yes. But she was out of my league,’ Sutton said, tongue darting out quickly to wet his lips. ‘I don’t think she liked men, anyway.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Just a vibe I got.’

‘Did you try it on with her?’

‘No. Like I said, she was out of my league.’

‘She was beaten up as well – did you hear about that?’

‘No.’ Another slow scratch of the skin behind his ear and Ferreira thought of Aadesh telling her about his attack, the man’s teeth grazing his earlobe, wondered if it was the teeth she was looking at now. ‘I wondered why she’d stopped coming. I dunno, I thought maybe her family had got wind of it or something. Not very tolerant of the whole gender-bending in her community, are they?’

‘What did she tell you about her family?’ Ferreira asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. ‘I just assumed she was Muslim.’

‘Because she was brown-skinned?’

He put his hands up. ‘Look, I’m not prejudiced, it just seemed likely.’

Zigic took over and Ferreira watched as Sutton answered the rest of his questions, the basics now, address details, where he was at the time of Corinne’s murder. She studied the set of his shoulders and the way his foot rotated in the air, knew that this was often an indication of dishonesty but not a good enough one to take to the CPS.

He’d known all three victims. Had admitted to having a sexual relationship with two of them, a sexual interest in the third and, even if the cases weren’t linked, it was a route worth pursuing.

Sutton provided an address on Rivergate, but no alibi; he lived alone. No one to question his movements. No one to corroborate them either and he admitted that it looked bad without any prompting.

Zigic thanked him for his cooperation and they left Sutton in the chilly wood-panelled room, not quite ready to get to his feet again, it seemed. As they walked out of the club Ferreira eyed the grand staircase, picturing Corinne coming down it, and wondered if their ‘pissed-up fumble’ had been more significant than he suggested. It was natural to lie now, minimise what had gone on between them. He was younger than Corinne by a good fifteen years, not the worst-looking bloke in the world, easy to believe she’d have been attracted to him. Enough to make it regular.

‘I need to eat,’ Ferreira said, as they hit Priestgate.

Zigic looked along the road. ‘Am I finally going to get to see your new flat?’

‘Only if you want dry cereal and tap water.’

‘Caff, then?’

‘Caff.’

They ended up in a new place on Cathedral Square. It was almost empty when they walked in and she went to a table in the window, back to the wall. It was always a race which one of them would sit eyes-out, just the way it was with coppers.

‘My shout,’ Zigic said, checking out the menu.

She picked and he went up to order.

Through the window she watched the street without taking any of it in, thinking of the route between Sutton’s riverside apartment and the place where Corinne was murdered. He could have easily taken the towpath into Ferry Meadows without being seen. No CCTV cameras along there.

Zigic came back with their drinks, sat and took the manila envelope Sam Hyde had given him out of a deep pocket inside his parka.

‘I don’t like Sutton,’ she said.

‘No, I didn’t think you would.’

‘He’s got better access than anyone.’ She emptied two sachets of brown sugar into her coffee. ‘And he knew all three women.’

‘We’ve got no reason to believe the attacks are linked,’ Zigic said.

‘You don’t think he’s a linking factor?’

‘Only if he did it.’

‘He’s not right.’ Ferreira stirred her coffee. ‘He’s got a fetishist’s mentality.’

‘That doesn’t make him dangerous.’

‘It makes him highly focused.’

‘I think you’re confusing a fetish with an obsession.’

‘There’s barely a fag paper between the two,’ she said. ‘A fetish is just a repository for someone to pour all of their own … issues into. With cross-dressers, he’s not interested in the person, he’s interested in the presentation, right? They’re not autonomous beings to him.’

Zigic raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Joe Sherman said Corinne was happy enough with the state of affairs there. She was a grown woman, she knew what she was doing. We’ve got no evidence Sutton stepped out of line with her.’

‘At the time, no. But what about afterwards?’

‘We don’t know about afterwards,’ Zigic said. ‘And I doubt he’s going to tell us unless we can find some way of compelling him.’

‘There’s probably security cameras at his apartment block.’

‘We’ll get the footage.’

Ferreira propped her chin on her fist, watching Zigic open the envelope he’d brought with him, taking out a copy of Corinne Sawyer’s will. It was six pages long and Ferreira didn’t know if that was standard or complex. Lying in hospital, during her long recovery, she’d resolved to have a will drawn up, determined to leave things in order if she wasn’t so lucky next time. But once she was released she decided against it, because really, what did she own to worry about? A car that wasn’t paid for, a rental agreement on a flat, and six bin bags’ worth of clothes.

The prospect of laying that out in front of a solicitor, admitting that that was what her twenty-nine years on the planet boiled down to, was one she couldn’t face.

After a couple of minutes she asked, ‘Who benefits, then?’

‘Most of the estate goes into trust for Lily,’ Zigic said. ‘It matures when she’s eighteen. It’s structured to pay her way through university, then another release when she’s twenty-one.’

‘What about Sam?’

‘There’s a life insurance policy payable to her.’

‘How much?’

‘Five hundred thousand.’

Ferreira let out a low whistle. ‘That’s a pretty good motive for murder.’

‘Isn’t it. But there’s no guarantee she knows about it.’

‘Come on, she gave you the thing. It was right there in the house, she could have looked at it whenever she wanted to.’ Ferreira sipped her coffee; it was acidic, cold-pressed. ‘When was the will written up?’

‘March last year.’

‘Six months into their relationship, then. Doesn’t that seem a bit soon to be making someone a major beneficiary in your will?’

Zigic nodded, didn’t look up. ‘Corinne must have thought they were serious.’

‘Does Nina get anything?’

‘No. Neither does Harry. There’s a payment for Jessica in the form of shares in the business. She’ll be holding a ten per cent stake.’

‘That’s not much.’

‘Her stake’s estimated at three hundred thousand. At March 2015 prices.’

‘Did you think they were that rich?’ Ferreira asked.

Zigic slipped the will back into the folder. ‘I thought they were well off, I didn’t think it would be on this scale. But, three million in a rental portfolio isn’t crazy. If they bought back in the nineties they probably only paid a small percentage of what the properties are worth now.’

The waiter brought over their food, a chicken wrap for Ferreira, salad for Zigic.

‘What are you eating salad for?’ she asked. ‘Is this because I made that crack about your jacket looking a bit tight?’

‘No.’

‘Men can carry a bit of heft, you know.’

‘“Heft”?’

‘I’m just saying.’ She took a bite out of her wrap, chilli hitting her tongue, not as much as she’d use at home but enough to make her eyes water. ‘That kind of money, any one of them could have killed Corinne over it.’

‘We need to get hold of the divorce application,’ Zigic said. ‘Corinne and Nina are still married, remember? There’s serious money at stake and now Corinne’s dead Nina can probably challenge the will and keep hold of everything.’

‘Is that how it works?’

‘Yeah.’ He speared a crisp piece of lettuce. ‘And I bet Nina knows it, too.’