I pressed the button on top of the recorder. ‘This is a voluntary interview commencing at 3:45 p.m. on 17th October. The interviewee is Timothy Dunlow. He has declined legal representation. Interview conducted by myself, Detective Sergeant Gabriella Martin, and Detective Inspector Juliet Stern. Mr Dunlow, you are not under arrest and are free to leave at any time.’
Nothing from Dunlow except his continued docility. He was waiting when we got back to the station and had sat quietly in the interview room while we prepared. He’d thanked us for the offer of water and a solicitor, but he needed neither.
Terence’s rejection had clearly had a profound effect, but I couldn’t believe it had changed Dunlow’s essential nature. Before we’d met him outside of the hospital, I’d have said Dunlow was arrogant and selfish, fully capable of killing Melanie because she wasn’t who he believed his son should be with. Now, he looked broken, the veneer of untouchable entitlement I’d assumed went bone-deep stripped away.
‘Thank you for granting me this interview,’ Dunlow said. ‘First of all, I would like to apologise for my behaviour, particularly this morning, but in truth for the duration of our acquaintance. I’ve been unpleasant on a number of occasions, and for that I’m sorry.’
‘What was the reason for your unpleasantness?’ Juliet asked, not as shellshocked as me by Dunlow apologising.
‘In the business I’m in, being liked is of no importance. I need to get the best deal for everyone involved.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That attitude carries into my interactions with others, especially when I feel threatened.’
‘Why did you feel threatened?’ Juliet asked.
An expression flitted over Dunlow’s face that was reminiscent of the bulldog of a man we’d met before. I couldn’t blame him for being annoyed by Juliet’s question. Anyone’s hackles would rise if they thought their children were suspected of something they truly believed they could never be involved in.
‘A young woman was killed on my grounds.’ Dunlow maintained the desolate calm that had fallen over him since his eldest son pushed him away. ‘You questioned Leo.’ He paused, squaring his jaw. ‘My sons are all I have. I won’t let anyone harm them.’
Before Juliet could jump in to ask the exact lengths he would go to when he’d decided one of his sons was endangered, I said, ‘Thank you for the apology, Mr Dunlow. As you can imagine, our time is incredibly valuable, especially during an active murder investigation. What was it you wanted to share with us?’
Dunlow’s light blue eyes flitted over my face. I’d been speared by his gaze before, observed under the sharp edges of his abundant disapproval. There was something different in his expression, in his whole demeanour. He no longer wanted to keep us far away but needed us to come close and listen.
‘Someone is targeting my family.’
Juliet’s eyebrows crept towards her hairline. My heart thumped discordantly. Only hours ago, I’d said that people connected to this case kept getting hurt. The protective instincts of a father turned that into a calculated attack against his loved ones, but I wasn’t sure I disagreed. It wasn’t people associated with this case who had been hurt since Melanie died, it was the Dunlows.
‘What makes you think someone is targeting you and your sons?’ I asked.
That caused another flicker of disdain across Dunlow’s face. ‘Numerous things. No matter what you might believe, neither me nor my sons killed Melanie Pirt. Someone came onto my land and shot her, which caused distress and disturbance for my family. Then my youngest son was attacked by that thug and hit by a car. Our family home was set on fire. Then, my oldest son was attacked. This can’t all be coincidence. Someone wants to harm us.’
I took a deep breath and tried to think through what Dunlow had said without bias. It was difficult after he’d insinuated someone had killed Melanie to harm his family. He would never see her as anything other than a tool to be used against him.
‘If you didn’t shoot Melanie, then it does seem a pattern is emerging,’ Juliet conceded, lending emphasis to the first word.
‘There’s more.’ The expensive fabric of Dunlow’s suit whispered as he took a deep breath. ‘I lied about where I found the scarf and gloves.’
‘You lied?’ Juliet laughed harshly. ‘How original.’
‘Your family has a nasty habit of lying to us.’ I flicked my notepad open and picked up my pencil.
A blotchy blush as pronounced as his sons’ rose across Dunlow’s face. ‘I apologise if it seems my sons and I haven’t always been truthful. Every half-truth was only ever told to protect my family.’
‘How did lying about where you found the scarf and gloves protect your family?’ I asked.
Dunlow rested his hands on the table. ‘I didn’t know what finding them meant. I didn’t know if they would, wrongly I must add, incriminate either of my sons or myself, or if they were left to toy with us. Either way, I didn’t want to play anyone’s game.’
Murderers were usually motivated by a primitive desire for violence, or something selfish like power, money or jealousy. But there were some, like Dunlow, who had such a strong need to protect those they loved that they forgot their victims were someone’s granddaughter.
‘Please explain to us, truthfully, how you found the gloves and scarf,’ Juliet said.
‘It was the morning of the fire.’ A heavy mixture of sadness and frustration sat more comfortably on Dunlow’s face than a smile ever would. ‘We’d been allowed into the house to gather our things. I discovered the scarf and gloves when I put my suitcase in the boot of my car.’
‘Someone planted them after the fire?’ I asked.
‘They could have been put there any time after I arrived home from work the previous day. Whoever set the fire would have had ample time to plant the scarf and gloves.’
I rested the point of my pencil against my notepad. ‘You think the same person did both?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you have any evidence?’ Juliet asked. Her tone was flat, but an edge of irritation had crept in. She didn’t like Dunlow and she hated being lied to. This man was skating on the thinnest of ice.
‘Evidence?’ Dunlow broke into a familiar frown. ‘What more do you need? I’ve told you everything that’s happened to my family. There has to be someone behind it all.’
I pressed my lips together. Dunlow was happy to chalk Melanie’s killing up as a random act of violence until it fit into a pattern of abuse towards those he loved.
‘The scarf and gloves definitely weren’t in your car before the fire?’ I asked.
‘My car had been valeted earlier in the day,’ Dunlow explained. ‘If they’d found anything unusual, they would have told me.’
Sweet wrappers and crumpled tissues littered my car. Dunlow’s was evidently a different beast, where something misplaced or planted would be noticed with haste.
‘Why would we believe anyone put the scarf and gloves in your car?’ Juliet asked. ‘Maybe you stashed them there, and it was only bad luck that someone saw you get rid of the evidence.’
The lines across Dunlow’s forehead deepened. ‘Why would I tell you the truth about where I found them if I’d had anything to do with them? I’m only telling you now because their appearance is one of the many ways someone is trying to harm my family.’
‘Can I clarify; you didn’t know someone was watching when you binned the scarf and gloves?’ I asked. ‘You weren’t aware some of your staff went to the car park during their breaks?’
Dunlow raised his shoulders in a controlled shrug. ‘I know it won’t make me more likeable to you people, but the movements of my staff are of little consequence to me. I’ve not set foot in the staff room in years.’
Juliet’s theory that Dunlow was aware of his underlings held water, but his assertion he was disinterested in their comings and goings was airtight. This was a man for whom a murder on his land was only of interest when it impacted him and his sons. The movements of his staff members were so far beneath him, they became invisible.
‘Why did you get rid of the scarf and gloves?’ I asked. ‘Why not tell us as soon as you found them?’
‘I didn’t want to play their game,’ Dunlow ground out. ‘I didn’t know what you would find on those gloves, but I wasn’t going to hand over something that would incriminate my son.’
‘Or yourself?’ Juliet added.
Dunlow started. ‘Me?’
A slight smile bloomed on her face. ‘It might interest you to know that a large amount of your DNA was found on the gloves.’
Dunlow’s face paled. ‘That must be from when I found them. Or when I lost them.’
‘Perhaps.’ Juliet’s mouth tightened. ‘Or maybe you thought you were clever, taking latex gloves from the barn and putting them on inside the leather gloves. You thought you could pin Melanie’s murder on someone else.’
Finally, Dunlow looked rattled. ‘Latex gloves?’
‘There’s a box of them in the barn,’ I said. ‘Did you take them, plus a pair of gloves you knew would incriminate someone else, then shoot Melanie?’
Both Juliet and I avoided saying who else’s DNA was on those gloves. Dunlow had cast blame on Karl before. He didn’t need any fuel added to that fire.
Dunlow swallowed, visibly controlling himself. ‘None of that is true. I don’t know what latex gloves you’re talking about.’
‘They were in your barn,’ Juliet stated, broadcasting her disbelief.
‘A place where I spent very little time until recently,’ Dunlow retorted. ‘Groundskeepers have maintained the land and looked after the dogs since long before I was born. There has rarely been any reason for me to go to the barn. I had no idea there were latex gloves in there. I don’t know why there would be.’
I resisted the urge to tell him why Karl kept plastic gloves in the barn, instead turning over the idea that Dunlow hadn’t known they were there. It fit with his disinterest in anyone who worked under him, but not with my theory that he’d taken both pairs of gloves to frame Karl for Melanie’s murder.
Dunlow had been a drastically different man at the start of this interview, but his true nature had resurfaced. What if his disdain for everyone but the ones he loved proved his innocence?
‘Mr Dunlow, did you have any relationships prior to your marriage to Mrs Dunlow?’ I asked.
Dunlow flinched. Juliet shifted, affected by the conversational whiplash I’d subjected them to.
‘How is that relevant?’ Dunlow asked.
‘It’s another line of enquiry we’re pursuing.’
Juliet shifted again. I’d used we loosely.
‘My wife and I met when we were young.’
‘There was no one else?’ I pushed. ‘No one-night stand? No affair?’
Blotchy blush spread across Dunlow’s face. ‘No,’ he snarled.
‘You were a virgin when you slept with Mrs Dunlow for the first time?’ Juliet pressed. I suppressed the urge to smile at her. She might not know where I was going with this, but she had my back.
Dunlow glared at her, but slowly the puce patches receded from his cheeks. ‘There was nothing significant. No one I remember.’
‘No one ever got in contact with you afterwards?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Dunlow stated, his monosyllabic answer a slamming door against any further enquires.
Juliet glanced at me. ‘That’s all we need for now. Thank you for popping in, Mr Dunlow. We’ll keep you updated.’
‘Wait,’ Dunlow cried out as I reached for the recorder. He clenched his fists on the table. ‘I need to know what you’re going to do.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Juliet asked, her voice hardening. ‘The first thing we’ll do is sort out a transcript of this interview to replace the lies you fed us with the truth. Then we’ll go over the evidence which, along with your continued lies, gives us good reason to suspect you were involved in the murder of Melanie Pirt. Then, if we haven’t found something to pin you down, we’ll look into your theory that someone wishes harm upon your family.’
Dunlow wasn’t cowed, more able than others who incurred Juliet’s wrath to maintain eye contact during her tirade. He didn’t protest when I lifted my hand again to stop the recording, nor did he say another word until Juliet had swept from the room. I paused at the door when he spoke.
‘Do you believe me?’
The same man we’d met outside the hospital sat before me; broken and contrite. But I knew how quickly Dunlow could switch to what I suspected was his natural persona.
‘Did you know that Terence thinks you had something to do with the attack?’ I asked.
Dunlow visibly crumpled. His hands fell limply onto his lap, his sharp eyes dimming. It was all the answer I needed. I had to pick through everything he’d said before I would consider exonerating him for Melanie’s murder, but there was no way the broken man before me would have done anything to harm either of his sons.
‘I’ll send someone to sign you out of the station,’ I said, as I walked out of the room.
Now, to go upstairs and do exactly what Juliet had said we would. Solving Melanie’s murder was our priority, at least for the moment. Dunlow’s theory that someone had it in for him and his sons was secondary.
His final question nagged at me. Prior to this interview, I wouldn’t have had to think before saying no. I’d been convinced Dunlow killed Melanie.
I took the stairs to give me more time before I had to talk this through with Juliet. Doubt wound through me.
I’d avoided Dunlow’s question for a reason.