The interviews with Stevie Cullen’s immediate family took up most of the afternoon, so Warren called a late briefing to share the findings.
Rachel Pymm went first, having interviewed Saffron, the sister closest in age to Stevie.
‘She was absolutely broken,’ said Pymm. ‘She could be acting, but if she is, she deserves an Oscar.’ She took a sip of her drink – an evil-smelling brew that reminded Warren of the mess he’d cleared out of a leaking gutter the previous weekend – and flipped open her notepad.
‘She said that she was nine when Stevie was born and that she fell in love with him immediately. She used to pretend he was her own baby and would dress him up and carry him around with her wherever she went. She claims to have been in town delivering vegetables to a local grocery at the time of the murder and says that her husband was at the doctor’s with their youngest, at that time. We’ll check it out, of course, but I can’t see it being her.’
‘Could she shed any light on a possible motive?’ asked Warren.
‘No. To hear her speak of him, he was universally loved by everyone he met. A bit of a rogue, but nothing too serious. I’ll be honest, I can’t work out if she really did see him that way, or if she’s hiding something.’
‘OK, we’ll interview her again in the future and see if she’s changed her tune,’ said Warren. ‘Hutch, how did your interview go?’
‘Not much better. Paddy was less effusive in his love for his brother, but he just shrugged when I asked him about a motive. He was shifty, but with his past record that could just be because he was in a police station. Given the lack of detail from the two masseuses about the appearance of the attacker, we can’t rule him out, but it’ll never stand up in court.’
‘What about an alibi?’
‘None. He claims to have been working with his dad all day, cleaning the pigs pens out and doing chores around the farm. He just laughed when I asked about any CCTV footage or other witnesses.’
‘Not too surprising,’ said Warren. ‘Unfortunately, given what we know about the family dynamics, I can’t see his old man admitting it, even if he did disappear during the day. He’s never going to rat him out.’
‘There was one interesting thing, which may or may not be important.’
‘Go on.’
‘When I asked him if anyone had threatened his brother, he shrugged then said, “Just the odd jealous husband.” He made like it was a joke, and wouldn’t elaborate, but I think there may have been something in what he said.’
‘That agrees with what Moray and Jorge heard from the staff and customers at the White Stag. It’s certainly something we should check out,’ said Warren. ‘If Stevie was in the habit of hitting on other men’s partners, that might be a motive. People have certainly killed for less, although it seems a bit of an elaborate method.’
‘It also fits in with what the eldest sister, Lavender, told me,’ said Richardson. ‘Lavender said that Stevie was a real charmer. She said that he’d been doing it since he could talk. She claims that as the youngest, he was rather spoilt and that “as far as Mum and Saffy were concerned, he couldn’t do any wrong”. I tell you, there’s a lot of pent-up resentment there. Once she started talking, I didn’t think she was going to stop. I felt more like a counsellor than a police officer. She was obviously very jealous of the attention Stevie got.’
‘How old was she when he came along? Sixteen, seventeen?’ asked Rachel.
‘About that,’ said Richardson.
‘My cousin was about that old when her little brother was born,’ said Pymm. ‘She was a full-on teenager at the time. She used to claim that the baby crying all night was why she did so badly in her exams. It had nothing to do with the fact that she spent every evening hanging around the local park drinking cheap cider when she should have been revising.’
‘That’s a long time to hold a grudge,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Not for a teenage girl,’ said Richardson, ‘but to be fair, she still seemed really cut up about his death. My gut tells me she wasn’t responsible.’
‘What did she say when you asked her about motive?’ asked Warren.
‘Not a lot, she sort of clammed up. Again, I can’t tell if she really has no idea why someone would kill him, or if that’s just how she is around the police.’
‘She doesn’t have a record,’ pointed out Hutchinson.
‘No, but given the track history of the rest of her family, it’s hardly surprising that she is uncomfortable cooperating with us.’
‘What about an alibi?’
‘She claims to have been working at home and looking after her two kids. She runs a small business and says that she was on her work phone all day, a landline. I’m going to put in a request for the phone records. She lives miles away, so we can probably rule her out if she was at her desk making a call around that time.’
‘What about her husband?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘Doing a shift in their local Sainsbury’s – he’s a manager. I’ll send someone over to check that out; he’d need to have been absent for a lengthy period of time to get to the massage parlour, commit the murder and then come back.’
‘What about Paddy’s twin, Frankie?’ asked Hutchinson.
‘I didn’t get anything out of him,’ admitted Warren, ‘unless he too is a skilled actor, he’s got serious learning difficulties. He came with his mum, Rosie, but he was absolutely terrified. Every time I asked a question, he looked at his mum and started to cry. I wonder if he even really understands what’s happened. Besides, he’s absolutely huge; if he wasn’t Paddy’s twin brother you wouldn’t think they were even related. There’s no way he could fit the description of the hooded attacker that the sisters gave us. Come to think of it, I doubt he could have even climbed through that window.’
‘That matches what Lavender told me,’ said Richardson. ‘I think another reason she resented Stevie when they were younger was because she was already playing second fiddle to Frankie. She said her dad spent all of his time looking after Frankie. He still works with him all day now. I think that may have been why she left the farm to set up her own business.’
‘Speaking of business,’ interjected Warren, ‘DCI Bergen and Moray and Jorge suggested that Stevie might have interests outside of his parents’ farm. Could anyone shed any light on that?’
‘I asked,’ said Pymm, ‘but Saffron said that he was just a farmhand, working with his dad and his twin brothers.’
‘Same here,’ said Hutchinson.
‘Lavender said the same thing,’ said Richardson.
‘Which sounds suspiciously like they are all toeing the party line on this,’ said Warren. ‘I want to know more about why he spends so much time travelling to other farms. Hutch, can you organize some bodies to interview the local farmers in the area, and see if they can shed any light on what he was up to? See if any of them are known to Organized Crime. DCI Bergen promised us full cooperation; let’s test that, shall we?’
‘Will do.’
‘What a family,’ said Warren. ‘The youngest brother has just been brutally murdered. Either they know who did it, and they’re covering for him, or they don’t want to help the police as a point of principle.’
He looked at his notes. ‘Right, well we’ll see if they become more cooperative as time goes on. We also still don’t have a definite motive. I want to know more about his business dealings and I also think it’s interesting that his brother Paddy suggested that he might be a bit of a ladies’ man, which chimes with what was said down the pub. His father mentioned last night that he might have been seeing someone. His mother seemed surprised, since she thought that woman was already engaged. I think a visit to this lady friend might be in order.’
According to Seamus Cullen, his son had been seeing Vicki Barclay, a relationship that his mother was apparently unaware of, and which she probably would not have approved of. That alone made Warren want to speak to her. Add to that the fact that she was supposedly engaged to somebody else, and there was already a potential motive that needed exploring.
Barclay had clearly been expecting a visit, answering the door to Warren and the family liaison officer within seconds of the first ring of the doorbell. Unfortunately, the make-up that she had clearly spent significant amounts of time applying was unable to entirely conceal the swelling on the side of her face, in the same way that the baggy cardigan she wore was unable to conceal the swelling of her belly.
Vicki Barclay came from Kent; her accent alone enough to mark her out as ‘posh’ in the eyes of Rosie Cullen. Up close, she looked even younger than her nineteen years.
Warren pointed to her face. ‘What happened?’
‘I slipped in the shower.’
The tone was defiant, but again her eyes filled with tears. She pulled a shredded tissue from her cardigan sleeve.
‘Do you know why we are here?’ asked Warren gently as the family liaison officer offered her a fresh one.
She nodded. ‘It’s about Stevie. Somebody killed him.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘I expect you’re visiting all of his friends.’
‘We are,’ confirmed Warren, ‘but you were more than just a friend, weren’t you?’
She opened her mouth, as if she was about to deny it, before closing it again. ‘How did you know?’
‘Things that people have mentioned.’
‘Oh, God …’
Warren chose his next words carefully. ‘I also hear that you are engaged to be married.’
She looked down at the large shiny ring on her left ring finger, as if surprised that it was still there. ‘Yeah.’
‘Vicki, who did this to you?’ He pointed to the bruising on the side of her face.
‘I told you, I hit my head on a cupboard.’
‘No. You said you slipped and fell in the shower.’
She paused. ‘I hit my head on the bathroom cupboard when I slipped in the shower.’
Warren said nothing, waiting as the tears started to gather again. He felt bad about pushing her, particularly given how heavily pregnant she was, but he knew that there was information she was holding back. Information that might be crucial to the investigation.
‘We both know that isn’t true, Vicki. Tell me what really happened.’
The pause this time was longer. ‘Anton and I had a row. It was my fault really, I shouldn’t have said what I said.’ She looked away. ‘He’s not a violent man. Not really. He’s never hit me before …’
‘What was the row about?’ Warren asked softly.
She shook her head. ‘It was silly really. I can’t even remember.’
‘When did the argument take place?’
‘Sunday night.’
Warren took a deep breath. ‘Vicki, is the baby Stevie’s?’
She let out a small gasp. ‘No!’
Warren waited.
‘No. It can’t be, we were careful.’ She looked down at her hands, her voice becoming a mumble. ‘The midwife must have got the dates wrong, that’s all.’
‘Vicki, look at me,’ instructed Warren, his voice kind but firm. ‘Please tell me what happened. Somebody killed Stevie and it was really brutal. He deserves justice. To get him that justice, I need to know everything about him. Even if you don’t think it’s relevant or important.’
She gave a tiny nod but said nothing.
‘Let’s start with Sunday night. What started the fight?’
She sniffed. ‘We were looking at the scans.’ She smiled. ‘We were trying to choose a name that fit the picture.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Me and Anton of course.’
‘Sorry, carry on.’
Her face fell again. ‘The picture from the scan had the dates on. They calculate it from when you had your last period, but everyone knows it’s not accurate.’ She paused. ‘On the date it said I conceived, Anton was visiting his mum in hospital. He was away all week. But we had sex the night he came back, so you see it could be his …’
‘But Anton didn’t believe that.’
She shook her head sadly.
‘Did Stevie know about the baby?’
She nodded.
‘And what was his response?’
She bit her lip.
‘Vicki?’ Warren prompted.
‘He said I should pretend that it was Anton’s, and that we should still get married.’
‘But why?’
She looked away, suddenly becoming fascinated with her fingernails. ‘He said that once we’d been married for a few months, we could get a divorce. Then Anton would have to pay me child support.’
Warren could barely believe his ears. ‘But surely a DNA test would show if the child isn’t his?’
‘We didn’t think he’d ask for one. Besides, Stevie and Anton look alike They have the same-coloured hair and the same-coloured eyes … The baby would look just like him.’
Her tone was defensive, but he could see that she knew in her heart, that the plan had been crazy.
‘And Anton figured out he mightn’t be the father Sunday night?’
She nodded.
‘Does he know that Stevie might be the father?’
She shrugged.
‘What happened after he hit you?’
‘He went out.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. He isn’t answering his phone.’
‘Do you know where he is now?’
‘No. I haven’t seen him since Sunday.’
Vicki Barclay had already provided Warren with a potential motive, but he knew that she had more to share. Warren helped the FLO make them all a cup of coffee whilst Vicki composed herself.
‘When did you last see Stevie?’
She placed the mug down on a coaster that urged her to ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, with a picture of Sid James’ face laughing. Warren’s matching coaster had Barbara Windsor in a scene from Carry on Camping.
‘Not since last week. Anton had the weekend off, so we went shopping for the baby.’ Her face crumpled, and Warren handed her another tissue.
‘Was that the last time you spoke to Stevie?’
‘No. I tried to speak to him on Sunday night, after … you know. To warn him that Anton might know about the baby.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t answer. He left me a voicemail Monday morning saying he had to go and see a few people, but he’d ring me later so we could meet up. But we never did …’
The tears were coming back, so Warren jumped in quickly. ‘Do you know who he was going to see?’
‘No. He never really spoke about business.’
After a few more minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to get much more out of her. He gave her his card, gaining an assurance that she would call him if she heard any more.
As she stood to let him out, she winced slightly, grabbing her ribs.
The tissue that she’d used to wipe away her tears had smudged her make-up slightly, revealing the bruised skin underneath.
‘Vicki, do you have anywhere you could perhaps stay for a few days? Just until things calm down a bit?’
Whether her fiancé was involved in Stevie Cullen’s death or not, Warren didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.
She bit her lip.
‘What about your parents? Perhaps you could go and stay with them?’
She shook her head violently.
‘What about a relative, or a friend?’
Her lip trembled, her eyes filling with tears again, and Warren’s heart went out to her. He had no idea what her circumstances were, but as he looked around the tiny one-bedroom flat, he could feel the loneliness. Young, pregnant and apparently cut off from her family, the probable father of her unborn baby was dead, the man she was due to marry already violent.
He motioned towards the FLO. ‘Constable Dennell and her colleagues are trained to help women in your circumstances,’ he said gently. ‘They can even help you find somewhere safe to stay.’
She continued chewing at her lip, before finally shaking her head. ‘I have a cousin in Cambridge. Maybe I could stay with her …’
‘Does Anton know where she lives?’ asked Dennell.
She shook her head again. ‘No, he’s never met her, and I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned her.’
‘Then why not give her a call? Do you have a car?’ asked Dennell.
‘No, I don’t drive.’
‘Then I’ll arrange for someone to take you there. Why don’t you put some things together in a bag?’
An officer trained in domestic abuse could meet the FLO and take Barclay where she needed to go, perhaps even convincing her to accept more help to extract herself from her situation. As she went into the bedroom to start packing, Warren made the necessary calls. Barclay was a potential witness; she needed to be kept safe. Warren couldn’t imagine raising his fist against Susan under any circumstances, especially when pregnant. But according to the statistics he’d seen from the Domestic Violence Unit, one of the most dangerous times for an abuse victim was when she was pregnant or when trying to leave her partner.
As he hung up, he knew that if he was honest, there was another reason he wanted to keep her on his radar. She could well have been more involved in the death of Stevie Cullen than she admitted.