The morning briefing of the second day of the investigation still had that new investigation buzz about it, although for Warren, it was already partly fuelled by caffeine. He’d slept poorly, the stress of the case adding to the anxiety he was already feeling about tomorrow’s upcoming hospital appointment. Weeks of waiting would soon be over, and the timing of what he feared was going to be a long and arduous investigation couldn’t have been worse. At a time like this, he should be spending as much time as possible with his wife. Nevertheless, he had a job to do, and he forced his attention back to the matter in hand.
The seconded officers from Welwyn had been formed into small groups led by the experienced sergeants on Warren’s own core team, and so the first part of the briefing necessitated bringing everyone up to speed. Warren worked his way down the list of tasks from the previous day, starting with Rachel Pymm.
‘Through a combination of wit and charm, I persuaded IT to give me a raw dump of the massage parlour’s hard drive. They’re still going through it properly, but I have access to documents such as the appointment lists and the emails et cetera.’
‘Good. We seized the handwritten customer ledger from the reception desk as evidence. Cross-reference the appointments with her records. I want to know how often Stevie Cullen used to visit the massage parlour, and if there was a predictable pattern to his visits. I also want to know who those two other customers were – maybe they saw or heard something. Have you got the records back from the two sisters’ phones yet?’
Pymm made a face. ‘No. The phones are registered to some cheap overseas carrier based in Eastern Europe. We’ll get them, but it’ll take time.’
‘Bugger. Well keep at it; prioritize them when they arrive,’ Warren said. He turned to Hutchinson next.
‘The alibis from Stevie Cullen’s two sisters and their husbands check out,’ said the veteran sergeant. ‘Lavender’s phone records confirm that she was making and taking calls from her landline all day, and we found plenty of staff at the supermarket where her husband works to confirm that he was on shift when Stevie Cullen was killed.’
Hutchinson flipped over the next page in his notepad. ‘We’ve also got positive sightings of Saffron at the grocer’s that she visited that day to sell the farm produce. One of them was even obliging enough to show CCTV footage of her at about the time that the murder occurred. The GP surgery confirmed that her husband had an appointment that day with their youngest, and they were running behind. The surgery uses one of those electronic booking terminals, so we have corroboration that he booked in shortly before Stevie was murdered and confirmation from the GP, the receptionist and the practice nurse that he stayed in the waiting room during that time. There’s no way that any of those four could have been the killer, or even directly involved.’
Warren drew a line through the names on the whiteboard. It was a symbolic gesture, but he knew from experience that the deluge of information coming into an investigation, particularly in its early stages, could feel overwhelming. Visibly chipping away at that growing pile helped the team feel as though they were making progress.
‘We should speak to Benny Masterson, Stevie’s best friend,’ suggested Ruskin. ‘I thought I’d try and track him down later today when he’s slept off yesterday.’
‘Well don’t leave it too late,’ cautioned Warren, ‘or from what you told us yesterday, he might have started drinking all over again. How are we doing tracking down that farmer Stevie was seen arguing with?’
Moray Ruskin flipped open his notebook. ‘Jorge’s narrowing it down. The White Stag pub is near a busy junction. I reckon there are about six farms or smallholdings that are close enough to consider the White Stag a local. I’m going back there to get a better description of the bloke Stevie was seen arguing with. The landlady, Gweneth Rain, seemed to be willing to cooperate; I reckon if I catch her before any of Stevie’s mates turn up for their mid-morning pint and pork scratchings, she’ll help me out.’
‘Well don’t dismiss the other farms out of hand,’ said Warren. ‘If any of them did have dealings with Stevie Cullen – business or otherwise – they might have useful information.’ He turned to Rachel Pymm. ‘Any progress on tracking down Anton Rimington, the fiancé of Vicki Barclay? If he was as angry as she said he was when he figured out that somebody else might have got her pregnant, who knows what he could do?’
‘His mobile phone has been turned off since Sunday night, when Barclay claims he stormed out,’ said Pymm. ‘We have a list of his known associates from around the time of his arrest. He doesn’t have any close family that we are aware of in the area, so if he is staying with someone, rather than holed up in a Travelodge, it’ll be a friend. I’ll get a team ringing around and, if necessary, door-knocking, but even if he is with one of these charmers, I don’t know how cooperative they’ll be.’
‘Well we won’t know if we don’t try. Prioritize finding him; he’s one of our strongest suspects at the moment. And if nothing else, I want to know what sort of risk he poses to Vicki Barclay. He has form for violent offending in the past.’
‘Speaking of which, how certain are we that Vicki Barclay is innocent in all of this?’ asked Martinez.
‘Well she’s very obviously pregnant,’ said Warren. ‘It would have to be a pretty baggy hoodie to fool the two sisters into thinking that the killer was a man.’
‘Maybe she was working with Rimington?’ suggested Martinez. ‘Imagine this scenario: Stevie Cullen gets Vicki pregnant. Realizing that she is never going to hide this from Rimington, she decides to tell him that Cullen raped her. She says she doesn’t want to go to the police, knowing that Rimington has such a temper on him, he may well go and solve the problem for her.’
‘Blimey, Jorge, you need to stop watching so many soap operas,’ said Grimshaw.
Warren placed a hand up to stay the sniping between the two friends. ‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand; let’s work through it,’ he said, although it seemed a bit far-fetched.
‘OK,’ started Grimshaw, ‘why would she go to all of that trouble, when she could just get an abortion? Surely that would solve the problem?’
‘That problem is an unborn baby,’ said Pymm, pointedly. ‘That’s a big step for many women to contemplate.’
‘Bigger than killing the baby’s father?’ countered Grimshaw.
‘Killing Stevie Cullen might solve one problem,’ said Hutchinson, ‘but surely it opens up a whole load more. If her plan was to create a plausible reason for falling pregnant, so that she could then live happily ever after with Anton Rimington, that only works if Rimington gets away with the murder. Otherwise, Rimington goes to prison and she has nobody to support her.’
‘You’re assuming that she wants support from Rimington,’ said Richardson. ‘She might feel that she would rather bring up the baby on her own. Getting Rimington to kill Cullen would take them both out of the picture.’
‘Or maybe there is a kernel of truth in what happened. Maybe Stevie Cullen actually did force himself on her?’ said Martinez.
‘So why didn’t she go to the police?’ asked Grimshaw.
‘Lots of rape victims don’t, you know that,’ said Martinez. ‘By all accounts, they had a more than friendly relationship. She might have felt shame, because she felt she had led him on, or maybe she just thought that no one would believe her. Perhaps she couldn’t face the thought of a “he said – she said” court case.’
‘Not to mention the whole evidence-collecting process,’ said Richardson.
‘She could also have been too frightened,’ said Hutchinson. ‘The Cullen family have a hell of a reputation around here. Accusing one of them of rape would take some guts.’
‘OK, it’s a theory worth pursuing. Anton Rimington is our number-one suspect at the moment. Let’s see if we can find him. In the meantime, keep looking into the two sisters; something isn’t right about them. I want to know if there is any link between them and Rimington. But remember, we still only have their word that there was even an intruder.’
No matter how many times he did them, press conferences still didn’t get any easier. The press briefing room down at police HQ in Welwyn Garden City was surprisingly full; testimony perhaps to the unusual circumstances of Stevie Cullen’s death, and the man’s own reputation. The briefing was short and factual, and primarily a plea for witnesses. They had decided not to mention Anton Rimington yet, because if he was involved – and that was far from certain at the moment – they didn’t want to spook him. If they didn’t find him in the next day or so, they would need to revisit that decision. In the meantime, Cullen’s name had been circulating on social media for at least twenty-four hours, giving the assembled journalists plenty of time to dig into his, and his family’s, somewhat colourful history.
Warren had come straight from the Cullen farm where, as Senior Investigating Officer, he had taken it upon himself to visit the grieving relatives and update them on the investigation’s progress personally.
The family had finally given in to the entreaties of the family liaison team, although they remained suspicious of the police. Warren respected their wishes, but felt he had a duty to at least keep them informed.
The cramped kitchen of the farmhouse had been thick with cigarette smoke, and Warren regretted wearing his best suit. It would need to be dry-cleaned before its next outing. Rosie and Seamus had been joined by their eldest daughter, Lavender. Beside her on the table was her laptop. She was obviously working from her parents’ that day. Warren’s phone had already shown that the house had Wi-Fi, suggesting that Stevie may well have owned a laptop and it had indeed been spirited away the night of the murder. There was no sign of either of the twins, Paddy and Frankie, or the remaining sister, Saffron.
Warren’s welcome was less than warm, his repeated condolences ignored; he was the only person in the room without a cup of coffee in front of him. Helping himself to a chocolate Hobnob from the packet on the table was completely out of the question.
Regardless, the Cullens listened to what he had to say, and when he left after half an hour, Seamus Cullen had at least shaken his hand and wished him luck in finding his son’s killer. His wife had remained stone-faced throughout, grief and anger rolling off her in waves. Lavender had avoided his gaze, her eyes shining with the threat of tears.
The Cullens had declined the opportunity to attend the press conference but had agreed to a written statement to be read out on their behalf. Warren was acutely aware that Stevie Cullen was likely to be dissected mercilessly in the press over the coming weeks, and he was keen to build sympathy with the public, knowing that their cooperation could prove vital. Two days into the investigation, and they had yet to find any witnesses. Nevertheless, he winced inwardly at the eulogizing statement that the family had composed along with the family liaison officer. Grayson, dressed in his crisply tailored uniform, had generously handed over the reading of the short testimony to Warren.
‘Stevie was a much-loved son, brother and friend who will be sorely missed by all who knew him. A hardworking and honest man, we cannot understand who would want to hurt our beautiful boy. Somebody out there must know who killed Stevie, and we beg that you come forward and help the police with their investigation, to ensure that he gets the justice he deserves.’
Warren finished reading the statement and looked up, studiously avoiding the smirks on the faces of some of the local journalists, many of whom had made a good living out of reporting the various misdeeds of the Cullen family over the years.
The statement might have been somewhat over-flattering, but Stevie Cullen was a victim and deserved justice. Warren was determined to get it for him.