Whilst Dorridge spoke to his solicitor, Warren and Grimshaw met other members of the team who had been watching the interview remotely.
‘He’s shitting himself,’ was Grimshaw’s considered opinion.
Warren had to agree. But over what? Getting the council to remove illegally dumped waste was definitely a crime, and he’d be liable for a large fine, but Dorridge had looked terrified.
‘How’s the search of Dorridge’s farm going?’
‘Nothing so far. They’re going through his wardrobe and laundry basket to see if there’s any clothing matching the description of the killer. They’ve taken several knives, and they’re dismantling the sink traps and the washing machine to look for any blood.’
‘It’s a farm,’ said Grimshaw, ‘he could have just hosed himself down in the middle of a field, and burnt his clothes, and we’d never be any the wiser.’
‘Let’s hope he isn’t that smart,’ said Warren.
‘Assuming he’s even the killer,’ cautioned Martinez. ‘I still think he’s an unlikely fit, based on what we’ve seen so far.’
‘Well let’s allow Forensics to do their job,’ said Warren. ‘It’s too early to dismiss him just yet.’
‘What if he continues no commenting? Do we have enough to arrest him?’ asked Grimshaw.
Warren thought for a moment. ‘Enough to arrest, yes, but not enough to charge within the next twenty-four hours, and we haven’t got enough to extend his custody yet. I’d rather not arrest him until we’ve got more.’
The custody sergeant poked his head around the door. ‘He’s back.’
‘Well at least it appears that he’s decided to stick around for a bit,’ said Warren, before finishing the last of his coffee in one big gulp. ‘Put your fags away, Shaun, let’s strike while the iron’s hot.’
‘Stevie’s been dumping on my land for the last few months. I’m not the only one. At least half the farms in the area have been dealing with his crap.’
Ray Dorridge looked tired. He’d regained some of his colour, but he sounded weary. The statement matched the records from Middlesbury council, who’d recorded almost two dozen incidents of fly-tipping on farmland in the past financial year alone.
‘Tell me how it works,’ said Warren.
‘The first time it happened, I didn’t know anything about it until I stumbled across it.’ Dorridge thought for a moment. ‘That’d be about a year or so ago. The bolt on the gate down by the small field had been cut through. There’s an unpaved, single-track road, with a turning circle down there. It’s pretty out of the way if you don’t know the area, and I can’t see it from the house. It looks as though somebody had ripped out their kitchen, including appliances. I knew immediately that it was a professional job, because there was too much to get in the back of a car.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I spent all bloody morning loading up my trailer, before hauling it down to the tip. At which point they told me that they don’t accept commercial waste, and I ended up paying two hundred pounds to get it disposed of properly.’
‘How did you find out that it was Stevie Cullen that was responsible?’ asked Warren.
‘I was complaining about it down the Stag, and one of my mates told me the same thing had happened to him. I said I was going to go to the police about it, but he said that I didn’t want to go upsetting the Cullens.
‘Anyway, I figured I’d just have to leave it, but I couldn’t afford to keep on paying out two hundred quid every time the bastards dumped it on my land. If it kept on happening, I wouldn’t have any choice.’
‘So, what happened?’ asked Warren.
‘Stevie must have heard that I was badmouthing him, and so one night he confronted me in the car park outside the Stag. Him and that bloody great brother of his. He told me to keep my gob shut, or there’d be consequences. I was still pissed off with him and told him what to do with himself and drove off.’
Dorridge shook his head. ‘I knew as soon as I said it, that I shouldn’t have. I spent all night awake, wondering what they were going to do to me. I mean you know their reputation as well as I do. I figured even if I didn’t get a kicking, they’d probably burn my barn down.
‘Anyway, the next morning, I was in the house having lunch when the doorbell went. Who’s there, but Stevie Cullen and his brother? I don’t mind telling you, I nearly shat myself.’
‘What happened?’
Dorridge snorted. ‘Oh, he was all smiles and apologizing. His brother didn’t say anything of course. He asked how much it had cost me, and when I told him, he just pulled a wad of notes out of his back pocket and counted out two hundred quid. And then he left.’
‘And that was it?’ asked Grimshaw.
‘Of course it bloody wasn’t. And I knew it wasn’t going to end there. A couple of months later, my phone went. I’ve no idea how he got my number. He said he wanted to meet up for a pint and a chat. What could I do?
‘We met up, in the Rampant Lion this time. Again, his brother was with him. The first thing he asked was if I’d said anything. I said no, of course. I’m not that stupid. Then he said that he had a proposal for me. He said that the council would take away any rubbish dumped illegally on a farmer’s land. He said that as long as I reported it, and pleaded ignorance, there’d be no problems. He said all I had to do was lock the gates with a bit of chain; he wouldn’t even cut the padlock. He’d call me after he’d done it, and then I just needed to report it a couple of days later.’
‘And you agreed?’ said Warren.
‘What else could I do?’ Dorridge looked down at his hands. ‘Besides he gave me fifty quid for my trouble, every time he did it.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I was so stupid. Now I couldn’t go to the police, because I was part of the scam.’
Warren could see the dilemma that Dorridge had faced; the problem was it moved him further up the suspect list, not down. It seemed that for the most part, Ray Dorridge was a hardworking, law-abiding farmer. Stevie Cullen had cleverly manipulated him into joining his conspiracy; even if the money hadn’t been enough to persuade Dorridge to keep quiet, by accepting the bribe he had become complicit in the fraud. Add that to the debacle in the restaurant, and Ray Dorridge had plenty of motive to hate the man.
‘When was the last time this happened?’
‘Two weeks ago.’
Martinez had been right that an incident in a restaurant nine months previously – no matter how embarrassing – was an unlikely reason to kill Cullen, but the latest of his dealings with him had been only a fortnight ago. Could that have been what finally tipped Dorridge over the edge? There were plenty of holes in the man’s story that needed filling.
‘I take it the argument in the White Stag over payment was related to this?’
Dorridge nodded eagerly. ‘He was late paying me for the latest tipping. I said he was taking the piss and wanted my money. It got a bit heated.’
‘I see. And this – arrangement – over waste dumping is the only business arrangement that you had with Mr Cullen?’
Dorridge nodded again. ‘That’s it. Just some dumping.’
Warren said nothing for a few seconds, watching as Dorridge relaxed. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Ray.’
The smile dropped from Dorridge’s face. ‘What do you mean? I can give you the names of other farmers he was bribing. Maybe one of them killed him.’ He scrambled in his pocket, bringing out his phone. ‘Look at my call logs. You were right about that number being Stevie’s mobile. You can match the dates that he called me, to the dates that I called the council to report the dumping.’
‘We already did,’ Warren reminded him, gesturing toward the folder in front of him.
‘It also shows that you called him on several occasions throughout the year. Now why would you do that? From what you’ve told me, you actively avoided the man where possible, and he was the one to call you when he had a load that he needed to dump.’
Dorridge fell silent. Warren said nothing, allowing him to dig himself deeper. He wondered if Dorridge knew that his left foot bounced around when he was trying to think of a lie.
‘Sometimes he was a bit late paying, I rang him to remind him.’
‘None of those other calls match the dates around the dumping,’ said Warren, his instincts telling him that Dorridge was starting to panic.
Dorridge was silent again. Warren could clearly see the man was trying to think of another plausible excuse for calling Cullen.
‘Some months, things got a bit tight. I asked Stevie if he had any more loads that needed dumping.’
‘So, you’d get your fifty quid?’
‘Yeah.’ It was clear that it sounded weak, even to Dorridge’s ears. He looked over at his solicitor, who maintained a professional poker face. Whilst it was his duty to advocate for his client, and ensure that he was fairly represented, he couldn’t advise on how to lie to the police.
‘Going back to the conversation overheard in the pub, the witness was quite clear about what they heard.’ Warren took out another piece of paper. ‘They said that you were unhappy with a bill that Mr Cullen had charged you. I thought that Mr Cullen paid you for the fly-tipping?’
‘They must have misheard.’
‘Apparently, you said that the job had only been half-done and that it had taken twice as long as necessary. You then asked, “Where was that bloody brother of yours?” and said that you “didn’t have the time to keep on chasing and nagging”.
‘What job was only half-done, Mr Dorridge? And who were you chasing and nagging?’
Dorridge’s eyes were now dancing around almost as much as his foot. When his answer came, his voice was barely a whisper.
‘No comment.’
‘I think it’s clear to everyone in this room that you and Mr Cullen had a business relationship that went far beyond what you’ve already admitted to. Why don’t you tell us what it was? Then we can get this all cleared up, and everyone can go home.’
The last bit was a bit of a stretch. Depending on the nature of Dorridge’s business dealings with Cullen, he might well be charged with an offence. Nevertheless, he would probably be released on bail – although he’d have to find somewhere else to stay whilst the search of his farm continued.
For a moment, Dorridge looked tempted, before shaking his head again and repeating, ‘No comment.’
Warren waited for a few moments longer, but Dorridge had clearly made his mind up.
After a short discussion with Grayson, Warren decided not to arrest Dorridge yet. Nevertheless, the man stayed on the suspect board.
In the meantime, the interview had thrown up a wealth of new leads.
‘At least we know that Dorridge and Cullen had strong links, and Dorridge had several motives for killing him,’ said Warren, ‘and we’ve caught him out in a lie at least once.’
Martinez was already shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Boss, I’m still not convinced. What have we actually got here? An embarrassing incident over a woman in a restaurant nine months ago, and him being strong-armed into committing an offence that’ll probably result in no more than a fine.’
‘That’s only the motives we know about,’ pointed out Pymm, ‘and besides, he implied that he felt threatened by Cullen and his brother. People will do extreme things if they think they’re in danger.’
‘He lied about the fly-tipping until we pushed him on it,’ said Ruskin. ‘I’d like to know what he and Cullen were communicating about so frequently, and what they were arguing about in the White Stag. Maybe they had a bigger disagreement over money than Dorridge is letting on. He’s been lying to us all along.’
‘Place yourself in his shoes,’ persisted Martinez. ‘Stevie Cullen was brutally murdered, then we take Dorridge in for questioning. He must realize how bad it looks for him, and so he lied to protect himself. He wanted as much distance between himself and Cullen’s murder as he could.’
‘Blimey, Jorge, you’ve gone all liberal on us,’ said Grimshaw. ‘You need to stop reading The Guardian.’
Martinez ignored his friend’s jibe. ‘Besides, even if he had a motive, how would he know that Cullen would be at the massage parlour at that time? Even his best mate, Benny, didn’t know about that.’
The room went quiet. Martinez had made a good point.
‘Well, let’s keep digging. I won’t be satisfied until we can rule him out,’ said Warren. ‘I’ll request a warrant for his financial details – I suspect most of his dealings with Cullen were cash in hand, but let’s not assume that. Hopefully we have enough reason for one to be granted.’
‘Let’s not put all of our eggs in one basket, though,’ said Martinez. ‘I reckon Anton Rimington is still worth a look. If even the local gossips in the White Stag suspected that Cullen had got his missus pregnant, I can’t believe that the first time Rimington suspected anything was amiss was when the dates on the ultrasound scans didn’t match.’
‘Thank you, but I wasn’t planning on placing all of our eggs in one basket, Sergeant,’ said Warren, a little more waspishly than he’d intended.
Martinez flushed pink. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean it to come out like that.’
‘You’re right though. Rachel, check if Ray Dorridge knows Anton Rimington or Vicki Barclay beyond what he has already admitted. And whilst we’re at it, we should take a closer look at that couple Cullen supposedly helped split up. It’s another potential motive.’