It was well-past midnight when the interview started. Warren had a pile of folders in front of him. Next to him, DI Erica Leadsom, a representative from the Anti-Corruption Unit of Professional Standards, made notes on a legal pad. The suspect was flanked by his solicitor and a representative from the Police Federation. Upstairs in the main CID briefing room, there was standing room only as the interview was streamed onto the big screen.
After completing the preliminary paperwork, Warren signalled it was time for the interview to start.
‘My client has a statement that he wishes to be read into the record, before we start,’ said the solicitor. After agreement from Warren, she started to read from her laptop screen.
‘My client wishes to state that he is categorically innocent of all the charges presented to him. It is clear that there has been a misunderstanding based on his previous relationship with Detective Sergeant Shaun Grimshaw. My client believes that this investigation is based on circumstantial evidence at best and he looks forward to a complete exoneration. He will also be pursuing a claim for wrongful arrest, excessive force, and reputational damage.’
Warren thanked her for the statement and turned his attention to the man sitting opposite him.
In the hours since his arrest, the accused had been cleaned up and dressed in a grey, shapeless tracksuit. A small bandage applied to his forehead covered the cut he had received when he had collapsed to the floor after being shot with the TASER.
In the harsh, white light, the man’s face was pasty, the purple bruising surrounding his cut standing out in stark relief. Since the arrest, the only words he had spoken were to confirm his name and personal details to the custody sergeant, his voice little more than a mumble. Warren had noticed how his northern accent, usually softened from years of living in the south, had been stronger under stress.
There was no doubt in Warren’s mind, that the man sat before him was the mysterious Northern Man, whose corruption had allowed the Cullen family to thrive unchallenged for so many years.
‘Let’s start with the murder of Stevie Cullen,’ said Warren.
‘My client was not involved in that murder, as you well know,’ said the solicitor.
So that was how it was going to be. The suspect glared at him across the table. It was obvious that a confession would not be forthcoming. Warren ignored the interruption.
‘Where were you on Monday November the 2nd between the hours of approximately one-twenty-five p.m. and three p.m.?’
‘No comment.’
Warren was unfazed. He had expected as much.
‘According to records from your personal mobile phone, your phone was turned off at that time. In fact, the phone was switched off moments after this burner phone, later found in DS Grimshaw’s desk, received a call from Silvija Wilson. Do you recognize this phone?’
Warren showed him a photograph of the burner phone.
‘No comment.’
‘At one-forty p.m., an emergency call was received by 999 call handlers reporting a fatal stabbing at the Middlesbury Massage and Relaxation Centre, a massage parlour owned by Silvija Wilson. Uniformed officers and a paramedic first response unit were dispatched, and Middlesbury CID were informed that a murder had taken place. DS Shaun Grimshaw was one of two CID officers to attend the scene, arriving twenty minutes after the paramedics pronounced life extinguished.
‘Where were you?’
‘No comment.’
‘According to an analysis of the tracking movements of the burner phone and DS Grimshaw’s personal phone over the past twelve months, the two phones were in close proximity to one another ninety-one per cent of the time that the burner phone was switched on. Can you explain why that was the case?’
The suspect licked his lips and glanced towards his solicitor.
‘I believe that you have already established that DS Grimshaw was the owner of this burner phone,’ said his solicitor. ‘I fail to see what relevance this has to my client.’
‘Have we established that DS Grimshaw owned the phone?’ said Warren contemplatively. ‘Somebody certainly wanted to make sure we thought it was his.’
He produced a second sheet of paper, spinning it through 180 degrees so that it could be read by those on the opposite side of the table.
‘DS Grimshaw’s personal phone’s tracking data places it in close proximity ninety-one per cent of the time that the burner phone is turned on. However, the burner phone is in close proximity to your personal phone ninety-nine per cent of the time. In fact, on the day of the murder, the burner phone was within fifty metres of your phone, right up until the moment that it received the call from Silvija Wilson, and your personal phone was turned off. Can you explain why that happened?’
‘No comment.’
The pallor of the man across the table had now gone past white and was tinged with green. Warren hoped he didn’t throw up; he hated when they did that.
‘The burner phone remained in close proximity to DS Grimshaw’s phone right up until the moment that the call came into CID requesting presence at the scene. It then stays close to his phone until five-past-two. At that time, the burner phone moves away from DS Grimshaw’s phone. It stays within that area for the next couple of hours, but it is clear from the data that it is not being carried by DS Grimshaw.’
Warren paused to let that sink in. ‘Why is that?’
The suspect paused. Warren could see the panicked calculations going on behind his eyes. He held his breath.
‘He must have left it in the car.’
Warren mentally punched the air.
The wise thing to do in this situation, would be to ‘No comment.’ The man in front of him must know that intellectually, yet despite his hours of training and even more hours of actually performing interviews, he had been unable to help himself. He was in a corner, and he knew it. Now he would come out fighting. He had no choice.
‘The phone moved around; it wasn’t stationary.’
‘There were lots of people at the scene. Perhaps he gave the phone to somebody else? Perhaps he was working with them or even trying to frame them?’
Warren said nothing, letting him realize what he had just said. Both the solicitor and the Federation Rep winced. Out of the corner of his eye, Warren saw Leadsom make a note on her pad.
‘Where were you when DS Grimshaw was securing the massage parlour?’
‘No comment.’
It was too late to backtrack now, and he knew it.
‘Throughout this investigation, you supported the narrative given by the two masseuses that a mysterious masked stranger clambered through the window of the massage parlour and murdered Stevie Cullen where he lay. During that time you were willing to entertain the idea that Anton Rimington, the fiancé of Vicki Barclay, might have murdered Cullen in a fit of jealousy, yet you repeatedly dismissed the idea that Ray Dorridge, with whom Stevie Cullen had a business arrangement could have been responsible.
‘An objective look at the facts would suggest that Dorridge’s motives were at least as strong as Rimington’s, yet you wouldn’t support that idea. Why?’
‘No comment.’
‘Was it because you were worried that Ray Dorridge might identify you as the corrupt member of SOC, known to us as “Northern Man”, who had ensured that the Cullen family’s illegal workers enterprise went uncovered?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you threaten to expose Ray Dorridge’s use of illegal labour if he didn’t keep his mouth shut?’
‘No comment.’
‘And when he confessed to using illegal labour, removing that particular lever, did you then go and threaten to kill him if he identified you?’
‘No comment.’
‘Why didn’t you kill Ray Dorridge? You killed Joey McGhee and Kourtney Flitton, to stop them identifying you.’
‘No comment.’
Warren let him stew for a few seconds. ‘Let’s move on.’
He flicked over the pages of his notepad. ‘The night of the raid on the Cullen farm. You participated in the raid; however, when we arrived both Paddy Cullen and Frankie Cullen were absent from the farmhouse. They were subsequently found in the barn, preparing to escape with a van full of illegal workers. During the subsequent altercation, Authorized Firearms Officer Bradley Kemp was shot and run over, DS Shaun Grimshaw was shot dead and Frankie Cullen was shot and seriously injured.’
Warren took a sip of water, his mouth dry. ‘Shortly before the team left, a text message was sent from the burner phone to Paddy Cullen, warning him that a raid was imminent. That text was not replied to, presumably because Mr Cullen was asleep at the time. Did you send that text?’
‘No.’
Warren maintained a neutral expression. The suspect had stopped ‘no commenting’ again. A sign that he was getting flustered.
Warren opened the lid of his laptop and turned it so that the screen was visible. The Federation rep and solicitor shuffled their chairs around so they could see more clearly, whilst Warren read the exhibit reference into evidence.
‘This is CCTV footage taken in the car park at Middlesbury Police station, two minutes before the text message was sent to Paddy Cullen. It shows the rear entrance to the station. The time stamp on the footage is accurate to within one second of those used by the mobile phone networks.’
The footage was clear, but in black and white, enhanced by passive infra-red to compensate for the lack of light.
At 03.48 the door opened, and Shaun Grimshaw stepped out clutching a packet of cigarettes. Pulling his collar up against the wind and fine drizzle, he picked a cigarette from the pack and slipped it between his lips. The camera flared white briefly as he ignited his lighter, the tip of the cigarette glowing as he puffed on it, before tipping his head back and exhaling into the night air. After a few inhalations, he swapped his lighter for a mobile phone. The screen lit up against the dark background.
After a few seconds typing, he dropped the phone down to his side again, and turned his attention back to his cigarette.
Behind him the door opened, another figure stepping out. Grimshaw nodded in acknowledgement, before turning his attention back to his phone. After exchanging a few words with the newcomer, he took one last drag of his cigarette, before stubbing it out on the lid of the metal waste bin and using his swipe card to head back inside.
The newcomer picked up his own phone, and quickly typed something, before returning it to his pocket and swiping himself back in.
‘The text was sent at 03.50 and 22 seconds,’ said Warren. ‘Shaun stops using his phone at 03.50 and 7 seconds.’
‘Maybe the text was delayed?’ said the Federation Rep.
Warren wound the footage back a few seconds.
‘You can see from this angle, that the phone used by Shaun is a smartphone with a touch screen – the whole handset lights up. His personal phone is a Samsung. We’ve looked at his phone, and his usage log shows that he was using it to check his email, specifically to respond to an offer for some cheap tickets to next week’s Manchester City match. The burner phone is a cheap, standard handset, with a 2-inch square screen and keypad.’
Warren let the footage continue. Now that they were looking for it, it was clear that the newcomer’s phone was bulkier, and the screen took up only a third of it. Every eye in the room was focused on the timestamp on the bottom of the screen.
At exactly 03.50 and 22 seconds, the newcomer pressed a button with his thumb, and returned the phone to his pocket.
Warren turned to the suspect.
‘It was raining, and cold and nearly four o’clock in the morning. You don’t smoke, so why did you go outside to use your phone, Jorge?’