‘As you know, Mr Thorpe, at the moment, our inquiries are informal and we’re recording this interview for investigative purposes. We’d like to build up a picture of your wife’s last days, as you remember them.’
Hunt stared at Tony and sat back in his chair. Tony nursed the coffee that had been given to him; it tasted worse than piss. His barrister had briefed him before the casual chat, and they both knew that, in reality, it was about as relaxed as a Gestapo head count.
‘How are you feeling, Tony?’ Hunt asked.
It was a congenial opening salvo, laced with poison.
Tony smiled and picked up the piss, more for something to do, to gather his thoughts, than for refreshment. Tony had known his counsel for twenty-odd years. Kingston had been one of the first men of colour of his generation to be called to the bar. Tony had been one of his first customers. It was a universal truth that trouble followed trouble, and once Tony had experienced his first taste of it, he’d become hooked. More than a handful for his parents, he seemed to attract it, as easily as money. Both he and Kingston knew that the shit trail follows the cart horse, but often the perpetrator, and the spreader of the effluent, is not where you’re looking for them at all. It was Kingston’s job to find the source of the shit, at the same time diverting attention from his client. It was unusual but not unheard of for a barrister to attend a police interview. Normally it was done by defence lawyers, but Tony knew, and so did Kingston, that Tony was in the firing line here. Everything looked bad. His nonchalance, the age gap, and the fact that he’d been screwing Carrie on the day the police found Monika’s body.
‘I’ve been better,’ Tony replied.
‘Of course. My condolences, I didn’t have time to offer my sympathy last night. Also, I’m not sure you would have remembered,’ Hunt said. He let out a slight snort but Tony’s face remained stony. He felt Kingston bristle. He’d already briefed him on what a prize bell-end the detective was. But Kingston was hopeful they could swing him around.
‘I admit I was under the influence last night,’ Tony said.
He’d discussed at length with Kingston what he should and shouldn’t give away. They needed to start building a case against the prosecution, because Kingston agreed that it was only a matter of time until Tony was looking at a charge of murder, if they didn’t come up with an alternative. When a female spouse is brutally dispatched, the partner is always the place to start, and the police clearly had nothing else yet. Kingston’s experience with the police was that they were lazy: why find the real suspect when you have one sat here in front of you? It was Kingston’s job to change their minds.
‘Is that a normal Friday afternoon? Having a date over and getting high?’ Hunt asked. ‘Did your wife know you were having an affair with Carrie Greenside?’
Kingston glared at Hunt and Tony didn’t reply.
‘That’s hardly fact-finding, is it?’ Kingston said. ‘Adultery doesn’t a murderer make,’ he finished.
‘But it does encourage a healthy dose of rage for third parties. In our humble opinion, of course,’ Hunt shot back.
‘Are you suggesting that my client’s wife beat herself to death because he was having an affair?’ Kingston asked. Tony winced a little. But that’s why he employed him: to ask uncomfortable questions.
Hunt looked at his notes and left the question hanging.
‘We can overlook the possession charges. We found seven grams of cocaine and several ounce bags of pure-grade skunk. Pretty impressive stuff, Tony. Who’s your dealer?’ Hunt asked.
‘Kids. They’re everywhere, if you know where to look,’ Tony replied. ‘They all look the same, hoodies over their faces. It was a one off.’
‘So how come you know so much about the supply chain if it was a one off?’
‘History,’ Tony said. ‘I dabbled back in the day. Pushers hang out in all the same places, nothing changes, just their age.’
‘Ah, yes. Your history. Let’s talk about that, shall we? You got yourself into some scrapes, didn’t you?’
Tony didn’t react. He’d had brushes with the law, mainly for possession, but Kingston had smoothed them all out.
‘Irrelevant, Detective. Let’s move on, shall we?’ Kingston interjected. ‘Tell us about your case, just the facts, please.’
‘I’ll get to that,’ Hunt said. ‘So, Carrie Greenside. How long has she been your… help me out here. Lover? Mistress? Bit on the side?’
Kingston looked at his client and nodded.
‘It was a one off. Monika took herself off for periods. I admit I was sick of it. That explains why I appeared so uncaring. But I’m not. I loved my wife. Carrie actually came over for a business matter last night but things got out of hand. I suppose, inside, I was angry with my wife for taking off again.’
‘Do you often get angry with your wife?’
Kingston jumped in. ‘Let us be clear, this was an open marriage. Sexually. Mrs Thorpe accepted her husband’s dalliances, because she had her own. Maybe that’s where you should be looking.’
It did the trick. Hunt looked genuinely interested. Tony watched him and, like Kingston had told him, as soon as the detective realised how much more work he’d have to do to build a case, they’d get him on side. Their tactic was to come across as willing helpers to the investigation.
‘Do you have names?’ Hunt asked.
Kingston had briefed Tony that, for now, mentioning the kitchen fitter too early would look desperate, they’d build up to it.
‘I didn’t check her appointments but you might want to start with her gym, perhaps,’ Tony offered.
‘Let’s stick to facts, shall we?’ Kingston said. ‘What questions have you got that are pertinent to what happened to my client’s wife? Last night was an unfortunate coincidence. A man whose wife disappears for stretches of time becomes used to it, immune, shall we say. So my client’s actions after his wife’s disappearance are only relevant if you think he had a direct involvement in how she came to harm, and you need proof of this. Also, until I have a copy of the autopsy report, and a summary of how you think my client’s movements last night have any bearing on your case, if you have a case, then you’re wasting our time. We agreed to attend this interview for informative purposes. We agree that the state of the deceased’s marriage is relevant here, and my client is keen for the investigation to move forward, and so when you have new information, we’d like to see it as soon as possible. Do you have anything that might change his current position?’
Tony breathed a little easier as he listened to Kingston command the room. Hunt wasn’t put off but he absorbed what Kingston was intimating, and was tempted by the worm on the end of the hook.
‘I’m getting to that, counsel. Let’s take a step back, shall we? Mr Thorpe, tell me about Tuesday evening, when you said that your wife was “drunk and delirious”.’
Tony realised that the detective was now dancing to Kingston’s tune, and it was impressively done. No wonder the bastard charged so much in fees.
Tony thought back to Tuesday evening. Monika’s black hair, framing her beautiful face, watching as she danced around the chimenea. They’d lit it because it got chilly later in the evening, despite the unseasonal heat during the day. They’d talked at length about their future. But the night hadn’t ended how it had started.
‘Tuesday?’ Hunt reminded him where he was.
‘She wasn’t herself. She’d drunk too much. It’s difficult to keep count when she’s in that mood. I was worried about her. Her small body couldn’t take it.’
Tony paused and peered down at the table, which was stained with mug rings. Time stood still and he desperately wanted to get out of the tiny room. He forced his eyes closed and squeezed them with his fingers. Kingston had told him to show some emotion, but that kind of thing didn’t come easy to him. It seemed to work and Hunt waited for him to carry on.
‘When I realised she was intoxicated, I… After that, there was no point in trying to communicate with her. We argued.’
‘About what?’
‘She gets emotional when she drinks,’ Tony said. He looked down at his hands. He sniffed.
‘What was she emotional about?’
Tony shrugged.
‘Forgive me, I’m an amateur when it comes to open marriages.’ Hunt smiled smarmily. ‘Is it possible that she wasn’t as okay with your arrangement as you were? Did she know about Carrie?’ Hunt asked. His hawkishness returned.
‘How could she? It was the first and only time, and it was a mistake, like I said.’
‘You didn’t tell me it was a mistake, you said it was a one off. I presume you knew one another before? Did Monika perhaps suspect you had feelings for Ms Greenside?’
‘Irrelevant, Mr Hunt. What’s your point?’ Kingston stepped in.
‘Let me put it this way, how could you be so sure that she wouldn’t walk in on you last night? After coming to her senses after one of her jaunts away, let’s say?’ Hunt asked.
‘It was stupid,’ Tony said. ‘Like I said, I was used to her taking off.’
Hunt moved on.
‘How long were you married?’
‘Four years.’
‘And how long did you know each other before that?’
‘A year,’ Tony said.
‘Relatively, that’s not long, is it? When did you decide to be sexually liberal in your marriage?’
Tony glanced at Kingston, who blinked, indicating that he should go ahead and tell Hunt what they’d discussed.
‘I knew about Monika’s past when I met her, I didn’t think she’d carry on after we were married, but she did. It was always on the cards that I would never have her to myself,’ Tony said.
‘Come again?’ Hunt asked. He sat up straight and his pen hovered over the piece of paper in front of him.
‘My client’s wife was a prostitute, Detective. She vowed to give it up when they married, but it’s our suspicion that she did not.’ Kingston answered the question.
Hunt paused and Tony felt examined as if trapped under a bell jar. His body begged him to run and opened his sweat glands as if to hammer home the point. He rubbed his eyes again, pretending heartache.
‘Hold on. Let’s play this forward. You’re indicating that Monika was carrying on, in your words, selling sex, after she married you. Excuse me, Mr Thorpe, but you’re not short of cash. Why? Also, if she went to meet a client on Tuesday night, you’ve just said she was intoxicated. Was she picked up? She certainly didn’t use her car. It doesn’t add up.’
‘I’m just telling you what I know,’ Tony said. ‘I went to bed and she wasn’t there in the morning.’
‘Have you got proof that she was continuing in this profession after you were married?’ Hunt asked.
‘I hired somebody to do some digging about.’
‘I can corroborate this,’ Kingston added.
‘And?’ Hunt asked.
‘We can put you in touch with the PI who was employed by my client,’ Kingston said.
‘That would be most helpful,’ Hunt said.
They’d given him something else to think about.
‘I haven’t found her mobile phone, though, most of her numbers are in it.’
‘The phone in a flamingo case, yes?’ The description had already been given to the police.
Tony nodded.
‘No, it didn’t show up in the search of your house either.’ Hunt tapped his pen. ‘I need an alibi for you, Tony. Tentative examination of your wife’s body has put her death at around midnight on Tuesday to midday on Wednesday. Let’s go back to the argument. What time did you go to bed and leave her downstairs?’
‘I went to bed about eleven. I was used to leaving her up on her own, drinking and listening to music, you know, romantic stuff that made her cry. She often slept in the spare room when she was like that. I thought I heard shouting in the street but I went back to sleep.’
‘Well, you’ve got plenty of cameras around that fortress of yours. Maybe we’ll find out what the strange altercation in the street was, eh? What about Wednesday morning?’
Tony had told Kingston that before Carrie came over, he’d disabled all of the CCTV cameras around his property.
‘Mr Thorpe has informed me that there has been a problem with the security system around the property, they’re wireless and I’m afraid they’ve been unreliable lately,’ Kingston said.
Hunt glared at him and wrote something on his pad. Tony answered the question.
‘I spent Wednesday morning trying to contact Monika. I spoke to several friends about her, trying to see if she’d visited any of them. I also know an excellent psychologist, who is a close friend. We discussed my wife’s mental state.’
‘And that’s when you reported your wife as missing?’ Hunt asked.
Tony nodded.
From the cocksure copper he’d been at the beginning of the interview, Hunt had become malleable and open to suggestion, just like Kingston said he would be.