‘And then there’s all this arsewipe about going there because someone tipped you off that Anna Jennings had a big story about Frank Parr.’
‘But you won’t tell us who your source is?’ Sergeant Jacobs said.
Standish’s lips tightened. I got the impression that he wasn’t keen on his junior colleague, although he’d probably be reporting to Lord Fauntleroy in a few years, so it probably made sense to tolerate him.
‘Here’s what I reckon happened,’ Standish continued. ‘You met Anna, probably to talk about something she had on Frank Parr. You’d been authorised to offer her some cash not to print the story and she told you to stick it where the sun don’t shine. Things became heated and you had an argument, during the course of which she attacked you physically and you thumped her with a brick . . .’
‘Or some other type of blunt instrument,’ Jacobs said.
Standish ignored him. ‘Journalists can be arseholes, Kenny. Everyone knows that. It probably wasn’t surprising you lost your rag . . .’
The Detective Inspector waited for a reaction. He didn’t get one. During the half-hour we’d spent in the cell prior to my interview, Sarah Delaney had advised me that strategic silence was often more effective than impassioned denial.
‘The reason you broke into her flat was to remove anything that could connect you to her,’ Standish continued. ‘Which you may, or may not, have found.’
‘My client used a key, Detective Inspector,’ Sarah said.
‘Gained unlawful entry, then,’ Standish said after a protracted sigh. ‘After which, by your own admission, you searched the premises. Next day she’s pulled out of the river at Wapping with a fractured skull.’
‘Pure coincidence,’ I said.
‘Is it?’ Standish asked. ‘And is it also coincidence that last week you found the body of another young woman?’
I chose the silence option again. The only noise in the interview room was the low hum of the tape machine. Despite sleeping on the train, I was exhausted. Due to this, there had been a couple of inconsistencies in my story that Standish had seized upon as evidence I was lying through my teeth.
‘Why did you go to Scotland?’ he asked.
‘I’ve told you twice already.’
‘Tell me again.’
‘To see the father of an old friend.’
‘Alistair Thomson,’ Standish said after consulting his notes. ‘His daughter was called April. That right?’ I nodded. ‘She’s dead as well.’
‘So he told me. Thirty years ago of an accidental drug overdose. Look, if you don’t believe me, Detective Inspector, why don’t you ask Peachy . . . I mean Mr Thomson?’
This time it was Standish’s turn not to answer. Sarah Delaney had advised that I could be held for up to twenty-four hours before the police had to bring a charge. Potentially that meant spending the night in a cell and carrying on tomorrow morning.
Fucking wonderful.
‘We’re all tired, Kenny,’ Standish said, as though reading my mind. ‘So why don’t you tell us the truth now and we can pick the bones out of it when we’ve all had a decent night’s kip?’
‘I think you’ll find that we’ll get it out of you eventually,’ Jacobs said. It was like being interrogated by a minor royal.
‘How about some tea, Hugo?’ Standish suggested.
‘I’ll ask for something be sent in, sir,’ came the reply.
‘Why don’t you make it yourself?’ Standish turned to Sarah and me. ‘He brews up a smashing cuppa. Either of you fancy one?’ We shook our heads in unison. ‘Just me, then, Hugo. Milk and two sugars.’
Reluctantly the sergeant scraped back his chair and made for the exit. Standish informed the tape machine that Sergeant Jacobs was leaving the room. What it couldn’t record was the eye-roll that came after the door had closed.
‘Here’s the thing, Kenny,’ he said confidentially. ‘This would be a whole lot better if you just said who gave you the info that Anna Jennings had a scoop on Frank Parr. Then I’d be more inclined to believe you.’
Sarah gave me a look. I’d told her that Roger had been my source and she had asked why I wasn’t prepared to tell Standish. I’d replied that I didn’t feel like getting my contact into trouble. Now I was reconsidering. Principles tend to slide when you’re sitting in an interview room on suspicion of murder.
‘I don’t think he has anything to do with what happened to Anna,’ I said.
‘Then tell me who he is,’ Standish said. ‘We’ll have a word with him and, if he confirms your story, we’ll see where that leaves us.’
‘It’s Roger Parr,’ I said. ‘Frank Parr’s son.’
‘How did he know Anna Jennings?’
What the hell. Roger was a weasel and it wasn’t as though I owed him anything. And if I was spilling my guts, then I might as well get it all out.
‘He’d passed on a privileged email about his father’s company to Anna,’ I said. ‘She told him that she had something even bigger on Frank she was working on.’
‘Did Frank know Roger had leaked this information?’ Standish asked.
‘No, but I told him that if he didn’t confess then I’d tell Frank myself.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘I had my reasons,’ I said, and added, ‘All of which were entirely above board.’
‘So, if we ask Roger, he’ll confirm everything?’
‘Unless he’s lying.’
‘And he would have told Frank by this time?’
‘That was our deal,’ I said. ‘Roger had twenty-four hours to do the decent thing. Why don’t you ask Frank if you’re that interested?’
‘Might be tricky,’ Standish said.
‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘He’s been missing since yesterday evening.’
Most Detective Inspectors don’t like answering questions during a suspect interview. Standish cut me some slack, presumably because he thought it might be worth his while in the long run.
‘How d’you know Frank’s missing?’ was the first thing I asked.
‘We went round to his house to interview him about something else.’
‘Can I ask what it was?’
Standish pressed his hands together and touched his chin with his fingertips, as though mulling over my request. It took a while for him to decide.
‘Frank’s daughter-in-law and her kid went AWOL yesterday afternoon. They set off for the local park as usual, and that’s the last anyone saw of ’em.’
‘Christ, you’re not suggesting Frank had anything to do with that?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘I’m not sure that Roger had the most stable marriage. Tabitha could have checked into a hotel for a few days to teach him a lesson.’
Standish shrugged. ‘It’s possible. But if Roger pissed Frank off by leaking all that stuff to Anna Jennings, who knows what he might have done?’
‘Does Farrelly have any idea where they might be?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Know him, do you?’
‘We’ve met a couple of times.’
‘He seems to have an unusually close relationship with his boss.’
‘They go back a long way.’
The Detective Inspector looked as though he was going to pursue this further, but seemed to change his mind.
‘You got any theories, Kenny?’ he asked, settling back into his chair.
‘About Frank?’ He nodded. ‘Well, if it were anyone else, then I’d be worried that he might have . . .’