Scarred for Life (36 page)

Jessica assumed he was speaking about giving her Kylie and Michael to deal with but didn’t push it. ‘What would you like me to do, Sir?’

Cole’s eyes snapped open. He pointed to the face in the photograph that Jessica had identified. ‘I’ll make the necessary arrangements. We’ll get a warrant for his house and office and we’ll go in early tomorrow morning.’

‘Me too?’

He nodded wearily. ‘You too.’

45

There might have been a certain satisfaction in getting the tactical entry team to smash their way through a door at five in the morning but Cole had told her to keep it low key and Jessica wasn’t about to disobey him now.

If there were any residents of the quiet cul de sac awake at this ungodly hour, Jessica thought it would be a good time for them to look out of their windows because they were about to get a show. She rang the doorbell and knocked three times – not too hard but enough to wake anyone up, even her. A few seconds later, a light came on somewhere inside. Officers had gone to the back of the house just in case but Jessica doubted there would be any trouble. There was the sound of footsteps on stairs and then a weary-sounding male voice: ‘Who is it?’

‘Detective Inspector Jessica Daniel.’

‘Oh . . .’

There was a rattle of a chain and the sound of a bolt being pulled across until the door was opened, revealing a man in stripy pyjamas, a long felt-looking dressing gown and hair that seemed to have been styled by electroshock treatment.

Professor Robert ‘Call Me Bob’ Harper stared on wide-eyed as Jessica shoved the warrant under his nose, waved her fellow officers inside, told him that his university office was being turned upside at that very moment – then informed him that he didn’t have to say anything but that if there was something he was later going to rely on in court then he should probably spit it out.

His face was blank: ‘Can I at least get changed?’

Six hours later and that was still the only thing Call Me Bob had said. He had been taken to the cells underneath the station, phoned his solicitor, and then spent the rest of the time apparently going over his story with him.

Jessica had risked breakfast in the canteen and then gone to see Cole in his office. He looked even more tired than the night before but offered a small smile when he told her that his phone hadn’t rung all morning. Jessica didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing – but she could guess. After that, she had gone to keep her head down until Bob – and his solicitor – were ready. Whatever they were talking about seemed to be taking a long time for someone who was ostensibly just a lecturer.

As she was re-reading every piece of evidence they had, there was a knock on her office door. Archie sauntered in, hands in pockets. ‘I always knew it was him. The dodgy hair gave it away. I told you he was iffy.’

‘Saying someone’s a bit “iffy” rarely leads to a conviction. If you were so sure, why didn’t you point it out properly a week ago?’

‘I figured I’d let you get the credit. No one likes a smart-arse marching in and saving the day, do they?’

Jessica waved him in and he wheeled across the spare office chair, legs splayed wide, nodding knowingly. ‘Is everything all right with the other thing you had me looking at?’

Jessica had almost forgotten that it was Archie who had first pointed out that Freddy and Logan were the same age. It seemed like such a long time ago. ‘Yes, forget it – all sorted. Anyway, why are you in a good mood?’

‘Someone left a little present in my cubby hole last night.’

Jessica suppressed a giggle –
Asian Jugs
had gone down well.

‘Anyway,’ Archie added. ‘I know how
I
figured out it was Call Me Bob but how did you finally work it out?’

Jessica didn’t want to talk about the photograph – it was never going to be part of any case they had and, aside from Garry, her and Cole, no one else knew about it. Seeing Bob in the middle of the photo alongside all the other names had put her onto him in the first place but they had more than that now.

‘It was you, actually,’ Jessica said. ‘When you knocked those papers off his desk to show his hip flask, it had me thinking all along that perhaps he was hiding something. When we hit a wall, I started to run a few further checks on him.’

As a white lie went, it at least served its purpose. Archie rolled his shoulders forward and sat up straighter, embarrassed by the praise. ‘Aye, well, I didn’t do that much . . .’

‘His office is in that huge building that overlooks the park. Last night we checked his swipe-card access and found out he left around fifteen minutes after the final confirmed sighting of Damon at the rowing club’s party. Assuming Damon had left to go home, there’s a very strong chance they would have seen each other in the car park.’

‘That’s not much on its own.’

‘We found cocaine at his house and the alcohol at his office, plus remember how he kept going on about Damon? He was obviously fond of him.’

‘Is he . . . ?’

‘I don’t know. He’s still a bachelor, not that it necessarily means anything.’

Archie stared at Jessica, lips pursed. He must have known that the things she’d listed so far didn’t mean much other than they’d have him on a drugs possession charge. It was a jump from that to murder or manslaughter but he also didn’t know what she did about Bob’s connection to Pomeroy and everyone else. She’d told Garry the grammar school clique would need promising, rich youngsters, so who better to recruit them than a business professor? Something told her that there was more going on than she suspected too – no angry phone calls to Cole, and the length of time Bob had been with a solicitor, made Jessica think that this wasn’t going to be a standard interview. The first rule of any successful group was to protect itself above any individual.

Perhaps sensing that there was more to it than he realised, Archie nodded with a fake knowingness. ‘So what’s he doing?’

‘Downstairs with his solicitor.’

‘Definitely guilty then.’

‘I want you to be in the interview room with me.’

Archie couldn’t stop the surprise from spreading on his face. ‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s all right with—’

‘Let me worry about other people.’

Soon after, word came through that Bob was finally ready. Just Bob – no solicitor.

When Jessica had let him get changed earlier, Bob had opted for his teaching wear – cords and elbow patches. His hair had been flattened at some point since then but the past few hours had clearly taken a toll – his skin seemed saggier, eyelids droopier.

With the tape and camera running in the interview room, Jessica reminded him that there was no need to be there by himself.

‘I can speak for myself,’ Bob said.

Jessica felt confused: ‘But you’ve just spent the past few hours downstairs with your solicitor . . . ?’

‘I decided to dispense with his services.’

‘Right . . . the first thing we need to discuss is—’

‘I did it.’

‘Did what?’

‘It was me who left Damon’s body in that bin.’

Jessica had thought something unexpected might happen but not this. She started searching through the papers on the desk in front of her. Even Archie sucked in a small gasp.

Bob was facing the video camera in the top corner of the room, talking to Jessica but not looking at her. ‘Shall I start at the beginning?’

‘Okay.’

‘I was looking into starting an after-hours club at the university – something for the brightest and best. Damon fitted the bill, obviously. I’d spoken to him briefly about it around the university and he seemed willing. That night, I had been working late at the university. I swiped out and saw Damon walking out of the park.’

Jessica suspected that part was true – although the ‘after-hours club’ sounded unlikely given what she knew.

‘He was, let’s say, a little worse for wear. Perhaps not drunk as such but a little giddy and giggly. I asked if he wanted a lift home.’

‘You didn’t take him back to his flat though . . .’

‘No – we went to my house. I said we could talk a little more about my idea for the club and he was fine.’

‘What happened at your house?’

Bob’s voice cracked slightly. ‘He said he didn’t really like beer, so we were drinking whisky. Then I asked if he wanted to try something a little stronger.’

‘What?’

‘I suppose you’ve already found it by now – but I usually have a small amount of cocaine around the house. It helps at the end of a week.’

‘Damon’s flatmate said he wasn’t into drugs.’

Bob shrugged. ‘What can I say? I didn’t force him.’

‘Did anything else happen between you?’

Bob looked away from the camera, facing Jessica. ‘Like what?’

‘Do you want me to spell it out?’

‘If you’re asking if we had sex, then no. It wasn’t his thing.’

‘But you asked?’

‘Does it matter?’

Jessica decided not to push it while he was talking freely anyway. ‘What happened after that?’

Bob turned back to the camera. ‘I really don’t know. One minute he was fine, the next he was convulsing on the floor. He started coughing and I didn’t know what to do. The next thing I knew, well . . .’

Jessica had a sense that the story was true – except that Bob had taken him back to his house to talk about the St Flora’s group and not an after-hours club. Damon wouldn’t be the last student to overindulge in booze and drugs and Bob wasn’t struggling to tell a made-up story, plus it fitted with the forensic evidence they did have.

‘You know that Damon choked to death on his own vomit?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could have saved him, possibly by altering the angle his body was at – definitely by calling an ambulance.’

‘I know.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I’d been drinking too. I didn’t quite realise what was happening until it was too late. I tried shaking him but he was gone.’

‘What about an ambulance? They could have talked you through resuscitating him.’

‘I don’t know . . . it happened really quickly.’

‘You were thinking about yourself, knowing that if a student was found dead in your house with drink and drugs in his system, then it’d be the end of your career.’

Bob shrugged. He did seem genuinely devastated, head bowed, arms under the table. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Tell me what you did with his body.’

‘You can probably figure it out. I got a sheet, wrapped him up, put him in the back of the car and drove back to the university.’

‘Drunk?’

‘I’m guessing you’ve never been in a situation like that but it’s amazing how sober you feel.’

Jessica was pretty sure that breath tests and blood-alcohol levels didn’t take that into account, but then drink-driving was the least of his worries.

‘How did you lift him by yourself?’

For the first time, Bob seemed unsure of himself. ‘Sorry?’

‘He was a rower – I’ve seen the photos and he had a lot of muscle on him. He was taller than you as well.’

‘I . . . didn’t really think about it.’

‘So you’re saying you carried him by yourself?’

Bob glanced to the camera, then Jessica, then back again. ‘Of course.’

That was something she very much doubted – but there was no evidence to the contrary.

‘Why did you return to the university?’

He spoke without a pause, the story perfectly drilled. ‘Familiarity? I’m not sure. A few years ago, there was a man fished out of the river who’d fallen in and drowned. I suppose I thought it would be easy enough to make it seem like that. It was late . . . well, early, I suppose. At the back of the university buildings, there are these lanes that run down to the park and the river but there were a few small groups of people around wearing suits and dresses.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I waited. There was a party on, so when it went quiet I took Damon down towards the front.’ He caught Jessica’s eye. ‘I had to drag him some of the way on the path but I had the sheet. When I got down there, I spotted the metal bin and thought it’d cause fewer problems if I left him there.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure . . . I wasn’t thinking properly. I suppose I thought that if his body ended up in the river then it could have floated anywhere.’

It wasn’t the best of reasons but given the rest of his story, it almost made sense: she didn’t believe he actually wanted to hurt Damon and he likely wouldn’t have known that the bin was going to be emptied hours later. In a strange, warped way, being left to be found in a bin offered a minuscule amount of dignity compared to floating miles in a river and perhaps never being found. Of course, the truth could be that Bob left the body there knowing the blame would be thrown elsewhere. Either way, he had a story that he was sticking to.

Jessica nudged Archie with her knee under the desk and he was instantly the jack-the-lad Manc, as much at home selling dodgy TVs as he was in an interview room. He pressed both forearms onto the table, looked at Jessica, then back across the desk again.

‘What a load of old bollocks. You expect us to believe that you carried the body of a strapping young athlete out to your car, down a ramp, then lifted him into a bin all by yourself? Give over, mate. I’ve heard more convincing stories off Scousers.’

Bob didn’t flinch, staring at the table. ‘Believe what you want – I’ve told you the truth.’

‘And what about this after-hours club of yours? There must have been something else going on – Damon was a smart kid: rich, athletic, bright future. What were you offering him that made him so keen to go back to your house?’

He’d asked the exact question Jessica wanted him to without even knowing it.

‘I don’t know. He was very academic – I can only imagine he enjoyed interacting with others who were up to his level.’

‘What a load of shite.’

‘I don’t have anything else to say.’

And he didn’t. Archie kept pushing and pointing out the inconsistencies in Bob’s story but he would only repeat that he’d told them all he knew.

Eventually, Jessica tapped Archie on the knee again and he backed off, still staring ferociously across the room. ‘I just have one final question,’ Jessica said. ‘Who are you scared of?’