Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
FREDDIE
I’ve watched enough true crime to have seen the inside of a police interview room before. Being in one was a whole different kettle of fish. It smells of old coffee and stale body odour.
Rank.
They also fail to mention just how long you’re left in here between interrogation sessions.
Technically, I’ve not been arrested, so I could leave at any time, or invoke my right to a lawyer, but I’ve been waiting for the small fish to do their bit with the hope of confronting the big fry himself: Ashworth.
It’s been hours since the last stint of questions, and I’m beginning to think that Ashworth won’t bother with me. My eyes hurt, and my back aches from sitting in the brightly lit room with the terribly hard chairs.
Boredom soon wins out over discomfort. I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes and letting my mind wander over the events of the last few weeks. It all started with Ellie. I don’t know where it’ll end.
My head lolls as sleep steals over me. The minute I’m out, the door slams open, startling me so hard I fall out of my chair.
With bleary eyes, I pull myself up and take the chair again, coming face to face with Ashworth himself. The guy looks utterly unfazed by the latest twist in his case.
The ability to be as entrenched as I know he is, and not even look a little stressed, makes my stomach churn. Breathing through my nose, I try to stay calm, knowing these things are being filmed.
Going straight in with accusations could be twisted to make me look unhinged. And play my hand too. I don’t want him to know what I know until I can figure out what to do with the information.
Ashworth pulls out his chair across from me and sits, hitting the button on the recorder to start it.
‘Evening, Mr Baker.’
‘Mr Ashworth,’ I say. ‘This is a funny way to get that interview I’ve been after.’
‘Call me Richard. Killing two men is certainly an extreme way to talk to me directly.’
I’ve been questioned every which way for hours, as though I’m going to trip up on that little nugget. ‘I’m sure you’ve verified my alibi by now, Richard.’
He tenses his fingers into a fist on the table, but his face is a picture of calm.
‘We have. But we also know that you were at the scene quite a while before you called it in. What were you doing?’
‘Mostly trying not to throw up and implicate myself.’ A half-truth is always the best way to cover a lie.
‘Took a good look at the bodies, did you?’ There’s a gravel in his voice that sets off little warning signs deep inside me.
‘Just to check they were definitely dead. I’m a reporter; accuracy is paramount.’
Ashworth laughs at that. ‘We all know the press doesn’t care about precision. They care about clickbait and shifting copies. Let’s not fool ourselves.’
I give a non-committal shrug.
‘What did you take from the house?’ he presses.
‘I gave you my phone and car keys. You tell me?’
The way he frowns shows that my answer clearly rankles him. ‘Don’t be a smart arse. I know not to trust the press as far as I can throw them.’
‘Some might say the same about the police…’
That gets him. His teeth grind audibly as his eyes narrow. Fuck, I’m enjoying this more than I should be. Bringing this despicable fuckwad to justice will be glorious.
‘So, you claim to have received an anonymous tip-off. Which disappeared by the time you went back to your emails? How is that possible?’
Folding my arms on the table, I tilt my head a touch as I regard how far to push him.
‘Well, Richard, I don’t know how it’s possible, because I’m an investigative journalist and not a tech wizard.
You’ve got to have someone on your team who knows a thing or two about technology.
I’d suggest you direct that question at them, not me. ’
His muscles tense further, and if we weren’t being recorded, I’m pretty sure he’d have tried to deck me.
‘So you, a journalist, entered the crime scene, yet didn’t take a single photograph?’
I don’t want to lie on record, given that I very much intend to use the evidence to rip a new one in this scumbag. Eventually.
‘You have my phone. Did you see any photographs?’
His nostrils flare, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to smirk.
‘What took you so long to contact the police if you weren’t documenting the scene?’
Swallowing, I lean back and consider my response. They’ve asked me this same question in what seems like a hundred different ways, hoping to find a crack.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen brutally killed people’s corpses in real life before.
I’ve certainly not been sent into a situation like that by an anonymous source with no clue what the hell I’m supposed to do.
I lost track of time because I was mortified about what I found.
I considered walking away. To pretend like I’d never been there and leave it to be someone else’s problem. I wasn't prepared for that situation.’
There’s something sinister lurking in Ashworth’s eyes, making me want to look away, but I hold his gaze through it.
‘Sounds like a tall tale. If you’re hiding anything, we’ll find it.’
Ashworth pushes his chair back and stands, and I can’t help but prod him further.
‘Have you identified them yet?’
‘The men?’ he asks. ‘Yes.’
‘No, not them. The children.’
There’s a flicker in his gaze as he places his hands on the table and leans close to me.
‘What children?’
‘The ones in the garden.’
The smile he cracks makes my stomach weak.
‘There was a shoe uncovered in the garden when my men arrived. What leads you to think there was one child, let alone more?’ I can feel him turning my question back on me, showing me that I’ve made an error.
‘And with one shoe visible, what leads you to believe there are multiple sets of remains there?’
‘I saw the ground. There were lots of spots of earth disturbed just like that one.’
‘Mmm. If you say so. It sounds to me like you have prior knowledge of what’s buried at the cottage.
How would you know that when nothing’s been confirmed, unless you are somehow involved in putting them there?
’ Ashworth looks fucking thrilled with himself, whereas my arse is doing the five-pence-fifty-pence dance.
‘That’s insane.’
‘Is it? You show up alone at a crime scene that you’ve apparently been sent to with magical disappearing emails, with knowledge of bodies you couldn’t have seen.’ Ashworth sits back down and taps the table.
‘Listen, that’s what happened. I have an alib—’
‘Oh yes. The girlfriend. Ellie Warner. The very same Ellie who’s linked to Sam Ulster, the first missing person in this case. That Ellie?’
I can feel the heat in my face.
‘That’s quite the coincidence, Mr Baker. And in my line of work, there are rarely coincidences. There are patterns. A journalist turning up at a crime scene related to his girlfriend’s missing ex. Suspicious, no?’
The smug mother fucker makes me break. ‘You want to hear suspicious? Why’s an old copper like you coming crawling back onto the force for this investigation? Do you think your colleagues are too incapable to do it without you, or are you guiding them?’
Ashworth snarls. ‘Careful.’
‘Why? Are you worried about what people might say?’ I’m getting reckless as my heartbeat quickens. ‘People will uncover every single skeleton in your closet eventually, Richard. No matter what roads you push them down.’
Ashworth hits the record button and looks at me with a cold, calculated fury. For a few sharp breaths, nothing happens.
He leans across the table, his face close enough that I can see the red broken lines in the whites of his eyes. ‘Want a bet?’
I don’t have a response, my mouth gaping as he calmly switches back on the recorder and ends the interview.
‘Don’t leave the area, Mr Baker. And watch your back; you never know who’s watching.’ The threat is clear as day, but he smiles and adds. ‘Someone must have been watching you and sent you there. We’ll do everything in our power to apprehend them.’
The charade isn’t for me. It’s for the recordings.
As I catch a cab home, his words run through my head,
Wanna bet?
Ashworth knows that I know more than I’m saying. And he knows about Ellie. I have no proof he killed anyone, but he needs to be dealt with.