The DCI Warren Jones Series Books 1–3. Paul Gitsham

is unwell and was not in the clearest frame of mind when he was arrested. It is my belief that he was unable to understand his rights when read them at the time of his arrest. Anything he has said is therefore inadmissible.”

      It was true that Severino had been drunk and incapable at the time of his arrest, but the desk sergeant had read him his rights a couple of hours ago and the prisoner had been sober enough to request that the police arrange a solicitor for him. Nevertheless, since he had done nothing more incriminating than burp, puke and fart since his arrest that morning, Jones decided there was nothing to be gained by arguing the point.

      “Firstly, the police surgeon has proclaimed Dr Severino fit enough to be questioned. Do you feel well enough to be interviewed?”

      Although the young man was clearly fighting a brutal hangover, his desire to end the ordeal and get home was greater and he nodded his assent. Good, thought Warren, pleased that they wouldn’t lose any advantage that Severino’s illness might give them.

      “Of course, I am happy to read Dr Severino his rights again.” Jones recited the lines slowly and precisely, so that there could be no confusion, then reiterated what Severino was being accused of.

      With the formalities over, it was time to get on with the questioning.

      “What were you doing last night, Dr Severino, between about nine p.m. and ten-thirty p.m.?”

      The young Italian licked his lips nervously, stealing a glance at his lawyer.

      “Um, no comment,” he said uncomfortably.

      So that’s the way it is going to be, thought Warren wearily. Severino’s lawyer had clearly decided that with no evidence yet disclosed, his best advice was for the accused to keep quiet, avoiding the risk of incriminating himself.

      “OK. Perhaps then you could tell us what your relationship is with Professor Alan Tunbridge?”

      Again the young man looked at his lawyer, before repeating his previous response, “No comment.” This time he seemed even less sure of himself and Warren felt a flicker of satisfaction. Despite his lawyer’s recommendations, Severino’s instincts were clearly telling him to speak up and end the interview sooner. Good, they could work on that inner conflict.

      Warren leaned forward, feigning exasperation. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. We know that you worked for Professor Tunbridge as one of his postdoctoral research assistants. If you can’t even acknowledge something as easy for us to verify as that, we’re in for a very long, very uncomfortable few days. So please, stop being silly and answer the questions, so we can all go home.”

      The doubt in Severino’s eyes grew stronger, and he looked at his lawyer again, his eyes imploring. The young solicitor studiously avoided his gaze for fear of being accused of leading his client.

      Sutton leant forward. “Look, son, we know all about Tunbridge. He shafted you over your job and then wouldn’t let you write up any of your own research. Guy’s a serious bully from what we’ve heard. We know all about you vandalising his car, but that isn’t our concern. Call it karma; what goes around comes around, I say, but we need to know what happened last night. Tell us what you were doing between nine-thirty and ten-thirty p.m and we can all go home.”

      Severino shook his head again; this time his “No comment” was almost inaudible.

      Warren took over again. “Answering our questions at this stage can only help you, Antonio. If you can tell us where you were we can end all of this right now.”

      It was too much for Severino; his already pasty face turned bone-white and he clutched his stomach. Jones and Sutton pushed their chairs back quickly. Severino’s lawyer wasn’t quite as fast. With a loud groan, Severino vomited across the metal table, before turning to his lawyer to apologise, and doing the same thing again, all over the man’s lap.

      That pretty much concluded the interview, decided Jones as he called for a cleaner and offered a tissue to the hapless solicitor. They had until the following morning to charge Severino or apply for an extension. The young man was clearly conflicted. Perhaps a night of lonely contemplation would loosen his tongue. Who knew, they might even get a confession in time for the superintendent’s press conference.

      As they left the interview room they met DS Kent coming the other way. “How did it go?”

      “Spilled his guts,” deadpanned Sutton.

       Chapter 13

      Warren sat back in his leather chair. A tide of exhaustion swept over him now that the adrenaline of the day’s events had finally subsided. He’d filled in the essential paperwork in record time and the rest of the bureaucratic make-work could safely be left another twenty-four hours, he judged. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was now past six o’clock. With a sinking feeling, Warren knew that there was no way he could get to Cambridge for six-thirty for the start of the meal. Resigned to his fate, he called Susan’s mobile.

      “Oh, it’s you. Susan’s driving.”

      Warren closed his eyes briefly in pain. Bernice again.

      “Hello, Bernice, I’m probably going to be late for the meal. Go ahead and order without me. I’m really sorry, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

      A stony silence.

      “I’ll let her know.” The line went dead.

      Warren glanced at his watch, doing some quick arithmetic. If he took the A10, he would be going against the flow of the traffic. Most people would be leaving Cambridge now after a Saturday afternoon of shopping. The road was wide and long and he could probably get away with putting his foot down. Factoring in the time necessary to nip into a garage for a bunch of flowers, Warren reckoned he could probably get there in time for the main course.

      Grabbing his jacket, he headed out of his small office towards the stairs.

      “Ah, Warren.”

      Again!

      “I was just getting ready for tomorrow morning’s press conference. DS Kent tells me that Severino has confessed everything.”

      Warren blinked in surprise.

      “Er, no, sir. He was ‘no commenting’, right up until the end when he was violently sick over his lawyer. I decided to terminate the interview. I thought I’d have another crack tomorrow morning.”

      “Then why did DS Kent say that…? Oh, I see, ‘spilled his guts’. I must say, Warren, that joking about such a thing is a little unprofessional and has led to all sorts of confusion. I’ll have to rewrite my speech now. By the sounds of things, we’re essentially going to be repeating the statement I just released to the press half an hour ago.”

      Warren was too tired to correct his superior and pin the blame on Sutton for the misunderstanding. Besides which, he could hear the loud ticking of the clock in the super’s office. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

      Running down to the car park, Warren jumped into his car, praying that no one else wanted to chat with him. The car’s dashboard clock showed 18:25. As he pulled out onto the main road he flicked the radio on: Radio 4. He doubted that the superintendent’s statement would have made it onto the national news, at least not for the half-hourly bulletins. Steering with one hand, Warren clumsily played with the auto-tune, looking for a local radio station. A sudden deafening blast of Wham! made him question yet again why he had to turn the volume up to twenty to hear Radio 4 clearly, yet all the way down to ten or less to avoid rupturing his eardrums when listening to Heart.

      Finally, he found the local BBC station and suffered a few moments of a dreadful cover of an Elton John classic before the news headlines. Unsurprisingly, the murder was the top story. Warren was pleased to hear that the super had resisted the urge to spice up the statement too much, simply stating the facts, expressing the force’s