He was close to apoplectic rage, and that meant he was going to make a mistake. ‘I’ll fucking—’
‘Barnaby!’ The lawyer placed a calming hand on his client’s arm which he immediately shrugged off, glaring at his counsel.
I lean forward. ‘Do continue. You’ll fucking … what, Barnaby? You’ll fucking kill me? Like you did poor Alasdair? Oh no, wait, you just like to watch don't you? Did you watch someone kill Alasdair before or after Beeks fucked your wife?’
With a roar, Kerr surged up. He tried to flip the metal table over towards me, but it didn’t budge.
‘It’s bolted to the floor,’ I explained helpfully.
‘Barnaby!’ The lawyer stepped closer, hissing rapid instructions to his client.
Kerr’s hands were clenched into fists, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he battled to keep his temper under control.
When the brief was convinced Kerr had his shit together, he turned to me, his words coming out clipped. ‘You have his statement, Inspector, and since you have no charges, this interview is over. Come on, Mr Kerr. We’ve taken up enough of Miss Wise’s time.’
‘That’s Inspector Wise,’ I corrected.
‘Not for long!’ Kerr snarled as he stalked out.
I watched him go with satisfaction. He was rash and hot-headed. If he was involved it was on the periphery. He wasn’t a planner. Wasn’t cool, calm and collected like Marlow’s killer, who’d sat him down and chatted before ripping out his insides. No, Kerr wasn’t the killer, but I’d bet he knew who it was. And it was one of his Anti-Crea besties.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I was wholly unsurprised when I was summoned to Faraday’s office less than twenty minutes later. I knocked on his door and entered when bidden.
He was looking out onto the streets that ran through the heart of Chester, with the Cathedral ruling the skyline just beyond.
‘Wise,’ he said without turning from the window. ‘Sit and give me the rundown.’
I sat. It was rare in the extreme for Faraday to get his hands dirty these days. He rode a desk with panache, ruled the Cheshire force with an iron fist, and rarely got mixed up in the nitty-gritty of day-to-day life and cases. Yet he’d come to Ji-ho’s rescue when I needed it and that had taken him up a peg in my estimation. Somewhere underneath it all, a good cop still lurked. Somewhere.
I ran it down. ‘As you know, Symposium member Lord Theodore Marlow, an air elemental, was found dead in his residence at 8.00am by his cleaner. There were no signs offorced entry. The assailant used a taser to incapacitate him, fitted magic-cancelling cuffs, and restrained him to a chair.’
Faraday grunted.
‘The ME has confirmed necrotic tissue in the wounds,’ I continued. ‘Her conclusion is that Marlow was killed using the severed head of a dead ogre, Thrain Olofsson, in an attempt to frame the ogres for the murder. DNA from residual cells in the wounds matches Olofsson.’
‘How did Olofsson die?’
‘Black tourney. Fatal.’
‘Damned tourneys,’ Faraday muttered. ‘Go on.’
‘The next day, Anti-Crea protestors took up position outside of the station to stir up outrage even though they had no lawful way of knowing that an ogre was involved.’
‘Yes, I recall,’ he said impatiently. ‘And as was said at the time, departmental leaks do happen. What about the second death?’
‘The second death was the murder of one of the aforementioned protestors – Alasdair Drummond. He was a low-level piper and a vocal member of the Anti-Crea community. His rap sheet includes numerous arrests for unlawful protests and inciting civil unrest, but he has never served jail time.’ I paused, because now we were getting to the tricky part. ‘In interview, it came to light that Mr Drummond had asserted that he had a half-ogre nephew, and presumably his murderer intended to set up the related ogre for both deaths. However, it is anticipated that the ME will find the same necrotic tissue present in Mr Drummond’s wounds. It is also notable that the body suffered from frostbite in certain areas, and the ME postulates that the decapitated head of Thrain Olofsson has been kept in a freezer in the intervening period to stave off further decomposition. She will compare samples to verify this.’
I paused and Faraday waved at me to continue. I wanted to take a deep breath before plunging into the next section, but I well knew the telltale signs of dishonesty, so I didn’t.
Here begins the slippery slope, I thought as I prepared to fudge the truth for Robbie, for his privacy. I wouldn’t have him hauled down to the station on some spurious charge if I could prevent it. Not when he was innocent of any wrongdoing here.
I continued with no difference in tone or expression, just running down the facts. ‘There is no legal record of Mr Drummond having a nephew, and his deceased sister is not recorded as having given birth, nor was she legally married. It is unknown at this juncture who the half-ogre nephew is or indeed if one exists. Given the circumstances, I do not consider it necessary to employ our scant resources to identify the alleged ogre relative as he is clearly blameless in this matter and particularly when we have conclusively determined that the weapon in question was the severed head of Thrain Olofsson.’
‘I agree,’ Faraday grunted. ‘There is no suggestion that the purported ogre relative was ever involved, save as to be set up. As such, his identity is of a low priority at this time.’ He turned to face me, still standing so that he towered over me while I sat. An intimidation tactic that I didn’t let bother me.
‘Wise, I do not need to tell you the importance of wrapping this one up quickly. There is significant pressure on us to identify and bring down Teddy’s killer.’ He fixed me with a look. ‘How certain are you that Barnaby Kerr Junior is involved?’
