IMPURITY by Ray Clark (which ebook reader txt) 📕

You’ve not requested the attendance of your own solicitor, nor the duty solicitor. And you’re quite happy with DCI Briggs sitting in. Detective Sergeant Reilly and I are investigating the deaths of Herbert Plum and Bernard Thornwell. How well did you know those men?”

“I didn’t know Thornwell. Seen him in the pub a few times.”

“What about Plum?”

Sutton sighed. “I didn’t really know either of ’em.”

“When we spoke to you less than a week ago, you called Plum a pervert, which suggests to me that you did. Or at the very least, felt you knew enough to pass an opinion.”

Sutton’s temper flared. “He were trying to pull me bird for a porn film. Me there! In the same flaming pub...”

“What exactly did you say to him?”

“I said I’d punch his lights out if I caught him talking to her again.”

“And that’s all?”

“More or less.”

“Are you telling me everything?” Gardener pushed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I have a witness who said you threatened to kill them both.”

Sutton laughed. “I didn’t mean it. I were just talking, trying to frighten ’em.”

“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean. After an argument, you threatened to kill them both if you saw them again. Both men are now dead. Try looking at it from my point of view.”

Sutton pointed a finger. “Now look here, I never killed ’em. I might have said it. I were annoyed, I’d had a drink, but I didn’t kill ’em!”

“Where were you on the night of Friday, 4th of December between 6:30 and 11:00pm?”

Sutton exhaled a long breath, glancing upwards. “I’d rather not say.”

“Why not?” Gardener knew Sutton’s alibi could land him in trouble that he’d be reluctant to admit to. Gardener didn’t care. He had an investigation to run.

“Look, I can’t tell you.”

“That’s a pity. You see, in order to eliminate you as a suspect, we need to be able to verify your whereabouts.”

“I didn’t do it!” shouted Sutton, gripping the edge of the table.

Gardener increased the pressure. “Then, tell me where you were.”

Sutton glanced around the room. His breathing became heavier. “On a job,” he muttered, quietly.

“Pardon?”

Sutton spoke through clenched teeth. “On a job. Are you satisfied now?”

“What sort of a job?”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

“You know you have to.”

Sutton’s hands were clasped together on the table, his fingers locking together and releasing in quick, spasmic movements. “I think I need to talk to my brief.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Mr Sutton?” replied Gardener, a little annoyed. His intention had not been to question Sutton about stolen paint. More to use it as a lever if needed.

“If you bring your brief in, I’ll think you’re hiding something. It might slip out that you were doing a job for Brian Thatchett, otherwise known as ‘Thatchett The Hatchet’. You know as well as I do where he got that nickname from.”

“Are you threatening me?” asked Sutton.

Gardener laughed. “Not at all. I’m simply saying that even with the best will in the world, it’s impossible to keep everything from men like The Hatchet. Word eventually gets round that you spilled your guts to save yourself. Next thing you know, The Hatchet and his sharp little friend come looking for you, and you’re history.” Gardener paused and stood up, pushing his chair back. “Still…”

“Okay,” said Sutton. “You win. You obviously know all about the paint job.”

“Of course, I do,” said Gardener, sitting back down. “But I haven’t dragged you in to talk about paint. Did you ever notice Plum with anyone else other than Thornwell?”

“In the pub, you mean?”

“Anywhere.”

“I never saw him outside the pub. He were often in the pub with a woman, one as runs the boarding house.”

“Olive Bradshaw?”

“Aye, that’s her.”

“Were they friendly?”

“Sometimes.”

“Enough to suggest a relationship?”

Sutton nodded. “I’d say so. They weren’t always together. Sometimes he were with Thornwell, sometimes her. Before her brother popped his clogs, they all used to come in. There were summat funny going on there.”

“Something funny?” inquired Gardener, his curiosity piqued.

“Nowt I could put me finger on, just summat odd. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were all in films. Granny Sex, or summat like it. I don’t know. Ask anybody in the pub, they’ll all tell you.”

Gardener was about to ask another question when Sutton continued speaking. “And then there were that freak! Ugly bastard he were.”

“Who are you talking about now?” Gardener’s skin suddenly started to itch.

“Oh, Christ! What were his name? Felix; that’s it. Felix – face full of warts.”

Gardener froze. A whole year had passed without a sighting of Warthead and, suddenly, two references within two days. “Face full of warts? Can you tell me anything else about him?”

Sutton shrugged. “There’s not much more to say. He’s about five feet tall, maybe nineteen or twenty, funny shaped head. Face full of warts.”

“You ever hear him talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Cockney accent?” pressed Gardener.

“No. Yorkshire.”

Gardener was momentarily knocked off balance. What had happened to the cockney accent? Perhaps it was a put on. Gardener’s problem suddenly escalated. If Warthead was local, how had he managed to evade him? Especially with a face like his?

“How was he usually dressed?”

“A fancy jacket. Black leather, gold eagle on the back. Some American slogan. Can’t really remember.”

“Genuine article? You wouldn’t buy it in England?”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you know anything else about Felix? Where he lived?”

“No, all I know is what I’ve told you. I only ever saw him about three times, but him and Plum were as thick as thieves when I did see them.”

“Have you seen him in the pub recently?”

“No, last time were before Plum were killed.”

Gardener’s skin crawled, his guts churned. “Did you ever see Felix with anyone else other