No, they were exterior only, which is enough to create the scene."
"A scene that is very biased against my client."
D.S Moore nodded.
"Did you check the cleaner?"
Catchpool and Moore both looked at Bruce as if he'd provided a cure for cancer. Bruce shot a glance at both men and smiled. He looked at Moore. "Tell me you interviewed the cleaner?"
Moore shook his head. "You think the cleaner did it?" Catchpool looked confused and placed a hand out again. "You don’t have to answer that, Bruce."
Bruce leaned forward. "It's okay…I just want this done. I know I didn’t do a goddamn thing, but there's no point sitting here with our thumbs up our arses when Moore here can be out chasing the real suspect. It's pissing into the wind."
"What about the cleaner?"
"Barden had a cleaner. Came around every day."
"So?"
"You cordoned the scene off, right?"
"Yes?"
"When?"
"We got there at about…four-ish?"
"Barden's normal hours are eight until six. The cleaner wouldn't have been in until seven, before you cordoned off the room."
"I don’t follow."
"Barden told us, me and Patricia, that he's a germaphobe. The cleaner comes around every day, after his shift, to clean the office. If you cordoned off the scene, then the evidence of a killer will still be in that room. Now, I didn’t do it, I would have got blood all over me. But someone did. They might have dropped something in the room."
"This is clutching at straws, Mr. Brunswick. We aren’t letting you go until we know for sure you didn’t do it."
"I didn’t. I know that. What have you got to lose by checking?"
"You think sending us off on a wild goose chase is going to help you?"
"Listen to me. Barden had his throat slit. That takes a strong man and, despite what the shitty movies say, you can't just slash and cut through muscle and sinew that thick. It takes power, holding the guy down, real leverage. Trust me, if someone did this to Barden, the evidence will be on his body. Or in the room."
"He didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back. We already checked and there was no trace under the fingernails."
"Check his clothes, his office. If I did it, I would have left traces in the room. A hair, skin, whatever you CSI guys relish nowadays."
D.S Moore said nothing. Catchpool sat back, smiling.
Moore knew his suspect was right.
It couldn’t do any harm to check.
"Alright, Mr. Brunswick. For now, you go back to your bed and stay there. We'll check this out."
"Sure. My wife just went home to fetch me some clothes anyway. I might give you guys a hard time and whatnot, but seriously, how did you not realise that?"
"We didn’t know about the cleaner," Moore said bluntly.
"I thought Carol would have told you that?"
"No. She didn’t."
"I'd get her back in if I were you." Bruce winked at Moore, who stifled a smile. Both men stood up. Moore looked at Catchpool, who was closing his briefcase. "Catchpool, grab a coffee and hang around. We might need you yet."
"I doubt it."
FOURTEEN
Tires crunched on hard snow as Patricia Brunswick pulled into her driveway. She shifted the gear into neutral and fell back in her seat, exhausted. She'd caught mere minutes of sleep whilst sitting on the chair in Bruce's room. A couple of minutes in twenty-four hours. Uncomfortable sleep. Her body felt stiff, sore and fatigued.
Maybe you can have a sleep now. Bruce won't mind. He can’t leave until you come and pick him up anyway. Mike can stay a little longer to look after Amy. He won't mind the money. Patricia felt a sense of possible relief building inside her.
Just four hours, it's all you need.
He'd understand.
Patricia took her phone from her pocket and her fingers danced across the keypad as she composed a text. She read it back: Home now. Going to get a little shuteye. See you in a few hours with clean clothes. Love x
Patricia hit send. She smiled weakly and sniffled. Got a cold coming .
Then she remembered Bruce's phone was in her purse. As if to confirm it, the mobile
"A scene that is very biased against my client."
D.S Moore nodded.
"Did you check the cleaner?"
Catchpool and Moore both looked at Bruce as if he'd provided a cure for cancer. Bruce shot a glance at both men and smiled. He looked at Moore. "Tell me you interviewed the cleaner?"
Moore shook his head. "You think the cleaner did it?" Catchpool looked confused and placed a hand out again. "You don’t have to answer that, Bruce."
Bruce leaned forward. "It's okay…I just want this done. I know I didn’t do a goddamn thing, but there's no point sitting here with our thumbs up our arses when Moore here can be out chasing the real suspect. It's pissing into the wind."
"What about the cleaner?"
"Barden had a cleaner. Came around every day."
"So?"
"You cordoned the scene off, right?"
"Yes?"
"When?"
"We got there at about…four-ish?"
"Barden's normal hours are eight until six. The cleaner wouldn't have been in until seven, before you cordoned off the room."
"I don’t follow."
"Barden told us, me and Patricia, that he's a germaphobe. The cleaner comes around every day, after his shift, to clean the office. If you cordoned off the scene, then the evidence of a killer will still be in that room. Now, I didn’t do it, I would have got blood all over me. But someone did. They might have dropped something in the room."
"This is clutching at straws, Mr. Brunswick. We aren’t letting you go until we know for sure you didn’t do it."
"I didn’t. I know that. What have you got to lose by checking?"
"You think sending us off on a wild goose chase is going to help you?"
"Listen to me. Barden had his throat slit. That takes a strong man and, despite what the shitty movies say, you can't just slash and cut through muscle and sinew that thick. It takes power, holding the guy down, real leverage. Trust me, if someone did this to Barden, the evidence will be on his body. Or in the room."
"He didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back. We already checked and there was no trace under the fingernails."
"Check his clothes, his office. If I did it, I would have left traces in the room. A hair, skin, whatever you CSI guys relish nowadays."
D.S Moore said nothing. Catchpool sat back, smiling.
Moore knew his suspect was right.
It couldn’t do any harm to check.
"Alright, Mr. Brunswick. For now, you go back to your bed and stay there. We'll check this out."
"Sure. My wife just went home to fetch me some clothes anyway. I might give you guys a hard time and whatnot, but seriously, how did you not realise that?"
"We didn’t know about the cleaner," Moore said bluntly.
"I thought Carol would have told you that?"
"No. She didn’t."
"I'd get her back in if I were you." Bruce winked at Moore, who stifled a smile. Both men stood up. Moore looked at Catchpool, who was closing his briefcase. "Catchpool, grab a coffee and hang around. We might need you yet."
"I doubt it."
FOURTEEN
Tires crunched on hard snow as Patricia Brunswick pulled into her driveway. She shifted the gear into neutral and fell back in her seat, exhausted. She'd caught mere minutes of sleep whilst sitting on the chair in Bruce's room. A couple of minutes in twenty-four hours. Uncomfortable sleep. Her body felt stiff, sore and fatigued.
Maybe you can have a sleep now. Bruce won't mind. He can’t leave until you come and pick him up anyway. Mike can stay a little longer to look after Amy. He won't mind the money. Patricia felt a sense of possible relief building inside her.
Just four hours, it's all you need.
He'd understand.
Patricia took her phone from her pocket and her fingers danced across the keypad as she composed a text. She read it back: Home now. Going to get a little shuteye. See you in a few hours with clean clothes. Love x
Patricia hit send. She smiled weakly and sniffled. Got a cold coming .
Then she remembered Bruce's phone was in her purse. As if to confirm it, the mobile
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