Denial of Murder by Peter Turnbull Page B

of sex, though, but he went all over her room. Robbery when under the influence, or so we assumed, but she had nothing of value so he took a pair of her thongs back into his room … filthy little pervert … he runs off with a schoolgirl, then he murders a seventeen-year-old for a single item of her underwear.’ Darwish grinned and shrugged his shoulders, ‘Like I said. Open and shut.’
    â€˜What did he say had happened?’ Brunnie asked.
    â€˜He claimed he had no recollection, like I said,’ Darwish replied. ‘I slapped him around a bit but he still said he couldn’t remember anything.’
    â€˜You did that?’ Swannell raised an eyebrow. ‘That could have backfired on you.’
    â€˜Yes, I did,’ Darwish replied. ‘I mean, within these four walls, of course, I mean between you and me and the gatepost.’
    â€˜Dangerous confession,’ Swannell growled. ‘It could still get you into bother.’
    â€˜Come on, he got what was coming to him and it was a long time coming if you ask me … a very long time coming … the rape of a schoolgirl … then he murders a teenager for her underwear … and all he could bleat was, “I don’t remember, I don’t remember”. But it was a solid conviction, and so we were well happy. Why all the interest in the little toe-rag? Is he under suspicion for another felony?’
    â€˜No, nothing like that,’ Brunnie replied coldly. ‘He’s dead. He’s been murdered.’
    â€˜Has he now?’ Darwish smiled a broad smile and once more put his hands behind his head. ‘Well, there’s justice for you, as my old Welsh grandfather would have said.’ Darwish’s smile was broad enough to reveal a gold-capped molar.
    â€˜Yesterday,’ Swannell added, deadpan. ‘The body was found in the street in Wimbledon.’
    â€˜That was Cogan?’ Darwish slapped one of his mighty palms on his desktop. ‘I heard about that on the radio. No name was mentioned, just that a body had been found … police appealing for witnesses, et cetera. Well, that’s a turn-up for the books and no mistake … and Wimbledon … Acton to Wimbledon, that is quite a social climb. Didn’t he go up in the world?’
    â€˜Hardly,’ Brunnie replied, ‘he was living in a bail hostel in Kentish Town when he was iced. We believe his body was dumped in Wimbledon after he was murdered elsewhere.’
    â€˜I see,’ Darwish replied.
    â€˜There were no CCTV cameras where his body was dumped,’ Swannell explained. ‘Somebody knew what they were doing – someone was CCTV savvy.’
    â€˜So …’ Darwish pursed his lips, ‘someone didn’t like him. That I can well understand. But yes, I gave him a right pasting in the cells when he came back from the Magistrates Court after his solicitor had left.’ Darwish paused, noting the expressions on Swannell and Brunnie’s faces. ‘Well, he was getting away with too much, wasn’t he? Abducting and raping a schoolgirl … then he strangles a tiny little seventeen-year-old. She could have turned her life around, or she’d be dead within a year anyway … we’ll never know … but the point is that time was on her side, it could still all have been ahead of her. With treatment and rehab she could have had a life. Cogan got money for a bottle and when he’s tanked up and gets a bit angry about this and that and forces his way into her room, very usefully for us he drops his DHSS signing-on card on her carpet, chokes the life out of her and steals her undies. His DNA is all over the shop … I mean, everywhere, like I said … and would you credit it, does he even try to help himself? No … the stupid oaf pleads not guilty. Anyway, he was found guilty, goes up before Mr Justice Very Sensible this time and collects a life sentence. He changes his