Cooper and Fry Crime Fiction Series Books 1-3: Black Dog, Dancing With the Virgins, Blood on the Tongue. Stephen Booth

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      ‘Do you know, I’d really love to do that, Ben. And I’ll keep you to that bout, don’t you worry.’

      

      Lee Sherratt sat sullenly in an interview room, staring at the two cassette recorders and twin video cameras. His skin was faintly swarthy, as if he had a fading suntan or hadn’t washed for a long time. His hair was black, and the stubble on his cheeks made his complexion look even darker. His eyes wandered around the room, looking at anything rather than the detectives facing him. He was a well-built youth, but at the moment his muscular shoulders were held high, betraying his tension.

      Tailby knew it wasn’t Sherratt’s first experience of being interviewed in a police station. There were minor offences on his record – juvenile car crime, but no violence, not even a drunk-and-disorderly. Yet Graham Vernon had called him a violent yob. Of course, there was the gun.

      DI Hitchens started the tapes and checked the cameras were running. ‘Interview commenced nine-fifteen a.m., Wednesday twenty-fifth August. Present are Detective Inspector Hitchens …’

      ‘Detective Chief Inspector Tailby …’

      Hitchens nodded at the two men across the table.

      ‘Lee Sherratt.’

      ‘And John Nunn.’

      Somehow the duty solicitor looked more uncomfortable than Sherratt did. Probably he was not used to being involved in a murder enquiry. But Lee Sherratt had no solicitor of his own, and right now he had the sense to know he needed one.

      Hitchens was leading, after consultation with Tailby. He had a transcript in front of him of the initial interview conducted the previous night, without the benefit of a solicitor.

      ‘Lee, a few hours ago you told us that you had no intimate relationship with Laura Vernon.’

      Sherratt nodded, staring at the table.

      ‘For the tape, please.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘If you wouldn’t describe your relationship with Laura as intimate, how would you describe it?’

      Sherratt looked uncertainly at the solicitor and back at Hitchens. ‘We didn’t have a relationship. Not what you mean.’

      ‘You knew her, didn’t you, Lee?’

      ‘Well, yeah. She lived there, at the Mount.’

      ‘So you must have had a relationship with her.’

      ‘Not really.’

      Hitchens sighed. ‘Would you say your relationship with Laura Vernon was one of friendship?’

      ‘No, she wasn’t friendly.’

      ‘But you weren’t complete strangers. You had met several times. You knew her name, she knew yours. You had spoken to each other.’

      ‘’Course I’d met her.’

      ‘So how would you describe that relationship, if it wasn’t friendly?’

      The youth frowned, struggling for the right sort of word to offer. He looked at his solicitor again, but Mr Nunn had no words to suggest. Sherratt rubbed his cheek with a broad hand, scraping the stubble.

      ‘She was a stuck-up little cow,’ he said at last. Mr Nunn jerked as if he had been kicked awake and looked at the cassette recorder.

      ‘Perhaps my client might like to reconsider that remark,’ he said.

      ‘Certainly,’ said Hitchens generously. It wasn’t an answer to his question anyway. ‘Let’s try another question. Why did you hate her, Lee?’

      Mr Nunn shook his head. ‘No comment,’ said Sherratt proudly, relieved to have been given a clear signal at last.

      ‘Did you like her?’

      ‘Detective Inspector, this line of questioning –’

      ‘I’m merely trying to establish the nature of the relationship between Mr Sherratt and the victim,’ said Hitchens genially. ‘Shall we agree, Lee, that if you thought Laura was a “stuck-up little cow”, then you didn’t like her very much?’

      ‘No, I didn’t like her,’ said Sherratt. His eyes fell again, and his chair creaked as he shifted his bulk.

      ‘Right. But did you fancy her?’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘Come on, Lee, she was an attractive girl. Mature for her age, they say. Sexy, even. You must have noticed. Didn’t you fancy her? I’m sure other lads would have done.’

      ‘She wasn’t my type,’ said Sherratt, with a smirk.

      ‘Ah. I see.’

      Hitchens turned over a few sheets of paper. They were interview reports. He read a few paragraphs, taking his time as the tapes whirred.

      ‘According to Mr Graham Vernon,’ he said at last. ‘That’s Laura’s father, Lee, your former employer. According to Mr Vernon, you had been pestering his daughter. Trying to chat her up, he says. Ogling her. Spying on her in the house. Following her around. And, he says, you tried every chance you had to touch her. And that your attentions were unwelcome.’

      ‘It’s not true,’ said Sherratt, before Mr Nunn could decide whether to shake his head.

      ‘Why would Mr Vernon say things like that if they weren’t true?’ asked Hitchens, raising his eyebrows.

      ‘He’s weird,’ said Sherratt dismissively, as if it needed no further explanation. His eyes began to roam around again. He studied the clock on the side wall as if wondering how long he had to last out.

      ‘Weird, how?’

      ‘Well …’

      ‘Weird because he didn’t like you pestering Laura?’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘Did it make you angry that he thought you weren’t good enough for his daughter?’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘You were just the gardener after all, Lee. A servant. And not a very good gardener, by all accounts.’

      There was a flash of anger in Sherratt’s face now as he glared at Hitchens. ‘I worked hard,’ he said sullenly. ‘I’m as good as them. Why shouldn’t I be?’

      ‘Did Laura look down on you too?’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘Did she treat you like a servant, Lee?’

      ‘She СКАЧАТЬ