The Cat Who Solved Three Murders, page 25
One of the screens was from a camera pointed at Oliver McBride, who was sitting in an interview room on the ground floor, just along from the custody suite. McBride was no longer wearing his apron, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal bandages on both elbows and a plaster cast on his right hand and wrist. There was a can of Coke in front of him. ‘The police doctor says he’s okay and doesn’t need painkillers, so we’ll go ahead with the interrogation,’ said Tracey.
The second screen showed DC Collier sitting at the table, with a bottle of water in front of him. There was a tape recorder with two tape slots against the wall.
‘He’s been charged with the murder of Mr Grenville and the attempted murder of Julia. He’s been asked if he wants a solicitor but he’s declined. I’ll go down now and start the interview.’ She patted Lulu on the shoulder. ‘What you did was foolhardy in the extreme, you know that?’
Lulu smiled. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well done.’
‘You should thank Conrad. He’s the one who made him swerve.’
‘Well done, Conrad,’ said Tracey.
Conrad looked up at her and meowed.
Tracey laughed. ‘I love it when he does that. Okay, so I’ll come back up when we’re done. Wish me luck.’
‘I’m sure you don’t need it,’ said Lulu. ‘But break a leg.’
Tracey chuckled and let herself out of the room.
‘Why wouldn’t he want a solicitor?’ asked Conrad, looking at McBride on the screen.
‘Either he isn’t going to say anything, and is going to take the “no comment” route. Or he’s going to unburden himself and doesn’t want a solicitor to get in the way.’
‘Which do you think?’
‘I think he swerved rather than hit you,’ said Lulu. ‘He could have run you over, but he didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘But I don’t know, I really don’t.’
‘He doesn’t look like a killer, does he?’
‘Oh, most killers are just ordinary people who made a bad choice,’ said Lulu. ‘There aren’t many monsters around, not real monsters, anyway.’
‘He doesn’t have a bad aura,’ said Conrad. ‘I see reds and indigos but the colours are murky.’
‘Murky? What does that mean?’
‘A murky red is a sign of holding on to anger or trauma. Obviously the death of his mother. And a murky indigo suggests self-doubt and uncertainty. He’s clearly a very troubled boy. But not evil. Definitely not evil.’
On the left-hand screen, the door opened and Tracey appeared, carrying a mug. She closed the door and sat down, then nodded at DC Collier, who started the taping.
Tracey gave the date and the time, then said her name. DC Collier gave his name.
‘So, Oliver, could you please confirm your full name and your date of birth, for the tape,’ said Tracey.
McBride did as he was told, then slouched in his chair with his injured arms stretched out on the table.
‘You have been charged with the murder of Bernard Grenville and the attempted murder of Julia Grenville. I have asked you already if you want a solicitor and you have refused. So I will ask you again, would you like a solicitor to be with you while we interview you?’
McBride shook his head.
‘You have to say it out loud, Oliver. For the tape.’
‘No,’ said McBride. ‘I do not want a brief.’
‘Oliver, can you tell me why you did what you did? Why did you kill Mr Grenville? And why did you try to kill his wife last night?’
‘They killed my mum,’ said McBride, his voice a low whisper.
‘Who did?’
‘That bastard Grenville. And his bitch of a wife.’
‘Why do you say they killed your mother?’
‘Because they did. They set fire to their shop and my mum died. It was an insurance job.’
‘How do you know that, Oliver?’
McBride sneered at her with contempt. ‘You want the whole story, do you? Like you care.’
‘I do care, Oliver. I want to know what happened.’
McBride sighed. ‘Okay, fine. I saw the article in a magazine. I recognized her immediately. She’d been at my mother’s funeral with her husband and they both came up to me afterwards and said how sorry they were and that if I ever needed anything I was to talk to them. They said the same to my dad. Mr Grenville even put his arms around my dad and hugged him and said something about us all getting through this together. That was the last time we heard from them. The building was sold and me and my dad moved out. Dad never got over what had happened. In a crazy way he blamed himself. He kept saying that he should have stayed home with Mum and that it was his fault that she’d died. But it wasn’t his fault at all. She insisted we go.’
McBride sat back in his chair and picked up his can of Coke. He raised the can to his lips, but then changed his mind and put it back on the table.
‘I’m not a big reader, but I wondered what she’d done so I started reading the article. All that money they’d come into, right? A fortune. Millions of pounds, right?’
Tracey nodded. ‘Their company is going public, that’s correct.’
‘I didn’t really understand where the money was coming from. Anyway, I was reading the article when I saw the photograph of her in her study. That’s when I saw the painting.’
‘This painting?’ asked Tracey. She slid a sheet of paper across the table towards McBride. ‘For the purpose of the tape, I am showing Mr McBride a photograph of exhibit 26B, a photograph of a painting that used to hang in Julia Grenville’s study.’
Lulu leaned forward to get a closer look at the screen. It was the Bamburgh Castle painting.
McBride picked it up, looked at it, and nodded. ‘Yes. This is the one.’
‘And what was special about this painting?’
‘It was in my mother’s workshop the night she died. At least it should have been. So it should have been destroyed in the fire.’
‘How do you know it was in the workshop, Oliver?’
‘Mum sent me down to check that the heater was on before Dad and I left. She was doing some work on a couple of paintings and she had varnished a bookcase. It was going to be a cold night so she wanted to be sure that the heating was on.’
‘And was it?’
McBride nodded. ‘Yeah. It was a twin-bar electric fire and it was on. And on the table by the door was the painting of the castle. Mr Russell had asked my mum to clean it and put it in a new frame. That was going to be her next job before she got sick.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I used to hang out with my mum after school. I’d do my homework while she worked. So I always knew what she was working on.’
‘So you saw the painting on the table?’ Tracey pointed at the sheet of paper he was holding. ‘The painting of Bamburgh Castle.’
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘So when you saw that painting in the magazine, what did you think?’
‘Well it’s obvious, innit? It meant that bitch or her husband had been in the workshop that night and taken the painting with them. They must have started the fire. They killed my mum.’
‘But you don’t know that for sure, Oliver,’ said DC Collier.
‘I know that the painting was there when I checked. The door was locked, so only someone with a key could have taken it. I left my mum’s keys with her when Dad and I left. Dad had his key. That only leaves the Grenvilles. One of them must have let themselves in and taken the painting – how else could it end up on the wall of her study five years later?’
‘What did you think had happened, Oliver?’ asked Tracey.
‘It’s obvious, innit?’ said McBride. ‘Whoever came in to set the place on fire, took the painting with them. You’re supposed to be the bloody detective – can’t you work that out for yourself? They set the fire that killed my mum and they took their precious painting with them. They cared more about their painting than they did about my mum.’
‘Okay, Oliver, but once you realized that the painting in the magazine photograph was supposed to have been destroyed in the fire, why didn’t you come to us? The police?’
McBride sneered at the detective. ‘Are you serious? They’re rich. Stinking rich. Have you seen the size of their house? And the magazine said they were worth millions.’
‘So?’ said DC Collier.
‘So the rich never go to prison, do they? Everyone knows that. And who am I? A bloody fishmonger. So it’d be my word against theirs, and who’s going to believe me? I’d be wasting my breath.’
‘We would have listened to you, Oliver,’ said Tracey.
McBride shook his head fiercely. ‘Bollocks,’ he said. ‘No one listened to me about the fire, did they?’
‘You spoke to the fire investigators?’
‘Yes, but they wouldn’t listen to a word I said. They said it was an accident right from the start. The only person who would listen to me was Billy.’
‘Billy Russell?’
McBride nodded. ‘Yeah, Billy Russell. He was working for the insurance company. I told him that I checked the electric fire before I left and that there was nothing nearby that could have caused a fire. He said he’d talk to the fire people, but they wouldn’t listen to him either.’
‘So you spoke to Mr Russell?’
‘Loads of times. He said he was sure that the fire wasn’t an accident but the fire investigation officer was a prick and didn’t believe him. Billy argued with his bosses but they didn’t believe him either and eventually they paid the Grenvilles more than a million quid. And you know how much they paid me and my dad for the death of my mum? Sweet fuck all.’ He folded his arms. ‘So, no, I didn’t think of talking to the feds. What would have been the point?’
‘So, what did you do, Oliver?’ asked Tracey. ‘When you saw the painting in the magazine and knew that someone must have removed it before the fire, what did you do?’
‘I talked to Billy. That was the only thing I could do. He knew right from the start that there was something suspicious about the fire.’
Tracey and DC Collier looked at each other, then back to McBride.
Conrad was sitting up, his head moving between the two screens, his ears pricked up and twitching independently. He turned to look at Lulu. ‘It was Oliver who told Billy?’ he said.
‘That makes sense,’ said Lulu. ‘And that’s how the magazine ended up in the bureau. Oliver must have given it to him.’ She was staring at the screen on the left, the one showing Tracey and DC Collier. Tracey was doing a great job: she had opened McBride up and he seemed happy to tell her everything. It was still a worry that he didn’t have a solicitor with him, but Tracey had offered him the chance to have one several times.
‘How did you get in touch with Billy?’ asked Tracey.
‘I phoned him. He’d given me his number ages ago and said that I could always call him. He was a good guy, a really good guy.’
‘And you went to see him?’ asked Tracey.
McBride nodded. ‘He didn’t want me to go to his house, so I met him in a pub.’
‘Which pub?’
‘The Coach and Horses. It’s not far from where he lives.’
‘And how did you get there?’ asked Tracey.
‘My bike.’
‘You cycled?’
McBride sneered at her. ‘As if,’ he said. ‘Motorbike. A Triumph. It’s a classic.’
‘That was the bike you were riding today when you were arrested?’
‘Who’s going to pay for the damage to my bike, that’s what I want to know?’ He held up his bandaged arms. ‘And look at this. Look what you did to me. This is police brutality, this is.’
‘When was this meeting?’ asked Tracey patiently.
‘The Sunday before last. In the afternoon. About three.’
Tracey took back the sheet of paper. ‘And how did it go? The meeting?’
‘It went okay. I showed him the magazine and explained that I’d seen it in the workshop before Mum died. He said he didn’t recognize the painting and that he remembered everything that the Grenvilles had claimed for. He kept asking me if I was sure. And I kept saying yes. He said he’d talk to the police. I let him have the magazine, for evidence. And I went home, and waited.’ He reached out, picked up his Coke and took a sip.
‘And then what happened?’ asked DC Collier.
McBride sneered at him. ‘You know what happened. It was in the papers. Grenville killed Billy. Smashed his head in with a poker.’ He shook his head scornfully. ‘And you guys fell for his story that it had been robbers and that they attacked him, too. Bollocks. For all I know, they both killed Billy. Him and his wife.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the police then, Oliver?’ asked Tracey quietly.
‘Are you serious? How can you ask that? He got away with killing my mother and now he’s getting away with killing Billy. You lot aren’t interested in putting guys like him in jail.’
‘So what did you do, Oliver?’ asked Tracey quietly.
‘You know what I did.’
‘I know why you did it, but I’m not sure how you managed to pull it off.’
‘I wasn’t trying to pull anything off. I just wanted him dead. He killed my mother and he killed Billy so he got what was coming to him.’
‘How did you know about the birthday party?’
‘We supply fish to the sushi company that was doing the catering. They’d ordered salmon and tuna from our shop so I said I’d deliver it fresh on the day. I got to the house as they were setting things up. I handed over the fish and then hid in a bathroom and waited. I spotted a spare wig and put that on. Nobody pays the servers any attention.’
‘What about the knife?’
‘I brought it with me. One of my filleting knifes. It has a sheath to protect it. I had it tucked into my belt. I waited until there were a lot of people there and I left the bathroom. Nobody even looked at me. Then I saw Grenville going into a bathroom. I waited for him to come out and then I followed him as he walked to the study. I realized there was no one else in the hallway so I pulled out the knife and stabbed him in the back, three or four times. I thought he’d go down straight away but he didn’t, he kept on walking through the study. There were people there so I turned around and put the knife back in the sheath. Then I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t have a plan. I wanted to kill them both but I knew if I stayed I’d get caught so I went outside and got on the bike and drove away.’ He shook his head. ‘I was sure that they’d catch me, that somebody had seen me but they didn’t and I realized I was home free.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘That’s when I figured I should go back and kill the wife. I figured they’d hear the bike so I parked by the gate and walked to the house. I was better prepared that time, I had a mask and gloves. I broke in and crept up to her bedroom. Took me a while to find it. So many bloody bedrooms. But I did find it and I would have killed her if some bitch and a cat hadn’t stormed in.’ He reached up and touched the plaster on his face. ‘The cat went for me. Leaped at me and almost took my eye out.’
Lulu looked across at Conrad. ‘He asked for it,’ said Conrad.
‘Most definitely.’
‘But it sounds as if he’s making himself out to be the victim.’
‘Criminals often do that,’ said Lulu. She looked back at the screens.
‘I should sue,’ said McBride, still touching the plaster. ‘I could have lost an eye.’
‘You should talk to a lawyer about that,’ said Tracey. ‘In fact, if you want a lawyer, you can call one now or we can get a duty solicitor for you. That’s your right – I told you that when we cautioned you.’
‘A lawyer isn’t going to help me,’ said McBride. He folded his arms. ‘I did it. I killed him. And I’m not sorry I did it. He had it coming.’
‘Do you want me to call someone for you? Your father?’
McBride’s eyes narrowed. ‘My father? Don’t you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Dad killed himself. Well, drank himself to death, really. Died a year ago. He never got over Mum dying. I wish he’d lived long enough to see that I got our revenge.’
‘By killing Bernard Grenville?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And do you regret anything?’ asked DC Collier. ‘Do you regret doing what you did?’
‘He murdered my mum,’ said McBride. ‘He deserved it.’
‘And Mrs Grenville?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ said McBride. ‘That’s the one thing I regret. I regret not killing her. And if it hadn’t been for that bloody cat, I would have.’
37
Lulu waved as the Toyota Prius pulled away from the kerb. Julia twisted around in the back of the car and blew a kiss. Lulu and Conrad stayed on the pavement until the car was out of sight. With Oliver McBride in police custody, Julia had wanted to get back to the house to arrange to have the study cleaned and the glass repaired in the French windows. Lulu was going to move The Lark to another mooring and then get an Uber to the house either later that evening or first thing the following day.
The towpath was busy so Conrad stayed silent until they were on The Lark and Lulu was uncorking a bottle of Chardonnay.
‘What’s the plan?’ said Conrad as he sat next to her on the sofa.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are we going back to London?’
‘I think we should wait for Bernard’s funeral. At some point I want to go travelling but not just yet.’
‘Travelling?’
‘I thought I might take The Lark up to Birmingham. Or Manchester. Maybe even further. But at the moment Julia needs me, so I think we should stay in Oxford.’
‘Do you think that Julia knew what Bernard had done?’ Conrad asked. ‘Do you think she knew that he started the fire in his shop?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Yes, you are,’ said Conrad quietly.
Lulu looked at Conrad and he met her stare with unblinking green eyes. ‘Why do you say that?’ she said.
He tilted his head on one side as he stared at her. ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’
‘Are you reading my mind?’ She poured wine into a glass. She stopped at the halfway point, but then had a change of heart and added more.
