‘So that combination was the cause of death?’
‘Not directly. My conclusion is that he fell on his back, suffering a blow to the head on the way down. It’s a pity he couldn’t have turned on to his side. It might have saved him.’
‘There wasn’t room where he fell in his caravan,’ said Cooper. ‘He was lying wedged between a table and the bed.’
The pathologist nodded. ‘Well, that explains it. While he lay unconscious, or in an alcoholic stupor, he choked on his own vomit.’
Darren Turnbull sat in Interview Room One. ‘I suppose this is about the shooting, isn’t it? The old lady who got shot in Foxlow.’
‘Would you like to tell us something about that, Darren?’ said Hitchens in his friendliest manner.
‘I don’t know anything about the bloody shooting,’ said Turnbull, apparently missing the friendliness.
‘Oh, really? So why did you mention it?’
Turnbull twisted his hands restlessly, but his voice seemed to be failing him again.
‘I mean, you must know
This time, Hitchens let the silence develop. He was prepared to wait for Turnbull to fill the silence.
‘I saw it on the telly,’ he said. ‘That’s all. I read about it in the papers. That’s how I know about the murder, just like everyone else. So what does that mean, eh?’
‘That you’re admirably conscientious about keeping up with the news, I suppose,’ said Hitchens, opening the file in front of him. He made a show of reading the top page for a few moments, as if he was seeing it for the first time. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Turnbull again.
‘Your car — this blue X-reg Astra. It was seen in Foxlow on Saturday night. Well, the early hours of Sunday, actually. It was remarkably near the scene of the murder, Darren.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And having diligently watched all those TV reports and read the items in the newspapers, which all mentioned that we were appealing for the owner of a blue X-reg Vauxhall Astra to come forward, you nevertheless stayed away, and failed to contact us. Why was that, Darren?’
‘I’m going to be in
‘Darren, this is a police station. You’re being interviewed in connection with a murder enquiry. We have reason to believe that you were in the vicinity around the time the murder occurred, and yet you’ve failed to come forward voluntarily as a potential witness. Believe me, you’re already in big trouble. It would be a lot better if you’re honest with us now. Otherwise, things could get … well, complicated for you.’
Turnbull sighed deeply. ‘I suppose I knew it would come to this in the end. I was visiting a friend. A girlfriend, all right?’
‘In Foxlow?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this was Saturday night, extending into the early hours of Sunday morning?’
‘Yes. So if some old nosy parker saw me or my car, that’s what I was doing. OK?’
‘Name?’ said Hitchens, with his pen poised.
‘What?’
‘Your girlfriend’s name, please.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘We need to substantiate your story, Darren. What time did you leave Foxlow?’
‘About three a.m.’
‘And your friend would be able to confirm that?’
‘Of course she would.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
Turnbull didn’t answer. He looked at the table between them, torn by some difficulty that he was unable to resolve into words.
Hitchens looked at the file again. ‘You’re married, Darren.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I met your wife. Fiona, is that right? Happy together are you?’
‘Yes, of course we are.’
‘That’s good. We don’t like to see marriages break up.’
‘Now you’re taking the piss.’
Hitchens laid the file down. ‘Let’s get this straight, Darren. You’re having an affair with a woman who lives in Foxlow, and you don’t want your wife to know about it. Is that about right?’
‘Yes,’ said Turnbull grudgingly.
‘OK, I understand that. But look at it this way, Darren. You’re a potential witness in our enquiry. All we want is to ask you a few questions about anything you might have seen or heard that night. And we’ll want to speak to your girlfriend to corroborate your story, as I said. And that will be it. Provided it all checks out, we’ll thank you for helping us with our enquiries, and there won’t be any need for us to speak to Fiona.’
Turnbull nodded cautiously.
‘On the other hand, if you continue to refuse to account fully for your movements that night, we’ll be obliged to ask questions about your background and circumstances, find out who your associates are … Your wife would be the obvious place to start.’
‘I hear what you’re saying.’ Turnbull hung his head. ‘Would I have to go to court to give evidence?’
‘That depends. But I think it’ll be unlikely. All we want to do at the moment is eliminate you from our enquiries, Darren. And it would be nice if you could help us to establish any fresh leads. We’d feel quite appreciative.’
‘All right.’
‘I presume you must have told your wife some story about where you were, by the way?’
‘I told her I was putting in an extra shift at the factory. I work for Rolls Royce in Derby, and she doesn’t really have any idea what we do there, so I can just say we have a rush job on.’
‘Fine.’
Hitchens opened the file again and picked up his pen. ‘Do you want to give me the name of your girlfriend now?’
‘Stella Searle. She lives at Magpie Cottage, right next to the churchyard in Foxlow.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘Stella’s divorced. She lives in that cottage on her own.’
‘I’m sure that makes it better.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘So what time did the night shift start?’ asked Hitchens.
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean, what time did you arrive in Foxlow to visit your divorcee?’
‘Oh, about half past eleven. I don’t go there until it’s dark — people who live in villages are so nosy they want to know everything about you. I park the car on a lane behind the churchyard. There are no lights there, but there’s a back gate into Stell’s garden.’
‘Very handy. This Magpie Cottage — it would be right on the corner of Foxlow High Street and Pinfold Lane, am I right?’
‘That’s it.’
‘So what time did you leave on Sunday morning? Be as accurate as you can, please.’
‘It was close to three o’clock. I always leave at that time. That’s when the late shift ends, so I get home about the right time.’
‘OK, now we get to the bit where you might be able to help us, Darren. Did you see or hear anything as you were leaving the cottage? At three o’clock in the morning, it ought to have been very quiet. I’m hoping you were alert enough to notice any activity, even after your visit.’
Turnbull lowered his voice. ‘Yes, I did see something.’
‘What did you see?’
