‘Is there blood on the stick?’
‘Not that we could detect . . . I sent it for analysis about three hours ago. If we’re lucky, Walter landed a blow on something useful and we’ll get some DNA off it. The best scenario would be that the old boy hit hard enough to mark his attacker . . . which might be a detail worth releasing to the press. If someone already has suspicions about a partner or colleague, an unexplained bruise might just persuade them to call us.’
‘Are you sure the stick wasn’t used
‘As sure as I can be. I checked with his consultant at St Thomas’s and she’s confident that the defence wounds on his arm and shoulders were made by something heavier and more compact . . . like a hammer or a baseball bat.’
‘What about the indentation in the wall?’
‘It’s certainly similar to what we found in the other properties – semicircular and fairly deep into the plaster – but I’m guessing it was a first attempt that missed rather than an angry thrashing around afterwards . . . which may be why Walter had time to arm himself with the walking stick. There are no blood or skin traces in it, as there were in the others . . . and, if it was a baseball bat, it was covered in some kind of fabric. We think we’ve found fibres.’
Jones frowned into the receiver. ‘There were no fibres in the plaster indentations in the other houses.’
There was a short pause while the SOCO broke off to speak to someone in the room. ‘I need to go, Brian. Look, I’ll have more tomorrow, but at the moment I’m thinking on the hoof. Assuming this is the same guy, then a possible scenario is that he carries the weapon in a bag and only takes it out when he’s ready to use it. In Walter’s case, it never got that far. Our man lashed out – bag and all – as soon as he realized the old boy was spooked.’
‘Are there enough fibres to tell us what kind of bag?’
‘I don’t know, but you might be interested in the consultant’s idea. When I described the indentation to her, she suggested a glass paperweight in a sock.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘A paperweight would certainly be easier to carry around London undetected, but I can’t see it doing the sort of damage we’ve seen on the previous victims. You made the point yourself, we haven’t found fibres anywhere else . . . and, out of the sock and without a handle, there wouldn’t be any leverage. All the force would have to come from the speed of the attacker’s arm.’
‘But it’s possible.’
‘Not in my opinion. Most of us would drop a lump of glass as soon as we broke into a sweat . . . but if you come up with a fit, strong guy with dry palms and a grip like steel, I suppose it might be...’
*
Acland fitted the bill nicely, thought Jones, as he introduced himself and shook the young man’s hand. No sweat and fingers like grappling irons. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long,’ he went on, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. ‘Has anyone explained to you why?’ ‘Not really.’ The detective superintendent clicked his tongue in apparent condemnation of his team. ‘My fault. I should have given clearer instructions . . . or reached here sooner. Can I offer you a cup of tea or something to eat?’
‘No thank you.’
Jones pulled off his jacket and slung it over the chair behind him. ‘Which do you prefer? Charles or Lieutenant Acland?’
‘Whatever you like.
The superintendent smiled. ‘I don’t blame you for being angry, Charles. The custody officer tells me you’ve been in this room for over five hours. By rights, you should be climbing the walls and demanding to know what’s going on.’
Acland regarded him warily. For whatever reason – perhaps because they didn’t fit the man’s Rottweiler appearance – he was suspicious of Jones’s attempts at pleasantry. ‘Would it have done me any good?’
‘It wouldn’t have done any harm. We’re fairly used to irritation in interview rooms . . . particularly from the innocent.’ He held the younger man’s gaze for a moment. ‘A man with infinite patience is rare. It makes me wonder if you have a better idea what this is all about than you’ve been letting on. Are you willing to say how much you know . . . or how much you’ve guessed?’
Acland leaned forward to place a finger on Walter Tutting’s photograph. ‘This man was taken to hospital earlier in the day after collapsing in the street. I’m guessing that whatever caused his collapse wasn’t natural because your men stopped the traffic to search the road.’ He took a breath. ‘You’ve made up your minds I had something to do with Mr Tutting’s collapse, either because I was seen arguing with him at the bank this morning or because I was involved in a fight last night at the Bell . . . probably both. With the help of Jackson, Daisy and Susan Campbell, you arrested me when I returned to the pub and brought me here in handcuffs to answer questions.’
‘Go on.’
‘That’s it . . . a combination of what I’ve been told and what I’ve guessed.’
‘If you thought we were investigating you, why didn’t you ask for a solicitor?’
‘You’d have been even more suspicious.’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Charles.’
‘Yes, it does. That’s why I gave you free rein of my property and possessions to prove I have nothing to answer for.’
Jones wasn’t surprised that Susan Campbell had declared Acland fit to answer questions. He certainly fitted the profile of a ‘forensically aware’ killer. ‘I admire your confidence.’
‘In myself or in the police?’
‘Both.’
