Clayton shook his head as if coming out of a trance. His face was unreadable. ‘Yeah, uh… not your average scrap-metal dealer,’ he said.
‘This is Essex, remember,’ said Phil, trying not to look, but unable to stop his eyes tracking her swinging hips like a spectator at Wimbledon. ‘Wonder why she wants to work here? Surrounded by all those men?’
‘Maybe that’s your answer,’ said Clayton, not bothering to disguise his leer. ‘Might consider a change of career…’
‘Focus, sonny. Think with your brain, remember. Look around. See anything that might help us?’
Clayton scanned the office, giving it close scrutiny. He shook his head.
‘Me neither.’ Phil returned his attention to outside the window.
As they watched, the pneumatic secretary walked to the bottom of the grabber and gestured to the man in the cockpit. He swung the arm over a bin and left it dangling there as he put the brakes on and opened the cab door, leaned out. Phil got a good look at him. He was big, and not unattractive, fine-featured. His hair was close-cropped, his upper torso very well muscled. He listened to what the woman said, his eyes going to the office, following her pointing arm. He didn’t look pleased.
‘Look at those guns,’ said Clayton. ‘Whoever he hit didn’t stand a chance.’
Ryan Brotherton got out of the cab and made his way across the yard to the office. Not in a good mood. He reached the cabin, opened the door, stepped inside. The space was small enough; with his large frame as well as the two of them, he seemed to suck all the air from the room.
‘Yeah?’ he said.
Phil held out his warrant card again. ‘DI Brennan and DS Thompson,’ he said.
‘So?’
‘Can we have a word, please?’
Brotherton shrugged.
Phil noticed the pneumatic secretary trying to enter the office. ‘In private.’
Brotherton noticed her entering too, didn’t try to stop her. ‘This is Sophie. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of her.’ His face twisted into an expression that on someone else could have been a smile. ‘And I’ve found, Mr Brennan, that when your lot are around it’s better to have a witness.’
Phil weighed his options. Reassure Brotherton that he had done nothing wrong, insist on privacy. Or just say what he had to say to this unpleasant man, no matter how painful, and get out. He decided on the latter.
‘I’m afraid we’ve got some very bad news to tell you, Mr Brotherton.’
Brotherton said nothing, waited.
Phil and Clayton exchanged a glance. Phil continued. ‘It’s your girlfriend.’
Brotherton frowned. Sophie joined him. ‘Girlfriend?’
‘Claire Fielding.Your girlfriend.’
‘You mean ex-girlfriend,’ said Sophie quickly before Brotherton could speak.
Phil looked between the two of them. He knew what was happening. ‘Ex-girlfriend. I’m sorry.’
‘So? What about her? What’s she done now?’ He took a step forward, hands instinctively bunching into fists. ‘What’s she said about me now, eh? What lies has she come out with this time?’
Phil kept his face straight, his voice neutral. ‘What lies has she told before, Mr Brotherton?’
Brotherton gave a harsh bark. It could have been a laugh. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.You wouldn’t be here otherwise. ’
‘Would this have something to do with your assault charges?’ said Clayton.
‘You know fuckin’ well it does. Just because I’ve done time for assault over five years ago you think you can keep dredgin’ it up all the damned time. Every time some bird makes some allegation you automatically come to me. Well I’m sick of it. Any more of this and I’ll get my solicitor on to you.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Brotherton,’ said Phil. ‘There won’t be any more allegations against you. At least not from Claire Fielding.’
Another snort. ‘Why? She been given a restrainin’ order? Stop pesterin’ me?’
‘No, Mr Brotherton,’ said Phil, ‘she’s dead.’
He waited, scrutinising Brotherton and Sophie’s faces for the slightest out-of-place expression, to file away for a later date. The two of them exchanged glances. Sophie looked to be about to say something but Brotherton shushed her. ‘What happened?’ he said, voice flat.
‘She was murdered. In her flat, last night.’
His jaw sagged slightly open, his eyes went blank. Phil imagined that for him it was quite a display of emotion. Brotherton’s usual range probably went all the way from anger to anger.
‘What… what…’Then a thought struck him. ‘She was pregnant, wasn’t she?’
‘She was, Mr Brotherton. With your baby?’ said Clayton.
‘So she said,’ said Brotherton, the anger in his words indicating that whatever grieving process he had undergone for Claire Fielding was now officially over.
‘What d’you mean by that?’ said Phil.
‘What I said. Oldest trick in the book, innit? You wanna catch a man, you tell him you’re pregnant.’ He made an expansive arm gesture, looked round the office. ‘I mean, look at this place. I’m not bleedin’ Alan Sugar, but this is all mine. I own it.’
‘Your company?’ said Phil.
Brotherton nodded. ‘I do all right out of it. And women, when they see that, they think, ooh, I’ll have a bit of that for myself. Better than workin’. So what’s the easiest way to do it?’ He shrugged, gave a self-satisfied smile as if he had just explained a particularly thorny issue to the Oxford University debating society. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well she’s dead now, Mr Brotherton, so your empire is safe.’
Brotherton nodded, failing to pick up the sarcasm in Phil’s tone.
‘So who’s the F?’ asked Clayton.
‘What?’ Brotherton was clearly irritated by the question.
‘The F. In the sign out there. B & F Metals.’
Brotherton shrugged. ‘Bought him out. Kept the name so people knew who they were dealing with.’
‘And that’s important, isn’t it?’ said Phil. ‘Knowing who you’re dealing with.’
Brotherton just stared at him.
‘Why were you out on the crane if you’re the boss of the company?’ asked Phil, frowning. ‘Don’t you pay someone to do that?’
Brotherton’s chest puffed out with pride. ‘Good to keep your hand in. Keeps you fit, strong.’
‘Never know when that’s going to come in handy, do you?’
Brotherton turned to Phil, his muscles flexing, hands balling into fists. Clayton looked between the two, spoke.
‘So you were no longer seeing her?’ he asked. ‘Claire Fielding?’
Another snort, attention diverted from Phil. ‘Why would I?’ He looked around, smiled triumphantly. ‘I’ve got Sophie now, ain’t I?’
Sophie returned the smile with all the warmth and animation her Botoxed features would allow.
‘So why would you still be described in her diary as her boyfriend?’ asked Phil.
‘Bollocks.’
‘It’s true, Mr Brotherton. Her address book still has your name in it too, and she carried a photo of you in her wallet.’
‘You know what birds are like,’ he said, trying to remain cocky. ‘Can’t let go, can they?’ But his features didn’t mirror his words. And something unfamiliar entered his eyes. Fear?
‘Mr Brotherton, where were you last night between the hours of ten p.m. and two a.m.?’
‘What?’ Brotherton looked between the two policemen.
‘You heard the question,’ said Clayton.
‘I was…’ He looked to Sophie for support.
‘He was with me,’ she said, picking up on his visual clue.
‘Where?’ said Phil.
‘At my place,’ she said quickly.
‘Doing what?’ said Clayton.
