Sam leaned forward. ‘Not to mention he shouldn’t have legged it the minute he found out we were police officers. Verging on resisting arrest, that is.’
Bronwen gave them both a pitying look and shook her head, as if to say she’d expected better from them. ‘My client is still experiencing some pain as a result of your actions. Nevertheless, he is willing to answer your questions.’ She spoke as if this were an extraordinary favour granted from a great height.
Carol’s confidence took another knock. In her experience, Bronwen Scott’s clients tended to go ‘no comment’, which translated in Carol’s mind to, ‘I did it.’ That she was allowing Rhys Butler to talk to them told Carol that the chances were good she was wasting her time. Still, this might be the one time when a stupid client had managed to overrule the feisty Ms Scott. She pulled her thoughts together and smiled at Butler. ‘Sorry to spoil what must have been a good week for you,’ she said pleasantly.
His forehead wrinkled like skin on rice pudding. ‘What d’you mean?’ he mumbled through his hand.
‘Robbie Bishop dying, of course. That must have cheered you up.’ Butler looked away and said nothing. ‘You probably think that he deserved it,’ she continued. ‘I mean, we know you didn’t think much to the way he treated Bindie.’
Butler glared at her. He let his hand fall from his face and spoke with venom. ‘Bindie chucked him ages ago. Why would I care what happened to him?’
‘Well, I would think you wouldn’t want them to get back together again.’
Butler shook his head. ‘No way. She wouldn’t lower herself. She’s just waiting for the right time so we can be together.’
‘And now Robbie’s dead, that time can’t be far away.’
‘Don’t say anything, Rhys,’ his solicitor butted in. ‘Don’t let her wind you up. Just answer the questions.’
‘You want a question? OK. Where were you between ten p.m. the Thursday before last and four o’clock on the Friday morning?’ Carol fixed him with an unblinking stare.
‘At home. On my own, before you ask. But I was at work until six and back at work on Friday at eight. And I don’t have a car. Just a bike. I’m fast but I’m not that fast,’ Butler said, his attempt at an insolent leer turned into a wince by the pain in his mouth.
‘There’s trains,’ Sam said. ‘Two and a half to three hours, Newcastle to Bradfield. Depending on whether it’s non-stop or change at York. You could have borrowed a car. Or nicked one. Whatever, it’s doable.’
‘Except that I didn’t do it. I was in Newcastle all night.’
They’d have to canvass the stations and train staff, Carol thought. She’d have liked to have done that before they’d arrested Butler, but it had been clear as soon as they’d picked him up off the ground behind his house that he was not going to accompany them voluntarily. She’d had to arrest him to be sure he didn’t do a runner. And now the clock was ticking and she had no evidence. ‘Did you think you were doing Bindie a favour, getting rid of Robbie?’
‘Whoever got rid of him did her a favour, but it wasn’t me,’ he said stubbornly.
‘Are you sure about that? Because I reckon poison would be right up your street,’ Sam came in, as agreed in advance. ‘Let’s face it, when you tried to take him on like a man, Robbie gave you a proper coating. There was no way you could take him in a fair fight. Poison, now that’s more like it. A man can’t fight back against poison.’
Butler flushed, the colour ugly on his pale, freckled skin. ‘I made my point. I made Bindie see that people who really cared about her were prepared to stand up for her. And she got rid of him. I never killed him.’
‘My client has made himself clear, Chief Inspector. I suggest you confine yourselves to questions rather than insinuation and innuendo.’ Scott made a note on her pad.
‘Pharmacology, that’s the line of work you’re in, right?’ Carol said, hoping the tangent would unsettle him.
‘That’s right,’ Butler said.
‘So you’ll know all about ricin?’
‘You probably know more about ricin than I do. I’m a lab technician in a company that makes cough medicine. I wouldn’t know a castor bean if it arrived on toast.’
There was a moment’s grisly silence. Carol could have sworn she saw Bronwen Scott momentarily roll her eyes. ‘So you do know where it comes from,’ Carol said.
‘So does half the country,’ Butler said, his voice rising. ‘All that stuff in the papers about terrorists making ricin? And now Bishop dying from it? We all know where it bloody comes from.’
Carol shook her head. ‘I didn’t remember. I had to look it up after Robbie was diagnosed. I bet most people did. But you remember.’
Butler turned to his lawyer. ‘Are you going to put a stop to this? They’ve got nothing on me.’
Scott gave a smile that showed little sharp teeth. Carol thought she’d probably learned it from a piranha. ‘My client’s right. This is a fishing expedition. Unless you’ve got anything that you have not disclosed this far, you’ve got no grounds for keeping us here. I want you to release my client without charge right now. Because we are done here. He’s not saying another word, and you have nothing.’
The worst of it was, she was right. ‘Police bail,’ Carol said, getting to her feet. ‘We’ll be back round this table again, Ms Scott.’
Bronwen Scott smiled again. ‘Not until you get your act together, Chief Inspector Jordan. You’ll be hearing from us about the assault suit.’
Carol watched them leave, then gave a rueful shrug. ‘That’ll teach me to be impatient,’ she said. ‘They’re going to be laughing about us from John O’Groats to Land’s End.’ She gave herself a shake. ‘Next time you try to blindside one of your colleagues, Sam, see if you can make it worth our while, eh?’
When Carol got back to the MIT room Chris and Paula were waiting for her. They both looked as if they could have used a few more hours’ sleep, and Paula was looking distinctly shifty. ‘Any luck with Butler?’ Chris asked.
