The first interview was all about getting an account from him. They began by asking him to tell them about his job, the voluntary work that he did, and his family; as soon as he started talking about his family the waterworks started all over again. Understandably, Boyden was desperate to know what his wife had been told and how she had reacted. When Susie explained that they hadn’t told her anything yet, he latched onto this, pleading with them not to reveal the nature of his arrest to her.
“It’s going to come out, Henry,” Steve said, “whether we say anything or not.”
Henry Boyden buried his head in his hands and let out a howl of pain. His world was falling apart around him and he was powerless to do anything about it. “Can’t you at least refrain from mentioning the girls I’ve been seeing?” he wept. “It would break her heart. Please, please, please don’t do that to her.” There was desperation in his voice.
Sergeant eyed him with disdain. As Steve Bull had already said, Boyden’s wife was going to find out; there was no way of avoiding it, and he needed to face up to the fact that the devastation, shock and betrayal she would feel would be his fault, and his alone.
When the self-pitying wailing finally stopped, they asked him about his service in the army medical corps and discussed the extent of his training and the depth of his knowledge. Once that topic was exhausted, they moved onto each of the four victims: did he know them? Had he ever met them, either socially or through work? Had he, perhaps, dealt with them while volunteering for the Sutton Mission? What about Cassandra Newly, did he know her? What about a red-haired prostitute called Trudy, who hung around Middlesex Street with Cassandra and Sonia Wilcox? Had he ever assaulted any of them or made threats to harm them? Had he ever given them any money or other gifts? The questions went on and on. Eventually, they asked him to account for his movements on the nights of the four murders, encouraging him to provide alibi evidence that would help clear his name, if it existed.
Bull had asked Reg Parker to make an urgent application for Boyden’s phone records from the TIU as soon as he’d been declared a suspect, but like the DNA, these results wouldn’t be back until the following day. Annoyingly, the fingerprint results hadn’t come back yet, either, so that would have to wait, too.
At nine-forty-five they reached a point in the proceedings where it seemed appropriate to break for the night and, after updating the custody officer, an exhausted Boyden was returned to his cell to be bedded down for the night.
“Tell my wife I love her,” he called out as they slammed the cell door shut and closed the wicket.
“What do you think?” Steve asked Susie as soon as they were out of the custody suite. “Is he our man?”
Susie scrunched her face up in thought. “I don’t know, but I’m not getting the sort of vibe I’d expect from a man who’s just killed four women. And he doesn’t seem to have any trouble talking to me.” There had been no displays of hostility, resentment or anger towards her from Boyden.
Steve Bull shrugged. “I can’t call it either way,” he admitted, which was unusual for him. He could normally tell if a suspect was guilty within minutes of commencing an interview. “Tell you what, let’s give the boss an update and then we can grab some food and Foxtrot Oscar back to base.”
◆◆◆
“What did Steve say?” Dillon demanded the moment that Tyler put the phone down. They were sitting in Jack’s office discussing the day’s progress over a cup of coffee. The door was closed to reduce the noise from the outer office, which was still a hive of activity.
“Hold on a sec,” Tyler said as he finished off the last of the notes that he’d made during his fifteen-minute conversation with Bull. There were reams of them. He took a quick sip of coffee when he finished and then sat back in his chair, flexing the cramped fingers of his right hand. “Well, at least Boyden’s talking,” he said, which was better than being met with a string of ‘no comment’ replies.
“Has he made a full and frank confession?” Dillon asked, mockingly.
Jack chortled. “His stance is that he hasn’t killed anyone and this is all a big mistake.”
Dillon snorted. “Well, that’s hardly surprising, is it? If he is our man, he’s not going to roll over just because we’ve got him in the bin. He’s far too arrogant for that.”
Tyler grunted his agreement and drank some more coffee. “He denied knowing Tracey Phillips, Alice Pilkington or Geraldine Rye and showed no signs of recognition when their photographs were produced. He initially denied knowing any working girls called Sonia, Trudy or Cassandra, but when they showed him an old custody image of Sonia what’s-her-name his face went as white as a sheet.”
Dillon scoffed. “I bet it did.”
“Anyway, in a nutshell, his story is that he met Sonia through the voluntary work he does for the Sutton Mission but he never learned her name.”
“Did he admit to banging her?”
“He was a bit coy at first, but he eventually confessed to having sex with her several times over a period of weeks.”
“Is he claiming she’s the only one he’s been seeing to?”
“No, he admitted to having sex with a couple of other girls he picked up in the vicinity of Middlesex Street, but of course he doesn’t know their names.
“And what about the allegation this Cassandra bird’s made about him knocking them about and threatening to cut them up?”
“He was unhappy about that, indignant even. While he accepts that he might have been a little rough at times, he’s adamant that it was always with their prior consent. He
