‘Take a seat please, Patrick.’ Zigic waved him into the chair opposite and Sutherland complied.
His solicitor was a young man Zigic had encountered before and wasn’t worried about. He was with a small local firm, worked as a duty solicitor with the minimum level of professionalism required, took his wage and apparently spent most of it on handmade shoes and nice suits and discreet cufflinks.
He wondered how Sutherland had come to settle on Ben Lawton as the right man for the job. Wondered if he’d found himself in legal trouble before, the kind that got tidied away without the involvement of the police. Or if like most seemingly respectable people having their first brush with criminality, he’d just called someone from the firm who handled his last house sale.
He hoped it was the latter. Rather than a personal link, which might cause Lawton to dig deeper into his repertoire.
While Ferreira set up the recording equipment Zigic stared at Sutherland, watching him becoming more uncomfortable by the second. Less than an hour in custody and already his hair was pulled about, his lips cracked and dark sweat patches had appeared under the arms of his blue linen shirt.
When he stated his name for the recording, he spoke slightly too loud, trying to sound confident but merely giving the impression of barely contained anger.
Zigic had expected more composure from the man. Given the pressures of his job and the added weight of carrying it out somewhere like Long Fleet.
For a few long seconds nobody spoke and Zigic could see how the silence unnerved Sutherland, how desperate he was to fill it with something. There was a story in him, Zigic thought. Excuses and explanations he was desperate to try on them, but he had just enough willpower left in him to hold steady.
‘So, Patrick, why don’t you tell us about your break-in?’
Sutherland blinked at him. ‘What?’
‘It’s my understanding that we’re here to discuss the murder of Joshua Ainsworth,’ Lawton said, seeming just as perplexed as his client.
‘We’ll get to that,’ Zigic said. ‘On the morning of Thursday August 2nd, your house was broken into, Patrick.’
‘We were burgled, yes.’ Sutherland’s forehead creased. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
‘Where were you during the break-in?’
‘At work.’
‘And how did you find out about it?’
‘Nadia called me,’ he said.
‘Was she home at the time?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘She’d gone out for a walk. She likes to go out as much as possible. After being locked up for so long, it’s good for her to get used to being able to go where she wants again.’
Ferreira made a note of that. They would check with the neighbours, see if anyone had noticed her coming and going, if she had a routine Ainsworth might have exploited to get in the house while it was empty.
‘What was taken?’ she asked and when Sutherland didn’t answer, said, ‘A burglary typically involves the theft of items from a house. What did they take?’
‘Nothing, as far as we could tell.’
‘You must have something worth stealing,’ she said. ‘I noticed your TV was still there and Nadia’s laptop. Or are they new?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose the burglars didn’t think they were worth anything. TVs are so cheap now.’
‘It seems strange that someone would go to all the trouble of breaking into your house in broad daylight and not take anything,’ Ferreira said. ‘Paperwork, spare keys, credit cards, they didn’t take any of that?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Did you check?’
He hesitated for a second, seemed to be considering it when it really wasn’t a question that required consideration. ‘I did, eventually. I was more concerned with calming Nadia down. She’d never been through that before and it upset her quite badly.’
‘Lucky she was out,’ Ferreira said.
Sutherland nodded.
‘Did they make much of a mess?’
‘Not really.’ He seemed to think that was enough of an answer but got the hint and continued. ‘They took the glass out of the back door, they didn’t even smash their way in. I suppose we should be thankful they were so considerate.’
‘Most burglars completely ransack a place,’ Ferreira told him. ‘Some will vandalise it after they’ve done looking for whatever it is they want. Especially if they don’t actually find anything worth taking.’
‘Your place looks spotless,’ Zigic added. ‘You’ve redecorated, right?’
‘I bought some new furniture a few weeks ago,’ Sutherland said. ‘Look, is this really relevant?’
‘You’d rather talk about something else?’ Ferreira asked. ‘What would you like to talk about, Patrick?’
His eyes widened, frustration drawn in every line on his face and the way he splayed his fingertips on the tabletop. ‘Well, since you’ve dragged me in here over Josh’s murder, I rather expected we’d talk about that.’
‘We are talking about Josh’s murder,’ Zigic told him. ‘Because we both know it was Josh who broke into your house.’
An incredulous laugh huffed out of Sutherland. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Those spikes on your garden fence.’ Ferreira opened up a photograph of them on the tablet she’d brought in with her, turned it to face Sutherland. She gave him a moment to look at them and then swiped the screen. ‘And the injuries on Josh’s hands. Perfect match.’
‘Just because the wounds match it doesn’t mean they were created by this particular length of – what are they – nails?’ Ben Lawton said. ‘That could have happened anywhere.’
‘This particular stretch of carpet grip has blood on,’ Ferreira said, still looking at Sutherland. ‘The same blood our forensic team found in your kitchen and in your bathroom.’
‘It must have been the person who broke in,’ Sutherland said hesitantly. ‘I mean, I didn’t put them on the fence. I suppose
