‘I’m DCI Donovan, and this is . . .’
‘I know who you are.’ McCafferty threaded his fingers together before resting them on his stomach. His short-sleeved polo shirt stretched over his expansive waistline, stained from the remnants of his last meal. Something with ketchup, by the look of it. His cheeks were pink and flushed, his face scowling in belligerence. ‘I’ve told Chowdhury what happened to me, and I dare say he’s relayed it to you. So, if we can get this moving, I’d like to go home.’
Uneasy silence stretched between them as Donovan glared at the man before him. He was not going to be rushed through an interview. Not by McCafferty, not by anyone. Steve shuffled his paperwork and was about to speak before Donovan silenced him with a look.
‘Well, say something, man,’ McCafferty said eventually.
But Donovan did not acknowledge him. He was leading this interview and would speak when it suited him. Folding his arms, he leaned back into his chair. ‘Who arranged your trip to Blackpool?’
McCafferty sighed, obviously seeing that he wasn’t going to get his own way. ‘I did. I’ve got a receipt on Booking dot com.’
‘What was your purpose for travel?’
‘A holiday. It’s Blackpool. I fancied a trip.’
‘Yet you barely left your room the whole time you were there.’ Donovan had already spoken to the owner of the bed and breakfast where he had stayed. He had been described as a quiet man who kept to himself.
‘Is there a law against it?’
Donovan ignored his question. ‘Who did you meet on the night you were assaulted?’
‘Nobody.’ But the arrogance in his voice faded as he stared at the floor.
‘Someone gave you a hell of a head injury.’
‘From behind. I was walking on the beach minding my own business, when – bam!’ He smacked his fist against his palm. ‘Someone whacked me over the head.’
‘Bad, isn’t it? When you can’t walk down the beach without getting mugged,’ Steve said, an encouraging smile on his face.
‘I think so.’
‘Yet you didn’t see fit to report it to the police?’ Donovan said.
McCafferty shrugged, his double chin pressing down as he hung his head. ‘No point. You lot have it in for me.’
‘Why were you assaulted, do you think?’ Steve replied. ‘In your statement you said that you were mugged.’
‘That’s right.’
‘What did they take?’ Steve fired another question.
‘My wallet, of course. What do you think they took?’
‘Yet you’re seen on CCTV taking out your wallet to settle up your bill the next day. How do you account for that?’ Donovan glared at McCafferty as he challenged his account.
McCafferty shifted in his chair. ‘I . . . I had a spare wallet in my room.’
‘Where did you get that?’
‘I brought it with me. I don’t take all my cash and cards when I go out, in case something like this happens.’
‘And you’ll have a record of having cancelled your stolen cards with the bank?’ Donovan fired back.
‘I . . . I . . .’ McCafferty reddened. ‘I haven’t got around to it yet.’
‘I see.’ Donovan could see why McCafferty received a black eye. Had he been the thirteen-year-old’s father, he might not have stopped there. ‘Walk me through what happened, step by step.’
‘Jesus. You have it there.’ McCafferty prodded the paperwork with a stubby finger. ‘Read it out loud, if you like, I’m not going through it all again!’
Donovan gave Steve the nod, and he read out the account. ‘It says here you went to the pub for the first time three nights after you arrived in Blackpool, is that right?’
McCafferty nodded, his lips tightly sealed in a thin white line.
‘You said you were in the pub until closing time, and you’d had several pints.’
Again, a nod of the head.
‘Yet we have you going to the pub at eight through the front double doors, then leaving through the back entrance at nine.’
McCafferty’s fingers tightened around each other, his knuckles white. He took a breath, then hesitated before deciding to speak. ‘I thought it was later. I can’t remember the exact times.’
‘But you only had two pints. Hardly enough to make you drunk, was it?’
McCafferty swallowed hard. ‘I had a couple of tins in my room earlier in the day.’
‘Where did you go then?’
‘For a stroll on the beach, just like I said.’
‘You were taken to the hospital after midnight. How long was your stroll?’
‘I can’t remember. Someone hit me from behind. I passed out.’
‘I’m not surprised, the knock you took to the head.’ Donovan took the statement from Steve, turning it over as if expecting something new to jump out. ‘There’s no mention of you going for a swim.’
‘The tide came in. I was groggy when I was found. I was lying on the sand.’
‘On the sand or in the sand?’ Donovan leaned forward in his chair.
‘On it, of course!’
‘So why were your pockets full of the stuff?’
McCafferty sighed. ‘It must have washed over me with the waves.’
‘Did someone drag you into the water?’
McCafferty blew out of cheeks in disgust. ‘How do I know? I was spark out!’
‘Why did you refuse to provide your details in hospital?’
‘I’d had enough by then. They stitched me up, and I discharged myself.’
Donovan picked up the statement and began to tear it up. It was a copy, but McCafferty wasn’t to know that.
McCafferty’s mouth dropped open.
‘How about you tell me the truth? You went there with the sole intention of having sex with someone underage. Someone in pigtails who would call you Daddy and sit on your lap.’ Donovan’s face soured. The words disgusted him
