“But we’ve got a full confession ...”
“True, although I’m always a tad suspicious of someone who’s keen to fall on his sword. I’d like to re-interview him, in light of the discovery of the duvet. By the way, what did he actually say about the body in his original statement?”
“I’ve got a copy of the tape here,” Donaldson said, dropping it into a cassette recorder and comforting himself with another digestive.
Jonathon Dauntsey’s polished accent and deep clear tone sang out of the machine and contrasted with the country brogue of D.S. Patterson as he answered the standard questions relating to his name, age and address. Patterson then launched into the scripted spiel of: date, time, place and persons present – just himself, Dauntsey and a Detective Chief Inspector Mowbray.
“D.C.I. Mowbray?” Bliss mouthed quizzically at Donaldson.
Donaldson hit the pause button.
“He’s gone on leave – flying to Nairobi this morning – I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t go.”
“What do you want me to say?” enquired Dauntsey as the machine started up again, his voice sounding more confused than contrite.
“I should remind you that you have been cautioned and we could start by asking you to describe your relationship to Major Rupert Dauntsey.”
“He was my father ... but you know that, I told you that already.”
“Perhaps you could just answer the questions,” Patterson said, as if Dauntsey had strayed from the script and mucked up the tape. “This tape is for the court to hear.”
“Sorry – shall we start again.”
“No! It’s alright ...”
“Well, I do think it’s important to get it right, Sergeant,” he continued, digging an even deeper hole. “Perhaps we should have some sort of rehearsal ...”
Exasperation coloured Patterson’s tone as he firmly rebuffed the offer and began again. “Mr. Dauntsey, how would you describe your relationship with your father?”
“I would say we were quite distant,” he replied, apparently leaning close into the microphone and speaking with a dictationist’s metre.
“You can just speak normally – the microphone will pick you up.”
“Roger,” he said, then added in a stage whisper. “I think that’s what you say, isn’t it?”
Bliss would have sworn Patterson said, “Will you stop fucking about,” although there was no trace of the sound on the tape. However, Patterson clearly did say, “Mr. Dauntsey. Please tell us where you were between nine-thirty and eleven o’clock this evening.”
“I was disposing of my father.”
Bliss hit the pause button this time and gave Donaldson a querying look. “What a weird answer; it sounds more like he was getting rid of a used condom.”
“Perhaps that’s what he thought of his father.”
Patterson was making another point as the tape came back on. “A number of people have advised us that they heard a disturbance emanating from the general direction of your father’s room at the Black Horse public house ...”
Bliss cringed at the witness-box jargon.
“Yes,” said Dauntsey.
“And,” continued Patterson, plodding on through the script he’d mapped out in his mind, “several witnesses allege they saw you placing a large object wrapped in a duvet into the rear of a Ford pick-up truck: registration number ... T173 ABP.”
“It would be foolish of me to deny it, wouldn’t it”
“So you don’t deny it?”
“As I’ve already said, It would be foolish of me to do so, with so many witnesses.”
“So,” said Patterson clearly winding himself up to the pivotal question. “What was in the bundle?”
“I suspect you already know that, Sergeant,” said Dauntsey without any indication he was being anything other than as forthright and helpful as possible.
But Patterson’s tone in response suggested he was getting near the end of his tether, even admitting later that he felt like strangling the confession out of the man opposite him. “Never-the-less, Mr. Dauntsey,” he continued, his voice now barely under control, “I would like you to tell me what was in the bundle, in your own words.”
Dauntsey didn’t respond straight away, Bliss even took a quick glance at the little window on the machine to make sure it hadn’t stopped.
“Don’t you think its painful enough for me without having to spell it out?” he said eventually, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Painful or not, Mr. Dauntsey, I am asking you to state unequivocally ...”
“That the bundle contained my father’s body. There, I’ve said it. Now are you satisfied?”
Patterson gave an audible sigh, “Thank you, Mr. Dauntsey. So you don’t deny killing your father?”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t deny it. It was stupid of me to think I wouldn’t get caught.”
“Do you regret what you have done?”
“I can’t help thinking it’s what he would have wanted.”
“To be murdered by his son!”
“Well, we all have to go sometime, Sergeant. The sword of Damocles hangs over us all. Might it not be kinder to have the thread cut by a fellow rather than a foe?”
Bliss reached over and clicked off the machine. “Amazing – the pompous ass doesn’t give a shit. It’s not murder as far as he’s concerned – it’s nothing more than the involuntary euthanasia of an inconvenient parent.”
“My wife’s incontinent old mother lives with us,” said Donaldson, trying hard to give the impression he was joking. “She can be fairly inconvenient at times; perhaps I should do the same.”
“Ah. But there you’d have an understandable motive. What was Jonathon Dauntsey’s motive? From what I can gather the old Major had moved out some time ago.”
Donaldson flicked the tape back on but needn’t have bothered, Jonathon Dauntsey had said all he was going to say.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Bliss, surveying the ceiling, speaking to himself.
Donaldson slumped back into his chair. “I suppose I should call in the Major Incident Unit, but I’ll look a bit bloody stupid now. I turned them down last night – said we had everything under control. Now I’ll have to crawl cap in hand – makes me look a right imbecile – Smilie Johnston will have a field day ...”
“Smilie?”
“Chief Super at H.Q. – a miserable sod.”
Bliss had other ideas. “I’m not sure we need more men; they’ll just end up tripping over each other. Most of the evidence has been destroyed or contaminated so badly there’s nothing to be gained by sifting through it again. Jonathon Dauntsey is banged up in the cells, and we’ll have no problem getting the Beak to remand him in custody based on his confession. The Major’s body is sure to surface in a day or two.”
“We can’t just wait and hope ...”
“I agree,” said Bliss heading toward the door. “I’ll have another pop at Master Jonathon – try a different tack; tell him how much he’s upsetting his Mum by not letting on where the old boy is, that sort of thing. In the meantime we can give the troops a rest – there’s no sense in them tearing around like headless chickens.”