‘We can prove you knew Gareth Finnegan,’ Carol said coldly.
‘OK, I admit I knew Gareth. He was a member down the gym, I can’t pretend I’d never met him before. But Christ, woman, the man was a lawyer. He must have known thousands of people in the city,’ McConnell said, thumping the table with a solid fist.
Carol didn’t even flinch. ‘And Adam Scott,’ she went on relentlessly.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said wearily. ‘Adam Scott had a trial one-month membership down the gym about two years ago. He never joined up. I bumped into him a couple of times in my local pub, we had a jar together, that’s all there was to it. I have a drink with a lot of people, you know. I’m not a bloody hermit. Christ, if I killed everybody I’ve ever stood at a bar with, youse bastards would be busy from now till the next century.’
‘We will prove you knew Paul Gibbs and Damien Connolly. You know that, don’t you?’ Merrick chimed in.
McConnell sighed. His hands clenched, forcing the muscles in his powerful forearms into sharp relief. ‘If you do, you’ll have to make it up, because you can’t prove what isn’t true. You’re not going to do a Birmingham Six on me, you know. Look, if I was really this mad bastard, do you think I’d have hung around to help you? First sign of trouble, I’d have legged it. Stands to reason.’
Sounding bored, Carol said, ‘But you didn’t know then that Sergeant Merrick was a police officer, did you? So give us your alibi for Monday night.’
McConnell leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘Mondays is my day off,’ he recited. ‘Like I said, the guys that share my house are on their holidays, so I was on my tod. I got up late, went down the supermarket for my messages, then I went for a swim. About six o’clock, I drove out to the multi-screen off the motorway, and I went to see the new Clint Eastwood film.’
Abruptly, he lurched forward in the chair. ‘They’ll be able to confirm it. I paid by credit card, and their system’s all computerized. They can prove I was at the pictures,’ he said triumphantly.
‘They can prove you bought a ticket,’ Carol said laconically. From the cinema to Damien Connolly’s house would take no more than half an hour round the motorway, even allowing for rush-hour traffic.
‘I can tell you the whole plot, for fuck’s sake,’ McConnell said angrily.
‘You could have seen it any time, Stevie,’ Merrick said gently. ‘What did you do after the pictures?’
‘I went home. Cooked myself a steak and some vegetables.’ McConnell paused and stared at the table. ‘Then I went into town for the last hour. Just for a quick drink with a few mates.’
Carol leaned forward, sensing McConnell’s reluctance. ‘Where in town?’ she demanded.
McConnell said nothing.
Carol leaned further forward, the tip of her nose an inch from his. Her voice was quiet but icy cold. ‘If I have to stick your face on the front page of the Sentinel Times and send a team into every pub in the city, I’ll do it, Mr McConnell. Where in town?’
McConnell breathed in heavily through his nose. ‘The Queen of Hearts,’ he spat.
Carol leaned back, satisfied. She stood up. ‘Interview terminated at 3.17 a.m.,’ she said, leaning over to switch off the tape recorder. She looked down at McConnell. ‘We’ll be back, Mr McConnell.’
‘Wait a minute,’ he protested as Merrick got up and the two of them made for the door. ‘When am I going to get out of here? You’ve got no right to keep me!’
Carol turned back in the doorway, smiled sweetly and said, ‘Oh, I have every right, Mr McConnell. You’ve been arrested for assault, let’s not forget. I have twenty-four hours to make your life a misery before I even have to think about charging you.’
Merrick gave an apologetic smile as he backed out of the room in Carol’s wake. ‘Sorry, Stevie,’ he said. ‘The lady’s not wrong.’
He caught up with Carol as she was asking the custody sergeant to return McConnell to the cells. ‘What do you think, ma’am?’ Merrick asked as they walked off together.
Carol stopped and eyed Merrick critically. His skin was pale and clammy, his eyes feverishly bright. ‘I think you need to go home and get some sleep, Don. You look like shit on a stick.’
‘Never mind me. What about McConnell, ma’am?’
‘We’ll see what Mr Brandon has to say.’ Carol set off for the stairs, Merrick trailing behind her. ‘But what do you think, ma’am?’
‘On the face of it, he could be our man. He’s got nothing approaching an alibi for Monday night, he runs the gym where Gareth Finnegan worked out, he knew Adam Scott and by his own admission he was in the Queen of Hearts on Monday night for the last hour. He’s certainly strong enough to have carted the bodies in and out of a car. He’s got form, even if it is only a couple of breaches of the peace and a Section 18 wounding. And he’s into S&M. But that’s all circumstantial. And I still don’t think we’ve got grounds for a search warrant,’ Carol rattled off. ‘What about you, Don? Got a feeling in your water about this one?’
They turned down the corridor towards the murder squad room. ‘I kind of like him,’ Merrick said grudgingly. ‘I can’t imagine that I’d take a liking to the bastard that’s been doing these murders. But then, I suppose that’s a pretty daft reaction. I mean, he’s not the two-headed man, is he? He’s got to have something about him that lets him get close enough to his victims to do the business. So maybe it is Stevie McConnell.’
Carol opened the door to the squad room, expecting to find Brandon and Tony still sitting there, fuelled by coffee and canteen sandwiches. The room was empty. ‘Where’s the ACC got to now?’ Carol said, tiredness lending her voice a note of exasperation.
‘Maybe he’s left a message at the front desk,’ Merrick suggested.
‘And maybe he’s done the sensible thing and buggered off home to bed. Well, that’s us for tonight, Don. McConnell can stew for a bit. See what the bosses have to say in the morning. Maybe we can try for a search warrant now we know McConnell was in the Queen of Hearts. Now, get out of my sight and go home to bed before your Jean accuses me of leading you off the straight and narrow. Get some sleep. I don’t want to see you before noon, and if your head’s hurting, stay in bed. That’s an order, Detective Sergeant.’
Merrick grinned. ‘Yes, ma’am. See you.’
Carol watched Merrick walk back down the corridor, worried at the slow deliberation of his movements. ‘Don?’ she called. Merrick turned enquiringly back to her. ‘Get a taxi. My authorization. I don’t want you wrapped round a lamppost on my conscience. And that’s an order, too.’ Merrick grinned, nodded and disappeared down the stairs.
With a sigh, Carol walked down the squad room to her temporary office. There was no message on her desk. Bloody Brandon, she thought. And bloody Tony Hill. Brandon at least should have waited till she’d finished her interrogation of McConnell. And Tony might have left some indication of when he expected them to meet to discuss his profile. Muttering under her breath, Carol followed Merrick out of the building. As she reached the foyer, the officer minding the front desk called, ‘Inspector Jordan?’
Carol turned back. ‘I’m what’s left of her.’
‘The ACC left a message for you, ma’am.’
Carol approached the desk and took the envelope the constable handed her. She ripped it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. ‘Carol,’ she read. ‘I have