Cameron shook his head violently. “No, I’ve always said I’d rather die than set foot inside another prison cell and I mean it.”
“My father is undergoing questioning voluntarily,” Michael Stockley reminded them. “You cannot force him to attend the police station and you certainly can’t put him in a prison cell whilst he awaits his lawyer.”
Warren was getting impatient. “First, nobody has said anything about your father being placed in custody, let alone a cell. Second, I would remind you that I have a signed arrest warrant, so I certainly can compel him to attend the questioning. I’ll let you decide how you want to do this.”
The two men glared at each other. Finally, it was Richard Cameron who spoke up. “All right. Let’s get this done with. But I ain’t saying nothing until my brief arrives.” With that, he slouched out of the door, heading for the parked cars. At a signal from Warren, one of the uniformed constables opened the rear door of his patrol car.
“Mind your head,” he grunted, pushing down on the older man’s unruly mane.
Stockley stepped towards the car.
“Hold on, Michael.”
Now that he had them, Warren’s instinct was to minimise contact between father and son as much as possible. He didn’t like the way the younger man was calling all of the shots. Stockley blinked. “I’m accompanying my father to the police station.”
“Not in there, you’re not. Health and Safety,” he lied, motioning towards the remaining patrol car, whose driver stood by the open rear door like a chauffeur.
“Health and Safety? Bollocks!” He made as if to protest further, but Warren merely waved the arrest warrant in the air. With a sound of disgust, the younger man turned on his heel and marched towards the waiting car.
With both men locked in separate cars, Warren addressed the remaining officers.
“DI Sutton will co-ordinate the securing of the property and then return to the station. I want a search team standing by and ready to go in case he gives us enough to raise a search warrant. We need to move fast before his lawyer starts putting up the roadblocks.”
He turned to Sutton, who was smiling. “I liked the way you handled that, boss. His lawyer will be pissed, though.”
Warren shrugged. The man was a convicted rapist out on licence. His complaints would fall on deaf ears.
“Tough. More to the point, though, if we can’t get anything off Cameron in interview, we may have to let him go. And his lawyer will almost certainly challenge the grounds for any search warrant.” As an afterthought, he fished out his own car keys. “Drive yourself back rather than wait for a lift. I want you in on any interviews. I’ll keep Mr Cameron company on the way to the station.”
By the time Cameron, Stockley and Warren arrived back at Middlesbury police station, Stockley had already telephoned his father’s solicitor. Although he wasn’t under arrest, Cameron was still processed by the custody officer, who reminded him of his rights and directed him to a small room to await his lawyer. He ostentatiously left the door wide open so that he could listen in to anything the father and son might say, a mute reminder that their conversation would not be subject to the same privileges that a lawyer and client would be entitled to.
Thirty minutes later, Cameron’s solicitor arrived. A portly, balding man in his late fifties, he’d not represented Cameron at his first trial — that solicitor had retired some years ago — but he had negotiated his release and the terms of his parole.
“What’s he in for? I understand he’s attended voluntarily for questioning, but you have an arrest warrant and have left a team in place should you be able to raise a search warrant.”
Warren shrugged. “Just doing it by the book — complete chain of evidence and all that.”
The solicitor grunted. “Not a lot of information for me to go on here, but I can read between the lines and I’ve heard the news. Can I see the arrest warrant?”
“No need, it hasn’t been served.” The arrest warrant contained details that Warren would only share if necessary.
The solicitor grunted again, letting it pass, although Warren was under no illusions that it would be forgotten about. Leading him towards the small room containing Cameron and Stockley, neither of whom had said a word yet, Warren let the door close behind him. Everything said inside that room would now be privileged.
Grabbing a coffee from the vending machine, Warren went to greet Sutton, who had just returned from the farm.
“The farmhouse is secure and a SOCO team are on standby.”
“Good, but don’t hold your breath. I’ve got a feeling that we aren’t going to get much from Cameron. That bloody son of his is too smart by half and his brief is pretty experienced also, by the look of him.”
“He is,” confirmed Sutton, who’d been at Middlesbury for years. “He’s pretty reasonable for a solicitor and knows when to fight his battles, but he does a thorough job and won’t stand any bullshit.”
“Well, then, let’s see what Mr Cameron has to say for himself.”
* * *
The opening volley of the interview came, unsurprisingly, from Cameron’s lawyer. Warren had led Cameron and his lawyer into the small interview room. Unexpectedly, Michael had opted to remain outside, leaving his father in the hands of his solicitor. After ensuring that the voice recorder was set up and that Sutton had read the man his rights, Warren had sat back, arms folded, and waited patiently. Cameron’s solicitor had started by complaining loudly and forcefully about his client’s treatment thus far.
In a two-minute diatribe he accused Warren and his officers of being on a fishing trip; of bullying Cameron into attending an interview ‘voluntarily’ by implying arrest if he didn’t do so, then making up bogus Health and Safety regulations to isolate his client from his accompanying adult.
Warren could almost see the quotation marks hanging in the air around the word ‘voluntarily’. When he’d finished he sat back in his chair.
Warren looked over at Sutton, who appeared to be in the process of picking his nose. A gesture that couldn’t be heard on the tape, it nevertheless clearly stated the officer’s contempt for the alleged trampling of the suspect’s rights that had just been outlined. Warren fought back a smile. Sutton had a style all of his own.
Ignoring what the solicitor had just said, Warren leant forward in his chair.
“Mr Cameron, can you tell us where you were on the evening of Friday second December?”
Cameron glanced towards his lawyer, licked his lips and mumbled, “No comment.”
Warren shook his head. “Come on, Mr Cameron. The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you can go home.”
The lawyer leant forward. “May I remind the detective chief inspector that my client is here voluntarily and that he is in fact free to leave at any time. Nor is he under any obligation to say anything that may incriminate him.”
Warren nodded, as if conceding the point. “Absolutely right. Until — sorry — unless we arrest Mr Cameron, he is free to leave at any time. And of course you are right — Mr Cameron has no need to say anything that might incriminate him.”
He looked back at Cameron. “Can I assume that what you might have to say is incriminating?”
The lawyer’s response was swift. “No, you may not, as you well know. Failure to answer a question may not be seen as an admission of guilt.”
“Of course, you are absolutely right. However it is quite possible that if Mr Cameron can account for his whereabouts on the night in question, he might just remove himself from any suspicion.”