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As Gardener headed for the door, he bumped into Paul Benson. “Paul. I have a job for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you looking into a court case involving an accountant called Frank Fisher.”
“That the bloke we found dead this morning?” Benson asked.
“Fisher, yes. I’m sorry I can’t give you more information than that, but we know Fisher was working for a builder when he had an accident, which left him paralysed. Fisher sued the builder. Not sure when it happened, maybe a couple of years ago. Maybe you can find out where it all happened and have a trip over, see if anybody remembers anything.”
He turned to face his partner. “Are you ready?”
Reilly nodded. “Let’s hope he’s calmed down.”
Gardener picked up a file and passed his partner a coffee before the pair of them set off down the corridor. As soon as they entered the interview room, Billy Morrison let rip.
“What the bloody hell’s going on here?” He stood up. “You drag me down to this place, arrest me for something I didn’t do, take my fingerprints, swab inside my mouth, give me this stinking crap to wear, and you leave me here to sweat for an hour. You told me yesterday you didn’t believe that I’d done anything. Is this how you treat people who are innocent?”
“We haven’t arrested you, we’re talking to you under caution.”
“Sit down,” said Reilly, placing the warm drink on Morrison’s side of the table. “Have a coffee.”
“You’re taking bloody liberties. I might change my mind about that solicitor.”
“That’s your right, Mr Morrison,” said Gardener. “If you’d like to call him, we’ll postpone this meeting until he gets here. We don’t mind waiting until tonight.”
Morrison returned to his seat, still very agitated. “I don’t need no solicitor. I’m innocent. I told you that yesterday, and nothing has changed. Only guilty men need solicitors.”
Gardener had his hand on the recording equipment. “Are you sure before I switch this on?”
Morrison spun round to face Gardener. “Dead right I’m sure. You ask me any question you like, mate. You won’t find a damn thing on me, because there is nothing to find.”
Gardener set the tapes rolling and took everyone through the preliminaries.
“Alan Sargent.”
“What about him?”
“He worked for you.”
“You know very well he does. You’ve seen him more than once. Anyway, he works for our Barry, not me.”
“Know much about him?”
“A bit.”
“How did he get the job? Did you advertise for a driver?”
“I don’t think so. Our Barry organized everything. I think it was a friend of a friend. You might want to speak to Sid Prosser, he knows him. Could have been him that recommended Sargent.”
“You know anything about his home life?” asked Reilly.
“Such as?”
“You tell us,” replied Reilly. “Did he and his missus get on well? Any financial problems? Did he have health problems?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” replied Billy, screwing his eyes a little tighter. “I expect they have money problems, he’d been out of work some time. They have a seven-year-old son, so it can’t be that easy for them.”
Gardener realized Morrison was talking present tense about Sargent. If he knew about the death, he wasn’t letting on.
