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“I appreciate this is a shock for you, but we need to ask you some questions.”
Robbie Carter placed his head in his hands and sighed. “I come home to find my house turned over and my wife dead and you’re questioning me.”
“Dead?” Reilly asked.
Robbie Carter glanced upwards.
Gardener pulled the sheets of paper from the file.
“When you came into the station to report the offence you weren’t sure whether she was dead or dying.”
“Now you are,” said Reilly.
“Dead, dying, the outcome was the same.”
Robbie Carter’s answer and blasé attitude shocked Gardener. He realised they were going to have a lot of trouble with him and it was very unlikely that he would be able to continue questioning without detaining the man further. He would need a Superintendent for a twelve-hour extension, and then, if necessary, a magistrate for another twelve to take it to forty-eight.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we, Mr Carter? If you cooperate, we’ll all be out of here a lot quicker. You have to understand it from our point of view. If you want us to catch whoever did this to your wife, remaining calm will help you remember as many details as possible. Do you understand me?”
Robbie Carter merely nodded. “Can I have another coffee?” He pushed his empty cup forward.
Gardener nodded and Reilly left his seat and banged on the door. The PC on the other side answered and the order was placed. Reilly returned to the table.
“Just for the record, can I have your name, address and phone number?” Gardener asked.
“Carter. Robbie Carter. Number two Swansea Court.” Robbie followed up with his mobile number.
“Your statement to the desk sergeant basically states that you found your wife when you came home. Where were you until then?”
“Working, at a club in Leeds. I’m a musician.”
“Which one?” Reilly asked.
“Seacroft Working Men’s.”
“Go on,” prompted Reilly.
“I finished the gig about half eleven. Packed up the gear. Had a quick drink then I came straight home. And before you ask I was not over the limit. Got into the house about one-thirty.”
“You’re not likely to be if you only had one,” replied Gardener.
“What was the drink
?” Reilly asked.
“Pardon?”
“The drink,” repeated Reilly. “What did you have?”
“Half a lager. I never drink when I’m on stage, apart from still orange maybe. When I’ve finished, I always have a half.”
“So you’re a musician, Mr Carter. How long have you been doing that?”
“All my life.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifty-five.”
