Land Rites (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗

The lab had also confirmed that the blood in the barrel of the Remington .22 belonged to Owen.

According to Lucy, JJ had warned her the police were coming. That meant his source was very close to the investigation. Ford’s suspicions, which had been quiet recently, flared up again.

The firearms team? No way an AFO would want to give a suspect the chance to arm themselves. Had Mick been lying to him all along? Or was it that little toad, Peterson? It would all have to wait. He had a murder suspect to interview.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Ford stared at the man he now knew had murdered Tommy Bolter in cold blood. The lawyer, Rowbotham, looked composed and elegant in another understated but clearly expensive suit.

Lucy Martival had confirmed his suspicions, but Coco had been right: what her stepdaughter had told Ford while under sedation would never make it into court; his recording would be inadmissible.

A lawyer would simply argue she’d been under the influence of a powerful narcotic, possessing neither the capacity to consent to the interview nor the ability to distinguish fact from drug-induced fantasy.

He needed to find a way to get Philip Martival himself to admit it.

Ford nodded to Jools, who switched on the tape recorder.

‘Philip Martival, you have been arrested on suspicion of murder,’ Ford said, looking straight at him. ‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

Martival nodded.

‘For the tape, please?’ Ford said.

Martival lifted a hand and spoke behind it to his lawyer, who listened while keeping his gaze fixed on Ford. Rowbotham nodded.

‘My client will be exercising the right of which you have just reminded him. He will not be saying anything.’ A beat. ‘At all.’

‘For the tape, the suspect, Philip Martival, also known as Lord Baverstock, nodded,’ Ford said, ‘indicating that he understood the caution delivered to him.’

Ford had suspected Martival would pull precisely this trick. He’d rely on his solicitor to keep the interview as short as possible, preferring to take his chances in court with, no doubt, an even more expensive barrister to argue his case.

But Ford had one, devastating card in his hand. He knew Lucy had nearly died trying to evade arrest. And that she’d confessed in the hospital. Her father did not. Ford felt the moral weight of it as he tried to decide when and how to play it. He consulted his conscience, then his detective’s brain.

He felt for the father sitting before him. But he also had a job to do: securing justice for the two murdered men. But which option would yield the confession he wanted? Playing the card now, or waiting? He decided to wait. There was plenty of other evidence he could lay before Martival.

‘We found a human hair stuck to some blood in the load bay of Joe Hibberd’s Land Rover,’ he said. ‘The blood belonged to Tommy Bolter. When we compare the DNA from the hair to the sample you provided on being booked in, I think they’ll be a perfect match. Do you want to tell me how your hair got stuck to Tommy Bolter’s blood?’

Martival folded his arms across his chest and stared at Ford.

‘My client has asserted his right to silence, Detective Inspector,’ Rowbotham said. ‘I do not believe he intends to answer any of your questions. If you have any hard evidence against my client, I suggest you present it now or release him under investigation.’

Ford shook his head. ‘There is other evidence that leads straight back to you, Philip. Wouldn’t it be better to talk now and make a clean breast of it? Judges tend to look favourably on people who admit their wrongdoing.’

Martival’s mouth stayed shut, his bloodless lips a rebuke to Ford.

‘You have Joe Hibberd in custody, yes?’ Rowbotham asked.

‘Yes.’

‘He has already confessed to both murders,’ the lawyer said with a wintry smile.

Ford ignored him.

‘Philip, have you got money worries? Is that why you applied for planning permission to develop your land? Lucy asked me if I was a banker the first time I came to see you. Is that what you were doing in London? Begging for money to keep your estate afloat?’

Ford saw instantly that he’d found his way through Martival’s armour. The man’s left eye twitched and his lips tightened still further. Ford could see he desperately wanted to rebut the charges or at least answer the insinuation Ford had just made.

‘No comment.’

Ford nodded as if in sympathetic understanding. But with ‘no comment’, Martival had broken his vow of silence. Time to turn up the temperature.

‘Owen Long was murdered while making a video on your land. In it, he poured scorn on your development plans and the greed he says lies behind them. We have that video.’ He saw Martival’s eyes widen fractionally. It was a satisfying moment. He’d caught the man out, wrongfooted him. ‘You destroyed his GoPro. But you forgot about the Cloud. I didn’t. His camera uploaded everything automatically. I watched your daughter, Lucy Martival, shoot Owen Long dead. Did she come to you for help? Did you dispose of the body?’

Martival’s lips twitched.

Ford tried again. ‘Did you shoot Tommy Bolter with your Parker-Hale Safari Deluxe rifle because he was blackmailing Lucy?’

Martival maintained his silence. Ford sighed. Rowbotham obviously took it as an indication that Ford had no further questions, because he began gathering his papers.

‘Wait!’ Ford said sharply.

Rowbotham stopped, eyebrows raised. ‘We’ve established that my client has no intention of answering any of your questions.’

Ford laid his card down.

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Philip,’ he said, ignoring the lawyer. ‘I went out with a team to arrest Lucy while you were driving home. She tried to escape on a horse and it threw her. She suffered a head injury and is currently in a private