DI Alice Cauldwell looked through the mirror at her suspect as he sat with his solicitor, pinched the bridge of her nose, and willed her tiredness to recede. At the fag-end of a long night, all she wanted is to get this settled.
“Okay, Kev,” she said to her DS, “let’s get this done.”
The officers strode into the room and sat across the table from Todd Greenwood, their prime suspect.
Kev flipped open a folder and looked Greenwood in the eyes.
“Do you understand why you’re here?”
“Tell me,” Greenwood responded.
“We have not charged you with any crime,” Kev said, “you’re helping us with our inquiries.”
“I don’t want to,” Greenwood said, “can I go?”
Alice said, “No, and if you persist, I will charge you with suspicion of a crime.”
“What crime?” the duty solicitor intervened.
“We are conducting a murder enquiry,” Alice said.
“I have murdered NO-ONE,” Greenwood snapped, “I was home with my wife.”
“A witness saw you leaving your home at one a.m. on the nights of the murders,” said Kev, “can you explain your movements?”
“I needed to clear my head,” Greenwood insisted, “I was out five minutes. You can check my phone; it’ll tell you where I was.”
“Following that information, we got a warrant to check your internet activity,” Kev carried on, “you have been looking at the crime scene areas.”
“Proves nothing,” said Greenwood, “I’m just looking at properties…”
“Bit of a coincidence, Todd,” interjected Alice, “three murders in two months and your search history shows you’ve been looking at the areas where the crimes took place.”
“Is that all you have, Inspector,” said the solicitor, “because if it is, we’re done here. You can either charge Mister Greenwood or let him go.”
“It’s not quite everything,” said Alice, “you mentioned your phone, naturally we checked, and it appears your phone WAS at your home address when the crimes were being committed…”
She paused, “But it wasn’t the only phone at your home. Your wife’s phone was there, but there was a third signal arriving at one-fifteen in the morning and leaving at three-twenty-five. That phone belongs to Colin Greenwood, your younger brother.”
“That little bastard,” Greenwood said, jumping to his feet, “I knew he was poking the missus when I was out…”
He stopped and looked at the solicitor, who by now had his head in hands.
“Todd Phillip Greenwood,” said Alice with a smile, “I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Iona Treen, Patty Williams and Lorrie Jones. You do not have to say anything, but anything…”
Jane and Colin Greenwood did not attend the trial. They were too busy setting up home in Cardiff where they hoped they would live happily ever after, and they did, at least until Todd escaped. The police found him sitting in a pool of blood, a large carving knife in his hand, singing, “Daddy’s home” to the two shredded bodies lying on the kitchen floor.
