Page 53 of Dropping Like Flies

Griffin’s gaze didn’t shift from the slumped figure picking at his nails. “I’m trying to imagine him murdering six men.”

“And?”

Griffin heaved out a breath. “It’s difficult… It’s a lot easier when I remember how he was at the club, though. He was like a feral cat. Only instead of claws and teeth, he had a knife.”

“Yeah.” It was a pretty apt description.

The door to the interview room opened, and a man and a woman stepped inside. Lou Fowler, my partner, I knew well. DI Emma Birdwhistle I didn’t know as well. And yes, she got flak for her surname, people perfecting their bird calls as she passed, which only firmed my resolve to keep my rather unusual first name under wraps. She had a reputation for being thorough, my shoulders relaxing slightly at the knowledge there would be no half-assing this interview.

Dougie turned his head as they came through the door, but said nothing. They spent the next few minutes satisfying the basic requirements for the recording, Lou and Emma introducing themselves and stating the date, time, and location, as well as getting Dougie to confirm his identity. Once they’d cautioned him again, the interview proper could start. Although I might not be conducting it, I still wanted a say in what questions got asked. It was, after all, my case.

“Paper and pen,” I demanded, Griffin rolling his eyes when my instruction resulted in a notepad being pushed into my hands within seconds. The first few questions were perfunctory, more about lulling Dougie into a false sense of security than anything else, the young man seeming quite eager to answer them when they involved nothing more taxing than confirming that he was a frequent visitor to Eclipse. Next, came a discussion of Dougie’s past relationship with Rupert, Dougie repeating a lot of the same information he’d already told Griffin and me in his mother’s living room.

It was Lou who finally got down to business, fixing Dougie with a firm stare and leaning forward slightly. “You told one of our officers that you were responsible for the murder of Rupert Shaw.”

Dougie blinked furiously, and I held my breath, my fingers tightening around the pen. If he recanted his confession at this stage, it would leave us with nothing. We could dig into his alibi and try to get his mother to say she’d lied, but how likely was that? She was just as likely to carry on lying. Most people did, if only to save their own skin.

Silence descended on both rooms. It was Emma who finally broke it. “For the purposes of the tape, Mr. Elrod has neither confirmed nor denied whether he was telling the truth when he informed DCI Weaver that he was responsible for the murder of Mr. Shaw.” She shifted slightly in her seat, strands of reddish-gold hair coming free from the tight bun she always wore her hair in.

“I loved Rupert,” Dougie finally said.

“We’re not disputing that,” Lou said smoothly. “People have been known to kill those they love. We usually call them crimes of passion. Is that what happened? You told DCI Weaver in the club…” He glanced down at his notes. “You told him that Rupert should have listened to you, that you warned him what would happen if he broke up with you.”

“Did you kill him?” Emma asked.

Dougie studied the surface of the table for what felt like hours before finally raising his head to meet her gaze. “Yes, I killed him. Are you happy now?”

“How did you do it?” Emma asked, her voice quiet and lacking any accusation. “Why don’t you tell us what happened that night?”

Dougie sighed, the question seeming to irritate him. “Why?”

It was Lou that answered, the two of them working well together. “So we can know for sure it was you.”

Dougie laughed. “You don’t believe me? Why would I claim to murder someone if it wasn’t true? What would I get out of it?”

Lou cleared his throat. “If you don’t want to talk about what happened with Rupert, you could tell us about the rest instead.”

“’The rest,” Dougie echoed in a slightly mocking tone. He stared at the two detectives before letting out another sigh. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Who was the first?” Emma asked.

“Duncan Whitaker,” Dougie said without missing a beat. He held up his hands and ticked them off on his fingers as he spat the names out like bullets. “Then Murray Clegg. Callum Summer. Baris Demir. My darling Rupert. Adam Freeman.” He sat back in a way that said “there.”

“The newspapers printed the names of all the victims,” I said. “That proves nothing apart from that he can read and retain information.” Griffin nodded, his shoulder moving against mine, but didn’t comment. “We need him to say something that nobody but the murderer would know.”

I scribbled a couple of questions down on the notepad, ready to hand them to Emma and Lou if they didn’t ask them. Had I made the right decision by stepping back and letting someone else do the interview? I guess only time would tell. It was the worst sort of torture to be consigned to watching without having control over the situation.

“Tell us about Duncan,” Emma urged. “Where did you meet him? What happened that night?”

“I met him in Eclipse. I met them all in Eclipse. Well, apart from Rupert, obviously. I’d already met him.”

“How did you get Duncan to take you home?”

Dougie cocked his head to one side, the look he leveled her way distinctly coquettish. “How do you think? The usual way.”

“Maybe you could tell us,” Lou suggested. “We’re trying to get as complete a picture of what happened as we can.”

Dougie raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were trying to work out if I’d done it. Have you decided yet?”

---