at this place. I’m not bleedin’ Alan Sugar, but this is all mine. I own it.’
‘Your company?’ said Phil.
Brotherton nodded. ‘I do all right out of it. And women, when they see that, they think, ooh, I’ll have a bit of that for myself. Better than workin’. So what’s the easiest way to do it?’ He shrugged, gave a self-satisfied smile as if he had just explained a particularly thorny issue to the Oxford University debating society. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well she’s dead now, Mr Brotherton, so your empire is safe.’
Brotherton nodded, failing to pick up the sarcasm in Phil’s tone.
‘So who’s the F?’ asked Clayton.
‘What?’ Brotherton was clearly irritated by the question.
‘The F. In the sign out there. B & F Metals.’
Brotherton shrugged. ‘Bought him out. Kept the name so people knew who they were dealing with.’
‘And that’s important, isn’t it?’ said Phil. ‘Knowing who you’re dealing with.’
Brotherton just stared at him.
‘Why were you out on the crane if you’re the boss of the company?’ asked Phil, frowning. ‘Don’t you pay someone to do that?’
Brotherton’s chest puffed out with pride. ‘Good to keep your hand in. Keeps you fit, strong.’
‘Never know when that’s going to come in handy, do you?’
Brotherton turned to Phil, his muscles flexing, hands balling into fists. Clayton looked between the two, spoke.
‘So you were no longer seeing her?’ he asked. ‘Claire Fielding?’
Another snort, attention diverted from Phil. ‘Why would I?’ He looked around, smiled triumphantly. ‘I’ve got Sophie now, ain’t I?’
Sophie returned the smile with all the warmth and animation her Botoxed features would allow.
‘So why would you still be described in her diary as her boyfriend?’ asked Phil.
‘Bollocks.’
‘It’s true, Mr Brotherton. Her address book still has your name in it too, and she carried a photo of you in her wallet.’
‘You know what birds are like,’ he said, trying to remain cocky. ‘Can’t let go, can they?’ But his features didn’t mirror his words. And something unfamiliar entered his eyes. Fear?
‘Mr Brotherton, where were you last night between the hours of ten p.m. and two a.m.?’
‘What?’ Brotherton looked between the two policemen.
‘You heard the question,’ said Clayton.
‘I was . . .’ He looked to Sophie for support.
‘He was with me,’ she said, picking up on his visual clue.
‘Where?’ said Phil.
‘At my place,’ she said quickly.
‘Doing what?’ said Clayton.
‘What business is that of yours?’ she said, her face finding animation at last.
‘This is a murder inquiry; answer the question, please.’
‘Watching a DVD. Bottle of wine, takeaway.’
‘What film?’
‘What?’ she said.
‘What film were you watching?’ Phil said again.
‘We . . . had a couple,’ Brotherton said.
‘What were they?’ Clayton’s voice was calm and emotionless.
‘Something . . . something Sophie wanted and . . . and something I wanted.’ Brotherton looked at her again, willing her to speak.
‘Which was?’ Phil’s voice was also flat and emotionless. A question machine.
‘ Atonement ,’ said Sophie.
‘ No Country for Old Men ,’ said Brotherton.
‘Is that out on DVD yet?’ said Clayton.
‘Got a pirate.’
Phil allowed himself a small smile. ‘Want us to do you for that as well?’
‘Look, just . . . fuck off. You’ve got what you wanted, we’ve told you what we were doin’. You’ve got your information, just . . . leave. Now. I’ve got a business to run.’ Brotherton was talking himself into confidence again. ‘And you’re bad for it.’
Phil and Clayton exchanged another look, the purpose of which was to rattle Brotherton and Sophie even more than their questioning had. Leaving them with that, they made their way to the door.
Phil stepped through first, Clayton following. As he came abreast of Brotherton,
‘Your company?’ said Phil.
Brotherton nodded. ‘I do all right out of it. And women, when they see that, they think, ooh, I’ll have a bit of that for myself. Better than workin’. So what’s the easiest way to do it?’ He shrugged, gave a self-satisfied smile as if he had just explained a particularly thorny issue to the Oxford University debating society. ‘Exactly.’
‘Well she’s dead now, Mr Brotherton, so your empire is safe.’
Brotherton nodded, failing to pick up the sarcasm in Phil’s tone.
‘So who’s the F?’ asked Clayton.
‘What?’ Brotherton was clearly irritated by the question.
‘The F. In the sign out there. B & F Metals.’
Brotherton shrugged. ‘Bought him out. Kept the name so people knew who they were dealing with.’
‘And that’s important, isn’t it?’ said Phil. ‘Knowing who you’re dealing with.’
Brotherton just stared at him.
‘Why were you out on the crane if you’re the boss of the company?’ asked Phil, frowning. ‘Don’t you pay someone to do that?’
Brotherton’s chest puffed out with pride. ‘Good to keep your hand in. Keeps you fit, strong.’
‘Never know when that’s going to come in handy, do you?’
Brotherton turned to Phil, his muscles flexing, hands balling into fists. Clayton looked between the two, spoke.
‘So you were no longer seeing her?’ he asked. ‘Claire Fielding?’
Another snort, attention diverted from Phil. ‘Why would I?’ He looked around, smiled triumphantly. ‘I’ve got Sophie now, ain’t I?’
Sophie returned the smile with all the warmth and animation her Botoxed features would allow.
‘So why would you still be described in her diary as her boyfriend?’ asked Phil.
‘Bollocks.’
‘It’s true, Mr Brotherton. Her address book still has your name in it too, and she carried a photo of you in her wallet.’
‘You know what birds are like,’ he said, trying to remain cocky. ‘Can’t let go, can they?’ But his features didn’t mirror his words. And something unfamiliar entered his eyes. Fear?
‘Mr Brotherton, where were you last night between the hours of ten p.m. and two a.m.?’
‘What?’ Brotherton looked between the two policemen.
‘You heard the question,’ said Clayton.
‘I was . . .’ He looked to Sophie for support.
‘He was with me,’ she said, picking up on his visual clue.
‘Where?’ said Phil.
‘At my place,’ she said quickly.
‘Doing what?’ said Clayton.
‘What business is that of yours?’ she said, her face finding animation at last.
‘This is a murder inquiry; answer the question, please.’
‘Watching a DVD. Bottle of wine, takeaway.’
‘What film?’
‘What?’ she said.
‘What film were you watching?’ Phil said again.
‘We . . . had a couple,’ Brotherton said.
‘What were they?’ Clayton’s voice was calm and emotionless.
‘Something . . . something Sophie wanted and . . . and something I wanted.’ Brotherton looked at her again, willing her to speak.
‘Which was?’ Phil’s voice was also flat and emotionless. A question machine.
‘ Atonement ,’ said Sophie.
‘ No Country for Old Men ,’ said Brotherton.
‘Is that out on DVD yet?’ said Clayton.
‘Got a pirate.’
Phil allowed himself a small smile. ‘Want us to do you for that as well?’
‘Look, just . . . fuck off. You’ve got what you wanted, we’ve told you what we were doin’. You’ve got your information, just . . . leave. Now. I’ve got a business to run.’ Brotherton was talking himself into confidence again. ‘And you’re bad for it.’
Phil and Clayton exchanged another look, the purpose of which was to rattle Brotherton and Sophie even more than their questioning had. Leaving them with that, they made their way to the door.
Phil stepped through first, Clayton following. As he came abreast of Brotherton,
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