Dead Man's Time

eating a kebab. He checked the bin beneath the work surface, but it was empty. The interview
started. Guy Batchelor asked Gareth Dupont to recount his movements on the night of Tuesday, 21 August.
    ‘Yeah, right, I was at home, working.’
    ‘Working?’
    ‘Doing my telesales.’
    ‘You do that over the phone or in person?’
    ‘By phone.’
    ‘But you drove to Withdean Road, to speak to Mrs Aileen McWhirter, right?’
    Dupont shook his head. ‘Nah, I was at home in the Marina.’
    ‘Have you heard of mobile phone triangulation, Mr Dupont?’
    Leighton Lloyd raised a hand. ‘Excuse me, what does this have to do with my client?’
    ‘Give me a moment and you’ll understand, sir,’ Batchelor said. Then he addressed Dupont. ‘Does it mean anything?’
    Dupont shook his head.
    ‘I’ll explain. All mobile phones, whether switched on or on standby, communicate with base stations. These are sited on masts all over the country. They’re programmed to check
in every fifteen minutes. You know, a bit like E.T. phoning home. From the base station receiving the signal, we can tell which are the two other nearest, and triangulate from there. You are on the
O2 network, right?’
    Dupont nodded reluctantly.
    ‘There are two O2 base stations along Dyke Road Avenue, a short distance from Withdean Road,’ the DS continued. ‘There is a third close to the A23, a quarter of a mile to the
north of Withdean Road. The report from O2 shows that you were in the vicinity of Withdean Road around 7 to 7.30 p.m. on the night of Tuesday, August the 21st. So you weren’t at home. Would
you like to explain that?’
    Dupont thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Ah, yeah, I’d gone round to see a lady friend. Quite close to Withdean Road.’
    ‘So she could vouch for you?’
    He looked awkward suddenly, and Grace realized why. He was referring to Sarah Courteney. He made a note to check later whether she had been on air that evening.
    The solicitor was busy looking at a map on his phone. ‘I have the area in front of me,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t cover only Withdean Road – it’s a dense
residential area, a whole network of streets.’
    ‘Gareth,’ Bella Moy said, with a pleasant smile. ‘One thing that we don’t quite understand is how your fingerprint came to be on a bronze statuette owned by Mrs
McWhirter?’
    Dupont reddened. ‘I dabble a bit in antiques,’ he said. ‘One of my sidelines. It’s hard to make a living out of telesales, these days.’ His body language, thought
Grace, looked increasingly flustered. Then he frowned. ‘Like – where was the – the bronze?’
    ‘You tell us,’ Guy Batchelor said.
    Leighton Lloyd placed a hand on his client’s arm. ‘No comment,’ he instructed him.
    ‘Yeah, no comment,’ Dupont said. Then he turned and whispered something to his solicitor that none of them could hear. Leighton Lloyd shook his head firmly.
    ‘Mr Dupont,’ Batchelor said. ‘There’s something that is puzzling me. When I came with my colleague, Detective Superintendent Grace, to talk to you at your office last
Friday, we asked you what car you drove. You told us it was a Volkswagen Golf GTI. But subsequently I’ve learned you in fact drive a Porsche cabriolet. Is there any particular reason why you
lied to us?’
    Dupont looked even more of a confused mess, Grace thought.
    ‘Yeah, well, the thing is me and my mate Andre Severs swap cars sometimes. Like, he wants to impress a bird, so he borrows the Porsche. Know what I mean?’
    ‘No,’ Guy Batchelor said. ‘I’ve no idea what you mean. I want to know why you lied to two police officers.’
    ‘I guess I didn’t want to look too flash.’
    Batchelor exchanged a look with Bella Moy, then turned back to Dupont. ‘All right, tell me something, how well do you know Withdean Road in Brighton?’
    Dupont shook his head. ‘Don’t know it at all. Never been there.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Batchelor pressed.
    He nodded. ‘Well, yeah – hang on, wasn’t the football there at the Withdean Stadium until last year?’
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘Yeah, well, I’m a Seagulls fan, right. But that’s not in Withdean Road exactly.’
    ‘So you definitely were not in Withdean Road on the night of Tuesday, August the 21st?’
    ‘Absolutely not.’
    The two Detective Sergeants exchanged a glance. An imperceptible nod passed between them.
    ‘Let’s go back to your Porsche for a moment,’ Bella Moy said. ‘It’s a nice car – very