‘What time did he leave?’
‘I don’t know. Five. Six. Something like that.’
‘That’s a pretty big timespan. Which was it – five or six?’
‘I can’t be more pacific, man. We were drinking and smoking. I lost track of time.’
The taxi had been booked to collect Cobb at six o’clock. Given Barrington’s hazy recollection, it was possible that Cobb left at just before that time, intending to jump straight into his taxi, but it was equally possible that he departed at closer to five, and perhaps visited someone else in the building or left it entirely. He might have forgotten he’d booked a taxi, or been unable to get back because of what befell him.
The uncertainty of it all was maddening.
‘Did he say where he was going after he left you? What his plans were?’
‘Not that I remember. Why don’t you go and ask Joey?’
Hannah looked at Marcel, and then back at Barrington.
‘What?’ Barrington asked.
‘Joey Cobb is dead, Barrington.’
Barrington stared at her as though expecting a follow-up – perhaps some kind of punchline.
‘What?’
‘He’s dead. He was murdered this weekend.’
Barrington let out a long, drawn-out ‘Shiiiiit.’ And then: ‘Wait. Do you think I got something to do with it? Is that why you’re here?’
‘He was here, Barrington. You said so yourself. He was here in this flat just before he was killed. And not long after he was killed, he was cut into tiny little pieces and transported to the local tip. I hope now you can see why we need to ask you some questions.’
Barrington became suddenly agitated. ‘Wait. Hold on a sec. This is bullshit, man. I haven’t got nothing to do with no murder. When he left my place, he was fine. He was walking and talking and in one piece. I don’t know nothing about what happened after that. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.’
‘You know what I think, Barrington? I think you’re full of it. You’re trying to play us. Joey came here for a drug deal. No music, no band, no playing video games. He was doing a deal with you. And maybe that deal went wrong. He tried to rip you off, or you tried the same with him. Either way—’
‘No. Stop right there. You can’t do this to me, man. This is not fucking right. I am innocent. I got nothing to do with no murder. I haven’t been out of this place since Friday, ’cept maybe to go to the corner shop on Saturday morning. Ask my neighbours. Ask them about the music I’ve been playing really loud, and the computer games. Go ahead, ask them.’
Hannah stood up. ‘We will. And then maybe we’ll come back and search your flat. One drop of blood, Barrington – that’s all it would take. We find one drop of Joey’s blood in here and you will be straight back in prison.’
‘Then search. Like I said before, I got nothing to hide. I did not kill Joey. Shit, man.’
At the door, Hannah turned back to Barrington one last time.
‘Have you got a car?’
‘Yeah. Hardly ever use it, though.’
‘What’s the make and model?’
‘Nothing flashy. It’s a Vauxhall Corsa. Why?’
‘We’ll be looking out for it on CCTV.’
‘Do that. Go ahead. What I said was the truth. I’ve been here all weekend. Whoever killed Joey, it wasn’t me.’
17
‘What do you think?’
They were in a grimy café around the corner from the block of flats. When they first sat down, Hannah had asked for the table to be cleaned. The woman serving them had simply used her arm to brush all the crumbs onto the floor. The tea now in front of Hannah tasted like it had been brewing for a week. Marcel’s doughnut looked as though it could act as a serviceable doorstop. Didn’t stop him tucking into it, though.
‘Not how I thought it would go,’ he answered, licking his lips as thick, dark jam oozed down his chin.
‘No. Me neither. Lying about talking to Cobb – I expected that. Birds of a feather, et cetera. But then why not keep up the pretence? Why not simply keep insisting that he hadn’t actually seen Joey on Saturday? You know how their kind usually operate: they deny everything until we present incontrovertible evidence to the contrary, and then they come up with a new story. Barrington didn’t do that. He collapsed way too soon.’
‘He seemed worried that Joey might’ve already given us the information that he was there.’
‘But that suggests he believed Cobb was still alive.’
‘Could’ve been a bluff.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t think Barrington is that quick on his feet. You saw and heard exactly what I did. Did you ever get the impression he knew Cobb was dead?’
‘No. In fact, when we told him about it, his reaction seemed totally genuine.’
‘It did. And did you notice how he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about us searching his flat or tracking his car? Why would he be like that if he’d just hacked up a body and driven it to the tip?’
Marcel slurped his tea and returned to his doughnut. Hannah took a sip of her own tea, grimaced, then opened a sachet of sugar and poured it in. She never took sugar as a rule, but this called for desperate measures.
