The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Thursday, 23rd August. Evening

Interrogation Room 3 is the same bare, functional space as the other Interrogation Rooms, but with one addition. Serious Crimes suspects tend to be interrogated there, so the table has, in addition to a recorder, pens and paper, a heavy metal ring built into the suspect's side. Edgar Doran sat alone at this table, his wrists in handcuffs. The cuffs were attached to each other by a thick chain about twelve inches long, which was looped through the ring in front of him. He could therefore move his hands and arms to either side about a foot or so, but that was the extent of his movement. 

When Sheehan, accompanied by Stewart who had refused Allen's pleas to stay at home, entered the room, Doran leaped from his chair. He was stopped short by the chained cuffs and was forced to remain bent over as he hurled insults and swear words at the two detectives. "You should be dead, you bitch," he snarled at Stewart. "And you should be in mental agony, you bastard," he roared at Sheehan. "Get out of here. Get out of here. You destroyed my plans. You ruined my life." He was spitting and almost foaming at the mouth, so intense was his rage. "Go!" he screamed. "Go! I refuse to speak to either of you." 

"Sit down," Sheehan snapped. "You will be interrogated like every other prisoner." 

Doran continued to spit and swear. "I will not be interrogated by you, you piece of shit." He began pulling and rattling violently at the chains, abrading his wrists and starting to draw blood. He seemed impervious to the pain, tearing and struggling with the chain as if determined to rip the ring from its niche on the table. "Get out! Get out! I won't listen." He kept pulling on the chain and starting to sing loudly out of tune. "La, la, la, la. I can't ... hear ... you." 

"Sing all you want," Sheehan shouted back at him. "Forensics have confirmed that it is your fingerprints that were found on McStravick's suitcase and that it is your DNA both on the hair and the piece of elastic. You're going down, Doran, and you're going down for a long, long time."

 "You ... don't ... have ... mo ... tive." Doran continued to sing the words in some sort of bizarre rhythm, still tearing the skin off his wrists with the handcuffs. "Stupid Sheehan ... Stupid Sheehan ... Going to court ... without a mo ...tive. Ha, ha, ha! La, la, la!" Then changing mood suddenly, he began screaming invective again. "Get out, you bastard. Get out to fuck! Out! Out!" He was pulling madly at the chain again, tearing skin off his wrists which were now covered in blood. 

Stewart pulled at Sheehan's sleeve. "Sir, maybe we should go back out and talk about this. He's going to do himself some serious damage." 

"Out! Out! Out!" Doran continued to shout, his voice becoming hoarse and ragged. 

His face like thunder, Sheehan turned on his heel and stalked out, the prisoner's invective still ringing in his ears. "The bastard's not going to get away with that," he snapped at Stewart once they were outside and the door was closed behind them. "He's going to have to talk to us at some point." 

"Maybe, Chief," Stewart agreed. "But not right this minute." 

Sheehan was still breathing heavily as he fought his anger. He looked straight through Stewart for some seconds until his expression cleared and he reached into his pocket for his mobile phone. He dialled and waited. When he got an answer, he said, "McBride, you still at the station?" He listened to the response and continued speaking, "Okay. Get yourself down here to Interrogation Room 3." 

"Sir?" Stewart said with raised eyebrows. 

"Doran thinks he's so bloody smart. Well, we'll fight smart with smarter. I've put my money on McBride before, and I'm going to do it again."