Pearce offers me a doughnut – Krispy Kreme, sugar glaze – and puts on Classic FM.
‘Mozart’s good for the brain,’ he says. ‘Scientifically proven to help you think.’
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask.
‘Not a lot,’ he says.
What would be a silence is filled first by violins, then by DC Huhne.
‘We’ve had fresh information,’ says Huhne. ‘From an informant.’
‘Who?’ I ask. Then, ‘About what?’
‘How many things are you entangled with the police about, Danny?’ asks Huhne, half-joking, half-inspecting his doughnut. ‘The same old thing: your friend’s dead wife.’
For a moment I think he means Nicole is dead. My stomach does an excited jump. Then I realise he means Helen. My stomach settles again. At least this means Adam hasn’t phoned in about last night. I should never have thought that of him – too treacherous.
‘We’re duty bound to investigate it,’ continues Huhne.
Pearce takes a bite of his doughnut.
‘What my enthusiastic colleague means is that we’re duty bound to be
seen
to investigate it.’ He cocks his head at Huhne. ‘She’ll learn.’
‘So what are we doing now?’ I ask.
‘Going through the motions,’ says Pearce.
I nod, as though this means something.
‘Nicole?’ I ask.
‘We couldn’t possibly say,’ says Huhne.
Pearce licks at some glaze and smacks his lips.
‘Is getting hit by someone on the dodgems fresh evidence?’ I ask.
‘Certain suspicions have been raised,’ says Huhne. ‘We have to take them seriously.’ She is just showing off now, trying to tell me and/or Pearce that she knows what she’s doing, isn’t just a piece of skirt. Pearce flicks a look at her in the rear-view mirror. Then he turns round to regard her properly. Huhne pulls her skirt over her knees.
‘What the lovely Debbie means is that, because the dear deceased lady’s father still insists on paying most of our salaries through his taxes, we have to show willing,’ adds Pearce.
Oh. The money thing again. Right.
‘So we can say we took you in for questioning, and we didn’t have cause to arrest you,’ Pearce elaborates.
‘Or even caution me.’
‘And everyone’s happy,’ says Pearce, mouth downturned.
‘I wasn’t on the original investigation,’ says Huhne. ‘So humour me.’
I wonder if this is good cop bad cop. Or lazy cop keen cop. If they’ve planned all of this.
‘What were you doing on the night in question?’ asks Huhne.
‘February nineteenth?’ I ask.
‘What other night would I be talking about?’ she asks.
I shrug.
‘Is there another night you want to talk to us about?’ she questions, not letting it drop. I was right – diligent.
‘No,’ I say. Which is true. I don’t want to talk about it. To her.
‘So what were you doing?’
Pearce answers for me. ‘He was looking after his aunt, i.e. doing fuck all while she slept.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I was working on a book.’ Because I was, in a way. Book three.
‘Oh, are you a published author?’ asks Huhne. I wonder if she will ask for my autograph if I say yes.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not yet. But I will be soon. I’m working on something new. My best work yet.’
‘I’ve always wanted to write a novel,’ says Pearce.
‘You need convincing characters,’ I tell him. I consider telling him about the method, then think better of it. I’m still not sure how that’s going to end.
‘Ah, sod it. And here I was, just thinking I could write about all the fiction you spin us,’ says Pearce.
I shift in my seat.
‘Don’t worry, Danny boy. I’m messing with you. We’ve no reason to believe you’re lying about this one, have we, Debbie?’
‘Not about this one,’ she says. I think she is still thinking about the February 19 th question. ‘But we’ll be keeping an eye on you.’
‘Am I free to go?’ I ask Pearce.
‘Yes,’ says Pearce.
‘For now,’ adds Huhne. I can’t tell whether it’s a line from police school or whether she means
‘Mozart’s good for the brain,’ he says. ‘Scientifically proven to help you think.’
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask.
‘Not a lot,’ he says.
What would be a silence is filled first by violins, then by DC Huhne.
‘We’ve had fresh information,’ says Huhne. ‘From an informant.’
‘Who?’ I ask. Then, ‘About what?’
‘How many things are you entangled with the police about, Danny?’ asks Huhne, half-joking, half-inspecting his doughnut. ‘The same old thing: your friend’s dead wife.’
For a moment I think he means Nicole is dead. My stomach does an excited jump. Then I realise he means Helen. My stomach settles again. At least this means Adam hasn’t phoned in about last night. I should never have thought that of him – too treacherous.
‘We’re duty bound to investigate it,’ continues Huhne.
Pearce takes a bite of his doughnut.
‘What my enthusiastic colleague means is that we’re duty bound to be
seen
to investigate it.’ He cocks his head at Huhne. ‘She’ll learn.’
‘So what are we doing now?’ I ask.
‘Going through the motions,’ says Pearce.
I nod, as though this means something.
‘Nicole?’ I ask.
‘We couldn’t possibly say,’ says Huhne.
Pearce licks at some glaze and smacks his lips.
‘Is getting hit by someone on the dodgems fresh evidence?’ I ask.
‘Certain suspicions have been raised,’ says Huhne. ‘We have to take them seriously.’ She is just showing off now, trying to tell me and/or Pearce that she knows what she’s doing, isn’t just a piece of skirt. Pearce flicks a look at her in the rear-view mirror. Then he turns round to regard her properly. Huhne pulls her skirt over her knees.
‘What the lovely Debbie means is that, because the dear deceased lady’s father still insists on paying most of our salaries through his taxes, we have to show willing,’ adds Pearce.
Oh. The money thing again. Right.
‘So we can say we took you in for questioning, and we didn’t have cause to arrest you,’ Pearce elaborates.
‘Or even caution me.’
‘And everyone’s happy,’ says Pearce, mouth downturned.
‘I wasn’t on the original investigation,’ says Huhne. ‘So humour me.’
I wonder if this is good cop bad cop. Or lazy cop keen cop. If they’ve planned all of this.
‘What were you doing on the night in question?’ asks Huhne.
‘February nineteenth?’ I ask.
‘What other night would I be talking about?’ she asks.
I shrug.
‘Is there another night you want to talk to us about?’ she questions, not letting it drop. I was right – diligent.
‘No,’ I say. Which is true. I don’t want to talk about it. To her.
‘So what were you doing?’
Pearce answers for me. ‘He was looking after his aunt, i.e. doing fuck all while she slept.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I was working on a book.’ Because I was, in a way. Book three.
‘Oh, are you a published author?’ asks Huhne. I wonder if she will ask for my autograph if I say yes.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not yet. But I will be soon. I’m working on something new. My best work yet.’
‘I’ve always wanted to write a novel,’ says Pearce.
‘You need convincing characters,’ I tell him. I consider telling him about the method, then think better of it. I’m still not sure how that’s going to end.
‘Ah, sod it. And here I was, just thinking I could write about all the fiction you spin us,’ says Pearce.
I shift in my seat.
‘Don’t worry, Danny boy. I’m messing with you. We’ve no reason to believe you’re lying about this one, have we, Debbie?’
‘Not about this one,’ she says. I think she is still thinking about the February 19 th question. ‘But we’ll be keeping an eye on you.’
‘Am I free to go?’ I ask Pearce.
‘Yes,’ says Pearce.
‘For now,’ adds Huhne. I can’t tell whether it’s a line from police school or whether she means
Similar Books
