He Said/She Said(121)

‘It’s uncomfortable viewing,’ said Woburn cheerfully. ‘Perhaps you’d like to see this instead.’ He produced another photograph, of a little black box with a blank screen. Out of context, it took Paul a few seconds to grasp what he was looking at. When he recognised the sat nav, he felt the individual hairs on his arms raise themselves one by one. A second photograph showed the wiggly country lane that led to the village whose name would soon, for a while at least, become public shorthand for a particular crime.

‘Nice piece of kit,’ said Woburn. ‘This is top-of-the-range stuff. They remember everywhere you ever go. This one even remembers when you went there. Covered in your prints, of course.’ A third screenshot from the device showed that they had arrived at the village at 11.20 p.m. Two hours later it had happened. Paul’s heart beat fast as he tried to work out what this meant for him. ‘Look. Here’s how it is. We know you were both there. One of you did it. I know which one. You know which one. She knows which one.’ He jerked his head in Christine’s direction. She remained inscrutable, the sad eyes, the small static smile. ‘Tribes in the Amazon previously undiscovered by white men know who did it. This is a question of when, not if.’ Paul shook his head, feeling his brain bounce off the walls of his skull. He needed to think, and fast, but Woburn was still talking. ‘Here’s what’ll happen if you don’t talk to me. Best case scenario, we charge you with aiding and abetting. Worst case, Scatlock blames you, the whole thing goes to a messy trial, it’s your word against his and you go down for something we all know you didn’t do.’

Christine leaned in as though to impart a confidence. ‘We know it was Daniel. Of course we do. I think you got a bit out of your depth, didn’t you, hmm? So I don’t blame you for clamming up. But you were there, and this is only the evidence that we found before we’ve really started digging, so there’s bound to be plenty more where that came from. Look, I know you’re afraid of him.’ Paul felt a stone in his throat and Christine’s face began to swim. If he blinked even once he’d had it: her sympathy was not worth Woburn’s contempt. ‘I know you’re afraid of what he might do. But that’s exactly my point: the more you tell us about what Daniel did, the stronger our case against him will be and the longer he will go away for.’

‘Do you have any idea what would happen if I did that?’ he blurted. ‘You don’t know what he’s like.’ Not until he saw Rob flinch upright in his chair did he realise his virtual admission of guilt.

‘On the contrary, I know all too well what Daniel Scatlock’s like,’ said Woburn. ‘I’ve been nicking his dad since I was in uniform. Junior’s got a juvenile file as thick as a doorstep. I’ve been looking forward to his coming of age for years.’

A future without Daniel in it, was that really what they were offering? He had thought it was the answer to his prayers, but now that it seemed to be a possibility he wasn’t so sure. He had wanted to escape, but not like this, with death as the catalyst and liberty as the sacrifice. Despite the plans he had made for life on his own, for the first time it occurred to him that he didn’t know how to cope without Daniel, how to be.

The only sounds in the room were the soft rhythmic click of the tape recorder and a light nasal whistle every time Rob exhaled. When Paul spoke it felt like jumping off the highest diving board at the pool: you didn’t so much decide to do it as find that, after a few seconds of tiptoeing on the edge, the water was rushing up to meet you.

‘I’ll need protection. Like, a safe house or something.’

‘A safe house?’ snorted Woburn. ‘Have you any idea how much that would cost? That’s for serious cases.’

‘How much more serious does it get?’ asked Paul.

‘What DS Woburn means is that safe houses are very labour intensive and they tend to be for more vulnerable people, families and those at risk from the public,’ explained Christine. ‘I’m afraid that the CPS wouldn’t see your case as exceptional, or regard you as particularly vulnerable. People have to testify against friends all the time. But we can offer you a degree of witness protection and . . .’ A silence followed, during which she searched the air above her head. When she spoke again her tone was breezy. ‘I think it’s time we all had a cup of tea,’ she said.

‘What?’ said Woburn.

‘Interview suspended at 09.31 hours,’ said Christine and pressed the pause button.

Woburn glared at her but didn’t argue. Paul understood suddenly that she was his boss. It was obvious now: Daniel would have sussed it out in seconds. The two detectives rose and left the room together. Their voices, his harsh, hers soft, faded as they walked away. The uniform who’d escorted him from his cell came back to wait at the door.

Rob’s spine slackened again: now he had his chin on his chest, in the classic pose of the park bench dosser. ‘Well, this puts rather a different complexion on things,’ he said. ‘Time for a cigarette break, methinks.’

Paul, alone with the uniform now, watched the tape machine, suspended on pause: its two turning circles, one with an orange tag, the other plain white, kept making tiny movements as though straining to get away. Woburn and Christine came back after five minutes or an hour, Paul couldn’t tell any more, with tea for all five of them. It came in two plastic cups, doubled up so that you could hold it without burning your hands. Until yesterday, he’d never had tea in a disposable cup. Even at Daniel’s the tea had always been in a proper mug. Once you got used to drinking out of plastic, it wasn’t that bad. Whoever had made the tea had put just the right amount of sugar in it. He supposed they were waiting for Rob to come back before they could turn the tape recorder on. Christine spoke first.