something.
“You must be joking.”
Drury doesn’t respond.
Martinez wags his finger in the air. “Oh, no, you’re not suggesting-”
“I’m asking for an explanation.”
Martinez frowns, his features bunching together in the center of his face. “This is ridiculous. Somebody is winding you up.”
Martinez turns to the mirror, as though aware that someone is watching him. Or maybe he’s looking at his own reflection, needing confirmation that this is really happening to him.
Watching from behind the one-way mirror, I look for signs of stress and deception. There nothing disjointed or improvised or put together in haste.
“He’s good,” says Ruiz.
“Yes, he is.”
“Is he telling the truth?”
“About Emily… possibly.” I saw the train timetable in her room.
“I should check on the ex-wife. I could drive to London.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I hug the big man and wish him Merry Christmas again.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I’ll hang around a bit longer.”
“What about Julianne and the girls?”
“I’ll call them.”
Ruiz leaves and I turn back to the interview. Drury has placed a photograph on the table in front of Phillip Martinez.
“Recognize this place?”
“No.”
“Take a closer look.”
“What is it?”
“It’s where you kept Piper and Natasha. You tried to clean up, but didn’t do a very good job. One skin cell is all it takes to get a DNA profile. We’re dismantling the pipes and vacuuming the floors. The same thing is happening downstairs. We’re taking your car apart. We’re going to find the evidence. We’re going to link you to this.”
“This is completely ridiculous. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Tell us where Piper is. Tell us what you did to Emily.”
Martinez tries to stand. DS Casey matches his movements. He’s bigger. Stronger. More intimidating.
“I won custody of my daughter. She belongs to me. Why aren’t you looking for her?”
“Answer my question, Mr. Martinez.”
“I don’t have to listen to you.”
“But you do have to sit down.”
The scientist retakes his seat. Shocked. Angry.
This man is either telling the truth or he’s an expert liar, practiced to the point of being pathologically good. Drury has done everything right-pushing for details, looking for the minutiae that so often trip up a suspect because lying is harder to sustain than the truth. But Phillip Martinez is even more remarkable. His answers sound so credible. He doesn’t embellish or avoid eye contact. There are no gaps or clumsy repetitions. He is genuinely concerned about Emily-asking about her constantly, accusing his ex-wife of orchestrating her disappearance.
On the night of the Bingham festival he had a phone call from a doctor saying that his ex-wife had been admitted to Littlemore Hospital in Oxford suffering from auditory hallucinations. He called Emily and met her at the house and that’s where he spent the night. He didn’t see Piper arrive. He didn’t know Emily was planning to run away.
It’s the same story when he’s questioned about the blizzard. He and Emily ate dinner and watched TV until the power went out. Then they played a game of Scrabble by candlelight before going to bed.
It’s a bravura performance of a wronged man. Misunderstood. Angry. Frustrated. Prickly.
Drury takes a break after two hours. Regulations must be followed. I meet him in the corridor.
“Have you been listening?” he asks, taking deep swallows from a bottle of water.
“Yes.”
“It’s like he knows the questions are coming.”
“He’s had three years to prepare.”
Drury’s chest expands as though plates of muscle are moving beneath his shirt. “How do I break him down?”
“Maybe you can’t. The very best liars are those people who are good at lying to themselves.”
“He’s delusional?”
“Not at all. Deception and self-deception require the same skills. Haven’t you ever wondered why people cheat at solitaire or peek at the answers to a crossword puzzle? It’s not a competition and there’s no prize, yet they still do it.”
“They want to feel good about themselves.”
“By cheating?”
Drury shrugs. “So why do they do it?”
“It’s an evolutionary process. Forty years ago a biologist called Robert Trivers argued that our flair for self- deception dated back to prehistoric times when we first formed into tribes. Communities have always punished cheats and liars but as highly intelligent primates we became aware of the risks of being ostracized and fed to the hyenas if we were caught. It didn’t stop us lying. We just got better at it. We learned to get away with more.”
“So you’re saying we evolved into liars?”
“I’m saying it’s a theory. It’s why Mark Twain wrote: ‘When a person cannot deceive himself, how is he going to deceive other people?’ ”
Drury looks at his watch.
“My kids are going wake up in a few hours. Their presents are under the tree. I’d like to be there.”
“Let me talk to Martinez.”
“Can’t do that-against the rules.”
“Sign me in as a visitor. No cameras. No recording.”
“It won’t be admissible in any court.”
“Finding Piper is more important.”
The DCI pulls his head from side to side, sucking saliva through his teeth. “Martinez would have to agree.”
“Ask him.”
“Why would he say yes?”
“He’s a showman. He wants an audience.”
47
Phillip Martinez looks up as the door opens, eyes on mine, caught between hope and trepidation.
“Have they found my Emily?”
“Not yet.”
He closes his eyes, shows his long lashes, a picture of misery; a man marooned on a desert island, waiting for rescue. As the air shifts, I catch a whiff of his sweat dried in his clothes.
“Do you remember me?” I ask, sitting opposite him.
“Of course.” He watches me cautiously. “Should I call you Professor or Doctor?”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“You trained for a while. Three years of medicine.”
