'Only I don't remember reading any of that in the procedures manual and I wondered if I had somehow missed that part.'
'No, sir,' said Tindall.
I registered the uniform of the man standing in the doorway holding an A4-sized white manila envelope and wondered why Tindall was addressing him as 'sir'. Then I noticed that the uniform was immaculate. The buttons shone, and the shoulders and collar were covered in gold braid. It wasn't a regular constable's uniform.
'I think,' said the man, entering the room, 'they can hear you in the entrance hall, two floors down.'
'Sorry, sir.'
'And it may be that you need some emotional distance from this case.'
'I'm fine, sir. Really.'
'Nevertheless, I think you should withdraw.'
'Sir? We were just getting somewhere.'
'Really? Was that the part where you were leading the witness or the part where you were compromising the integrity of the evidence?'
There was silence. Tindall looked to Vincent for support, but Vincent wouldn't meet his eyes.
The new officer spoke calmly and reasonably. 'I think it would be a good idea if you took a long step back from this case and regained some objectivity. I would like your report on my desk at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow.'
'But, sir-'
'I've just come from seeing our dead colleague's family, detective inspector, and I am not in the mood to debate it.'
DI Tindall's shoulders slumped. 'Yes, sir.'
'Get moving. DS Vincent will stay to assist me with the interview.'
'You, sir?' said Tindall.
'What?'
'It's just that you don't usually take such a direct interest in a case, sir.'
'I have a man in the morgue and another on extended leave for compassionate reasons. Two others are in shock and barely holding it together. That makes me four men down. Can you think of a more appropriate time for me to take a direct interest in a case, inspector?'
'No, sir.'
'Good. I'll see you in my office at nine sharp with your report.'
'Yes, sir.' Tindall took one last look at me and then turned away. The new officer pushed the door gently closed behind him. After a moment there was sharp noise that might have been a bark or a muttered expletive. We could all hear the anger in the footsteps gradually fading beyond the door.
The new officer spoke. 'DI Tindall leaves the room. Assistant Commissioner Mark Perkins taking over the interview. Do you mind if I sit?' He indicated the edge of the bed.
'No, er, help yourself.'
I was unsure if this was a reprieve. Was having an assistant commissioner conduct the interview an improvement or simply a sign that things had just become a lot more serious?
He sat on the edge of my bed while DS Vincent sat uncomfortably perched on the bedside chair.
'I think it would help if you took us through the events of last Thursday night. From the beginning, please.'
I went back to what I had said earlier, rehearsing the events in my head. Perkins hardly spoke, letting me give my own version of the story. I missed out the bit about my glow and using magic to seal the door, but apart from that I told it as it had happened. When we got to the part where they found the thing in my garden, I paused.
'Could I have some water?' I asked.
Vincent passed me the water and I took several sips. They didn't prompt me or pressure me to continue, but waited patiently.
'There was something wrong,' I told them. 'The power was flickering and there was this strange laughter in the garden. It was freaking me out. I told them not to touch it. I tried to warn them, but it was too late.'
'It?'
'I know this is going to sound strange, but it had a man's voice but a woman's sound. Does that make sense?'
'You're not the only one to say that. Why did you warn them not to touch it?' Perkins prompted gently.
'Are you kidding? Have you seen the walls of my flat? It wasn't like that before. Whoever was in my flat did that. If they were in my garden then I was staying well away from it.'
'Why didn't you warn them earlier,' he asked.
'I don't know. They told me it was safe. They said it had gone.'
'Does the name Gerald Fontner mean anything to you?'
'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes.'
He opened the envelope and extracted a photograph. He handed it to me.
'Do you know this man?'
I studied the picture. The man was almost certainly dead. He was lying on his back amongst garden debris. He wore a suit and looked strangely peaceful.
'No. I've never seen him before.'
'Are you sure? Take your time.'
'I'm sure I would recognise him if I knew him. I don't.'
'This is the man in your garden. His name is Gerald Fontner. He has — had — a wife and two children, lived in Hampstead. Company director for a car dealership.'
'I don't know him.'
'What kind of car do you drive, Mr Petersen?'
'I don't. There's no point in having a car in London. There's nowhere to park.'
'Do you know why Mr Fontner came to your house that night?'
This was dangerously close to a question I didn't want to answer.
'Maybe that stuff made him crazy.'
'Can you think of any reason that Mr Fontner would want to harm you?'
'Maybe he wasn't himself?'
'Do you know what the substance is, on the walls and ceiling of your flat, Mr Petersen?'
'It smelled like some sort of mould.' I was dancing around the questions.
'It's mildew. Plain ordinary mildew. We've had it analysed. We had the lab drop everything so we could get early identification of the substance.'
'Mildew doesn't do that, does it?' I asked.
'We have a number of theories, Mr Petersen. None of them are very satisfactory. Did you paint your walls with anything unusual?'
'No.'
'Have you had any strange substances in your flat?'
'No.'
'Was there mildew in it before?'
'No. It was freshly decorated before I moved in. I've only been there a year.'
'We have a forensic team looking at your flat. They will find evidence if there have been drugs in the house. Is there anything you want to tell us now?'
'No. I don't use drugs. There's nothing for them to find.'
He watched me for a long moment, assessing my reaction. 'They tell me that you were dragged from the river, barely alive. How did you come to be in the Thames, Mr Petersen?'
'I don't remember being in the Thames,' I told him, schooling my face. The river I had almost drowned in was the Fleet, not the Thames.
