“Shut up and listen, Mick,” said Winsome. Blair looked at her, then swallowed and shut up. Winsome’s expression was hard and unflinching, her eyes full of scorn and disgust.
“Where did you go on your little joyride, Mick?” Banks asked. “What happened? What happened to Leanne? Was she giving you the come-on? Did you think it was going to be your lucky night? Did you try it on with her and she changed her mind? Did you get a bit rough? Were you on drugs, Mick?”
“No! It’s not true. None of it’s true. She left us outside the pub.”
“You sound like a drowning man clinging to a bit of wood, Mick. Pretty soon you’ll have to let go.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then prove it.”
“Listen, Mick,” said Winsome, standing up and pacing the small room. “We’ve got Mr. Gardner’s car in the police garage right now and our forensics people are going over it inch by inch. Are you trying to tell us that they won’t find anything?”
“I don’t know what they’ll find,” said Mick. “How can I? I’ve never even seen the fucking car.”
Winsome stopped pacing and sat down. “They’re the best in the business, our forensics team. They don’t even need fingerprints. If there’s just one hair, they’ll find it. And if it belongs to you, Ian, Sarah or Leanne, we’ve got you.” She held a finger up. “One hair. Think about it, Mick.”
“She’s right, you know,” said Banks. “They
“We didn’t steal no car.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Banks said.
“Mind reader, too, are you?”
Banks laughed. “It doesn’t take much. You’re thinking how long ago was it we took that car? It was the thirty- first of March. And what’s today’s date? It’s the sixteenth of May. That’s a month and a half. Surely there can’t be any traces left by now? Surely the car must have been washed, the interior vacuumed? Isn’t that what you’re thinking, Mick?”
“I’ve told you. I don’t know nothing about a stolen car.” He folded his arms and tried to look defiant. Winsome gave a grunt of disgust and impatience.
“DC Jackman’s getting restless,” said Banks. “And I wouldn’t want to push her too far, if I were you.”
“You can’t touch me. It’s all on tape.”
“Touch you? Who said anything about touching you?”
“You’re threatening me.”
“No. You’ve got it wrong, Mick. See,
“What do you mean?”
“In the cells, Mick. Downstairs. Overnight.”
“But I haven’t done anything. You can’t do that.”
“Was it Ian? Is that whose idea it was?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What happened to Leanne?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
“I’ll bet Sarah tells us it was all your fault.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“She’ll want to protect her boyfriend, won’t she, Mick? I’ll bet she doesn’t give a damn about you when the chips are down.”
“Stop it!”
Winsome looked at her watch. “Let’s just lock him up and go home,” she said. “I’m getting fed up of this.”
“What do you think, Mick?”
“I’ve told you all I know.”
Banks looked at Winsome before turning back to Mick. “I’m afraid, then, we’re going to have to hold you on suspicion.”
“Suspicion of
“Suspicion of the murder of Leanne Wray.”
Mick jumped to his feet. “That’s absurd. I didn’t kill anyone. Nobody
“How do you know that?”
“I mean
“It is if you were there.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Then tell us the truth, Mick. Tell us what happened.”
“I’ve told you.”
Banks stood up and gathered his file folders together. “All right. We’ll see what Sarah has to say. In the meantime, I want you to think about two things while you’re in the cells for the night, Mick. Time can drag down there, especially in the wee hours, when all you’ve got for company is the drunk next door singing ‘Your Cheating Heart’ over and over again; so it’s nice to have something to think about, something to distract you.”
“What things?”
“First off, if you come clean with us, if you tell us the truth, if it was all Ian Scott’s idea and if whatever happened to Leanne was down to Ian, then it’ll go a lot easier with you.” He looked at Winsome. “I could even see him walking away from this with little more than a reprimand, failing to report, or something minor like that, can’t you, DC Jackman?”
Winsome grimaced, as if the idea of Mick Blair’s getting off with less than murder appalled her.
“What’s the other thing?” Mick asked.
“The other thing? Oh, yes. It’s about Samuel Gardner.”
“Who?”
“The owner of the stolen car.”
“What about him?”
“Man’s a slob, Mick. He
Jenny couldn’t think of anything to say after what Keith and Laura had just told her. She sat with her mouth half open and an astonished expression on her face until her brain processed the information and she was able to continue. “How do you know?” she asked.
“We saw her,” Keith said. “We were with her. In a way, it was all of us. She was doing it for all of us but she was the only one had the guts to do it.”
“Are you certain about this?”
“Yes,” they said.
“This isn’t something you’ve just remembered?” Like many of her colleagues, Jenny distrusted repressed memory syndrome, and she wanted to make certain that was not what she was dealing with. Linda Godwin might have been kind to animals and never wet the bed or set a fire, but if she had killed when she was twelve, there was something seriously, pathologically wrong with her, and she could have killed again.
“No,” said Laura. “We always knew. We just lost it for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like when you put something away where you can find it again easily, but then you don’t remember where you put it,” said Keith.
Jenny understood that; it happened to her all the time.
“Or when you’re carrying something and you remember you have to do something else, so you put it down on your way, and then you can’t find it again,” Laura added.
