‘You’ve got their cloud data in the bundle,’ the guy at the other end said wearily. ‘Check the files and you’ll see a time stamp on it.’
She thanked him and got a ‘no problem’ in return, the tone of a man who spent most of his day fielding stupid questions.
Ferreira had Michaela Paggett brought up from the cells. She looked crumpled but unbothered by her night in custody. Ferreira had expected no different, knew people accustomed to the cells rarely cracked in them.
‘You’ve got to release us in the next twenty minutes,’ Michaela said, once the tapes were set up, pointedly eyeing the clock on the wall above them. ‘And I don’t have to speak to you without my solicitor present so I hope you can get him here fast.’
‘We can hold you for another forty-eight hours,’ Ferreira told her. ‘As I’m sure someone of your experience would know.’
‘With cause.’
‘Planning to kidnap Josh Ainsworth is cause.’
Michaela snorted. ‘A joke at a party. That’s not a plan.’
Ferreira ignored her, brought out a scan of the flier and pushed it across the table.
‘I told you, I’m not going to speak to you without my solicitor.’
‘I’m not questioning you, Michaela,’ Ferreira said. ‘But I’d like you to explain to me what you meant by this: “You act like your hands are clean but we know what you are.”’
Michaela glanced at it, then back at Ferreira. She saw confidence rising in the woman’s posture, realisation on her face.
‘Damien told you then. About the accusation?’
‘Is that what this is about?’ Ferreira asked.
‘Why should I tell you?’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Ferreira countered. ‘If you’re innocent you should want to help us.’
A quick laugh utterly devoid of humour. ‘I don’t care who killed Ainsworth. We didn’t do it but he had it coming.’
‘Because he worked at Long Fleet? That’s not reason enough to murder someone. Not even in your world.’ Ferreira leaned on the table. ‘What did Josh Ainsworth do?’
‘I only know the same as Damien,’ Michaela said dismissively. ‘We heard Ainsworth was no better than the rest of the them.’
‘From where?’
‘Online.’
‘When?’
Michaela looked at the flier. ‘I can’t remember. Awhile ago.’
‘Like a month awhile or a few days awhile?’
‘A month or so, I guess.’
Ferreira tapped the flier. ‘You made this on June 28th. And I can’t find any mention of Ainsworth as a potential abuser online before Tuesday.’
‘Maybe you don’t know where to look.’
‘So tell me.’
‘I can’t remember where I heard it. Things get said.’ Michaela shrugged, twisting away from the table slightly. ‘Maybe I didn’t see it online, maybe someone told me.’
‘Who?’
‘God, do you remember where every single piece of information in your head came from?’ Michaela asked, exasperated.
‘This isn’t just any old piece of information,’ Ferreira pressed. ‘It’s something you gave enough credence to to turn it into a special piece of hate mail.’
Michaela threw herself back in her seat, arms folded. ‘Look, all I know is I heard that Ainsworth wasn’t the good guy everyone thought he was. There was some rumour that he’d attacked a woman and that was why he wasn’t at work any more.’
‘This came from someone inside Long Fleet?’ she asked.
‘Piss off,’ Michaela snapped. ‘We don’t have anything to do with anyone who works in Long Fleet.’
‘Ruby Garrick did.’
‘Well, she wasn’t as fussy about the company she kept.’
‘Did this gossip come from her?’
‘No.’
‘So you remember where it didn’t come from?’ Ferreira asked. ‘How about if I we go through the entirety of your contacts list and everyone in your groups, and you can tell me the ones it didn’t come from until we get to the person who actually told you?’
‘If you think you can do that in –’ Michaela checked the clock again. ‘Eight minutes.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can get through them all in the forty-eight extra hours I’m going to hold you and Damien for,’ Ferreira said, giving her a saccharine smile. ‘Alternatively, you could stop bullshitting me and go home today.’
‘Typical,’ Michaela muttered into her chest.
‘Going to be hot again this weekend,’ Ferreira told her. ‘And you wouldn’t believe how stuffy those cells get. No through draught. The smell when the drunk-and-disorderlies start coming in.’
‘You think that bothers me?’
‘No, you’re impressively battle-hardened, Michaela. But I heard Damien isn’t doing so well. Puked his guts up last night, didn’t he?’
‘You’re scum,’ Michaela spat.
‘And your opinion is of zero interest to me.’ Ferreira laced her fingers together on the table. ‘You have one piece of information I want. Give it to me or go back down for the weekend. I’m sure you can tap out some words of support on the wall between your and Damien’s cells.’
Michaela Paggett scowled at her.
‘To my best recollection,’ Michaela said, speaking slowly, like she was forcing out each word at some great personal cost. ‘We were at an anti-austerity event in Manchester at the beginning of June and it was late in the day, and we went along to a pub with some people we didn’t know and we got talking about Long Fleet.’ She wet her lips. ‘There was a woman there, older, red hair, not local.’
‘Not local to Manchester or not local to here?’
‘Either,’ Michaela said. ‘But she seemed to know a lot about what was going on in there. And she said she’d heard that there was a doctor in Long Fleet who was abusing his patients.’
Ferreira blinked at her. The story was vague and the source untraceable, but the Paggetts had clearly fastened on it because it chimed with what they already believed and allowed them to justify the harassment they’d already perpetrated against Josh Ainsworth.
‘You do realise Ainsworth wasn’t the only doctor working there?’ Ferreira said.
‘He’s the one who doesn’t work there any more.’ Michaela shrugged. ‘Stands to reason it’s him.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Zigic wanted to call Anna and ask how the interview at the school had gone. Something about the grimness of Neal Cooper’s life had made him crave the sound of
