Neal Cooper wasn’t supposed to end up how he had, all bent up and beaten down, a convicted murderer whose neighbours would all know exactly who he was and what he was supposed to have done. His whole life had been derailed by a conviction, one that now looked increasingly suspect.
Would he have been a good father? A considerate husband? What had been stolen from him the second he made that false confession?
Because Zigic was almost completely certain now that it was false.
‘Nine-fifty,’ the young guy behind the counter said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.
Zigic apologised and tapped his card on the reader, then picked up his order and carried it out of Krispy Kreme and across the packed car park to where Adams was sitting smoking on a picnic bench with a charming view of the traffic snarled up at the Serpentine Green roundabout.
He was full of himself now. Bullish with the success of driving a weak man into revealing a lie he had been holding close to himself for twenty years. And doing it in a matter of minutes, with no evidence, just the force of his personality and a complete lack of proper process.
That none of this would stand up in a court of law didn’t seem to faze him.
Zigic sat down opposite him, pushed his iced coffee across the table.
‘Cheers, mate.’ Adams flipped open the box of doughnuts. ‘Where’s my Nutty Chocolatta?’
‘I refuse to say such stupid words to another adult,’ Zigic told him, picking out a plain glazed ring. ‘You want to go in and get one, be my guest.’
‘God, you can be po-faced. We’ve just found the case we’re going to take down Walton with, and you’re begrudging me my choice of doughnut. How has Mel put up with you all these years?’
‘She doesn’t make infantile pastry orders,’ Zigic said firmly. ‘And we’re still a long way from this being a case.’
‘You will at least admit that Cooper didn’t do it?’
‘You want to take that thought to its logical end?’ Zigic asked. ‘Cooper didn’t do it but he confessed anyway because someone exerted pressure on him. And the only person in a position to exert that kind of pressure on him was the officer who led the investigation and who carried out every single interview with him: Riggott.’
Adams sipped his coffee, trying to look unconcerned. But Zigic would bet that behind his sunglasses were the eyes of a very nervous man.
Just like there were behind his.
‘Riggott isn’t the only option,’ Adams said. ‘Who’s to say Walton didn’t bully him into it?’
‘Is that why you kept banging on about him?’
Adams gave a shrug that looked more like a shudder. ‘Makes sense.’
‘No, if we’re going to pursue this you can’t keep doing that,’ Zigic said, leaning across the table, aware of the family away to their right. ‘Stop trying to find a way of wrecking Cooper’s conviction without fucking over Riggott.’
‘I just want to be certain before we do that.’
Adams was getting more uncomfortable by the second. Seeing his career advancement stalling, Zigic thought. All the backstabbing and arse kissing he’d put in over the years, the late-night drinking sessions with Riggott, listening to his stories and performatively absorbing his wisdom, all of that time and effort suddenly wasted if it turned out Riggott had coerced someone into a false confession.
Zigic dipped his doughnut into his coffee and waited for Adams to elaborate. Or finish mourning his lost future as DCS.
‘We need something concrete,’ Adams said slowly. ‘If we’re going to take that case apart, we need more than Cooper whispering about not doing it.’
‘And?’
‘There was a saliva sample lifted from Tessa’s cardigan,’ Adams said. ‘It wasn’t a match for Cooper, so they took the view that it wasn’t relevant, and could have happened days before she was killed.’
‘I’m already aware of that.’ Zigic felt a chill across the back of his neck at the thought of what came next, if he let it. At how dangerous a proposition they were edging towards. ‘But we can’t run the test without cause and we can’t get cause without running the test.’
‘I mean, we can,’ Adams said, swirling the ice around in his coffee, looking into that rather than at Zigic. ‘Running a DNA test is no big ask. We’ll just use a private lab. Get verification – or not – then see where we stand when we have full information.’
‘And how do you intend to get hold of the sample?’ he asked.
Adams gave him a grim smile. ‘Me? You suddenly not a part of all this, Ziggy?’
‘Do you have an idea or not?’
‘I’ll get it,’ he said, a little of the bullishness returning. ‘Wouldn’t want you doing anything that made you uncomfortable. Christ, if you can’t even order a doughnut with a funny name –’
‘You have absolutely no integrity,’ Zigic said, before he could stop himself, sick of how lightly Adams was dealing with this slow-moving catastrophe they were engineering for themselves.
‘Integrity? Really? Does that seem like something important right now?’ Adams demanded. ‘Is integrity going to keep Walton out of Mel’s face? No, it isn’t. Integrity can go fuck itself.’
‘This could get us both sacked.’
‘Sacked?’ Adams gave a bitter laugh. ‘It could get us locked up.’
‘And you’re happy to risk that?’
‘If you have a better plan I’d love to hear it.’
Miserably, Zigic took another doughnut from the box and tore it into pieces, dipping each into his coffee in turn, eating them without pleasure, the pastry sticking to the roof of his mouth, feeling each time he swallowed like he was going to choke.
He didn’t have a better plan.
His only plan was to speak to Riggott before things went too far.
But in his gut, he knew that point had been passed the second they walked into Neal Cooper’s home. The only way was onwards; find the evidence – however they came by it – then take it to Riggott.
