I stretch out my hand to pick up the paper, but I'm interrupted by another hand, dangling in my face, "DCI Reeves. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Clancy."
"Marcus," I say, rising to my feet. "Please call me Marcus."
His handshake is firm, but it feels natural, not like some of the Alpha males I meet in my workshops who try to crush the bones. The shoulders stretch his shirt and fill the doorway to his office, and yet his waist could belong to a ballerina. The effect is a V-shape that could grace the cover of Men's Health. I notice, with a hint of envy, that his jet-black hair, which is full and cropped short, has no hint of grey. I estimate him to be in his mid-thirties, but then it is likely the guy has a moisturising routine that would put Posh Spice to shame. "Thank you for seeing me at short notice."
The interview room is square and bland. Just a table separates us. It brings back memories; only last time, this was so much more bland, much more dire. DCI Reeves dabs at an imaginary stain with the tips of his two middle fingers. He sits with a straight back and his solid arms by his sides. Reeves looks like the type to take his online DSE training very seriously. "This deranged man goes on a killing spree in the month of June, beginning on the first day of the month. You were supposed to be the seventh victim, on the final day of the month. And yet you are the one that got away. The only one. It isn't every day we have a celebrity knocking on our door. So I was honoured to see you at short notice, Marcus."
This is a joke, of sorts, but it puts me out of sync. There is some logic in the madness of his statement, but really I am the literal opposite of a celebrity. I am a complete enigma.
"Before we get the ball rolling here, I just want to apologise on behalf of the force for the way you were treated all those years ago. We do not see the likes of DCI Baldwin any more. Our recruitment and training programme has seen to that. Thankfully, the force has progressed..."
DCI Baldwin. I divert my eyes. I dig my sharp nails into the palm of my hands. It has been a long time since I heard that name. DCI Baldwin is part of my past life, the life I escaped from.
"Is DCI Baldwin still alive?"
"Just about. Apparently, he is a reformed man, too. He lives a quiet, civilised life with his wife. Hard to imagine, isn't it? Of course, he is a man of advanced years now."
"I am glad DCI Baldwin is well," I say, looking away.
"I know that you didn't come here to just have a chat, Marcus," DCI Reeves says. "The short notice is quite ironic, isn't it? How long has it been since you were attacked, now?"
"Thirty years," I reply. "The 30th June 1988, to be exact."
I want to be exact, because the date feels relevant.
Reeves flicks through a slim paper file. I presume that he has printed off some basics from the system: I'm sure there must be an office brimming with files on the case somewhere, unless it has been transferred onto a computer. This is a digital age we live in. "Thirty years, and we haven't heard a word from you. Nobody has heard a word from you. We've heard more from Lord Lucan than we have from you. You’re a ghost. This was quite advanced witness protection for the time-"
"It wasn't witness protection. I decided to change my identity, to move away. It wasn't really because of protection."
His eyes widen. "Of course," he says, "back in those days witness protection was the responsibility of the local police force. Things would have been much more official and stringent these days. I don't know the exact details, but it makes sense you changed your identity and moved away, regardless of why you did it. After all, you were the only witness, the only one who could give a description. I understand you've been a considerable success in the city? Quite astonishing, really..."
"It depends on your definition of success," I say. "Of course, I never made it to university. My life was all set up for that life - it was in the script - but then, of course, it happened. But I don't think it mattered really, not as much as it would now, anyway. There were more opportunities for lads like me in those days-"
"Lads like you? There weren't many like you out there..."
"The world was less censored. So long as you were willing to work hard then there were plenty of companies willing to give you a chance. These days you need a diploma before you're allowed to cut hair. I got in with a firm as a junior, passed the exams I needed to and, before I knew it, I was a trader. I didn't have a clue what I was doing but - luckily - neither did half the other people out there, but we sort of worked it out as we went along. I made it to partner, which I thought was hilarious. They trusted me to be a partner! But I lived that life for long enough. I deliver workshops now. It suits me much better."
Reeves raises a single eyebrow and then smiles from the corner of his
