This is a dig. I don't mind that and, to be honest, I quite enjoy the challenge. Ducking and diving is all part of the fun and it is one of the reasons I enjoy my hobby; sorry, this is one of the reasons I enjoy my job. Having a go at Jenny is fair enough; she brought some of it on herself. There is no need to bring my little girl into this, though. Emma is the one innocent in this whole saga. Two can play at that game, I think. I wasn't necessarily intending to be difficult, but sometimes it is just much more fun that way.
I casually slide a cigar from the chest pocket of my polo shirt. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
Reeve's eyes widen. He leans forward, close enough for me to smell his minty breath. "Smoking is illegal in public buildings, Mr Clancy," he states. "This is a police building. So, not surprisingly - yes - I do mind if you smoke."
"What are you going to do?" I ask. "Arrest me?"
He smirks. "I see what you're doing here," he says, playfully wagging a finger at me. "You're keeping me on my toes. So long as you don't start crossing and uncrossing your legs then we aren't really going to have a problem here. We'll keep this between ourselves, shall we?"
You rebel, I think. I protest my innocence with a smile. I put my cigar safely away in my pocket. I don't even fancy a smoke, not in the confined, stuffy surroundings of an interview room."What is life if you can't have a little fun, Inspector? But to answer your question: I’m divorced now. It’s been five years. Everything surrounding the split and the divorce wasn't much fun, particularly - as you quite rightly pointed out - there was a child involved. It is fair to say that I’ve had more than one monumental transformation in my life. Everything changed - yet again - with that divorce."
“Quite.” Reeves nods his head but then he quickly glances at his watch. "So why exactly are you here, Marcus?"
That, right there, is the correct question. "Friday afternoon I was delivering a workshop in an office in Monument, so smack bang in the middle of the city. This building has eighteen floors. My workshop was held in a board room on the eleventh floor. I've only ever been to this building a few times before, and I've never held a workshop in this particular room. In essence, I don't have a fixed place of work, DCI Reeves, and I haven't for five years now, but even if I did then this monstrosity of a building would not be it. There was no reason why anybody, apart from those connected to the workshop, would expect to find me there. And yet, just before five in the evening, after the session has finished, and as I'm waiting for a lift, somebody in the lift said to me, 'have a nice weekend, Jeffrey Allen...'"
DCI Reeves thinks about this for a moment. I can tell that he is thinking about it because he makes a big show of thinking about it: he puts his granite chin in his hand and then he rubs it with his thumb. It is as if he is doing an impression of Socrates, although I'm pretty sure the only Socrates this goon is aware of is the Brazilian footballer. "At least he was polite with it," DCI Reeves finally says, smiling. He looks at me for a reaction and, when I deliberately don't give one, he says, "Asking you to have a good weekend, you know?"
Kind of ruins it when you need to explain it, I think. I'm tempted to tell him that he is a proper comedian, that Frankie Boyle had better watch out, but I resist. It just wouldn't be constructive. "Do you know how long it has been since anybody has called me that?"
DCI Reeves apparently does know how long it has been since anybody called me that. "I'm imagining," he says, "that from the way the question is worded, you haven't been called Jeffrey Allen since you changed your identity and started calling yourself Marcus Clancy. So I'm fully aware that it must have been a shock. I sympathise with you. Did you get a view of the person in the lift?"
I'm encouraged. Slightly. Maybe he is taking me seriously? The question, though, isn't one I can properly answer. "Unfortunately, no. The lift doors were closing just as the person uttered the words. But I'm sure that was the plan. There was no coincidence here. He wanted to scare me. He didn't plan to engage in conversation with me-"
"Quite," DCI Reeves interrupts, with a knowing chuckle.
"I followed him out of the building and onto the tube, but he was wearing a cream raincoat that deliberately covered his face, and so I did not really see him."
"How did you know that the guy in the raincoat was your man?"
"It was the 1st June, and it wasn't raining. It was a hot day. The city of London wasn't exactly overloaded with people in raincoats. More significantly, I'm sure I saw an outline of his coat in the lift, just before the doors closed. I've been thinking about this over the last day or so, and I've concluded that he wore the coat because he wanted me to pick him out. He wanted to be seen. He wanted me to chase after him."
"The 1st of June?" I can see that Reeves is counting down the days in his head. It shouldn't be this difficult: it was only three days ago. The penny finally drops.
"Yes," I say. "The date of the first murder."
He smiles at this. "John and Valerie,"
