Cam was trying to follow what Pearson was saying while, at the same time, trying to work out what he wanted with his hands. Pearson’s intention became obvious when he removed a handful of zip ties from his pocket.
‘Use this to tie your left hand to the leg of your desk,’ he instructed, throwing one of the plastic strips at Cam. ‘Tightly.’
Cam caught the tie and considered his options. He could refuse but then Pearson might kill him. Or he might disable him with a shot to the leg and tie him up anyway. Reluctantly, Cam wrapped the stiff plastic round his left wrist and awkwardly fed the pointed end through the clasp as though he were fastening a watch. He gave Pearson a long look as he pulled the end tight, securing his wrist to the metal leg of the desk.
‘Good.’ Pearson nodded his approval. ‘Put your right hand on the arm of the chair.’
Cam complied and watched, helpless as Pearson secured his wrist with another zip tie. The man checked the restraint that Cam had tied and gave it a tug tighter. ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said with a big grin.
Cam tried not to wince as the plastic cut into his wrist. He was at enough of a disadvantage without revealing any sign of physical weakness to this maniac. ‘What do you want, Pearson?’ he asked, trying to inject a bored tone into his voice.
‘I want to have a little chat with you,’ Pearson replied, tucking the pistol into his belt and covering it with his suit jacket.
‘About Chrissie? I don’t think so.’ Cam wasn’t clear how this man had known his wife, but he had a suspicion that led him back to the photograph he’d been shown by the private detective a few weeks after Chrissie had died.
‘I don’t see that you have much choice,’ Pearson said. ‘You’re a captive audience.’ He laughed at his own pun. ‘Captive audience? Oh, come on, that’s funny.’
Cam scowled at him. ‘Look, you’ve obviously got something to say so can we just get on with it?’ His voice sounded a lot stronger than he felt. What would happen when Pearson had had his say, told his story? There seemed to be only one answer to that, and it was nestled in the DI’s belt.
‘Okay,’ Pearson said, perching on the edge of the desk, his face inches away from Cam’s. ‘I’ll start at the beginning. There was once a lonely woman called… oh what shall we call her? Chrissie? She was married to an unpleasant and manipulative individual who was drunk on his own power. This man gave Chrissie everything she could have ever wanted except one thing. Do you know what that was, Cam?’
Cam shook his head and sighed.
‘Her freedom. Because, you see, she didn’t love this man. She had a child with him and slept in the same bed; she made herself look attractive and basically did as she was told but it was all a ploy, a ruse. She started saving money; a little bit here, a little bit there, telling her husband that she’d spent more than she really had until it started to add up. Three years, she decided. Three years and their son would have left for university so she could follow him, find a flat and finally escape.’
Cam clenched his fists. He knew that Pearson was trying to wind him up and he didn’t want to let the man know that he was succeeding. He had no doubt about the truth of what the DI was saying – he’d had his suspicions about Chrissie for months prior to her death – he just didn’t want those suspicions confirmed by Chrissie’s lover.
Pearson hopped off the desk and paced to the office door and back, head down. He stopped, settling himself in the chair opposite Cam’s. ‘Then everything changed,’ he said.
Cam held his breath. He could hear his heart beating inside his head; his whole body felt like it was filled with helium and might float away if he weren’t anchored to the desk. How could he listen to this?
‘She met somebody,’ Pearson continued. ‘She fell in love; properly. He was a decent man and she loved him for how different he was from her husband. He wasn’t a “good” man – not in the sense of abiding by laws and sticking to rules – but she believed he loved her very much and saw that they could have a life together. If only she could get away from her husband.’
‘This is all bollocks,’ Cam said, finally managing to croak out a few words. ‘Chrissie loved me. She loved the life that I gave her, and she loved our son. She’d never have left me for some waster.’
Pearson leaned across the desk, his open palms on either side of his face supporting his head in a pose that looked eerily like Munch’s Scream. ‘If she hadn’t died, Cam, she might have finally lived.’
‘Fuck off!’
‘I told her I loved her and I know she loved me. She thought I was going to help her to get away from you but there wasn’t time. It’s your fault she’s dead, your fault that we both lost her.’
Cam was becoming convinced that Pearson was seriously unhinged. How the hell had he managed to get into the police force? Didn’t they have some sort of psychological testing in place?
‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘There was something wrong with her car and she lost control.’
‘There was something wrong with her mind. She was worried that she wouldn’t be home when you rang to check on her, so she was speeding – that’s why she lost control. If you hadn’t treated her like crap with your mind games,
