But she doesn’t run the tap or look for a vase. What she reaches for is the laptop on the counter.
* * *
Ev doesn’t get home to flowers. The only thing waiting at her flat is a vocal and rather disgruntled cat with some issues about the quality of service in this establishment. Ev feeds him, then sticks the kettle on. She’s trying to ignore the light winking at her from the landline: there’s only one person who’d phone her on that.
‘Miss Everett? It’s Elaine Baylis at Meadowhall. Nothing for you to worry about – your father’s perfectly fine. But I do need to talk to you. Perhaps you could call me first thing in the morning?’
Gislingham is still in the office – in fact, the only one still in the office. His wife has already phoned twice. Once, to remind him that he promised to be home in time to read Billy a story. And the second time, an hour later and a little more waspish, to say she’s put his salad in the fridge. She didn’t need to call to say that – she’ll be in, and still up, when he gets home. It’s just her way of putting a marker down. She’ll cut him some slack for a while, especially after the holiday, but there are limits and they are not elastic.
What he can’t tell her, even if he wanted to, is that he isn’t even working. He’s been faking it pretty well, for a man famously dreadful at lying, but what he’s really been doing all this time is waiting for the last member of Gallagher’s team to piss off home.
Simon Farrow clearly doesn’t have a wife – or a life – since it’s gone eight when he finally gets up and pulls his jacket off the back of his chair. Gis leaves it another twenty minutes, the ‘Oh shit, I forgot something’ moment being the most dangerous part of this whole enterprise. He’s made his decision: it’s the right thing and he’s doing it, but he can’t afford to get fired in the process; he only has to imagine Janet’s face to start coming out in hives. The twenty minutes crawl by, then he gets up and wanders, with deliberate nonchalance, into the Major Crimes office.
They operate a clear-desk policy in this place. At least, in theory. But people get lazy, they make assumptions. What’s there to worry about, after all, when you can’t even get on to this floor without a Thames Valley key card?
Farrow’s turned his computer off, but Gis doesn’t care – that’s not what he’s after. He takes one more quick look round, then reaches for what he came for.
* * *
They interview Tobin the following morning at the Vulnerable Witness Suite in Kidlington. The room they use for the victims of child abuse. Pale-blue walls, dark-blue carpet; toys, cushions, a playpen; the box of special dolls they use to get kids to talk about body parts and what people in their own family have been doing to them. It makes Ev shudder just looking at it. She’s in the adjoining room with the rest of the team, watching the video screen.
Tobin Fisher is huddled on the sofa as far from the door as he can get. His knees are drawn up to his chest and he’s looking out at the specially trained female officer from under his fringe. The officer has been chatting away for about fifteen minutes now. Ev has come across her before, and always been impressed. She looks caring and comfortable, but she’s not so gushing that the kids get wary and clam up. Though Tobin Fisher may well be her toughest challenge yet. She’s talked Toy Story and Fortnite and what subjects he likes best at school, but most of the time she’s been talking at him, not with. Even when he does answer, he thinks so hard first that you wonder if he’s just going to stay silent. As if he’s looking for the trap in even the most innocuous question – as if he’s been warned (and Ev, for one, wouldn’t put it past his mother) that everywhere here there be dragons. Speaking of which –
‘Your drawings are really good, Tobin,’ says the officer, opening the colouring book on her lap and turning the pages. ‘I specially like the dragon.’
He blinks, shifts a little.
‘You must have seen pictures of dragons before, to be able to colour them so well.’
He shrugs and says something half mumbled about The Hobbit.
She turns the book round and shows him the page.
‘The other lady you spoke to – Erica – she said you’ve been doing this in the last few days, is that right?’
A slow nod.
‘The red is fantastic. Really scary. Why did you choose that colour?’
No response.
‘Have you seen one like it before somewhere?’
Another nod this time. But he’s still not looking at her.
‘When was that, Tobin?’ she asks softly.
‘Caleb has one. On his back.’
‘I see. Do you remember when you saw it?’
The boy puts his forehead against his knees. His hair falls forward and she has to edge closer to hear.
‘It was in the kitchen.’
‘The other night? When he was babysitting?’
He nods. ‘I came down to get a drink.’
‘I see. And what did you see – in the kitchen?’
There’s no answer. She reaches a tentative hand but he shakes her away.
In the room next door, they’re holding their breath. It’s 50/50 whether she decides she can’t push him any further, even though he’s on the brink –
When he does speak it’s barely more than a whisper, and they can see, even on the video screen, that he’s started to cry.
‘I don’t like Caleb any more. He hurt my mummy. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him with a big sword like George and the dragon.’
* * *
‘So what’ve you got?’
Dave King is hovering behind Farrow, staring over his shoulder at the screen. He’s shifting from one foot to the other, fizzy
