Elder nodded.
With a broad smile, Karen hit Ramsden's number on her phone. 'Okay, Mike. Bring him in.'
Kennet had finished in Dartmouth Park and moved on. One wing of the Whittington Hospital was slowly being transformed into prestige apartments with views over London, Waterlow Park on their doorstep, a ten-minute stroll to Highgate Village, five more to the Heath. Kennet was sitting on a platform two-thirds of the way up the scaffolding, time out for a smoke and a drop of tea from a thermos. One of his colleagues alongside him, stretched out, the Sun open across his face.
Situations like that, people panicked, even innocent people, tried to do a runner, but Kennet, Ramsden thought, where could he go? Besides, he'd seen them coming, sure enough, and not made a move.
'Steve,' Ramsden called up, keeping it friendly. 'A word, eh?'
Kennet shook out what remained in his cup, screwed it back on top of the flask, put the flask in his rucksack, said something to his mate, who was sitting up now, wondering what was going on, and began to climb down.
'DS Ramsden. This is DC Furness.'
'Yes, I remember.'
'Not altogether defective then.'
'What?'
'Your memory.'
'Sorry, you'll have to explain.'
'At the station.'
'What? Oh, come on.'
'No, you come on.'
Kennet's body tensed and his eyes narrowed just a little and Ramsden readied himself in case, but then Kennet relaxed and said, nodding back towards where he'd been working, 'Give me a few minutes,' and Ramsden said, 'Go ahead,' and then, to Furness, 'Go with him.'
Ramsden lighting a cigarette and pacing easily up and down, wanting to believe they had him, but not letting himself, not quite, preferring to believe in what they said about when the fat lady sings.
They kept him waiting the best part of an hour, trying his patience, the young uniformed constable as inscrutable as one of the Guardsmen on sentry duty on Horse Guards Parade. When Karen Shields entered, Ramsden and Elder close behind her, the PC stepped outside.
'You know you can have a solicitor present if you wish?' Karen said, sitting down.
Kennet smiled. 'No need for that.'
'And you realise you can leave at any time?'
Kennet made a play of getting up, then sat back down.
'You don't mind if I tape this interview?'
'Be my guest.' Leaning back now, enjoying it.
We'll see, Karen thought. 'I'd like to ask you some questions,' she said, 'about your recent holiday in Spain.'
'Great food, lovely weather, iffy hotel.'
'You stated previously that you and Ms McLaughlin returned to this country on Friday the twenty-eighth.'
'That's right.'
'According to Ms McLaughlin, you came back early on the twenty-fifth.'
Kennet drummed his fingers on the table. Broad fingers, nails cut short. Karen was remembering Maddy Birch's former husband. Working man's hands.
'Mr Kennet, is that the case?'
'Sorry, what?'
'That you flew back to this country on the twenty-fifth?'
A slight movement of the shoulders. 'If she says so.'
'What do you say?'
'All right, yes. Yes, the twenty-fifth.'
'Then why, when you were asked before, did you claim it was the twenty-eighth?'
Kennet threw up his hands, rocked back his chair. 'God, woman! Why d'you think?'
Karen leaned, almost imperceptibly, towards him. 'Tell me.'
'It's obvious, isn't it? She was killed on the Wednesday, wasn't she? Maddy. And you were going to be going round, all the blokes she'd been out with. Friends. Anyone who knew her. Asking questions, poking into their lives. Easier to stay out of it, right? No harm done either way.'
'Unless you've got something to hide.'
'Who hasn't?'
'Where were you on the evening of Wednesday, twenty-sixth?'
'See. There you go, right there.'
'Where were you?'
'Went to see this film. The Medallion. Jackie Chan. Holloway Odeon. Absolute bloody rubbish. Don't often go and see stuff like that, but sometimes that's what you want, right? Rubbish. Give your brain a rest. But can I prove it? No. Who keeps cinema tickets? No one. Afterwards I went to the pub up the road, set back, past the traffic lights towards the Archway. I don't even know what it's called. Had a couple of pints, went home.'
'And then what?'
'Then nothing. Up at six thirty next morning. Off to work, same as usual.'
'You didn't go out again?'
'No.'
'You're sure?'
'Course I'm sure.'
'Like you were sure you flew back to England on the twenty-eighth?'
'I've explained that.'
'This pub you say you were in, did you talk to anyone?'
Bloke behind the bar.'
'Think he'd remember you?'
'I doubt it.'
'No witnesses to support what you say you did or where you were.'
'That's right.'
'As an alibi, it doesn't begin to stand up, does it?'
Kennet smiled. 'Now you know why I lied.'
'So what do you think?' Karen asked.
They were in her office, herself, Elder and Ramsden. Late afternoon, early evening. Furness was babysitting Kennet in the interview room.
'I'd like to smack him in the face,' Ramsden said.
'Frank?'
'Would he be that sure of himself if he were guilty? I don't know.'
'You don't think he's covering up something?'
'Probably.'
'Well?'
'I don't know if it's what we want it to be.'
