The Dead Tracks

    Davidson watched me from the open doorway as I sat down. He didn't look like the type for polite conversation, so I drummed my fingers on the table as we waited in silence. It seemed to annoy him, which I liked. Phillips re- emerged after ten minutes with three cups of coffee and pushed the door closed. It was on a slow spring and took an age to click shut. Neither of them moved until it had. Once it locked, there was a gentle buzz, both of them sat down and we began.

Chapter Eighteen

    In the business, this was called a Voluntary attendance'. I wasn't under arrest, so I didn't need a solicitor, and I could get up and leave whenever I wanted. But even here there were rules. Number one was covering your ass. The first thing Phillips did was pass a form across the table towards me that confirmed I was here voluntarily. I read it over and signed it. Davidson slouched in his chair, resting his coffee cup on his belly.

    'Okay,' Phillips said, both hands flat to the table. 'Let's establish a few ground rules here, so there are no grey areas. You're not under arrest and we haven't charged you with anything. You're helping us with our enquiries. We have no legal responsibility to inform a lawyer you're here, but if you want a lawyer, you can make that call.'

    They both looked at me. Phillips genuinely didn't seem to care whether I called anyone or not, as if it made no difference to the opinion he'd already formed of me. Davidson looked like he'd take it personally. If I called a lawyer, it would immediately cement his view that I was involved in something.

    'Do you want to call a lawyer, Mr Raker?'

    I shook my head. 'No. I'm good.'

    'Great.' Phillips wrapped his hands around the coffee. Steam rose from the oily surface. 'Well, let's start at the beginning then. What were you doing at the house?'

    'I'm on a case.'

    Davidson snorted. 'Case?'

    I looked at him and then back to Phillips. 'I work missing persons, including kids who have disappeared. Charlie Bryant was linked to the case I'm currently on.'

    'Linked how?'

    'He knew the girl I'm trying to find.'

    Phillips nodded. He started turning his wedding band. A flash of that same steel in his eyes, as if he knew what was coming. 'Who are you trying to find?'

    I paused, looked between them and then leaned for-, ward. 'Megan Carver.'

    Davidson snorted again. 'You gotta be fucking kidding me.' Next to him, Phillips didn't move. Davidson sat forward, placing his coffee cup down in front of him. 'Since when?'

    'Since five days ago.'

    'Why did they come to you?'

    I shrugged. 'I guess her parents felt like the police investigation had hit a wall. You guys would probably know better than me if that's true.'

    Davidson's eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean by that?'

    'I mean, DCI Hart's in the next room,' I said, staring at him. Why don't you ask him?'

    A short pause.

    Then, Phillips again: You made any headway?'

    'Some. Not much. mostly I've been going back over ground Hart and his team were covering six months ago.'

    'Like what?'

    'Like everything. Family, friends, her school.'

    'So you turned up at the Bryant house because…?'

    'Because, as you know, Charlie Bryant used to go out with Megan.'

    And because he knew she was pregnant.

    Phillips was staring at me, his expression fixed, his body still. He didn't seem surprised by any of this. Next to him, his partner was twitchy and aggressive, his fingers tapping the plastic coffee cup, his body shifting in the chair.

    'Things must have been getting a bit desperate,' Davidson said eventually. I glanced at him, frowning. 'I mean, you don't break into someone's house if a case hasn't already started going south.'

    'You sound like you're speaking from experience.'

    Davidson's skin started to redden. I could see a corner of Phillips's mouth turn up in a smile.

    'Nothing was going south,' I said.

    'So why did you break into their house?'

    'There's no sign of a break-in anywhere in that house. You know the back door was unlocked. The only thing I did was scale the gate.'

    'Trespass, you mean?'

    'Which would you prefer? Me jump over that gate, or those two bodies lie in that house for another two weeks? Or a month? Or a year?'

    'Still doesn’t make it legal.'

    'Yeah, you're right. Better that they stayed like that until the room filled with blowflies.' I picked up my coffee cup. 'Better that the police never get to find out why someone would want to murder a seventeen-year- old.'

    Davidson's face reddened again.

    'So why would someone want to murder a seventeen- year-old?' Phillips asked.

    'I've no idea.'

    He eyed me. 'Really?'

    'Really. I told you: I've been on this case for less than a week.'

    'You been sitting on your hands for a week, then?'

    Davidson again. The colour had started to fade from his cheeks, but he still looked pissed off. I watched him. Eventually he sighed, as if my silence somehow confirmed what he'd said, and turned his attention back to the coffee cup resting on his belly.

    'Charlie didn't seem a prime candidate for a murder victim,' Phillips said.

    'I agree.'

    'So why would someone do that to him?'

    'I don't know.'

    'And his father.'

    I shrugged. I don't know.

    'Do you think this is related to Megan Carver?'

    It was obvious he'd already decided the answer for himself, and I realized that a red flag had just gone up again on the Carver investigation. I could have lied to them both from the start and pretended I hadn't been led to the Bryant house through Megan's disappearance, but none of us would have believed it. What was definitely obvious was that they'd be pulling Jamie Hart into a meeting room as soon as I left the building.

    'I don't know if it's related to Megan,' I said eventually.

    Davidson snorted again. 'Of course you don't.'

    'Shall I make something up?'

    'All right,' Phillips said softly, and placed a hand on his partner's arm. 'DS Davidson, why don't you take five minutes?'

    Davidson's eyes lingered on me before getting up and leaving the room. Phillips waited for the door to click shut, then turned back to me.

    'You were a journalist, is that right?'

    I stared at him. So that was why you took so long to get the coffees. He'd spent some time going through my history. After my last case, I'd had to sit in a police station giving interviews for two