The Whole Truth

DK: What about the most recent boyfriend – what did she say about him?

AF: That she hadn’t been seeing him long. That it hadn’t been that serious, and in any case he was the one who ended it. He had no reason to stalk her.

DK: She actually said that – that this man had dumped her?

AF: Not ‘dumped’, no –

DK: But it was his decision to finish it.

AF: Yes. Absolutely.

DK: You see, that’s what I’m having trouble with. This ex-boyfriend.

AF: Why? It’s perfectly straightforward.

DK: [shaking his head]

I’m afraid it isn’t. Not by a long way. Because there was no ex-boyfriend.

AF: I’m not with you.

DK: Emma Smith didn’t have a boyfriend. Not then, not ever. Because Emma Smith was gay.

AF: [silence]

No – you must have got that wrong –

DK: Nope. She wasn’t exactly out and proud, I’ll give you that. But she was gay. She’d been seeing a woman called Amanda Haskell – she just came forward after seeing the news reports. We’ve seen emails between them. There’s no mistake.

[sitting back]

So everything you just said – it was all a lie. All that crap about old boyfriends –

AF: No – absolutely not – that’s what she said –

RG: I’m afraid I’m also struggling with this.

AF: Perhaps she meant – look, the only thing I can think of is that she referred to a partner and I just assumed –

DK: You didn’t say that. In fact, you’ve never used the word ‘partner’. Not once, at any point when you’ve relayed that conversation. I’ve been keeping a note.

AF: Like I said, I must have just assumed – I mean, my wife has never suggested Emma was gay – I’d have remembered that –

DK: Speaking of your wife, let’s go over again exactly what you did after you left Emma Smith’s flat.

AF: I went straight home. I got back about 9.45. My wife was on her way to bed. I made her a cup of tea.

DK: And what did you do then?

AF: I had a glass of wine –

DK: Another glass of wine –

AF: I watched something on TV.

RG: What?

AF: I don’t know. Some American thing.

DK: And you went to bed when?

AF: Probably about 11.00. I don’t remember precisely.

DK: And can your wife confirm that?

AF: [silence]

RG: It’s a simple enough question, DI Fawley.

AF: [silence]

No, she can’t.

DK: You didn’t wake her up when you got into bed? I always do – my wife’s always on my case about it.

AF: [silence]

DK: Ah, sorry, mate – I forgot. You’re in the spare room, aren’t you?

AF: How on earth –

DK: What a bummer, all on your lonesome. How long is it now? Three months? Four? Must be bloody frustrating.

If you know what I mean.

AF: The only way you could know about that is if you’d spoken to my wife –

DK: Yeah, well, you know what it’s like. No secrets in a murder inquiry, mate.

AF: I’m not your ‘mate’ –

PM: That was completely uncalled for, Detective Sergeant. DI Fawley is entitled to as much courtesy as any other suspect. Arguably, more.

RG: I apologize for any disrespect that DS King may have –

[looking at him]

– inadvertently displayed.

PM: Thank you –

RG: But the fact remains that there are numerous anomalies in your client’s version of events. Anomalies and inconsistencies. As he well knows, faced with such anomalies and inconsistencies, the police have no choice but to investigate vigorously. However uncomfortable that may be, on occasion. All the same, I think, perhaps, that this might be a good time to take a break. Interview suspended at 14.15.

* * *

Nina Mukerjee looks up. There’s a man following Alan Challow’s PA through the office; a man she hasn’t seen before.

‘Who’s that?’ she says to Conway.

He glances across and makes a face. ‘Dave King. DS in Major Crimes.’

She frowns; she’s been at Thames Valley eighteen months now and this is definitely the first time she’s come across him. ‘Is he new?’

Conway shakes his head. ‘Nah – he’s been here years. Just doesn’t bother with the likes of us. Usually sends one of the serfs.’

Nina looks back at King. He’s counter cast for ‘bruiser cop’, that’s for sure. In fact, he’d give Gareth Quinn a run for his money on the sartorial front. Pink shirt, slim suit, obligatory beard. He looks like someone in a Saturday-night psychological thriller – the smiley bloke who looks OK on the surface but almost certainly isn’t.

Conway makes a face. ‘No prizes for guessing he’s after the Fawley stuff.’

That figures. Forensics may not normally be worth King’s valuable time, but nailing a DI is evidently a very different matter.

Challow’s PA is coming towards them now.

‘Oh shit,’ mutters Conway. ‘Down periscope.’

Nina grins despite herself, but the smile fades somewhat when the PA comes to a halt at her desk.

‘Alan’s asked if you could sit in on this one, if that’s OK.’