The Whole Truth by Hunter, Cara (ebook reader with internet browser .TXT) 📗

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.’

She doesn’t have much choice. Conway grins at her as she collects her papers and follows the PA back to Challow’s office. King is already installed: coffee, water bottle, tablet. He and Quinn really were separated at birth. He sits back now, crossing one ankle on the other knee. He’s not wearing any socks. Nina’s only been in the same room with him for thirty seconds and he’s already pissing her off.

‘This is DS King,’ says Challow. ‘He’d like a “heads-up” on anything useful from the Fawley house.’

‘The search team has only just got back –’

‘Yeah, well,’ says King, eyeing her, ‘that never stopped any competent CSI I’ve ever worked with. You must have something.’

Nina gives him an eloquent look, then opens her file. ‘The clothes DI Fawley was wearing on the night of the murder had already been washed, so we won’t be able to retrieve anything useful there. The team did retrieve the training shoes but given the MO involved in the killing, I think it’s unlikely they will yield either blood or bodily fluids. Though we will, of course, check.’ She sits back. ‘And there was nothing of any value in the rest of the house. Sorry.’

‘No condoms?’

‘No.’

‘I assume they did check the gym bag?’

A withering look this time. ‘Er, yes, funnily enough that did occur to them.’

He frowns. ‘What about the Mondeo?’

She takes a breath, counts to ten. ‘No, nothing.’

‘Did they check the boot?’

Oh for fuck’s sake, she thinks. ‘Yes. And no – there was nothing visible there either. No fluids, no obvious hair. We’ve submitted samples for DNA just in case but I very much doubt we’ll find anything. And before you ask, the car hasn’t been recently cleaned. In short, there’s nothing to suggest DI Fawley used that vehicle to transport a body.’

King gives her a sardonic smile. ‘Well, I guess if anyone would know to put down sheeting, it’d be a serving police officer.’

‘That’s assuming,’ says Challow quietly, ‘there was ever a body in there at all.’

The smile twists into a sour laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

* * *

When Freya unlocks her door, Caleb hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting on the window seat, staring blankly down at the garden, exactly as he was when she left half an hour ago.

‘I got tuna and sweetcorn,’ she says. ‘Your favourite.’

It sounds artificial, and she knows it. She just needs to fill the silence.

She goes over to the window but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even seem to realize she’s