There was a silence. It took her a moment to realize he was nodding.
Chapter 31
The Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984 had dictated that all interviews of suspects had to take place in a specially designated room – well lit, well ventilated, soundproofed, with embedded recording facilities and access to a neutral ‘break-out’ space should the interviewee decide he or she didn’t like the way the interview was going. Councils around the country had had to dig deep to install PACE rooms – and at Bath police station there were two.
Zoë sat at her desk with the door open so she could monitor the passageway. Her office was at the place where the corridor branched off to lead to the interview rooms. If Ralph was moved from the side office near the incident room where Ben was speaking to him, it meant they had gone against every one of her instincts, every one of her requests, and were interviewing him as a possible suspect in the murder. But the station was silent for a long time. Hours. God only knew what they were doing with him.
She tried to concentrate on other tasks. She set up an intelligence request for missing women aged between sixteen and twenty-one. When she’d told Debbie that ‘all like her’ meant the killer was going to target girls like Lorne, she’d plucked it out of the air. But what if she hadn’t been so far off the mark? It was worth thinking about. Except that, looking at the screen, it wasn’t going to be easy – the result of the search was terrifying. Name after name after name. Of course she knew most of the girls on the list were probably alive and well and had simply lost contact with their families, or were avoiding them. A good proportion would have returned and the police not been notified. Even so there were hundreds and hundreds and hundreds. One person couldn’t work through all of those on their own. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. Shit. If one of those names had belonged to a victim of Lorne’s killer and their body hadn’t been found, there was no earthly chance the police would pick up on it.
At a quarter to ten Ben walked past, going fast, carrying a stack of files. He didn’t pay her any attention, but went into his office. She heard the door slam. She waited for a moment or two, then got up, went along the corridor and knocked on the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Me. Zoë.’
A pause. A hesitation? Then, ‘Come in.’
She pushed the door open. He was sitting at his desk, his elbows planted on either side of the stack of paperwork. He faced her but, she noticed, his eyes didn’t meet hers. There was a blank, polite smile pasted on his face. ‘What’s happening?’ she said.
‘With?’
‘You know what with. With Ralph. Are you still interviewing him? Did you get him an appropriate adult from Social Services?’
‘He’s seventeen. Doesn’t need one.’
‘I promised him his parents wouldn’t be involved. Not unless he agreed to it.’
‘Yes. And that’s what we’re working on. Him agreeing to it. They’re going to find out eventually.’
Zoë let all the air out of her lungs. She came forward and sat on the chair opposite him. Ben eyed her, one of his eyebrows slightly raised, as if he really didn’t appreciate the way she was making herself at home. ‘It’s not him,’ she said. ‘It’s just not. He’s too young. Don’t you remember, all those courses – how these sorts of crimes take time to build? He’s just a kid. He nicely and neatly fits a profile you’ve been sold, but it’s a flawed profile. Please see that. It’s flawed.’
Ben gave her a calm smile. ‘I like to think I’m too much of a professional to be trammelled by psychological profiling, flawed or not. That would be a huge mistake – remember what our trainers used to say? “To assume makes an ass out of you and me.”’
Zoë sighed. ‘Come on, Ben – I know you too well.’
He tapped his pen on the desk. ‘Ralph Hernandez is a person of interest. That’s all I can say at this point.’
‘A “person of interest”? Oh, for God’s sake – you are such a bloody moron it’s just not true.’
‘Am I, Zoë? Have you got any better leads than this?’
‘I gave you this “lead”. I handed it to you on a plate and I really, really thought you’d do the honourable thing. Just goes to show how much I know about the world, doesn’t it?’
At that moment the door opened. Zoë swivelled round. Debbie was standing there, serene in her white lacy clothes. She had started to speak, but when she saw Zoë her face changed. ‘Aaah,’ she said apologetically. ‘Sorry.’ She held up a hand and backed out of the room. ‘Crap timing – not my strong point.’
She closed the door. There was a moment’s silence. Then Zoë turned back to face Ben. She shook her head and gave a small, mirthless laugh. ‘Funny,’ she said. ‘You never usually let anyone in without knocking. Unless they’re … you know …’ She made her hands into a cup on the desk. ‘Unless they’re inner circle. Is she inner circle now?’
Ben stared back at her stonily. ‘Have you got any better leads than Ralph Hernandez?’
‘So whatever she says you’ll believe it? You’ll convict that kid in there because of it?’
‘My alternative is what? Choosing anyone, any route, any lead, just anyone because they don’t fit the profile she drew up? I’ve been watching your inquiries, Zoë, and what it boils down to is that you’d rather let the killer go free than have Debbie be right. So who is worse? You or me?’
Zoë’s face burned. ‘This is all because of whatever it was I said the other night, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Well, Ben, let’s be honest. One minute we were fine – doing fine. The next, everything’s gone. Just …’ she flattened her hand and mimed an aeroplane flying ‘… like that. Gone. And you’re hostile and distant, and, frankly, acting like a dickhead.’
Ben gave her a cold look. ‘We’ve got no future, Zoë.’
‘What? Because I don’t pretend to give a shit about people I really don’t give a shit about? Because I don’t make a pantomime about how caring and simpatico I bloody am? Is that my sin?’
‘Why do you have to insist you’re bad?’
‘Because I am.’
‘Why do you insist you don’t care for anything?’
‘Because I don’t. Because I don’t care for anything and I don’t need anything.’
‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘don’t jump all over me and make me feel small when I say this, but, Zoë, some people like to be needed.’
‘Like to be needed? Well, that’s not me.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘It’s not fucking bullshit.’ She pushed her chair back and leaned across the desk, putting her face close to his. ‘I drove around the world on my own. I don’t need you or anyone else. That’s why I’m solid and I’m efficient. And anyway …’ She took a breath. Tried to put a bit more width and height into her shoulders. ‘It doesn’t matter because next thing we know you’ll be having it off with Miss Cracker out there.’
He held her gaze. He had still, clear green eyes. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I already am.’
Zoë stared at him. Something inside her was falling away. Dropping and dropping down into the floor. ‘What?’ she murmured. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But it’s true.’
She was motionless, absolutely speechless. The scars on her arms ached, made her want to rip her sleeves up, but she held herself steady. She wouldn’t let him know he’d poleaxed her.