Bill nodded slowly. ‘It would be good to know. But go gently. He has to have faith in you, Dana. That’s key.’
Dana smiled. ‘No pressure, then?’
Chapter 7
Before facing Nathan a second time Dana crossed the corridor to check with Mike. Her office had been Mike’s: he might have been the first public servant to voluntarily give one up. In truth, he’d found it isolating being on his own: he much preferred sharing with Lucy, and any hapless uniform seconded for a particular case.
She could smell the polish he’d applied to his desk that morning. Even the papers in the recycle bin were folded, not scrunched. Bill had assured her that Mike was fine with Dana catching this one, because Mike had worked four nightshifts in a row. His bad luck this had turned into something bigger.
‘Got over your hissy fit about the water cup yet, Mikey?’
He gave one final click on the mouse and stretched back in his chair. ‘Convincing enough?’
‘I think so, yes.’ She perched on the edge of another desk. ‘Whittler certainly bought it. You should have your own star on that street in Hollywood.’
‘Undoubtedly. But cops are always actors, aren’t we?’ He shrugged, as though he couldn’t hold back the world. ‘Always pretending we aren’t surprised, appalled, scared, turned on, sickened – whatever.’ He shook his head, answering a question she hadn’t asked. ‘Keep the mask up so we come off as reassuring, not just as frightened as they are.’
Sometimes Mike needed yanking out of his own head. ‘Yer preachin’ to the choir, sister.’ She smiled.
‘Touché. Oh, I have a photo of the victim’s wife…’
‘Megan.’
‘Megan, yeah. From the insurance company’s website. She’s a quiet looker, and the victim’s… not.’
She shook her head. ‘A quiet looker? As opposed to…?’
‘Sorry, my dad’s expression.’ His placatory hand gesture didn’t stop Dana’s frown. ‘Two types of beautiful women, he always said. Loud lookers knock you out: drive-into-a-tree gorgeous. Quiet lookers can be just as good-looking, but you need a second glance; they don’t flaunt it. Might be in the eyes, or the smile, but they won’t be dressed to the nines or anything.’
She raised her eyebrows a touch and whispered, ‘That Human Resources tape’s running, Mikey. Better cover yourself.’
He coughed and took a deep breath. His voice turned loud, flat and robotic. ‘It is a reprehensible and sexist attitude which I don’t support myself and which does not reflect my thoughts or actions within this unit. I throw it in as an interesting historical aside. Esteemed colleague.’
She grinned and gave a thumbs-up. ‘So she’s an eight and he’s a five. Or… she really likes tall, wide, non-handsome bald guys. Which means what?’
‘Possibly nothing. Maybe she was tired of him, wanted him out of the way. Or maybe he thought she’d leave sooner or later, so he starts playing around – like a pre-emptive strike. People sometimes do that: create the situation they fear.’ He didn’t seem to be directing that at Dana, but she took it to heart just the same.
Mike was scrolling down the screen, looking at three months’ data from the store’s alarm system. ‘I see an unlikely amount of “sleeping at the store to catch a burglar” going on.’
Dana nodded. ‘Yes, I wondered if all that was above board. Help Nick with the CCTV, if you get a chance. There might be something to suggest whether this vigil was an ingrained habit or cover for a quickie.’
Mike looked doleful and disapproving. ‘Not very romantic, joining your paramour on the floor of a stockroom in a deserted store.’
‘Mikey, you’re a prince among men.’ She mimed a fluttering heart.
He raised a finger. ‘However, the floor of a stockroom in a deserted store, with a candle and a rose – now that would be seduction.’
‘Strange idea of “going the extra mile” you have. Check with the Cassavettes’ lawyer if they’ve been talking separation or moving back to the city. I sensed she didn’t really want to come out here in the first place.’
Mike made another note. ‘Shall do. There’s nothing on CCTV close to the timescale for the stabbing, by the way. We’ve gone through the thirty minutes prior to the alarm and thirty minutes after. One camera on the cash register – that has a slight shadow in one corner for a couple of seconds, around the time of the stabbing. Probably Cassavette moving into position. Then nothing, until the uniforms come through the door. The other one, by the stockroom, shows Cassavette stretching his legs occasionally, harrumphing and eating chocolate, until’ – Mike checked his notes – ‘0527 precisely. At which point he moves out of his sleeping bag and heads for the main part of the store. No sign of Whittler, or anyone else, for that matter.’
‘Crap.’
‘As you so eloquently say, crap. Sorry ’bout that.’
Dana pursed her lips. ‘Any evidence Whittler knew Cassavette? Some kind of prior relationship?’
‘None whatsoever that I can see. No record yet that he worked there or had an account with the place.’ Mike tilted forward and waved a pen in her general direction. ‘We’re starting to round up the staff and former staff, so that might yield something. But no, nothing yet.’
Dana thought for a moment. She was already invested in Nathan Whittler, already trying to coax some form of relationship. He was the man arrested at the scene, bloodied and blinking. Yet they currently had no scope on his psychology, or pathology. It would be a long, arduous battle to open him up – plenty of thankless efforts, blind alleys and failures. But it was important that he wasn’t the only game in town.
‘Talk me out of Nathan Whittler,’ she said.
Mike tapped his pen against the desk. This was what they did – the primary detective pursued what seemed like the best live option and the other detective mopped up the rest, chewing on alternatives and constantly chipping at assumptions and lazy groupthink. Dana had introduced the concept when they first met, and Mike liked it. Not only was it effective, but it spoke to Dana’s commitment to finding truth, rather than guilt.
‘Okay. At the moment the evidence is strong but circumstantial. Forensics probably won’t completely prove anything but will tilt you in a particular direction. Barring a major shift, that direction will be Whittler. Yes?’
She nodded, settling back down on to the corner of the desk, tweaking her kneecap as it threatened to lock. ‘Yes. Bloodied hands always makes an impact. So what’s wrong with that picture?’
Mike wasn’t veering towards the most common kinds of stabbings – drug arguments gone bad, gang wars, ‘disrespected’ teenagers. Partly because they usually happened in the street, or at a location known to police already. Partly because those kinds of crimes rarely if ever happened just before dawn. They were daytime or evening crimes – done by 2 a.m. Plus, there was nothing right now to suggest Lou Cassavette knew that kind of person – at best, it would have to have been an accidental meeting.
‘So, first, if Whittler’s the burglar with the rucksack, he’s forensically aware. Very much so.’ Mike nodded to himself, as if working through the idea on the run. ‘He was leaving no trace at that burglary. So why be found with a dead body and blood on the gloves? That’s a major flip. It’s possible he was caught out, but even so. Anything that cuts across his previous behaviour should make us wary. And his behaviour up to that point was to yield no forensics whatsoever.’
Dana agreed but had an alternative. ‘What if he had an accomplice for the burglary, who scrammed? The accomplice could be the forensically aware one, and Whittler is the dim one left behind with a dead body. He might be too scared to give up his partner.’