Lucy and Bill were behind the mirror. She’d asked them each to focus on different things while watching – Bill on what was said, and any semblance of a way in, or leverage; Lucy on the body language, and what that might imply. Dana planned to be braver this time around. She’d established politeness, grammatical rigour and awareness. This needed to go further, and faster, without letting him come apart.
Again there was a loud glugging as Nathan poured a cup of water. He took such forensic care: like he was in a lab and pouring acid into a beaker. One stray drop would be some kind of failure. She switched on the tape.
‘So, Mr Whittler, if we might return to your address and accommodation?’
He nodded. She noted that he was no longer focused on his shoe, as he’d been initially. Now his basic responses were directed to the corner of the table.
‘I’ve been doing some thinking.’ She set the files to one side and framed a new page in her notes with both hands. ‘As we established, you’ve had the same home for the past fifteen years, but not a permanent address that would appear on any database. I’m thinking, therefore’ – she glanced pointedly at him – ‘that you have been living in some kind of cave.’
He blanched. She could see emotion swarm across his face, like a storm sweeping over a prairie. He scratched at his nose, then his chin. His hand brushed the back of his neck and he shivered as he tugged at a sleeve. Her mind drifted to what Lucy might have found out about limestone areas, and she had to force her concentration back while she waited for Nathan to laugh nervously then recover his poise.
‘What makes you think that?’ His voice was thick and crackly, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.
She knew he was stalling, that his mind was racing and reaching, flooded with implications. But she also understood that process mattered to Nathan Whittler. It was not all about the result, but also the manner of getting there: one influenced the other. He had an old-fashioned belief in the virtue of doing things in the right way.
‘Well, I don’t believe you lived in some tarpaulin-and-ferns contraption. It would be too temporary and too uncomfortable. I can see from your skin, your hands, and so on, that you’ve taken care of yourself, that you’ve been relatively comfortable. And I think you were in it for the long haul right from the start. I don’t believe that you would go for something interim: you’d want a shelter that would last a lifetime, first time.’
Nathan nodded slowly. ‘Possibly.’
‘Well, as you’ve implied, where you’ve been living must be some sort of weatherproof, or weather-resistant, shelter. It wouldn’t be considered by most as a permanent dwelling, but I can’t see anyone surviving fifteen winters entirely in the open air. To say nothing of the storm season.’
She resisted the urge to say someone like you. He still looked to her the indoors type, unlikely to relish the rugged and harsh life he was claiming. Instead, she clasped her hands and put some weight on her elbows. Her knee spasmed again.
‘So I believe that you’ve been living somewhere that’s sturdy enough to allow you to stay away from other people, but within reach of them. I say that because you must have periodically needed supplies and food. You previously indicated it wasn’t a caravan, or a boat, or part of someone’s dwelling. And we also confirmed that you have the integrity not to use someone’s cabin. It’s really a process of elimination.’
He continued to stare at the corner of the table. She could see his eyes move slightly, as though tracing the grains in the wood.
‘Did you consider a tent?’
She paused deliberately, slowly writing nothing of consequence on her pad just to see if he leaned slightly towards it. He did.
‘Yes, Mr Whittler, it did cross my mind. More specifically, a large and heavy tent, like the army use. I thought that might be hefty enough to see out fifteen seasons and survive the weather. I came down against that because I felt you’d established the camp entirely alone; that kind of tent would be too heavy for you to carry to a fairly isolated location, away from any tracks or roads. Oh.’
He looked up at the final word but quickly glanced away again by way of the mirror. She tapped her pen against the desk twice then flicked back a page in her notes.
‘I apologise, Mr Whittler. I forgot to ask you about your car. In 2004 there was a Toyota Corolla registered in your name. Have you driven that car since 2004?’
Nathan sat back. She figured he was considering what answer would be in his best interest. If he said he still had the car, and he hadn’t, it might send them off on a wild-goose chase looking for it: that could buy him time. On the other hand, if he wanted time, he could simply lawyer up and not answer anything at all. The clincher, in her mind, was that she believed he was withholding but would not outright lie: not if she gradually brought him to the truth. He might stop talking altogether, but he wouldn’t lie.
‘I have not, Detective. I’m pretty sure no one else has either.’
They’d need to chase it up, all the same. Her finger and thumb were tapping below the table.
‘Korea.’ He said it softly.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The US army in South Korea, in the 1950s. They ran a campaign for many years in similar weather. They lived in tents. It is possible.’
‘Hmm, that’s true, although they had many other facilities you lacked – medical support, warmish vehicles to travel in, periodic leave which they spent inside buildings or on the beach at Okinawa. I understand your point, but I think the balance of all circumstances leads me to believe a tent is improbable. I may be wrong, of course.’
‘I’m glad you’ve thought it through, Detective Russo.’
Dana wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment. Or if it was a compliment. In every interview his tone was neutral and his body language so strange she struggled to nail it down.
‘Thank you, Mr Whittler. So as I said, in the absence of a car, or any assistance, I felt it doubtful you could have lugged a large tent to your camp. And a smaller, flimsier tent wouldn’t have worked.’ She paused and underlined a line of her writing slowly, carefully. She was certain he couldn’t read what it was.
‘In addition, I thought it possible that any tent would have been seen from the air. Around here we have helicopter joyriders, some forest rangers, leisure flights, crop-spraying and other aircraft. And, latterly, those remote-control drones. However well it was camouflaged, a tent might be spotted. I believe you wouldn’t take such a risk, given the importance of retaining privacy.’ She leaned back, primarily to release the grinding contact in her kneecap. ‘So, as I said, it’s a process of elimination.’
Nathan pursed his lips as he thought, re-consulted the lines on his palm. She was just as fascinated with his hands. If he’d lived in the wilds for fifteen years, how could they be lily-white and pristine? Judging from his soft skin alone, he looked about ten years younger than his chronological age. It was one of the markers that jarred with his claims: he insisted he’d lived wild, but he didn’t look that way. Mikey, for one, was unconvinced, and she sensed Lucy wasn’t wholly on board yet either.
‘That’s very good, Detective Russo. I suppose that’s what you do, you detectives. Deductive reasoning, and all that.’
Dana breathed an inward sigh of relief. It had started to feel as if they were getting nowhere, but this was genuine progress. It seemed to grate on Nathan, however.
‘May I ask you some hypotheticals, Mr Whittler?’