‘Yeah, in retrospect that was a tight squeeze. At first, I thought maybe he had slept in them and he was getting agitated because you read him so quickly. But now, I’m not so sure. I think maybe he hasn’t. Partly, I think he has his own very black-and-white ethics. People who live alone don’t have them modified by messy compromises: they harden them.’
Dana raised an eyebrow ironically.
‘Oh, crap. No offence.’
She smiled and waved it off.
Bill coughed a recovery and continued. ‘Also, he’s secretly really proud of the home he got together and how he survived. I think he has an ego about it, and you need to play up to that. He hasn’t had an audience in fifteen years. You played it exactly right, saying how it spoke to his integrity not to use the cabins.’
‘Hmm. Lucky door back in, that was.’
‘No luck in it. Told you, Dana – you’re exactly the person for this. My advice? Keep going how you’re going. Hopefully we’ll find his magic secret lair and that’ll give you a whole world of ammo. But until we do, maybe keep on the philosophy track a little more. When you talk about that, his sentences get longer, he opens out more. It makes you a kindred spirit. For all his independence, I think he wants one.’
‘Cool. We’re on the same page.’
‘Singin’ from the same spreadsheet, sister. I want you to focus on Whittler – the how, and the why. He remains prime suspect for very good reasons, Dana. If we’re going to get full value out of him, we’ll need to nail the details and the motive. That’s your aim in there. We’ll keep Mikey and Luce focused on other options – other people, other scenarios.’
As she got to the door Bill’s voice rang out. ‘Hey, you know Holt’s name is pronounced Ryner, right?’
She laughed. ‘Don’t start with me, Bill, I swear to God…’
Chapter 15
Nathan was sitting upright. He was about one third through Animal Farm, seemingly engrossed. When no one was around he demonstrated the extreme ease with his own company that Dana found almost inspirational, and Mike had labelled ‘weird’ when he passed the room. Nathan exuded a serene stillness that seemed practised yet unforced.
As she glanced through the glass she looked for signs of fatigue. If he really hadn’t spoken to anyone in fifteen years, she guessed that this intermittent conversation they were having would be draining him. He would, at some point, find it debilitating. She was trying to gauge when that moment would arrive and how she could spot it, because knowing when he was waning would influence her strategy. So far, Dana was struggling to detect it. His fatigue seemed apparent only when he was at his limit, or in tears: then, she knew to give him a rest. Perhaps she wasn’t giving him enough credit for resilience or reserves.
After dispensing with the preliminaries and the tape machines once more, Dana prepared to poke again at Nathan’s philosophy. She paused momentarily, wondering who was now standing behind the mirror or when the tape of this conversation might be replayed. Since it was entirely possible her words would be broadcast in a courtroom – and shortly after, in the media – she wasn’t sure how much to personalise them. Authentic feelings from her unravelled Nathan’s defences more quickly; getting answers to his questions pleased and emboldened him. But Dana loathed sharing emotions with anyone else, let alone everyone else.
‘I assume we’ve been taking care of you correctly when you’re outside this room, Mr Whittler?’
‘Adequately, thank you. Although…’
Dana looked up. ‘Yes, Mr Whittler?’
He winced before replying, as though his request were an imposition and likely to induce scorn. Or punishment.
‘I wonder if you could remove the Bible that’s been placed there?’
‘Of course. Does it offend your religious preferences?’
‘Not at all. Inasmuch as I still have them.’ He shrugged and paused. ‘No, it’s more… grew up in a household where Bibles and crosses were everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Iconography of every kind on every flat surface. Bad associations. I, uh, don’t need to be reminded of my parents’ bedroom when I’m in a cell.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ He lifted his gaze quickly from foot to table-edge: his mannered facsimile of sharpness. ‘That’s the sort of thing people usually say as a platitude, I think. I believe you always mean what you say, Detective, so I’m intrigued that you say that.’
She had to frame this right. Nathan wanted a quid pro quo from her; she wished to convince him she’d kept her end of that bargain without actually having to keep it. She had no wish to travel back in her own time. But she needed Nathan to regress at some point and explain what led to him leaving the family home. The pay-off wouldn’t come now, but later.
‘Well, religious iconography always carries hefty meaning, Mr Whittler. That’s what it’s for. There are certain households where every angle contains a vision of piety, or suffering, or pious suffering. Where every action is infused by a sense of being watched, judged and found wanting. Where ordinary events are smeared by moral finger-wagging, or worse.
‘However, I believe there are also households where such objects hold a different interpretation, or perhaps a further one. Places where it’s possible to see the objects as emblematic of how some people behave: more specifically, they are used to justify or explain such behaviour. If that conduct is a bad memory, then I’m aware that seeing those objects again, even in a totally different context, can drag you back to a place you wouldn’t like to revisit. Drag you back every single day of your life, without you being able to stop it, in fact. That’s what I understand, Mr Whittler.’
He nodded slowly, reflecting on what she’d said.
‘Then you do get it, Detective. You understand very well. I knew you would.’
His statement of knowledge, of certainty, jarred her. She disliked even the notion of being an open book to anyone, let alone to a suspect in an interview. It implied that insight was mutual, rather than her advantage over him. Even, it suddenly floated past her, as though he had a plan of his own for these conversations. But she had to give him some wins when he asked questions: the give-and-take built his confidence in her.
Once again, Dana used the turning of a notepad page to indicate a change in the conversation’s trajectory. They had something of an easy rhythm now: Nathan comprehended the signal.
‘I’ve been thinking on some of the things you’ve been talking about, Mr Whittler. I’m very interested in what you feel you learned, out there.’
Nathan smiled, staring at his foot. ‘Ah, yes. The wise man in the woods. Perhaps people will think I have some kind of dazzling awareness to offer – I’m going to be some sort of crystal-clear thinker. Ha.’
Dana noted the sarcasm but continued. ‘Yes, Mr Whittler, many people will. Once your story emerges in the media – which, unfortunately, it eventually will – there will be people who feel your, uh, circumstances gave you some unique insight into the human condition.’
‘Those that haven’t met me.’ Nathan brushed at his jumpsuit: perhaps fastidiousness, perhaps just keeping his hands occupied.
‘But I’ve met you, Mr Whittler. And I believe you have an insight to offer.’ She noticed Nathan’s raised eyebrow and pushed on. ‘I believe that for two reasons. Firstly, you did step outside most human experience – you see much of our lives from the viewpoint of a genuine outsider, and I don’t think you should discount the importance of that. We can’t have that perspective: you may have it.’