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  “He said he wasn't out to upset you or piss you off, nothing like that. He said he just wanted his article to be accurate.”

  “And what's the article supposed to be about?”

  “Well -” Pausing, Dave frowned. “I don't remember. Josephine did most of the talking to him, she just got me to help out a bit. She said it'd be less suspicious if we're both on it, like. Please, you've gotta see it our way. It's money for nothing. How can some article hurt you?”

  Staring at him for a moment, Ophelia felt her rage threatening to boil over, and for a few seconds she actually considered kicking him hard in the crotch. Figuring that the damage was done, however, she took a few steps back, her mind racing as she tried to work out how to turn the situation to her advantage, before picking up some of Dave's spilled money and hurrying over to the river.

  “Hey!” he called out, stumbling to his feet and rushing after her, but it was too late: by the time he caught up, she'd thrown the notes away and they were floating down, finally landing on the water.

  “There,” she said firmly, turning to him. “That's what happens when you rat out a friend.”

  “He wasn't even pleased with us,” Dave continued pleadingly. “He said if we haven't got anything better for him next time, he won't use us again.”

  “When's next time?” she asked.

  “He's coming back tomorrow.”

  “Then tell him...” She paused, trying to root through the possibilities. It has been a long time since she'd been in a true state of panic, but she managed to focus as she realized she had to do something. “Tell him you haven't seen me. Tell him you heard a rumor that I've left town, that I'm not even in London anymore.”

  “What if he asks where you've gone?”

  “Tell him you don't know.”

  “But then...” He paused, watching as the money drifted on the river's current. “Well, then he won't pay us again, will he?”

  “I'll pay you,” she snapped, pulling some money from her pocket. “How much did he give you today?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Each?”

  He nodded.

  “Here's seventy,” she replied, stuffing some of her own money into his hands.

  “Where'd you get all that from?” he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of so much cash.

  “I've been saving,” she told him. “I've been putting a little aside for a rainy day.”

  “But you were eating cold beans out of tins, like the rest of us! With that money, you could afford to -”

  “No,” she said firmly, “I couldn't. I was trying to save up for something, but that's blown now. This is all the money I've got left in the world, and I just gave you a fair chunk of it.”

  “Ophelia -”

  “Tell him I've left town,” she replied. “Do you understand? When Joe Lewis comes back, tell him everyone says I've split. Make sure Josephine believes it too, and don't let her know you spoke to me. Can you do that?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I'm not an idiot,” he muttered.

  “Course you're not,” she replied, patting him on the shoulder. “I'll come back when it's safe, and I'll help you, I swear. I'll get you off the streets, I'll get everyone off the streets.”

  “You can't do that,” he told her. “No-one can.”

  “I will,” she said firmly. “I don't know how, not yet, but I swear to God, I'll do it.”

  She paused, before turning and walking away. She knew there was little chance that Dave would deliver the message properly, but that was okay. After running for so long, she was starting to feel as if finally the truth was closing in, and that maybe she couldn't be Ophelia for much longer.

  Chapter Six

  “There he is,” Nick said as he brought up another image on the laptop. “Daniel Gregory, standing at an ATM in Brussels city center last night.”

  “Fine,” Laura replied with a sigh, “but what if he -”

  “And here,” Nick continued, “you can see him in the bar of the hotel he was staying at. Looks like he's having a nice cocktail and -”

  “Yes, but -”

  “Oh, and look at this one!” he added, flicking to the next image. “In the elevator, going up to his room all by himself, at just after midnight.”

  “I get it.”

  “And here,” he said finally, bringing up another image, this time showing Sarah Jenkins outside a takeaway restaurant in the early hours of the morning, “is our victim, on Wandsworth Road, South London, at more or less the exact same time. Honestly, there's only a few minutes in it.” He moved the image of Sarah so that it was next to the image of Daniel Gregory. “Explain to me how that man traveled hundreds of miles in half an hour and killed that woman in her flat?”

  Opening her mouth to give a sarcastic answer, Laura held back at the last moment. Still, staring at the screen, she felt that there had to be an explanation. Deep down, in her heart of hearts, she was certain Daniel Gregory was the killer.

  “It was him,” she said finally, leaning back in her chair.

  “Laura...”

  “It was him,” she continued. “I know it seems impossible, but something isn't matching up.” Grabbing the print-out of Daniel Gregory's bank records, she saw several transactions in Brussels on the night in question. Turning to the next page, she scanned the rest of the list. She was looking for something, anything, that might help her start untangling the threads, but with each passing second she began to feel a little more desperate. Gregory's story just seemed too solid, too perfect.

  “We're wasting time,” Nick replied, shutting the laptop's lid. “The real killer is -”

  “What was he doing in Brussels?” she asked, interrupting him.

  “I don't know. Why does anyone ever go to Brussels?” He paused. “I honestly don't know. Boring place, isn't it?”

  “According to these records, he paid for a few things at his hotel, and dinner, most likely for one based on the amount, and then...” She paused. “The rest of the payments are very small. Coffee in a few cafes, lunch, some items at a kiosk at the train station. I mean, what was he actually doing other than...” Another pause, as she began to put the pieces together. “It's too perfect. There are no gaps at all, it's almost as if he went there purely to establish an alibi.”

  “Paranoid, much?”

  “Look at the rest of his transactions,” she continued. “I pulled up his travel records. The man hasn't left the country since the trial collapsed, not once, and suddenly he takes a train to Brussels for one night, which just so happens to be the exact same night that this supposed copycat killer strikes.”

  “Your point being?”

  “It's a hell of a coincidence.”

  “So you think he knew it was going to happen?”

  “What if -” She paused again, chewing the end of her pen as she tried to come up with an answer. “It's a perfect alibi,” she added finally. “So, fine, Daniel Gregory was in Brussels last night, so he can't have physically been in the same room as Sarah Jenkins, but that doesn't mean he wasn't involved in her death.”

  “I get where you're going with this, but -”

  “I want to bring him in.”

  At this, Nick stared at her, shocked by the suggestion. “I'm sorry,” he said finally, “I think I had a mini-stroke just now. I could've sworn I heard you say the most ludicrous, career-threateningly stupid -”

  “I want to talk to him,” she continued. “Face to face.”

  “Laura, I don't think that's a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you want bullet points or a proper lecture?”

  “He's a suspect in a case,” she replied. “I have every right to bring him in. On a purely legal basis, there's nothing stopping me from questioning him.”

  “One wrong move and he'll have you suspended while you're investigated over harassment.”

  “I'm not going to harass him,” she continued. “I'm just going to ask him so
me questions. I won't even treat him as a suspect, I'll just ask him to come and talk to us, to help us with something, and I'll play all nice and fair. I'll make it a request and I'll tell him he can refuse. He won't, though. He'll come.”

  “You could end up in a lot of trouble.”

  “I have to see whether -”

  “Let me do it,” he added.

  “It has to be me.”

  “It can't be you.”

  “Don't you think I can stay calm in the same room as him? Do you think I'm going to grab him and put my hands around the guy's throat?”

  “Stop it, you're turning me on.”

  She glared at him.

  “I...” Pausing, he seemed to be genuinely struggling with the question. “I think we need to consider how this is going to look, and how it might play out in the papers if that's the route he takes again. Which he might, since the guy clearly enjoyed the media spotlight last time around. Plus, with his lawyers, and I'm sure he has plenty of those, he could cause merry hell even if you follow the rulebook. I know you want to get this guy, Laura, and I know you still think he's involved, and I'm willing to consider the possibility, but you have to be smart. You can be in the next room, you can watch and listen, but I have to be the one who talks to him. It can't be you.”

  “But...” Sighing, she set her pen down. “I'm going to tell you exactly what you have to say to him. Word for word. And you bet your ass I'll be in the next room.”

  ***

  “My client is here voluntarily,” the lawyer continued, “because he wishes to help with your investigation. Although he believes he had no information that can possibly be relevant, he's willing to indulge your request to speak to him, which if you ask me is rather considerate of him given the considerable inconvenience to which this police force put him a couple of years ago. However, I want to make it clear that we're very much aware of this department's history, and if we believe for one moment that my client is being leaned on in any way, we will walk right out of here and make an official complaint. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Nick replied, sitting on the other side of the table in the interview room. “Mr. Gregory -”

  “I'm on very good terms with the chief of this station,” the lawyer added. “In fact, I'm meeting him for golf on Tuesday. Keep that in mind, won't you?”

  “It's a lovely mental image,” Nick told him. “I'll -”

  “She's in there, isn't she?” Daniel Gregory said suddenly, with his eyes fixed on the mirror that ran along one of the walls. “Don't even bother to deny it. She's watching.”

  “I can't comment on that kind of thing,” Nick said uncomfortably, glancing down at his papers for a moment. “Mr. Gregory, I -”

  “You can come in, Detective Foster,” Gregory continued, still staring at the mirror. “I don't mind.”

  Nick stared at him for a moment. “Right...”

  “Come on,” Gregory added, still watching the mirror, “there's no reason to be like this. I know you want to be in this room. You probably had to be persuaded not to conduct the interview yourself. This charade just makes you look a little foolish.”

  Silence.

  “Right,” Nick said after a moment, taking a look at his papers for a moment, “I understand you were in Brussels last night?”

  Gregory turned to him. “I was.”

  “And you returned by train this morning?”

  “I did.”

  “And what was the purpose of your visit?”

  “Fun.”

  “Fun? Alright... What kind of fun?”

  “You don't have to answer that,” the lawyer reminded him. “You don't have to answer any of these stupid questions.”

  “I went to meet an old friend,” Gregory said with a faint smile. “Someone with whom I recently reconnected online. I realized I hadn't been away for quite some time, so I thought I'd go and visit her.”

  “Sounds -”

  “And unfortunately, she didn't show up.”

  Nick paused. “She didn't?”

  “We had everything arranged, we confirmed a few hours in advance, and then at the appointed hour there was no sign of her. I've tried to contact her since, but she hasn't replied to any of my messages. So the upshot is that I ended up having a rather lonely and pointless night in Brussels on my own.”

  “I see. And this -”

  “Fortunately, I've always been perfectly content with my own company,” Gregory added, “so the trip wasn't a perfect waste. I still had time to relax and recharge my batteries. And to think.”

  “And this woman -”

  “Her name is Amanda Langston and she's an assistant to an MEP,” he replied, clearly anticipating the question. “If you need her details, I can of course provide them, but as I said, she hasn't responded to messages for almost twenty-four hours now.” He paused. “To be honest, I was more than a little offended. I'd hoped she and I might... rekindle a few old feelings. Then again, I suppose maybe something's wrong.” He paused. “I do hope she hasn't had an accident.” Turning to the mirror again, he smiled. “I'm sure you'd find that most suspicious, Detective Foster, wouldn't you?”

  “We all get stood up occasionally,” Nick replied.

  “First time it's happened to me,” Gregory replied, turning back to him.

  “You've never heard of a girl named Sarah Jenkins, have you?” Nick asked.

  Gregory shook his head.

  “Here's a photo,” Nick continued, sliding a print-out across the table. “Take a moment and try to think whether you've ever seen her before.”

  Picking up the piece of paper, Gregory studied it for a few seconds. “No,” he said finally. “She looks... I mean, she looks a little young for me. I don't make a habit of hanging around with girls.”

  “Is this the woman who was found dead this morning?” the lawyer asked.

  Nick nodded.

  “I would advise you to answer very simply,” the lawyer continued, turning to Gregory. “Be economical with words. Remember what I told you in the car, this is a fishing exercise -”

  “It's not a fishing exercise,” Nick replied.

  “It is,” the lawyer said, turning to him. “You have absolutely nothing to connect my client to this girl's unfortunate death, so you're hoping that if you get him talking for long enough, he'll say something that might give you a lead. I wish I could say I was surprised that modern policing has become so utterly abject, but unfortunately I'm not surprised at all. You might not mind wasting your own time, Detective Jordan, but some of us have better things to be doing.”

  “Actually,” Nick continued, “we're hoping that Mr. Gregory can help us to work out who's behind this.” Taking the piece of paper back, he turned to Gregory. “Whoever killed Sarah Jenkins, they deliberately went to great lengths to make the crime scene resemble the room where Natasha Simonsen was found dead a few years ago. It's obvious that they're trying to implicate you in some way.”

  “Poor Natasha,” Gregory replied. “You still didn't catch the killer, did you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If only the original investigation hadn't been bungled.” He smiled, while glancing again at the mirror. “This Jenkins girl might not be dead, if the man who killed Natasha Simonsen had been caught.”

  “Certain details,” Nick continued, clearly holding back from saying what he really thought, “have convinced us that the person who killed Ms. Jenkins is almost certainly the same person who killed Ms. Simonsen. A copycat wouldn't know certain elements that the two cases share. So whoever this person is, one of the things they must have taken into account is the fact that you, Mr. Gregory, were put on trial for the original murder.”

  “You think I'm being framed?”

  “No, but I think the real killer can't ignore you. He or she must know, for example, that we'd want to speak to you as soon as possible.”

  “If you were doing your jobs properly.”

  “Fat chance of that,” the lawyer said, folding his ar
ms and resting them on his ample belly.

  “I'm just trying to live a simple life,” Gregory replied. “It's not easy, starting again after such a high-profile case during which one's name has been dragged through the mud. Even though I was acquitted, some of that mud has stuck.”

  “Sure,” Nick said, “but -”

  “Do you know what it's like,” he continued, “to walk into a room and have everyone glance at you, and to know that some of them still have their doubts?” He looked over at the mirror again. “Do you know what it's like to realize that every person I know, and every person I meet, has considered the possibility that maybe I did kill Natasha Simonsen? The fact that to some people, innocence is never enough. The accusation itself is a marker of... deviance. Even if they dismiss the idea that I might have killed poor Natasha, the very fact that they thought about it...” He paused. “I still haven't been able to find a job.”

  “How's the book going?” Nick asked.

  “I'm still working with a ghost writer.”

  “Should bring in a fair few bob when it's done, though.”

  “I hope so. Frankly, I need the money.”

  “Running low on the cash you were awarded after the acquittal?”

  “I've had expenses.”

  “Such as random trips to Brussels.”

  “I told you, it wasn't random.”

  “Well,” Nick added, “if you're lucky, maybe it'll all happen again, eh? Another murder, another acquittal, another payout -”

  “That is an outrageous thing to say!” the lawyer spluttered.

  Daniel Gregory, meanwhile, simply stared at the mirror, as if he was trying to see through using force of will alone.

  “Hang on just one moment,” Nick added, getting to his feet. “I'm gonna get some coffee. Do you two chaps want anything? Biscuit?” He turned to the lawyer, and then to Gregory. “Biscuit?”

  Heading out of the room and closing the door, Nick headed along the corridor and then entered the next room, where he found Laura sitting on a desk in the dark, watching the interview room through a one-way mirror.

  “What do you think?” Nick asked, turning to watch as Gregory and his lawyer talked at the table; or, rather, the lawyer seemed to be going off on a considerable rant, while Gregory continued to stare at the mirror.