took one of the nearer seats. Croft noted instantly that she had placed herself between him and the door.
Millie fished into a drawer on the underside of the table and came out with two cassette tapes, both still wrapped in cellophane.
“As you can see, these are brand new. I will be recording this interview, and at the end I will give you a copy of the tape. You understand?”
Croft began to resent her autocracy. “I’m not an idiot, inspector, so please don’t treat me as one.”
“I am simply pointing out to you that these are brand new tapes,” she said, “and you will be given a copy.”
“It might be more to the point if you told me what this is all about.”
She threw the query back at him. “I’m hoping you can tell me.”
Croft stared around the barren room, seeking something, anything to take his mind from this alarming turn of events, allow him to concentrate his thoughts and gain some purchase on proceedings, but the walls offered no distraction. Across the table Millie took out a pen and laid the cassette labels out for completion. It was almost as if he was not there.
As she began to write the labels, he watched her fingers, fine, delicate slivers of russet, working delicately with the pen.
“I thought you only taped interviews with suspects?” he asked.
She did not take her eyes from the pen making its way across the narrow labels. She answered him in matter-of-fact tones, as if she were teaching a recalcitrant student a lesson. “Any interview which may lead to criminal conviction, or lead to a charge is routinely recorded.”
Criminal conviction? Charge? What the hell was going on here? “Inspector, I’m –”
“I know who you are.” Now she looked up. He could read nothing in her eyes, and nothing from her tone of voice other than assertiveness. “I read your book.”
He grunted. “I shouldn’t have thought you had a problem with your weight,” he muttered, before going on in a stronger voice. “I was about to say, I’m like you; a busy man, and I have more to do that sit around here all day.”
“Mr Croft,” she reminded him, “you came to us with this note. You specifically asked to speak to me or my superior. As it happens, I’m glad you did, because this,” she held up the envelope, “could be important.”
Croft seized on the admission. “Important? In what way?”
Still Millie would not be drawn. “We’ll find out when Superintendent Shannon gets here. In the meantime, I will advise you that you are entitled to have your legal representative here, if you wish.”
There was the slightest of pauses between the word ‘here’ and the phrase, ‘if you wish’. It was not much, but sufficient to let Croft know that she would rather he did not call his lawyer.
The son of a High Court Judge, the partner of a renowned barrister, Croft had a better understanding of the law than Millie Matthews may credit. He elected for conditional compliance. “I don’t think I need call my solicitor yet, but I reserve the right to do so at any time.”
“Fine.”
“Now are you going to tell me what this is about?” he pressed.
Matthews, who had returned to labelling the cassettes, looked up again and this time there was a definite hint of exasperation in her pear shaped face, a frown etched into the clear brow, a narrowing of the pupils to tiny darts, their laser intensity aimed right at him. “I don’t know what this is about, Mr Croft, but I do know that the envelope you brought me may be important. And that’s before I’ve had a look at its contents. Now will you please be patient a little longer? Superintendent Shannon will not be long.”
Croft risked a glance at his watch. 9:25. At this rate, he would be hard pressed to make his appointment with Sandra Lumb.
He frowned inwardly. Millie had already said the appointment would have to wait. There was something about the envelope that had caused all this fuss and, despite the nagging doubts that he was
Millie fished into a drawer on the underside of the table and came out with two cassette tapes, both still wrapped in cellophane.
“As you can see, these are brand new. I will be recording this interview, and at the end I will give you a copy of the tape. You understand?”
Croft began to resent her autocracy. “I’m not an idiot, inspector, so please don’t treat me as one.”
“I am simply pointing out to you that these are brand new tapes,” she said, “and you will be given a copy.”
“It might be more to the point if you told me what this is all about.”
She threw the query back at him. “I’m hoping you can tell me.”
Croft stared around the barren room, seeking something, anything to take his mind from this alarming turn of events, allow him to concentrate his thoughts and gain some purchase on proceedings, but the walls offered no distraction. Across the table Millie took out a pen and laid the cassette labels out for completion. It was almost as if he was not there.
As she began to write the labels, he watched her fingers, fine, delicate slivers of russet, working delicately with the pen.
“I thought you only taped interviews with suspects?” he asked.
She did not take her eyes from the pen making its way across the narrow labels. She answered him in matter-of-fact tones, as if she were teaching a recalcitrant student a lesson. “Any interview which may lead to criminal conviction, or lead to a charge is routinely recorded.”
Criminal conviction? Charge? What the hell was going on here? “Inspector, I’m –”
“I know who you are.” Now she looked up. He could read nothing in her eyes, and nothing from her tone of voice other than assertiveness. “I read your book.”
He grunted. “I shouldn’t have thought you had a problem with your weight,” he muttered, before going on in a stronger voice. “I was about to say, I’m like you; a busy man, and I have more to do that sit around here all day.”
“Mr Croft,” she reminded him, “you came to us with this note. You specifically asked to speak to me or my superior. As it happens, I’m glad you did, because this,” she held up the envelope, “could be important.”
Croft seized on the admission. “Important? In what way?”
Still Millie would not be drawn. “We’ll find out when Superintendent Shannon gets here. In the meantime, I will advise you that you are entitled to have your legal representative here, if you wish.”
There was the slightest of pauses between the word ‘here’ and the phrase, ‘if you wish’. It was not much, but sufficient to let Croft know that she would rather he did not call his lawyer.
The son of a High Court Judge, the partner of a renowned barrister, Croft had a better understanding of the law than Millie Matthews may credit. He elected for conditional compliance. “I don’t think I need call my solicitor yet, but I reserve the right to do so at any time.”
“Fine.”
“Now are you going to tell me what this is about?” he pressed.
Matthews, who had returned to labelling the cassettes, looked up again and this time there was a definite hint of exasperation in her pear shaped face, a frown etched into the clear brow, a narrowing of the pupils to tiny darts, their laser intensity aimed right at him. “I don’t know what this is about, Mr Croft, but I do know that the envelope you brought me may be important. And that’s before I’ve had a look at its contents. Now will you please be patient a little longer? Superintendent Shannon will not be long.”
Croft risked a glance at his watch. 9:25. At this rate, he would be hard pressed to make his appointment with Sandra Lumb.
He frowned inwardly. Millie had already said the appointment would have to wait. There was something about the envelope that had caused all this fuss and, despite the nagging doubts that he was
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