Chapter Four #2
Forgetting all about her trainee, Adam Taylor, who is hovering near by, waiting for Sam’s instruction, she moves quickly to the lift. She jumps aboard and jabs at the button for the basement, where the custody suite and interview rooms are.
As she descends, Sam notices a glossy poster featuring a mnemonic to remind officers of new cognitive interview techniques.
TED’s PIE, it says, with each pie-slice in the picture containing question openers.
T = Tell me. E = Explain to me. And so on.
The sight of oozing apple and sugared pastry makes Sam’s stomach rumble and she promises herself a trip to Greggs at lunchtime.
She closes her eyes and casts her mind back to the days when she and Harry would interview suspects together, and the old-fashioned techniques they used.
Her godfather taught her how to make the hard nuts crack by letting them think they’re in control, then slamming them with your strongest piece of evidence—something they don’t know you know.
He taught her how to lull a softer suspect with small talk, drinks, tiny favors that endear and create a feeling of friendship.
They’d even used the old good-cop, bad-cop from time to time.
Together, they’d teased confessions from the worst kind of human beings.
Harry knew all the tricks in the book. He once let a drug dealer bring his pet pug into the interview; the perp sang like a canary after that.
The gear’s in me nan’s cupboard at the bottom of the kitty-kibble bag.
Don’t tell her. She’d never forgive me for what happened with Cindy Clawford.
For a week after that, Harry emailed her videos of pugs on skateboards and performing somersaults, making her smile every time.
Sam remembers that Harry prefers interview room number one, so that’s where she heads when she steps out of the lift.
It’s the room that makes the suspect most uncomfortable, with its flickering light, small hard chairs and useless fan.
Sam walks quickly to the observation room attached to the main room, swipes her pass and enters, leaving the light off and standing behind the door.
Hiding, despite knowing no one can see her from the attached room.
A minute later, the lights in the interview room flicker to life and the lighter-haired Mr. Mathers takes a seat.
Someone opens the door to the observation room to check that it’s empty.
Sam holds her breath, flattening herself against the wall, and the door closes again.
Sam stays where she is, frozen. After a moment, she steps forward and looks through the one-way mirror.
Harry and the female SIO are seated with their back to her.
Sam presses a button on her side of the mirror so she can listen in.
The woman activates the recording system and reintroduces herself as Detective Inspector Tina Edris.
The man being interviewed looks shattered.
His green eyes are red-rimmed and his hands rest on the steel table as if he doesn’t have the strength to lift them.
“If you would please state your name for the recording,” Tina says gently.
“Jack Mathers.”
“And I am DCI Blakelaw, here to observe,” Harry adds, and Sam notices Tina’s shoulders twitch. It’s clear that the Met’s newest DI does not want babysitting by her boss.
“Mr. Mathers—” Tina begins.
“Jack,” he says, but doesn’t try to force a smile.
“Jack. Just to remind you, this is a voluntary statement to help us with your niece’s homicide investigation.
I know we’ve already taken a preliminary statement, but it’s standard practice for us to speak to key witnesses more than once in such cases.
There may be some repetition today, but please believe that this is vitally important to the case. ”
“OK,” he says. “Anything we can do to help you catch him, we’ll do.”
“Please begin by talking us through your movements on the night of Charlotte’s murder.”
Jack takes a deep breath. “I didn’t see Charlie—Charlotte—that day. She’d left for school before I came downstairs. I didn’t … get to say goodbye to her that morning. Jesus, how is this happening?” He breaks off, looking around the room.
“Where were you that evening, from five p.m. until midnight?” Tina asks.
“I was at home until around six p.m. Then I went to a retirement do. An old mate I worked with years back. ’Til maybe one in the morning. I shared an Uber home—”
“And where was the party held?”
“The Pig and Butcher in Brenham. It was a decent night, everyone was really friendly and…” He trails off.
“As if any of it matters now. As if anything matters.” Sam watches his face.
There are clear similarities between him and Charlotte.
The sandy hair with hints of auburn, the green eyes and creamy skin.
Jack sniffs loudly and drags his hand down his face.
He reaches for a cup of water, lifts it, trembling, to his lips.
“Can you confirm that you stayed at the party the whole night, Mr. Mathers?” Tina presses.
“Yes.” Jack nods. “Charlie, she’s just a baby. It feels like only yesterday I was teaching her to ride a bike. Oh, Jesus…” Jack’s chin wobbles and he looks, for a moment, like a child himself.
“You never left the Pig and Butcher?”
“I went to the corner shop for some vape juice. But that took, like, ten minutes. Twenty at most,” Jack says, tears now rolling freely down his face.
“So you left the Pig and Butcher for no more than twenty minutes? It couldn’t have been longer?” she asks. Jack shakes his head.
“You saw your brother that night, before you left,” Harry suggests. Harry had told Sam on Monday—that was only yesterday, she realizes—that he thought someone close to Charlotte was likely responsible.
“Yeah. I saw Nige at around six. Just before I left,” Jack says, lightly tapping his own cheeks as if trying to wake himself up.
“What was he doing?” Tina asks.
“He’d just got home. Nigel gets in at six every day.
” Jack sniffs again. “He runs on his treadmill. Takes a shower and sits in his armchair with a whiskey. Then he and Charlotte—” Jack breaks off at the dead girl’s name, and takes a deep, calming breath.
“Charlotte and Nigel eat whatever Sonja, the housekeeper, has prepared. They eat late, around seven thirty. My brother is a man of routine.”
Sam’s eyebrow raises. She knows Charlotte grew up in Palace Gardens, an exclusive terrace of white marble homes, but a housekeeper?
That’s another level of rich. Sam pulls her phone from her pocket and quickly googles Nigel Mathers, clicks on LinkedIn.
The man in the image is barely recognizable as the man she just saw enter the building, but it must be him.
Hedge fund manager. Figures, Sam thinks, sliding her phone away again.
“On Thursdays, Charlotte and Nigel’s routine changes?” Tina asks, and Jack shrugs.
“I suppose. I never really paid attention until this happened. But yeah, Charlie goes—sorry, I mean Charlie used to go—to a school friend’s house on Thursdays after netball and Nige picked her up. I don’t know the exact details,” Jack says. Sam rubs her thumb over the small netball in her pocket.
“Do you know where the school friend lives?” she asks.
“No,” Jack says.
“You have a bit of a history, Jack,” Tina says. “Talk to us about that.”
“My history?” Jack blinks.
“You served some time, back in the day,” Tina says.
Jack’s pale face reddens. “That was stupid kids’ stuff, and I paid for it. Six months in juvy and my own dad never spoke to me again. Cut me off entirely. I was seventeen, for God’s sake.” The man covers his face and his shoulders heave, but Tina doesn’t let up.
“Jack, we need to find who hurt Charlotte and—”
“Well, it wasn’t me!” he yells, his face a picture of pain. “I loved that kid. Why are you doing this? We all know who killed my niece. Why haven’t you—”
“Who do you think murdered Charlotte, Jack?” Tina asks and he just stares at her, his mouth open.
“Brady killed her,” Jack whispers. “You told us Denver Brady’s initials were found at the scene. We googled around and found . Nigel bought the sick little how-to guide. What are you doing to catch him?”
“At the moment, Mr. Mathers, we’re keeping all lines of inquiry open. I can assure you we are taking that element of the case very seriously. We—”
“We don’t need assurances. We need you to find the man who murdered Charlie.
” Jack heaves one giant sob, then stands and moves slowly to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he opens it, “I can’t take any more today.
I’ll send Nigel in, but please, he’s been through enough.
Just go easy, OK?” Jack lets the door click shut behind him.
“He’s convinced that Denver—” Tina whispers but Harry cuts her off.
“We’ll find Charlotte’s killer the same way we find the rest. Means. Motive. Opportunity.”
“Sir, whether we like it or not, How to Get Away with Murder is an important part of this investigation,” Tina says.
“I’m concerned that this is my first homicide investigation at the Met and this vital element of my case has been put under the command of a DI in her first week back following a significant—”
“Detective Hansen has over ten years’ experience and an exemplary arrest record,” Harry cuts in.
“Sir, I just feel that it sends the wrong message. We need to be seen to be taking the book seriously, just in case, and giving it to—”
“Your concerns are noted, Tina, but as DCI I feel that a combination of your fresh talent and Sam’s experience is best,” Harry concludes.
Tina pauses for a second, chews her lip, watches him shrewdly. “It certainly protects you from any criticism, sir. Having two female Detective Inspectors involved.”