Chapter Seventeen Cold Ground
Cold Ground
Harrison pushed back through the station doors and into the reception area, the warm, stale air of the building closing around him.
He kept his head down as he walked.
Instinct more than anything else. Years of police stations had taught him the rhythm of a room the moment he entered it. The shift in conversation, the sideways glances, the subtle way people went quiet when something interesting had happened outside.
And something interesting had definitely happened.
The officers said nothing as he passed, but Harrison could feel their attention all the same. A couple of them had clearly been watching through the glass moments earlier. One of them twisted back to his computer screen as Harrison crossed the floor.
The best way to deal with it was simple: lean into the job.
So Harrison didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge the looks or the curiosity simmering beneath them. He walked straight through reception and into the CID office, the low hum of printers and half-finished conversations filling the space.
Calder was waiting beside Harrison’s desk. Arms folded. Watching him.
He said nothing.
Which spoke volumes.
Harrison hadn’t been in Hartswick long enough to know exactly where the blind spots were yet.
He’d deliberately manoeuvred Jake away from the station entrance and out of the immediate sightline of the front desk, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t seen any of it.
There were offices overlooking the car park.
Windows at odd angles. And Calder had been standing at one of them.
Harrison felt the man’s suspicion as if it were a physical thing.
He ignored it.
Instead, he reached for the file on his desk and flipped it open. “Let’s interview Andy now.”
Calder watched him for another second, then pushed away from the desk. “Aye, sir.”
They moved together through the corridor leading to the interview rooms, the sound of their footsteps dull against the worn station carpet. Halfway there, Harrison stopped and turned back to the office.
“If anything comes in from the search team,” he called across the room, “I want to know immediately.”
A young DC looked up from his computer. “Yes, sir!”
Harrison nodded once and turned again, rolling his shoulders back as if resetting himself. The job. That was what mattered. Not Jake Whitton standing in the cold outside the station. Not the memory of Jake’s breath against his palm. Of him responding only to him. Of him saying he trusted only him.
That he was sorry for kissing him…
He adjusted his tie, smoothing it flat against his shirt, then pushed open the door to Interview Room Two.
Andy Mitchell looked up from the table. Harrison stepped inside, taking his seat opposite him as Andy tipped his chair back as if this were an inconvenience rather than the most serious conversation of his life.
The duty solicitor beside him was a portly and scruffy man in an ill-fitting suit, who had one leg crossed over his opposite knee, balancing his laptop on it, as if he was all too used to being called in for this sort of thing.
Calder sat to Harrison’s left.
Quiet. Observant. Waiting.
The recording machine on the table gave a soft mechanical click as Harrison pressed the button. A red light blinked on.
“This interview with Andy Mitchell is being recorded and videotaped at Hartswick Police Station,” Harrison announced to the tape and the room.
“Time is 12:17 hours. Present in the room are myself, Detective Inspector Harrison Black, Detective Sergeant Calder, Mr Andy Mitchell, and Mr Mitchell’s solicitor, Mr Young.
Mr Mitchell, you are under caution. You do not have to say anything.
But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence. ”
Andy stared at him. Expression flat.
Harrison slid the custody photograph across the table. “Andy, you were arrested this morning on suspicion of involvement in the disappearance of Miss Emily Fisher.”
“I already told the arresting officers. I know nowt about that girl.”
The solicitor piped up then, getting his hourly wage worth. “My client denies any involvement.”
Harrison reached for the CCTV still. The one from The King’s Arms. “Let’s start simple.” He tapped the photograph. “You were in The King’s Arms pub on Wednesday evening.”
Andy glanced at the photograph. “Told you I were.”
“What time did you arrive?”
“Dunno. After work.”
“Which is?”
“Half six.”
Calder made a note.
“Why did you go to the King’s Arms, Andy?”
“To have a pint. I’d had a shit day at work.”
“Why? What happened at work?”
“Usual shit. Bosses breathing down my neck.”
“Your boss?”
“The bosses.”
“So…maintenance supervisors.” Harrison quirked an eyebrow. “The same department Mr Fisher works in? Emily Fisher’s father.”
Andy said nothing.
Harrison waited. Letting it stretch.
Then he continued, “In your previous account, you said you had one pint at the King’s Arms then left.”
“Aye.”
Harrison slid a still across the table. “However, the CCTV sees you ordering a second one.”
Andy looked down at the image. Said nothing.
“You also stated you didn’t know or speak to Emily Fisher.” Harrison slid another image across. The still of Andy at the bar, talking to Emily. “Can you confirm that is you?”
Andy looked down at it. Shrugged.
“Can you speak for the recording, please?”
“Looks like me.”
Harrison nodded. “So you spoke with Emily Fisher?”
“Don’t remember I did.”
“What did you say to her?”
Andy scrubbed a hand down his face. “I said, I don’t remember.”
The solicitor leaned forward. “My client is not obliged to speculate about conversations he cannot recall.”
Harrison gestured to Calder and the DS turned the laptop around, pressing play on the retrieved footage.
Andy and his solicitor watched as on the screen, Andy ordered a second pint, then looked for something.
Then came his brief exchange with Emily before the band arrived, and Andy made his way to the toilet.
Calder paused the footage.
Harrison cocked his head. “What were you looking for, Andy?”
Andy rubbed the back of his neck. “My phone.”
Calder made a note.
“What for?” Harrison asked.
“To pay.”
“Except, you already told us your phone had been smashed at work.”
Andy said nothing.
“Can you explain that to me?”
Andy said nothing.
Harrison held his gaze. Silence was a suspect’s right, but that didn’t stop it being frustrating. Sometimes it was tactical. Sometimes it was fear. Sometimes it was simply a man hoping the questions would eventually stop.
Harrison had no intention of letting that happen. “Where did you go after speaking with Emily?”
“For a piss.”
“But you didn’t return to your pint.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Couldn’t pay for it.”
“How did you pay for the first one?”
Andy waited a moment as if contemplating whether to answer that. “It was bought for me.”
Harrison hid his surprise at that. “By who?”
Andy said nothing.
“Who bought your first pint, Andy?”
Andy waved vaguely. “It was on the house.”
“On the house?”
“Aye.”
Harrison peered at Calder. Calder wrote that down.
“Why would the bar give you a free pint?”
“I dunno. Nice gesture. I’m there a lot.”
Harison left that there, but made a note to check with the staff. “Why did you tell officers you didn’t know Emily Fisher, when you clearly spoke to her that night and you are aware of her father?”
“Cause of this!”
Harrison remained stoic at the outburst. “What’s this?”
“I always get accused of this. If I said I knew her, I’d be suspect number one. Like last time. You lot have me pinned as summat cause I live on my own and cause of what happened before—”
His solicitor tapped him on the arm, and Andy shut up.
Harrison pressed forward. “So you lied.”
“I don’t know her. I know her dad. And she recognised me and said ‘hello’. I asked her if she’d seen my phone. That’s it.”
“What time did you leave the pub?”
“After I’d had a piss.”
“Which way out did you use?”
Andy notably squirmed. “I went out the window.”
Harrison blinked. “Why would you go out the window?”
Andy looked thoroughly aggrieved and possibly a little embarrassed, but eventually he said, “Cause Jake Whitton, that’s why.”
Harrison looked down at the table, forcing the reaction back under control before it could show on his face.
Then he looked up again. “Andy, your vehicle was seen on ANPR entering the garage forecourt at approximately eleven fifteen p.m.” He paused briefly before continuing. “Shortly afterwards it was recorded heading towards the woodland track outside Hartswick.”
Andy leaned back in the chair. “I told you. I went to get summat to eat.”
“How did you pay for that?”
Andy chewed his cheek. “Cash.”
“Why couldn’t you use the cash for the pint?”
“Cause then I wouldn’t have none for tea, would I?”
Harrison chewed on that. Then, “Where were you between seven thirty and eleven p.m.?”
Andy said nothing.
The silence stretched across the room.
Harrison reached into the file and withdrew a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table. “Is that your telephone number?”
Andy leaned forward to read it.
Said nothing.
Harrison clasped his hands loosely on the table.
“We have obtained communications data relating to that handset which has allowed us to establish where your phone travelled on Wednesday evening.” He held Andy’s gaze, waiting to see what he’d make of that.
“Would you like to tell us anything at this point?”
Andy looked sideways at his solicitor.
The solicitor leaned into his ear, whispering too quiet for the recording.
Andy sat back again. “No comment.”
Harrison had expected that. So he pulled another document from the file. A map. He turned it so Andy could see and slid it across the table.