‘Tommy …’

‘Only I’m a bit skint, you know what I mean?’

‘What did she say to you?’

‘One thing.’

‘What was it?’

‘That it was time now. Time to tell the truth.’

Hobbes stepped back a little. Latimer came to his side. She spoke quietly: ‘So what do you think?’

‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘But he did good, didn’t he? Admit that.’

‘No. No, he didn’t—’

‘Hobbes, come on. He found her, which is more than we managed.’

‘He stumbled into her, that’s all. He waited around until she—’

‘What difference does it make?’

He stared at Latimer and shook his head. And then they looked at Fairfax, who was getting to his feet, his voice clearly heard: ‘When do we start? Let’s do it.’

Latimer took hold of him. ‘What is it? What do you want?’

‘I want to interview her. I want to sit in.’

‘No. No.’ Hobbes shook his head. ‘No, Fairfax. You’re going home now.’

‘Home?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But I did my bit.’

‘You did, and I’m pleased that you did.’

‘I did well.’

‘You did very well.’

‘So I can come back, right? Is that what it means?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

Fairfax nodded at this, as though he couldn’t quite work out what it meant. He started to speak, stopped, took a thought, and said, ‘OK, OK, boss. I’ll get myself a sarnie in the canteen, and I’ll … I’ll wait around for news of when you’ve finished. That’s it.’ He looked at Hobbes with such intensity. ‘Would that be suitable, uh, suitable behaviour?’

Hobbes sighed. ‘Yeah, sure. Get yourself something to eat.’

‘I will. I’ll do just that.’

Fairfax smiled broadly. He looked around the room, the snake pit as he called it, the bullpen, his old stomping ground. And he called to an officer: ‘Chadwick! It’s me. I’m here. I’m back.’

The officer in question looked over and raised a hand in greeting.

Hobbes spoke kindly this time. ‘Come on, then, let’s get you sorted. Meg?’

‘I’ll look after him.’

Latimer led Fairfax away. Hobbes watched them go, until the door had swung closed. He gave it a moment, to gather his thoughts. His hands were shaking; he hadn’t noticed until now. Then he went into the corridor and took the stairs to Interview Room B. He looked through the one-way glass at the subject in question.

Camilla Graves.

There she was. Face cold. No expression. Nothing. Only that sense of hatred. A statue. Eyes directed straight ahead.

A female constable stood to attention near the door.

Camilla was staring at her.

Hobbes watched as the constable shivered a little.

Camilla Graves was fearsome. This would not be easy.

Black hair, long, loose, no real style to it.

Eyes deep set, cheeks drawn in, the Gravesian look. An animal preparing to pounce. Perfectly still.

No cigarette, no tea. Not even a sip of water. None of the things that people usually reached for at times like this, with the police bearing down.