He smiled weakly as he thanked her and opened the car door. “You’re all right, Harper. I know we’ve had our differences. But I couldn’t have got through today without you.”

Harper nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll be in touch, about your interview.”

“My interview? Why do you need to question me?”

“Because I think you know the suspect. A young woman, with long dark hair. Very slim. Rather uncooperative. Sound like a friend of yours?”

“No.”

But the shock of realisation on his face told a different story. In that moment, Harper knew that they were both thinking of the same thing: the day that Harper had followed him, seen him—caught him—in the car park with the young woman with the red-rimmed eyes, the very same young woman who turned up again today in the river with his babies. The way that, before he knew he was being watched, he’d taken that woman by the elbow as if he wanted to be rid of her.

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The interview room was hot despite the noisy buzz and flap of the fan unit, which must have had something caught in it to be making that much racket. James Crace, the duty solicitor, a young man with thick lenses in his fashionably geeky spectacles, held a tissue over his mouth and nose like a Victorian dandy. The reason he was doing this became clear before Harper had even sat down—there was a strong smell of body odour and river mud coming from the suspect, who slumped in the chair, eyes half closed, hair lank and drooping. Someone had placed a white plastic cup of tea on the table in front of her. The camera in the corner displayed a steady red light to show that it was recording.

“First things first,” said Harper. “We ran your fingerprints through our system, and it seems that you are a citizen of previously good conduct. The computer didn’t recognise you.”

The suspect said nothing.

“We also ran your number plates. The DVLA knows who you are. For the tape, please. Can you confirm your name?”

When she still said nothing, Harper said, “If you want to keep that clean record, then I suggest you confirm your identity. I’m perfectly happy to charge you with obstructing an investigation, if that’s how you want to play it.”

Harper waited for a minute, then made to get up. The solicitor sat forward. “Wait,” he said. “She’ll cooperate. Won’t you, Natasha?”

The woman mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Speak up,” said Harper.

“I’m Natasha Dowling.”

“Excellent,” said Harper. “Not too difficult, was it? Now then, Ms Dowling. Can you tell me what you were doing when we met earlier today, please?”

It seemed the suspect had clammed up once more. She remained silent.