34

Just a few questions, Mr. Hammell,” Page said. The suit he was wearing seemed more tailored than ever.

“This place smells like a wrestler’s kecks,” Hammell replied, his mouth twisting in distaste.

“It’s not great,” Page agreed, casting an eye around the interview room’s scarred walls. “But it’s what’s available.”

“So not just psychology, then?”

Page looked at him, all innocent. “Sorry?”

“Thinking it might unnerve me, get me to say something I shouldn’t?”

Siobhan Clarke looked down at the floor and pretended her tongue was dislodging something from between two teeth. It was the only way to stop from smiling. Hammell had read Page’s thinking to the letter.

“Anyway, many thanks for sparing the time,” Page said. “Just want to clear up a slight discrepancy.”

“Oh?” Hammell sat low on the chair, legs splayed in front of him, like a boxer at rest between rounds.

“What we’re wondering,” Clarke interjected, “is why you didn’t tell us you were at the bus station with Annette.”

“I don’t remember anyone asking.”

“You didn’t need to be asked, Mr. Hammell.”

“Who says I was there anyway?”

“CCTV,” Page interrupted, trying to wrest the interview back from Clarke. “Looks like you were having a few words with her.”

“The camera doesn’t lie. I’d told her one of my guys would drive her to Inverness, but she didn’t want that.”

“Might I ask why not?”

“Because she’s a stubborn little madam, and she thought she might have to say thanks.” Hammell’s tone betrayed his irritation. “Didn’t turn down cash for the train, though. Next thing I know, she’s at the bus station—cheaper than the train and she can pocket what’s left.”

“Were you following her?” Clarke asked.

“Sort of.”

“Why?”

“To make sure she was telling the truth. Way she is, it was just as likely she was going to see one of her junkie pals in Sighthill and crash there for a few days.”

“So you followed her to the bus station?”

“To Waverley first. She checked the train prices on one of the machines, then didn’t bother buying a ticket. Trailed her to St. Andrew Square and…well, you’ve got that on camera, right?”

“An argument,” James Page said.

“Just me telling her to catch the bloody train. But she dug her heels in.”

“And you didn’t tell us any of this because…?”

“For one thing, it’s not relevant.”

“And for another?” Clarke asked.

There was a moment’s flickering self-doubt in Hammell’s face. “I didn’t want Gail to know.”

“Why not?”

Hammell shifted in his chair. “I wasn’t sure how she’d take it—me snooping like that. But it’s how I am. I need to have a bit of control over a situation.”