No, it doesn't.DO: In that case, I venture to suggest you have precious little evidence at all. In fact, I can scarcely see adequate grounds for arrest, let alone `“CG: Given the seriousness of the crime, your client's known association with Sasha Blake, and the physical proximity between his house and Faith Appleford's, we will be holding your client in custody pending further enquiries.GS: You're actually saying I'm some sort of suspect?GQ: We're saying we'd like to confirm you aren't one.DO: May I have some time with my client?CG: Absolutely. Interview terminated at 15.10.* * *
`What do you think, Bryan?' says Gallagher.
They're in the adjacent interview room, where the profiler has been scratching his observations into a Moleskine notebook.
Gow pushes his glasses up his nose. `I think our Mr Scott may have genuinely believed he and Sasha were in some sort of relationship. That all he had to do was wait and eventually all the barriers holding them back would be miraculously cast aside.'
`Including the minor inconvenience of her being under-age,' says Gallagher grimly.
`Precisely. Though that would have just added fuel to the delusion. Scott could tell himself that was why they had to keep it secret `“ why she couldn't say anything to him in public. The problem comes, of course, when a man in that position is forced to confront the fact that the woman he loves doesn't reciprocate his feelings and never will. In the face of that kind of rejection, well, let's just say that things can escalate very quickly. Very quickly indeed.'
`So if he did see Sasha at the bus stop that night `“'
`He might well have thought his moment had come `“ a perfect opportunity to tell her how he felt. Only to find her looking at him aghast like he's some sort of pervert.'
`Or laughing at him,' says Gallagher.
Gow nods. `That, of course, would have been even worse. His world was crashing in ruins and she was just laughing in his face. He loses his temper, lashes out `“' He shrugs; he doesn't need to go on.
`Added to which,' says Gallagher, `that Morris Traveller of his is chock full with craft materials and decorating stuff. Including knives. Killing her may have been unpremeditated, but he had everything he needed to do it in the back of his car.'
Gow makes a quick note. `Interesting, I didn't know about that.'
He looks up again. `There's one obvious problem with all this, though, as I'm sure you've realized: Faith Appleford.'
`I know,' she says with a sigh. `The stronger we make the case for Scott's obsession with Sasha, the harder it is to explain why he'd have assaulted Faith. Or anyone else for that matter.'
Gow is nodding. `Which any competent defence lawyer is going to seize on at once. And he `“ or she `“ will have a point. And if Scott didn't attack Faith, who did? You don't need me to tell you the chances of two different men carrying out nearly identical attacks at the same time, in the same confined geographical area, are vanishingly small.'
On the screen, Scott is talking intently with the lawyer, jabbing at the table to emphasize his point.
`Do you think he could have done it before?' says Gallagher eventually.
`The stalking? Hard to say. If you forced my hand I'd lean towards no. Largely because something would probably have flagged in his employment records by now.'
Gallagher is still staring at the screen. `Then we'd better make sure he doesn't get another chance.'
Scott's lawyer has now got to her feet and is gesturing up at the camera to attract their attention.
Gow nods towards it. `Looks like she has something to say. Or Scott does.'
* * *
`Turns out he has an alibi,' says Gallagher, looking round at the team. `For Faith at least. Less than ten minutes after she was abducted, Graeme Scott was buying milk on Cherwell Drive. Or so he claims. And it gets better: he used contactless, so there'll be an electronic record.'
She looks round the incident room; at the weariness, the fatigue, the we're-getting-nowhere. She needs to turn this around, and fast.
`So the first thing we're going to do is check that alibi.' She turns to Gislingham. `And in the meantime, have we had anything from the lab?'
He looks up. `They're testing the knives and plaster dust from Scott's car, and running his DNA against the Tesco bag from the allotments. I've put a rush on it.'
`Right,' she says briskly, addressing the room again. `And while they're doing their job, we carry on doing ours. We don't just check Scott's alibi for Faith, we also check his phone records to see if he really was at home the night Sasha disappeared. And we carry on running down Ashley Brotherton's known associates, because right now, we haven't ruled that out either. None of this is rocket science, people, so let's just get on with it, shall we?'
* * *
The reconstruction is going ahead as soon as it gets dark; by the time Somer and Everett get to Cherwell Drive there's already a considerable crowd along the pavement. The TV lights and cameras are set up and the bus company vehicle is parked up in a lay-by a hundred yards away. The driver is talking to a couple of uniformed officers.
Everett makes her way towards the BBC crew, but Somer stays where she is, scanning the faces of the bystanders, hoping Fiona Blake took her advice and hasn't come. If Sasha had still been missing there'd be a point; but not now. Now, the only thing here for her is pain. And not just because she's lost her daughter: Somer can see Jonathan Blake being interviewed on camera, and just behind him, the woman he must be living with now, rocking a small baby against her shoulder. Blake is speaking intently, a crease of earnest anxiety between his brows. And further away, behind the cameras, Sasha's friends. Somer didn't know if they were going to come `“ their parents were reluctant to agree, and the girls have been in such a state it was almost a cruelty to push it. But there's no denying it could make all the difference: Isabel's dip-dye, Patsie's red leather jacket `“ either might prompt a memory. But as Somer knows full well, what makes sense for a police investigation is a whole lot different for the people who have to go through with it, especially if you're fifteen and your best friend has just been horribly killed. Even from this distance Somer can see that Patsie is crying, and Isabel and Leah have their arms round each other. The girl who's playing Sasha can't be helping either. What with the clothes and the satchel and what they've done to her hair, the resemblance is unnerving. Thank God, thinks Somer again, that Fiona Blake didn't come.
`Erica?'
The voice is familiar, and Somer turns to find herself face to face with Faith Appleford. She's pale and even thinner than she was the last time they met, but she looks calm, which in the circumstances is little short of a miracle.
`I didn't know you'd be here.'
`We thought we should come. It just seemed the right thing to do.' She shrugs. `It's hard to explain.'
`No, I understand,' says Somer. `How are you? I'm so sorry we didn't have the chance to talk more when I called you a couple of days ago `“'
`No, it's OK,' she says quickly. `I know you're busy. And I'm doing much better. I know that sounds terrible after, you know, this.' She flushes a little. `I guess I'm just realizing how lucky I was. How lucky I am.'