“You were uncomfortable in his presence?”
“It’s ridiculous, I know, but –”
Ryan held up a hand to stem the flow of excuses.
“Bring him in for questioning.”
“We don’t have any forensic link,” Phillips threw in.
“He’s a known person in Claire Burns’ life. Tell him we want to ask him about his relationship with her.”
“I’ll make a start,” MacKenzie stepped out of the room to put the wheels in motion and, in her temporary absence, Ryan called a ten minute coffee break.
By mutual assent, Ryan and Phillips convened by the murder board.
“Do I need to be concerned?”
Phillips sighed.
“MacKenzie’s not been herself,” he had to admit. “It was a long day, yesterday. First, finding the body in the morning, then handling Colin Hart. We stopped into Claire’s workplace before we packed in for the night and the owner’s Jimmy Moffa. He’s not exactly Mr Nice.”
Ryan ran a thoughtful hand through his hair, ruffling it further out of style.
“It’s not like her to be agitated, even taking all that into account. I’ve seen her handle bigger fish and not break a sweat.”
Phillips knew it too.
“She just needs a good night’s sleep and some of my tender loving care,” he said aloud, trying to keep things light. “She’s a good policeman.”
Ryan slapped a hand on Phillips back and shook his head.
“She’s the best.”
Colin was polishing off an omelette when the knock came at the door.
“Colin?” His mother’s voice shrilled. “Who’s that at the front door? Tell them to go away!”
“I’ll take care of it, Mother,” he called out.
His heart jumped when he looked through the peep hole and saw who his visitors were, but settled down again when he remembered that he had taken all necessary steps to protect himself.
“I’m just popping out for a couple of hours, Mother. You have everything you need.”
“What? Colin!” She began to whine, long snivelling tears rolling down her puffy cheeks as she thumped the bedsheets in frustration. She could never ‘pop out’ on a whim and the knowledge of it made her even angrier.
With a brief glance around him, happy that everything was in order, Colin opened the door to where two detective constables stood solemnly on his doorstep.
“Colin Hart?”
“Yes.”
“We would be grateful if you would agree to accompany us to the station to answer some questions in connection with the murders of Amy Llewellyn and Claire Burns,” one of them said.
The words washed over him in a haze. He found his eyes drawn to the slightly greying collar of the man’s shirt. He noticed that the other one had dirty, over-long fingernails.
“Am I being arrested?”
“No, sir, not at this time. We would like you to attend an interview, where you will be asked some questions under caution.”
“I’m entitled to a solicitor, aren’t I?” he asked. “I’ll call one now.”
They nodded silently and he felt their eyes watching him as he made the short trip across the hallway to the telephone. He had memorised the number for the best firm of solicitors in the city, so he dialled it without needing to look up the digits. Overhead, he heard the thump of his mother’s stick; one she never used for walking anymore, only to attract attention.
“Colin?” Her voice had reduced to a long, keening sound, which he ignored. After another moment’s hesitation, he turned his back to the doorway and placed a second call. He spoke quickly into the receiver and then replaced the handset.
“I’m ready,” he said.
With the wheels in motion for an interview with Colin Hart, Ryan left MacKenzie to chase up the CCTV footage relating to Claire Burns’ abduction. It would give them some ammunition in the interview, if they could ask Colin why he had been captured on camera speeding out into the night in the direction of Hadrian’s Wall. While MacKenzie did what she could to find a face or a car they recognised, he and Phillips made their way across town to a jewellery store, which stocked silver bangles in the same design worn by Amy Llewellyn.
Traffic was heavy with commuters eager to get across town and, in the momentary standstill, Ryan turned to Phillips.
“Any progress on Amy Llewellyn?”
Phillips fiddled with the air con while he arranged his thoughts.
“I spoke to those people who claimed that they saw Amy on the night she went missing. Most of them couldn’t even remember what they told the police back in 2005, let alone corroborate it.”
“Helpful.”
“Yeah, really helpful,” Phillips shaded his eyes from the sun and watched Ryan draw out a pair of aviators. “There was one bloke who sounded solid, though. He’s a taxi driver and he says he saw a woman matching Amy’s description walking around the edge of the Moor, in the direction of the cut, which takes you through Jesmond.”