Richard exhaled noisily. ‘Earlier this evening you were seen in Northern Moor. On Moorlands Road. Could you tell me what you were doing there?’
‘Just driving.’
‘Why there?’ Janine asked him. He said nothing. ‘What time did you get back?’
Chris simply stared at her, his eyes feverish.
‘What’s going on?’ Debbie demanded.
Janine paused, giving Chris a final chance to ask for privacy, but he stood his ground. ‘In the course of the enquiry we were able to identify two suspects,’ she said calmly. ‘They were being kept under observation. They live in Moorlands Road. Now one of them has been killed.’
Debbie gasped. Looked to her husband.
‘Well, it wasn’t me!’ he burst out.
‘You were seen,’ said Richard.
‘I was there, yes, I went to the flat. I never got out of the car.’
‘Who told you?’ Janine asked. Silence.
‘You just sat in the car?’
‘Where the hell would I get a gun from, anyway?’ He flung his arms wide.
‘Who said it was a gun?’ Janine’s heart kicked in her chest. Had he given himself away?
‘It’s been on the radio. A man with gunshot wounds. When you said – that’s him, isn’t it?’
He could be telling the truth. How she hoped he was. But she could no longer take his word at face value. She had to set aside any personal connection and retreat into formality. Do her job, and be seen to do it. ‘Will you be prepared to take a gunshot residue test and provide your clothing for forensic examination?’
‘And if I don’t?’ he said bitterly.
Oh, please, Janine thought, don’t make this any worse than it already is.
*****
They were alone at last. Chris couldn’t bear Debbie’s eyes on him. Huge, intense, as if they would suck the truth from his bones. Blaming him, accusing him.
‘What the hell were you thinking of?’ she whispered. ‘How could you?’ She took a step forward, her head inclined, a frown puckered across her brow.
He jerked his body away, heat surged down his forearms and into his fists. He balled them tight, felt the tremors that ran along his jaw, through his tongue.
‘Me?’ He wanted to rail at her. ‘That’s bloody rich. What about you? If you…’ He didn’t say it. Bit down hard and said nothing. Speech was a weapon.
She began to cry; little snuffling sounds. ‘Tell me you didn’t do anything. You didn’t, did you?’
You stupid bitch, he thought. As if I’d tell you – and then listen while you told the world and looked for something good to come of it.
‘Chris, talk to me, please. Say something.’
He shook his head. He didn’t know the way back from this island of rage. Didn’t want to find one. The anger was keeping him alive, making him strong.
