‘I want you to leave it with me. I’m handling it.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘It means I know what I’m doing and you’re going to have to trust me.’
Lucy joined them. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Not a problem.’
There was a moment of tension, a moment when Judith did not want to back down. Rocky raised an eyebrow at her. The truth was that she did trust him. She’d always trusted him. He’d never given her reason not to.
She stepped out of the lift.
‘You’re not coming?’ he asked.
‘Coming where?’
‘We’ve got Robert Walker’s murderer in a cell downstairs. I thought you might like to watch the interview.’
Chapter Fifteen
Sitting in the back of the patrol car, being driven to the police station, all Jack had been able to think about was Cam.
‘How long is this going to take?’ he’d asked.
Jansen and Phillips had exchanged glances.
‘That depends on you, Jack,’ Jansen said. ‘If you’re helpful, if you tell us the truth, we can get through all this a lot faster than you might think.’ He paused very briefly. ‘So you said Cameron’s mother died?’
‘When he was a baby,’ Jack said, shortly.
‘How did she die?’
Jack shook his head.
‘You can talk to us, Jack. We’re just trying to get to know you,’ Jansen said.
‘Can I... can I call a lawyer?’
‘Do you have a lawyer?’
‘No. Look, I’ve never been in any kind of trouble before, okay? This is all... this is all wrong. I haven’t done anything.’
‘You can call a lawyer from the station,’ Jansen said in a conversational tone. ‘Assuming you can afford one, yeah? You’ll need a few grand in your pocket for a retainer. At least.’
‘I don’t have that,’ Jack said.
Jansen looked at him through the rearview mirror. ‘That’s all right. You’ll get a public defender, if you don’t have the money yourself. You’ll have to wait for them though. Might take a little time to get someone in.’
When they reached the station, Jansen disappeared. It was Lucy Phillips, her hand gripping Jack’s upper arm like a vice, who led him around the back of the police station. She swiped her way through a back door, and led him down a long corridor, then down a set of stairs where she gave his name to a custody sergeant. Jack’s handcuffs were removed. His fingerprints were taken. His pockets were searched.
The custody sergeant was a grizzled guy in his fifties. He didn’t look at Jack once, just went through the motions, like Jack was an item of furniture being delivered. When the process was complete, Lucy Phillips led Jack along the corridor to a cell. The doors weren’t metal bars, like you see on TV, but solid steel, painted a yellowing white, with a small, reinforced glass window at the top. Lucy opened the door. There was a metal bunk, screwed to the floor, with a bare mattress. There was no toilet or sink or anything else in the room.
Jack took a few tentative steps inside. The door closed behind him, and he was alone. Alone in a room that was maybe two and a half metres wide and three metres long. It was like a coffin. Suddenly Jack was aware of a need to pee. He sat carefully on the bunk, and buried his head in his hands. He felt... angry. Really, really angry. But afraid too.
Time passed. The door opened. A nurse came in wearing scrubs, accompanied by the custody sergeant.
‘Finger prick blood sample,’ the sergeant said, by way of explanation.
