Page 116 of Too Close To Home

Which spoke volumes.

Harrison hadn’t been in Hartswick long enough to know exactly where the blind spots were yet. He’d deliberately manoeuvred Jake away from the station entrance and out of the immediate sightline of the front desk, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t seen any of it. There were offices overlooking the car park. Windows at odd angles. And Calder had been standing at one of them. Harrison felt the man’s suspicion as if it were a physical thing.

He ignored it.

Instead, he reached for the file on his desk and flipped it open. “Let’s interview Andy now.”

Calder watched him for another second, then pushed away from the desk. “Aye, sir.”

They moved together through the corridor leading to the interview rooms, the sound of their footsteps dull against the worn station carpet. Halfway there, Harrison stopped and turned back to the office.

“If anything comes in from the search team,” he called across the room, “I want to know immediately.”

A young DC looked up from his computer. “Yes, sir!”

Harrison nodded once and turned again, rolling his shoulders back as if resetting himself. The job. That was what mattered. Not Jake Whitton standing in the cold outside the station. Not the memory of Jake’s breath against his palm. Of him responding only to him. Of him saying he trusted only him.

That he was sorry for kissing him…

He adjusted his tie, smoothing it flat against his shirt, then pushed open the door to Interview Room Two. Andy Mitchell looked up from the table. Harrison stepped inside, taking his seat opposite him as Andy tipped his chair back as if this were an inconvenience rather than the most serious conversation of his life. The duty solicitor beside him was a portly and scruffy man in an ill-fitting suit, who had one leg crossed over his opposite knee, balancing his laptop on it, as if he was all too used to being called in for this sort of thing.

Calder sat to Harrison’s left.

Quiet. Observant. Waiting.

The recording machine on the table gave a soft mechanical click as Harrison pressed the button. A red light blinked on.

“This interview with Andy Mitchell is being recorded and videotaped at Hartswick Police Station,” Harrison announced to the tape and the room. “Time is 12:17 hours. Present in the room are myself, Detective Inspector Harrison Black, Detective Sergeant Calder, Mr Andy Mitchell, and Mr Mitchell’s solicitor, Mr Young. Mr Mitchell, you are under caution. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Andy stared at him. Expression flat.

Harrison slid the custody photograph across the table. “Andy, you were arrested this morning on suspicion of involvement in the disappearance of Miss Emily Fisher.”

“I already told the arresting officers. I know nowt about that girl.”

The solicitor piped up then, getting his hourly wage worth. “My client denies any involvement.”

Harrison reached for the CCTV still. The one from The King’s Arms. “Let’s start simple.” He tapped the photograph. “You were in The King’s Arms pub on Wednesday evening.”

Andy glanced at the photograph. “Told you I were.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Dunno. After work.”

“Which is?”

“Half six.”

Calder made a note.

“Why did you go to the King’s Arms, Andy?”

“To have a pint. I’d had a shit day at work.”

“Why? What happened at work?”

“Usual shit. Bosses breathing down my neck.”