‘Have you got any solid evidence to back it up?’
I ignore his question.
‘Of course, there is another possibility.’
‘Which is?’
‘He’sthe one. He’s Mia’s father. The Ghost.’
‘Now hold on a minute, that’s a crazy—’
‘But then I don’t get why he’d be worried about a DNA match. Surely your DNA only ends up on a computer if you’re arrested or convicted of something? If you’re a criminal.’
Gilbourne takes his cigarettes from his coat again, takes one out of the packet, puts it between his lips but doesn’t light it. After a moment he takes it out again, rolling it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger.
Finally, he says: ‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘You’re thinking of the main national DNA database. But there’s also a resource called the police elimination database, which has the profiles of serving police officers and civilian staff like CSIs. So their DNA can be discounted in case of inadvertent contamination of a crime scene.’
‘So Holt’s DNA is already on file?’
He gives me a reluctant nod. ‘And as soon as Mia’s DNA’s uploaded and cross-referenced against the databases, if the father is on there too, we’ll get a familial match and we’ll have our prime suspect.’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘Amen to that.’ He puts down the unlit cigarette and swigs his wine again. ‘Do you want to know something weird? Twenty-nine years I’ve been on the force, I’ve got one of the highest solve-rates in the division and this is the only unsolved case of my whole career. Haven’t been able to get my head around the idea of this last job hanging over me after my thirty years is up – that the Ghost would still be out there somewhere, unpunished. But this is the last possible outcome I would have wanted. The idea that it might end up being a fellow officer. My ownpartner. . .’ He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving tufts of his fringe standing up. ‘I just can’t see it. I can’t believe it would be.’
I look at him, sitting in the armchair by the window in his crumpled suit jacket, one leg crossed casually over the other. Pale blue eyes –thoughtfuleyes – that crinkle at the edges, square jaw shadowed with stubble. A strong hand cupping his wine, veins standing out against tanned skin. In some ways he reminds me of my husband, in others he’s as different from Richard as it’s possible to be.
‘What will you do,’ I say quietly, ‘when you leave the police?’
‘Honestly?’ He fills his cheeks, blows the breath out. ‘I have no idea, being a police officer is all I ever wanted to do. Joined at eighteen, right out of South Bucks Grammar. I only ever imagined myself doing this, I’ve tried to visualise it but I can’t see myself doing anything else.’
‘I always imagined myself being a mother,’ I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. ‘I thought that at some point, sooner or later, it would be inevitable. When I came out of the navy I built everything around that idea, tied everything to it. So when it didn’t happen it was like there was a big hole in the middle of my life. Some days I didn’t really know what the point was anymore. I felt like such a failure. I started thinking it was payback, karma, for what happened in Libya, for not saving that little boy.’
Gilbourne gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe it will still happen.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m forty-one years old, Stuart. I’ve been through two rounds of IVF, my marriage is over, and I don’t think I have time to start all over again.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, holding my gaze. ‘How long have you been divorced?’
‘Separated for three months,’ I say. ‘Divorce will be finalised next month.’
‘Snap,’ he says. ‘But I’m a little bit ahead of you.’
‘How long?’
‘About a year ago.’ He adds, ‘Join the Force, get divorced.’
‘Do you see your children much?’
‘Every other weekend.’
‘That must be hard.’
He shrugs, finishing the last of his wine. ‘It is what it is. My own fault, mostly. Never gave my wife enough time, or my girls, I was always too busy with the job. Always gave that priority. Didn’t realise what a failure I was as a father until it was too late.’
