“No.”
“And are there any subjects you find triggering?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are there any topics which, if brought up, are liable to cause you distress?”
“Murder.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes, murder, violence, conflict in general, really. So, if we could stay away from those areas, I’d appreciate it.”
“Right. Um…”
Laura looked down at her notes and underlined nothing in particular.
Stalling for time, thought Carol.
“She’s pissing you about,” said DCI Bob Beattie, sticking a nicotine patch onto his arm. “Aren’t you, Carol? You know the score.”
“It’s a long time since I’ve been in an interrogation room.” Carol leaned back and sighed.
“Yeah, I’d imagine it is,” said Bob. “What was it, thirty, forty years ago?”
“Split the difference.”
“I wasn’t even on the force then.”
“Not much has changed,” said Carol. “The icebreaker questions are new. Do you want to go ahead and ask me the big one, DCI Beattie?”
“I’m asking the questions,” said Laura, making a point of taking control.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Good. Go ahead, dear.” Carol returned to her coffee. It was going cold.
Laura looked her in the eye. “Did you kill Desmond Crisp?”
Bob winced.
“No. Can I go home now or do you have any more questions?”
Laura looked down at her notepad. “Right, but you are a killer, yes?”
“I have killed. You’ve both read my files by now, I’m sure. Nobody’s perfect. I noticed your mum likes to dabble in a little bit of the old racism, Chief Inspector.”
Bob bristled but let Carol continue talking.
“Am I a killer? Not since Gary Lineker was a footballer. I hear he does podcasts now, but doesn’t everyone?”
“Why didn’t you think to mention your past when we spoke the other day?” asked Laura.
“You didn’t seem interested in much of anything I had to say. Besides, it’s not my typical way of introducing myself. ‘Hello, my name is Carol. I’m a convicted serial killer.’ Here’s a thought: If I did murder Desmond, why would I be insisting to you that itwasa murder while you seemed to be under the impression that it wasn’t? What would be the logic in that?”
“You killed seven people. You’ve admitted that,” said Laura, “which doesn’t seem particularly logical to me. Maybe you’re the type to do illogical things.”
“I can assure you that each of those killings was perfectly logical.”
Carol looked at the cold brick wall, painted gray. Really, itcould have been 1988 again. Her last interrogation had been south of the river but this might as well be the same room.
