“Jack, we need to find who hurt Charlotte and—”
“Well, it wasn’t me!” he yells, his face a picture of pain. “I loved that kid. Why are you doing this? We all know who killed my niece. Why haven’t you—”
“Who do you think murdered Charlotte, Jack?” Tina asks and he just stares at her, his mouth open.
“Brady killed her,” Jack whispers. “You told us Denver Brady’s initials were found at the scene. We googled around and found Howtogetawaywithmurder.com. Nigel bought the sick little how-to guide. What are you doing to catchhim?”
“At the moment, Mr. Mathers, we’re keeping all lines of inquiryopen. I can assure you we are taking that element of the case very seriously. We—”
“We don’t need assurances. We need you to find the man who murdered Charlie.” Jack heaves one giant sob, then stands and moves slowly to the door. “I’m sorry,” he says as he opens it, “I can’t take any more today. I’ll send Nigel in, but please, he’s been through enough. Just go easy, OK?” Jack lets the door click shut behind him.
“He’s convinced that Denver—” Tina whispers but Harry cuts her off.
“We’ll find Charlotte’s killer the same way we find the rest. Means. Motive. Opportunity.”
“Sir, whether we like it or not,How to Get Away with Murderis an important part of this investigation,” Tina says. “I’m concerned that this is my first homicide investigation at the Met and this vital element of my case has been put under the command of a DI in her first week back following a significant—”
“Detective Hansen has over ten years’ experience and an exemplary arrest record,” Harry cuts in.
“Sir, I just feel that it sends the wrong message. We need to beseento be taking the book seriously, just in case, and giving it to—”
“Your concerns are noted, Tina, but as DCI I feel that a combination of your fresh talent and Sam’s experience is best,” Harry concludes.
Tina pauses for a second, chews her lip, watches him shrewdly. “It certainly protects you from any criticism, sir. Having two female Detective Inspectors involved.”
Sam notices Harry’s neck flush red, but before he can respond there’s a knock at the door and a man shuffles in. His suit hangs limp and crumpled about him. He has dark hair with hints of gray around the temples, greasy and matted at the back. His skin is pale with a yellow hue and he sits down awkwardly. A wave ofsadness washes through Sam. Nigel Mathers’ eyes are glazed and he downs a cup of water that Tina hands him. The police officers make a few comments, give the obligatory caution, and then begin with some easy questions. It’s immediately obvious to Sam that this is a broken man.
“I just fell asleep,” Nigel slurs. “It’s my fault. My beautiful girl…” He dry-sobs, as though the tears have all run out. “It’s my fault. She wanted her own Uber account and…” A glob of spit falls from his mouth and he instinctively catches it in his hand, then looks up at the ceiling as if rain might be falling. “There was a man…”
“What man, Nigel?” Tina asks.
“On Netflix,” he sniffs. “A taxi driver who was picking up girls. So I said,No, Charlotte, I don’t want you in cars with strange men.Oh God… She said,Dad…Now I’ll never hear her say Dad again. Am I even still a dad? If my only daughter is…” Sam can’t understand what Nigel says after that and they wait until he falls silent.
“Mr. Mathers. Nigel,” Tina says, “the night Charlotte died, can you confirm your movements? Did you arrive home from work at your usual time?” The man nods and mumbles, and Tina asks him to answer aloud for the benefit of the recording.
“Did you leave the house that night, Nigel?” Tina says, and he opens and closes his mouth, his dark eyes roaming the corners of the floor.
“Please catch… catch him. Catch DB. Please, catch Denver.”
Nigel begins to rock. Tina looks at Harry and shakes her head. This interview can’t continue. Nigel is clearly sedated and anything he says in this state won’t stand up in court anyway. They thank Nigel and close the interview down, shutting off the lights and leaving both rooms in the dark.
Sam slumps in a chair and fiddles with the little netball to calm herself. The sight of Jack and Nigel Mathers, their raw grief, hasshaken her before the day has even begun. Despite Harry’s suspicions, Sam doesn’t believe that Nigel murdered his daughter. She just sees a shell of a man, heartbroken by loss. The uncle is obviously devastated, too. Neither man seems to be putting on an act, but Sam knows you can never be certain. She pockets the keyring and rubs at her temples.
Her mind turns back to Harry and Tina’s conversation just moments ago. Tina clearly implied he’s involving both her and Sam to shield himself, just in case the words “serial killer” hit the headlines. Sam shakes her head instinctively. She won’t believe that. Harry simply wants the benefit of her experience, plus Tina’s only just a DI, so of course he’s treading carefully with a high-profile case. They need to find Charlotte’s killer, and “DB,” quickly.
“Denver Brady,” she whispers, feeling his full name on her lips for the first time. She closes her eyes and turns the three possibilities over in her mind again: Denver the serial killer; Denver the killer with a copycat; Denver the fantasist red herring. “Which are you?” she whispers.
Sam stands, makes her way from the interview room and takes the lift back up to the fourth floor. As she ascends, she feels the corner ofHow to Get Away with Murderpressing into her side, through the soft leather of her bag. She has blocked out the next few hours of her morning for reading through it and she intends to take notes as she goes.
The lift doors ping open and she sees Adam Taylor loitering, two cups of steaming tea in his hands. He smiles, wishes her good morning and gabbles something about a man named Basil.
“Let’s do this later, Taylor,” Sam says, cutting him off, as she takes a mug of tea from him and sits down at her desk, then reaches into her top drawer for a headache tablet.
“But, ma’am.” He lowers his voice as if embarrassed to ask. “What should I be doing to help?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she snaps, wishing to God that her traineewas a crime fiction fan. She swallows the pills and pinches the top of her nose, trying desperately to alleviate the pressure building across her brow and over her eyes. “I need you to pull out any potentially identifying information you can find in the book—names, locations, MOs and so on. Then set up database searches to look for any real-life victims that match those described in the book. Do you know how to do that? Good. We’ll monitor the results and sense-check any hits we get. We also need to find out how the book is printed, distributed and sold.” She opens the book to the copyright page. “This isn’t a publisher I’ve ever heard of—I reckon he paid to have it printed and then uploaded it to his own little website. Check out Howtogetawaywithmurder.com.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, jotting furiously in his Moleskine notebook. “Shall I have the site taken down?”
