93
“Hello, Hammer.”
Jason Robins spun round to see Helen and Charlie entering his office. Rising from his desk, he hurried toward, then past them, shutting his office door quietly but firmly.
“Who let you in?” he demanded. “Don’t you need a warrant or something?”
“We’ve just come for a chat. We told the girls at reception that we needed to speak to you urgently on a police matter, and once they saw our warrant cards they were more than happy to let us in.”
Jason shot a look at the secretaries, who were now gossiping at their desks.
“I could do you lot for harassment. I’ve already had this one,” he said, gesturing at Charlie, “e-mailing me day and night, phone calls... it’s not on.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but ‘this one’ has some more questions for you,” Charlie countered. “Questions about Angel.”
“Not this again.”
“I have a picture that I would like you to look at.”
“I’ve told you I don’t know this ‘Angel’—”
“Here,” Charlie continued, ignoring his protests and holding out the sketch of Lyra. Reluctantly, Jason took it.
“Do you recognize this woman? Is she Angel?”
Jason looked up at Helen. Sweat was starting to form on his brow.
“For the last time, I never used Angel. I never met her. I was the victim of identity theft. Someone cloned my credit card and used it to—”
“So why haven’t you reported it?” Helen barked, her irritation puncturing her professional poise.
“Sorry?”
“We spoke to your bank. Turns out you never reported any fraudulent activity on your card. In fact you’ve continued using it since our last interview. At Morrisons, at Boots—shall I go on?”
For once Jason had nothing to say.
“I’m going to give you one last chance, Jason. And if you don’t cut the crap and tell me about Angelright now, I am going to arrest you for obstruction of justice,” Helen continued, her volume rising. “I’m going to march you out in front of all your colleagues, but I’ll make sure to leave DS Brooks behind. A few well-chosen questions from her will leave them in absolutely no doubt that their boss likes to sleep with prostitutes and then brag about it to other sad men online. We may even accidentally direct them to some of your posts. I’m sure they’d love to know more about Hammer and his big co—”
“All right, all right, keep your bloody voice down,” Jason begged, shooting another look at his colleagues on the other side of the glass. Many of them were blatantly staring.
“Can we go somewhere else?” he entreated.
“No. Start talking.”
Jason looked like he was about to protest, then slumped back into his chair.
“I never used her.”
“What?”
“I never slept with Angel. In fact I only met her once.”
“But your posts said you slept with her many times,” Charlie interjected. “That you’d had her ‘every which way.’”
There was a long silence. Jason’s sweaty face was now pink with shame.
“I lied. I never slept with her. I’ve never slept with a prostitute.”
