“I answered your questions. You asked me about him. I told you the truth. He had the keys to Ruby’s flat—”
“You didn’t have an extra set cut? Just in case you needed to pop in and check that the fire sensors were working?”
“No,” Simpson replied, refusing to rise to her sarcasm.
“We won’t find any extra sets at your house, in your possessions?”
“No, I’ve told you.”
Sanderson sat back and looked at him, disbelief writ large on her face. “Where were you on Friday night?”
“I was at home.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“And you were alone all night?”
“Correct.”
“Did you take your car out at any point?”
“No.”
“Do you own any other vehicles?”
“No.”
But he looked twitchy when he said it. Helen looked at Sanderson, who wrote a brief note in her notebook.
“We’ve also found footage of Roisin Murphy, Pippa Briers and Isobel Lansley in your collection. The three dead women from Carsholt Beach. Ever been there?”
“Don’t like beaches,” Simpson shot back.
“We’ll see. The sand there has a very specific mineral content. If we find any samples in your house or car, we’ll be able to tell where it’s from. How many hours of tape do you have of Ruby?”
Simpson looked surprised by Helen’s sudden change of tack.
“You can be honest with me, Andrew.”
Simpson’s face twitched slightly at the sound of his name. Perhaps he didn’t like women calling him by his first name? Or perhaps he didn’t like his name? Was there something deeper going on here? Helen made a mental note to get to the bottom of this.
“I don’t know.”
“Is it a lot? A little? Somewhere in between?”
“A lot.”
“Did you like her more than the others?”
Andrew looked away.
“You know she has a mother and father, a sister and a brother, who are missing her, right? People who love her.”
Helen let the words hang in the air.
“I know you coveted her, Andrew. I know you took her. But I’m asking you now to let her go. Show that you’re a bigger man than people say. Show that you can be merciful.”
