Graham Hurley: Cut to Black

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I've had my doubts but…" They touched glasses. "Turns out I was wrong."

"How does that work?" Eadie couldn't believe her ears.

"Well…" Faraday was frowning now. "If you think there's a problem, a real problem, then you have to confront it. In our job we try and do just that but it's getting harder all the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I can give a list as long as your arm. Changes in the law, everyone moving the goalposts, crap morale, whatever. As a cop you start off wanting to make a difference but in the end it grinds you down. In your game, it isn't like that at all. You answer to no one. You sense a problem out there, you go and tape it. Going gets rough, you ride it out. And in the end, because you won't take no for an answer, you get a result. Nice." He raised his glass. "I applaud you."

"Shit."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Eadie turned her head away. For once in her life, she was close to tears.

The waiter arrived. Faraday chose lamb shank. Eadie, trying to focus on the menu, finally ordered a cheese omelette. Faraday helped himself to more wine. Time to change the subject.

"Why were you after Secretan's name last night?"

"I've been down the nick." Eadie was blowing her nose. "I wanted to talk to him, show him what we've done."

"You need to book weeks ahead. April, if you're lucky."

"Not at all. He saw me then and there. I even got to show him the movie."

"And?" Faraday was astonished.

"He loved it, or said he did." She'd regained her composure by now.

"He knows about J-J, by the way."

"Of course he does."

"I didn't mean that, not just the problems. I told him about J-J's contribution to the film. He was impressed."

Faraday began to get her drift. Remarkable, he thought. Not an angle left uncovered.

"And what did he say about the boy?"

"Nothing. Except I got the impression he… you know… understood."

"Understood what?"

"That J-J made a bit of a difference." She gestured him closer, then leaned over the table and kissed him on the lips. "Mitigation? Isn't that the word?"

The food arrived with a huge plate of vegetables and they began to talk about the possibility of some kind of break. Next month, with the pressures of Tumbril over, Faraday might be able to take a bit of time off. Maybe they could ship over to Bilbao and drive down to Extremadura. This time of year, said Faraday, the spring flowers on the dehesas could be sensational. He could show her eagle owls and griffon vultures, and in Trujillo there was a little bodega that served the best smoked ham in the world.

"Sounds brilliant. Only one problem."

"What's that?"

"Daniel's inquest. It's likely to be the end of April. I'm supposed to be there as a witness."

"Of course. And so you must."

"But later? Say May?"

"Whatever. Just the thought's enough for now."

"You mean that?" Her eyes were swimming again.

"Yep' he reached for the bottle 'sad man that I am."

By late afternoon, Winter was beginning to suspect the worst. An area car had met Mackenzie off the inbound P amp;O ferry and driven him the mile and a half to Central police station. Another had taken Valentine and Misty Gallagher to Waterlooville nick while Scenes of Crime and a team of vehicle engineers did the business on the BMW X5.

At Central, to Winter's alarm, Mackenzie had demanded Hartley Crewdson as his solicitor. Crewdson, arriving within the half-hour, had listened to his client's account of events on the ferry and then asked Winter for a look at the key sections of last night's videotape. Under PACE regulations this was his right, but Winter anticipating the request had done his best to bury the cassette.

Crewdson, who could read Winter like a book, pointed out that arson was an extremely serious offence. Already, he knew that neither Valentine nor Misty Gallagher was prepared to make a statement against Mackenzie.

Asked to explain the incident, they'd agreed it was a joke, a private thing between the three of them that had got out of hand. So just how much weight should Crewdson attach to Winter's version of events?

The Custody Sergeant agreed that the video ought to supply the answer.

A couple of minutes in an empty office was enough to get the tape from Winter. A quarter of an hour later, Crewdson emerged from a private viewing with a smile on his face. The key sequence, he told Winter, proved absolutely nothing. Back view, Mackenzie's and Winter's bodies blocked the action. His client was insisting that Winter himself had forced him to drop the burning letter and there wasn't a shred of evidence to suggest otherwise. A clumsy, unwarranted CID intervention had nearly set the ship on fire.

Now, an hour and a half into the interview that was supposed to put Pompey's top criminal behind bars, Winter was on the back foot. Ninety minutes ago, Mackenzie had confirmed his name, date of birth, and address. After that, with a studied lack of interest, he'd met every question with a muttered "No comment'.

DC Danny French, for the second time in three days, was sharing the interview with Winter. He, too, had plainly abandoned all hope of getting any kind of result. Just how do you penetrate an absolute refusal to start a conversation?

Desperate, Winter decided to go for broke. Shooting a look at Danny French, he eased himself forward across the table, his face inches from Mackenzie's. Winter seldom raised his voice in interview, knowing that matiness unlocked many more doors than aggression, but now his voice had sunk to a whisper.

"Bazza, I have to be honest with you, it's the video that bothers me.

We've talked about the business with the bottle and that letter you set fire to. Fair play, the tape doesn't prove it either way. You've told your brief I made you drop it. I happen to know I didn't. But that's between you and me. No, Baz, it's the earlier stuff on the tape. Maybe we ought to talk about that."

Crewdson glanced across at Mackenzie. Even Danny French seemed puzzled.

"Yeah?" It was the first time Mackenzie had volunteered an answer.

"What of it?"

"Well…" Winter was taking his time now. "Let me see. It must have been pretty early on. We'd only just got going. In fact we were still in the bloody harbour."

"And?"

"They were at it, mate, like rabbits, the pair of them. Not easy in a squitty little bunk, but lots of action. That Misty…" He shook his head. "We can show you if you like, Baz. Be a pleasure."

Crewdson raised a weary hand.

"DC Winter." He sounded, if anything, disappointed. "This is an outrage and you know it."

"Outrage?"

"My client has been arrested for arson. I fail to see the significance of this line of questioning. And, aside from the law, I find it deeply distasteful."

"You do?"

"Indeed. As, I suspect, does my client."

Winter was looking puzzled. "We're not interested in motive here?"

"Motive for what?"

"Arson."

"My client denies the charge. Whatever happened earlier on your videotape has absolutely no bearing on the matter in hand."

"How about we watch the whole tape, then? Take Mr. Mackenzie through it? See what happened before? Put this whole incident in context?" He looked round. "No?"

There was a long silence. Even Danny French was studying his hands.

Finally Mackenzie sat back in his chair. For the first time since the interview began, he was smiling.

"You know something?" He was looking at Winter. "You've fucking lost it."

The interview came to an end twenty minutes later. After a brief conference with Winter and French, the Custody Sergeant summoned Crewdson and told him that for the time being Mr. Mackenzie would not be facing charges. He was granting him police bail while further inquiries were made, but for now he was free to leave.