S White - Hermit

‘Good, thanks, Rainer. What time does your shift end?’

‘Oh, not till eight.’

‘Okay, please help Luce with her follow-up, especially this insulin angle. If there’s a medical reason that claim isn’t possible, or ridiculously impractical to do, I need to know as quickly as possible. And you might have to tidy up some details when Luce leaves. She’s pretty punctual.’

‘Boss.’

When Rainer closed the door behind him Dana took a deep breath and checked her watch. Fifty-two minutes. In fifty-two minutes’ time, she was walking out the door and home, no matter what. Dana had already broken the bargain she had with herself about this Day. She was supposed to be giving all options full airtime, really considering what her mind wanted for her. Instead, she was cheating: staying somewhere that made that kind of soul-baring impossible. It had cost her several panic attacks, and she had a constant feeling of slipping below the waterline, fighting for air. She couldn’t afford to break this second deal as well: she wouldn’t be able to take it.

She signalled to Mike as she went towards his office and he walked down the corridor ahead of her. She could hear him talking in low tones with the uniform. It was already established Jeb was a potential risk: she didn’t need to hear it again in Mike’s briefing to the officer.

At the door to Interview Three she nodded to Mike and stepped into the room.

Jeb Whittler controlled a corner of Interview Three: he cast a hefty gloom. His frame was deep and imposing, predatory. Jeb had a head where the skull shape was easily distinguishable.

‘Mr Whittler? Please, have a seat.’ She indicated the chair with an open palm.

He took two giant steps towards her. Everything about him seemed to suck up the space.

‘Where’s Nate? I demand to see my brother.’ The voice rumbled off every surface like a freight train.

Dana took two breaths while they glared at each other. His eyes were a deep brown, practically black.

‘Mr Whittler? Please, have a seat.’ The same intonation, the same hand motion.

Jeb sighed theatrically and swamped the chair.

‘I was here before and your boss steamed me off. Not falling for that again. I’ve been here this time for’ – he checked his watch ostentatiously; she saw the pearl glint – ‘twenty-eight minutes. I want to see my brother. Right now.’ He pressed his palms flat on the table, as though he could squash it by flexing a wrist.

Dana sat and waited a beat before replying. ‘Hmm. Mike Francis is my colleague, not my boss. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for’ – she looked at her own watch – ‘twenty-one minutes, Mr Whittler. We have several other things to do this afternoon.’

Jeb scowled. ‘So do I, missy. I haven’t seen my brother in fifteen years. I’ve been interstate all week: I have work to do. Where’s Nate?’ His neck muscles flexed against a white collar. The shirt looked creamily expensive. He had a boxer’s neck; thick and strong.

‘He’s having a cup of tea, Mr Whittler. He’s comfortable. We’ve asked you in to—’

‘Nate. I want to speak to my brother.’ Jeb slapped the table. ‘He needs family.’

When she didn’t jump to attention he recalibrated and flashed a charmless, rapacious grin. Looking her up and down as though everything about her was wanting, he waved a giant paw dismissively. ‘If you can’t authorise it, find someone who will.’

Jeb’s glowering face wore deep, noirish shadows whenever he leaned in. Below the desk, Dana carefully slid her pen between her fingers as a potential weapon and surreptitiously checked the holstered spray canister on her right side. Her voice was calm and tempered.

‘To explain, Mr Whittler. When the police require you to come to the station, it’s because we have some questions for you. It’s not so that you can demand things of us. The way’ – her raised hand stopped his sentence mid-breath – ‘this works – in fact, the only way it can work – is for you to answer those questions honestly and fully. There is, Mr Whittler, no other game in town.’

He sat back and smiled to himself. It was ugly. He glanced at the mirror and ran his hand over his polished scalp.

‘Who’s your superior officer?’

Dana held her nerve. ‘I don’t have a superior officer, Mr Whittler. I have a senior officer who’ll be happy to speak to you when we’re ready. And not before.’

Jeb’s full-on grin had manic, icy zeal. ‘Fine. Ask your questions.’

He folded his arms so that she’d see the bicep swell, the slap-you-into-next-week forearms. She could picture him swiping someone into a wall, watching them crumble to the floor. Someone he’d claim to love.

Jeb leaned in, tapping a car key on the table.

‘Do you have a first name, Detective?’

She recognised the technique. Own the room, control the tempo.

‘Everyone has a first name, Mr Whittler.’ She looked straight at him. ‘Even dogs.’

He chuckled; gravel through a cement mixer. ‘What should I call you, then? Rover?’

‘You can call me Detective.’

He pocketed the keys and shook his head. ‘Ah, you should call me Jeb.’

‘I’ll stick with Mr Whittler, thank you.’

He snorted. ‘Yeah, I bet little Nate insisted on being called Mr Whittler, right? Am I right? Thought so.’ He withdrew a cocktail stick from an inside pocket and began to clean his nails with it. ‘Still a self-important little prick, then. Always was. Always Mr Serious.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Needed a car jack up him since he was a snotty little brat.’

‘The closeness of your relationship is deeply heart-warming. You suggested earlier that I should ask my questions. Shall we proceed with that?’

Jeb yawned and shrugged at the same time.

‘I’ll be needing your full, non-grooming attention for those questions, Mr Whittler.’

He sighed, flicked the cocktail stick into a shadowy corner. He folded his arms and puffed his cheeks.

‘I’m at your command. Detective.’

Dana opened her file, even though she knew exactly what she was going to ask, and the sequence. Jeb made out that he relished confrontation, but she could see he wasn’t used to being challenged.

‘You mentioned to my… colleague … that you own a construction company. Steel frames, is that right?’

Jeb looked away dismissively. ‘You know there’s such a thing as the internet, right? You can look up my business any old time you like. This is bullshit. Let me see Nate.’

‘Is that your only business, or do you have fingers in any other pies?’

He could see she was delving but wasn’t sure where it was leading. He chewed his cheek.

‘One or two. I co-own a gym in Earlville. Always looking for the right kind of opportunity. That’s business. I don’t get a guaranteed pay cheque each month, unlike some… I have to earn my money.’

‘Do you know, or have you ever met, Lou Cassavette?’

‘Lou? What’s he got to do with this?’

It was a vague hunch; a detail she’d seen in the transcript of Mike’s interview with Megan Cassavette. It was something that had nagged at her when she read it. Rainer’s work had established the two had met, but she was taking a punt on a closer connection between them.

‘Answer the question, please.’

‘What’s…? He doesn’t know Nate. Why are you asking about him?’

Dana gave him an implacable stare that showed she could wait all day.

‘Urgh, this is bullshit. I met Lou a couple of times this year. We talked vaguely about me investing in his piss-ant little shop.’

Jeb had to know it was Lou who’d been murdered, she felt: it had been on the news all day, even if no names had been released. There was enough detail for someone who knew Lou to work out it was him and it was the only murder in the state this week.