S White - Hermit

‘She made a statement just now at Earlville Mercy. Rainer will email the statement and the interview in about an hour. That places Jeb right in the spotlight, capable of doing exactly what Nathan said he’d been doing. Makes a little more sense now. No doubt Natalie procured the insulin and the…’

‘Glucagon.’

‘…yes, what you just said. Might have got the needles for him, too. Apparently when she heard Jeb had sold up and left she went there looking for the extra packs she figured he hadn’t used, because they might be traceable back to her.’

‘So we know for sure why Whittler ran, and we can prove it,’ said Mike.

Dana nodded, almost ecstatic that, however outlandish it had seemed, everything Nathan Whittler had said was true.

The phone rang again.

‘Dana Russo.’ She paused, and the others could hear a tinny microcosm of Bill’s voice.

‘Is he okay?… All right, yes. Sure. The doc’s fine with that? Uh-huh. I think we’ – she glanced at her watch – ‘we can do that, yes. I’ll see him in Interview One in ten. Thank you.’

She put the phone down and took a deep breath.

‘Whittler okay?’ asked Lucy.

‘Yes. Well, sort of.’ Dana was distracted, trying to race ahead even as she ran out of petrol. ‘I mean, he passed the psych test and he’s bandaged up. So, all good there.’

Mike frowned. ‘So what’s up?’

‘They say Whittler has asked to talk.’

It was unusual for Dana to arrive first. For the first time today, Nathan was setting the agenda and the timings. Dana didn’t feel she could delay: he might change his mind and decide to wait for legal advice. It was hard to escape the notion that this was still a window that might slam shut at any moment. But alongside that was an uncomfortable sense that she wasn’t controlling and shaping what now took place.

She frantically read back through her notes, trying to make sure she could slip from fact to fable, number to date, speculation to concrete, without breaking stride. She wanted to be able to interpret everything Nathan said without disturbing his flow. If she screwed it up and let the momentum fail, they probably wouldn’t get another chance. Nathan’s faith in her was genuine, but fragile.

Dana was aware that he was considered vulnerable. She guessed that his defence lawyer – when they arrived, and if they were worth their salt – would claim he was in no fit state. She knew better; as did Nathan himself. They both understood, after hours facing each other across the table, what Nathan could deal with and what was beyond him. They both knew Dana wasn’t pushing him into anything. The trust that stemmed from that was precisely why he was now seemingly prepared to talk. This was the pay-off for the patience, the empathy, the politeness. The humanity.

Nathan came in and she experienced the novelty of his shadow falling across hers before sweeping away. She hadn’t had to pay attention to his stride before. It was a shuffle. Nathan was embarrassed to be here: not only in this room under these circumstances, but to exist at all. She poured his water while he tapped his fingers together. When he moved his gaze from shoe to table, he was able to see her touch the bottle cap for him.

‘How are your hands, Mr Whittler?’

He examined them, as though for the first time. She would have called his skin pale, but against the dazzling white of fresh bandages she could see some ravages of sun and wind. His hands were locked in a crabby half-grip.

‘Oh, good, thank you, Detective. The doctor was very efficient. Self-inflicted, so… I can hardly complain.’

‘I’m sorry we had to tell you something that led to that.’

‘Yes. Well, I’m glad to know. I… missed that information. Sometimes I would acquire a newspaper. Always an old one, though: the ones they kept out the back for return later. Useful insulation. Emergency toilet paper. Crosswords. But I didn’t read anything like that. No. Thank you, Detective.’

It had occurred to her that Nathan might very quickly pass through the shock and feel his parents had escaped to a better place – free at last of Jeb and his sick little hobbies.

‘I think, Mr Whittler,’ she began, ‘we’ve reached the time where we talk about this morning. Specifically, what happened in Jensen’s Store before dawn.’

‘Oh?’ Nathan raised his eyebrow, staring at the floor.

Dana thought for a moment. She could phrase the next question strategically, to make it seem inevitable that he should then talk about Lou Cassavette.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we talk about this morning?’

Nathan sat back and puffed his cheeks. He held his hands together in his lap; he looked as if he were clasped in invisible handcuffs. His body language resembled that of the condemned.

‘I can’t… no, I can’t think of anything. The insulin? You’ve satisfied yourself on that score, Detective? I sensed you had reservations of some kind.’

‘It was quite a lot to take in, Mr Whittler. It needed verification, research. Yes, we have, thank you. We contacted someone, and we have a statement from them.’

Nathan nodded slowly, trying to pull back a specific detail.

‘Ah, probably… Natalie? Yes. I only met her a couple of times. Nice girl, pretty. Terrified of Jeb, of course. Like all of us. Still, all that’s in the past now.’

Nathan blinked and a tear escaped. Dana pretended not to notice.

‘Any crime investigation I undertake, Mr Whittler, is a search for the truth. Innocence, guilt, or anything in between: that’s a matter for lawyers and courts. My job is veracity, integrity and evidence. Whatever we say here, about this morning, is simply one more piece of evidence.’

Nathan frowned at his bandaged hands.

‘Well, of course. But it might be compelling, mightn’t it? I mean, if I confess.’

Much of her discussions with Bill during the day had been, obliquely, about how Nathan’s potential confession would sit. Hence the concerns she’d had about not tiring him out, about showing due concern for his welfare. If he sat here and admitted killing Lou Cassavette, she needed it to be on terms that couldn’t be attacked by a defence lawyer. Nathan was rested, supported, had overtly refused legal help and had been treated well: all that added weight to any admission. All the same, she wanted to minimise any pressure he might impose on himself.

‘Hmm. People often think confessions are the be-all and end-all, but they seldom are. For example, sometimes people confess when they’re nowhere near the crime in question. They might want attention, they might need help, they might be fantasists. Any confession, by anyone, is never more than another brick in the wall – it has to be corroborated, just as much as a witness statement.’

‘I see. Yes, I can see that. But thinking from the other end, Detective, if I had done something wrong, why would I confess?’

It was a logical question. Dana hadn’t yet come at him with killer forensics, for example, or CCTV coverage of the killing. He didn’t know what she had or didn’t have; perhaps, strategically, it would make sense for Nathan to simply wait and see what she could throw. But he didn’t seem inclined to follow that path.

‘Well, each to their own, Mr Whittler. But in my experience there are three main reasons why people confess to what they’ve done. Firstly, they may simply consider it part of a longer process and set little store by it. In that sense, it doesn’t matter to them if they confess or not: it’s simply another minute of the interview. Or secondly, they seek to gain an advantage from it. They believe they can either influence future processes or they can gain favour. Or thirdly, they think they’ll feel better for having done so.’