‘We weren’t really on those sort of terms,’ Ellie says. ‘I hadn’t seen him for two years, then he contacted me out of the blue last summer – July or August, I can’t remember – wanting to see Solly. I was having none of it. It took me ages to get over him, and having a baby on your own … Well, I keep telling Manon, it’s no picnic.’ The reference to Manon is jarring. She is trying to remind them they’re friends, Davy thinks with some irritation – all on the same side. Well, they’re not. ‘I had to agree to give him access. Jon-Oliver gives – gave – me money, you see.’
‘He supported you?’ Davy asks.
‘Well, I work, but nursing doesn’t make me rich. I need his maintenance payments, yes. Anyway, Jon-Oliver’s on the birth certificate, so I had no choice. Since then, he’s visited Solly once a month. The meetings have been awkward – Solly usually ends up crying because he doesn’t know what to do with a stranger in a suit crouching on the floor next to him. Doesn’t know what it means, y’know?’
‘So you disliked him? Your relationship with Jon-Oliver was strained, would you say?’ says Harriet.
Ellie nods. ‘Strained, yes, that’s fair. I didn’t trust him, and I wasn’t too keen on having him back on the scene. I didn’t want too much involvement with him, that’s how I felt – like I wanted to keep my distance. Maybe that’s what made Solly cry. Babies pick up on everything in the room. But,’ she gives a resigned shrug, ‘I’m not the first woman this has happened to and I won’t be the last. You do it for your child, even though every bit of you doesn’t want to. You do it to give them the possibility of having a father. So yes, it was strained but we were trying to make room for him.’
‘So you were at home the whole time, between four and five yesterday?’ Davy asks.
‘More or less,’ she says, distracted by the bleep of her phone. ‘Sorry, I just have to look at this in case it’s the childminder.’ She reads the text message, then punches something into her phone – a reply, presumably. Rude, and rather presumptuous, Davy thinks. She looks up, saying, ‘Sorry. Yes, you can ask Solly if you like. You won’t get much of an answer – he’s 2. Do 2-year-olds count as alibis?’
She is smiling as she says this and Davy struggles with how it might be intended – as a friendly joke?
He says, ‘Did anyone else see you at home, anyone else who can confirm your whereabouts?’
‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘Fly came home from school at about quarter to five, and I asked him to watch Solly so I could pop out. Listen, I’ve got to get back to my son. He’s been at the childminder too long as it is.’
‘Just a minute please – you had to pop out? Where to?’ asks Davy.
‘Oh, just into town. I had to pick up a couple of things.’
At that moment, when Davy wants to ask where and for how long, Gary Stanton enters the room. Davy cannot remember the last time the chief super came in on a key witness interview.
‘How are we getting on?’ Stanton asks.
Harriet’s face is awash with confusion. ‘Yes, all fine,’ she says.
‘I think if we’re all done here,’ Stanton says, ‘we should have a quick departmental review upstairs. Shall we go? Thank you, Miss Bradshaw, for helping us with our inquiries. We will contact you should we need further assistance from you.’
‘Why did he shut that down?’ Davy hisses, so the department can’t hear.
‘I don’t know,’ Harriet says.
‘She’s a key witness and she’s got no alibi. And he says, off you pop, no further questions?’
‘Well, I’m not sure he was saying that exactly.’
‘What was he doing in there? I mean, when was the last time the super came in on an interview? And where is he for this departmental review he was so keen to have?’
Various colleagues have gathered around them for the briefing. Harriet is glancing furtively at them and she says, ‘Let’s talk about this later.’
They perch on desks or at their computers, Harriet and Davy at the front.
‘Right, Derry says we’re not getting the PM results till tomorrow, so let’s press on with other lines until forensics come in,’ says Harriet.
‘I did a bit of digging around at Dunlop & Finch,’ Colin says. ‘Head of the firm is one Markus van der Lupin, then beneath him are the two vice presidents, equally pegged as far as I can tell – Ross and this other chap, Giles Carruthers.’
Hariet nods, saying, ‘So let’s look closely at the structure there – any rivalries, fallings-out, that kind of thing. Very competitive, the City. Davy, you’d best head down there, interview Carruthers and the rest of the staff. Rest of you, priority is still our King’s Cross chap. Who is he, where’s he from and how can we collar him?’
Marie from reception has entered the room, and says, ‘The Ross parents have arrived. I’ve shown them into interview room one.’
‘Let’s not keep them waiting,’ Harriet says to Davy.
‘I’m very sorry,’ Davy says, ‘for your loss. This must be a difficult time.’
They nod, but don’t speak. Both are little; beady. Grey hair in a scribble above faces mottled with sunspots. They have cried, he can see that from the puffiness around their eyes, but he can see their reserve also, making them contain their grief in front of strangers. Not like some he’s done this kind of interview with. Some like to wail and holler as if volume proves how much they feel.
‘When did you last see your son?’ Davy asks.
‘Last Christmas,’ Mr Ross says.
Davy waits. They’re not the sort to elaborate. Rural people, Harriet said.
‘Right, so that’s nearly a year ago.’
‘He always said how busy he was,’ Mrs Ross says. ‘Said he’d like to come and see us more, but he couldn’t get away from work. We live out of the way. Not easy to get to. He was due to come this Christmas again.’
‘Did you know about the cruise?’ Davy asks.
They look at one another. Shake their heads.
‘He had purchased two tickets in your names for a cruise on the Crystal Serenity. Around the Caribbean. For two weeks in January.’
‘Ah, no,’ Mr Ross said, shaking his head sadly. They look down at their hands. After a pause, he continues, ‘It’s not our way. We’re not fancy people. We don’t like restaurants and cruises and all that kind of thing. Jonno was always buying us that kind of thing and—’
‘We didn’t want him to,’ Mrs Ross says.
Davy had looked up the Crystal Serenity online, its £17million refurb complete with retractable roof above the Trident Grill, its seahorse-shaped swimming pool and on-deck golf course, a seemingly endless roster of dining opportunities. Something about it had the ring of battery-chicken coop. He could picture himself pressing his face against the cabin glass and screaming to be let off. ‘Enough with the langoustine fricassee!’ He couldn’t picture these two, who seemed more the cheese-on-toast kind, browsing the on-board diamond emporiums.
Ross’s father sighs. ‘We’re not … comfortable in those situations. It sounds ungrateful now I say it.’
Mrs Ross says, ‘We felt he was always trying to impress us, to shower us with gifts and whatnot. We didn’t know how to say that he was enough in himself. We were so happy to have him.’ She doesn’t gasp or sob, but the tears leak from the edges of her eyes. Her quietness fells Davy. ‘You see, we thought we couldn’t have any children. We were married for twenty years and nothing at all happened. We were devastated by that but we’d