The Dead Tracks

Chapter Seventy-one

Phillips led Liz and me to a small room with a metal shelf full of electronic equipment and a huge one-way mirror. Through it, I could see Aron Crane seated in the interview room, alone, handcuffed to a metal arch welded into the table. He was staring at the wall, his nose broken and bruises dotted down the side of his face where I'd connected with the shovel. If nothing else, it made me feel good to have hurt him.

Next to the audio equipment an officer sat at a computer, headphones on, a live colour CCTV image onscreen. Also inside the room were Jamie Hart and a uniformed superintendent. I recognized him from the last time I'd been brought in for questioning. He stood and came across to meet us. Shook hands with Liz, but not with me. He introduced himself as Ian Bartholomew. The top cop at the station. He thanked me through gritted teeth for my co-operation, but didn't seem keen on the idea of turning a blind eye to what had happened with Healy and me. It was obviously Hart and Phillips who had persuaded him to go this route. After Bartholomew was done, he seated himself at the back of the room and nodded at Phillips.

'He's only spoken for about a minute since we brought him in,' Phillips said.

The door to the room opened up and a uniformed officer brought a trayful of shop-bought coffees in. I didn't have to put up with machine effluent now they needed my help. I took one, peeled the lid off it and watched Crane. He was absolutely still.

'Play it,' Phillips said to the man at the computer.

The officer clicked a couple of options on the screen, and seconds later a square of CCTV footage appeared. Phillips and Hart in the interview room with Crane.

'You can't stay silent all day,' Hart said.

Crane was looking down. He glanced at Hart, held his eye for a moment and then turned his attention back to the surface of the table. In the corner of the screen was a counter. 01:57:43. One hour, fifty-seven minutes into the interview and he hadn't spoken once.

'You can contact a lawyer any time you want,' Hart added. 'It's your legal right to do that.' Nothing. No response. 'Come on, Aron - where's Jill White?'

Crane sniffed.

'Why don't you tell us about David Raker instead?' Phillips offered.

I turned to Phillips. He didn't meet my eye.

On-screen, Crane finally looked up. 'Why would I do that?'

'He interests you.'

'Does he?'

'In your hideout you had pictures of him on your wall.'

Crane pursed his lips, as if he suddenly realized Phillips was right. 'I'll tell you what,' he said. You get Raker in here to talk to me, alone, and you get your confession.'

'You know we can't do that, Aron,' Phillips said.

Crane shrugged. 'Then I guess I don't talk.'

'Why do you want to talk to David Raker?'

Nothing.

'Aron?'

Zero. Crane's head had dropped again, and he was looking down at the table. A couple of seconds later, the video froze. The clip was finished.

'What Does he want to talk to you about?' Bartholomew asked.

'I've no idea.' I looked back at Crane. 'But he seemed to think we had some kind of a connection. Something in common.'

'Like what?' Phillips asked.

I shook my head. 'I don't know.'

'This is highly unusual,' Bartholomew said. Next to him, Hart shuffled in his seat, two thin hands together on his lap. 'We're not running a circus here.'

'So I won't talk to him.'

Bartholomew and Phillips looked at one another. The superintendent got to his feet and came across to me. 'I don't like this, Mr Raker,' he said. 'I don't like any of it.'

'That makes two of us.'

'What could possibly make you so special to him?'

'I don't know,' I said, sipping my coffee and stepping all the way up to the glass. 'But I've got a feeling I'm about to find out.'