The Dead Tracks

Legal Right

The holding cell was small and cold. The white walls looked like they'd been painted recently, but the ceiling — a creamy-beige colour — was peeling all along the middle and in the corners of the room. There was one bunk screwed to the wall and one metal toilet screwed to the floor.

Aron Crane was sitting on the edge of the bed. His clothes had been bagged and taken off somewhere. Now he sat in a dark blue sweater, a pair of black trousers and a pair of black rubber-soled slip-ons. At the door to the cell, a uniformed officer was standing guard. Crane saw part of his head and the white cotton of his shirt when the porthole slid across. Occasionally, other policemen would look in, some in uniform, some in plain clothes.

Everyone wanted to see Dr Glass.

He'd been sitting there for an hour when the door clunked and opened. Two officers were standing in the doorway. One of them was holding a set of handcuffs. They entered and told him to stand, then the one with the handcuffs placed them around his wrists, clicked them into place and led him out. They were taking him back to the room he'd faced Raker in earlier that day.

Raker.

Crane had underestimated him. He thought he could use him, the fact he had sore points. Weaknesses. But Raker was perceptive and clever. He'd used Crane's wife as bait and tried to get inside his head, tried to force Crane to react. But that was okay. Raker might have messed with the project before it was finished, but Crane had plans for him.

Revenge would come.

They turned a corner and moved into the interview room, sitting him down at the table. They chained him to the metal ring, welded to the surface, and then left.

Silence.

They would find out about Phedra eventually. He knew that. If they looked hard enough, they would find what was left of her body. And they would find the body next to it as well. They would realize that the inscription on his chain - PC — were her initials, and that the chain had been hers.

But they would never find out what happened.

Because even he wasn't sure now. He'd moved it around in his head so much, some days he remembered it being an accident and some days he didn't. Some days she was carrying a tray across the decking on the top of their house and stumbled. And some days she was screaming at him, telling him she was two months away from giving birth and she needed him to care, and he pushed her. The one thing that was clear was looking over the edge of the roof and seeing her on the grass below him, flat on her back.

Looking up at him as her life ebbed away.

Two plain-clothes policemen entered. One was Hart, the other was Phillips. Hart asked Crane if he was all right. Crane gave no reply. He'd spoken little to them since they'd brought him in; only to tell them he wanted Raker to ask the questions. Now they were going to try again.

'Mr Crane,' Hart said, 'we need to know where Jill White is.'

He studied Hart. You look like a skeleton.

'Mr Crane?'

You look like you should be buried in the ground.

'Mr Crane, we really need you to -'

'I want to make a phone call.'

They looked at him. Inside he felt himself smiling. He'd stunned them into silence. Hart glanced at Phillips and back to Crane. 'You want a solicitor now?'

Crane nodded.

'We can appoint you one.'

'I have my own.'

'Okay, we can call him for -'

'No,' Crane said. 'I'll call him.'

They looked at him. Hart leaned forward. Phillips started turning his wedding band, eyes fixed on Crane. Why now?' Phillips asked.

'Because it's my legal right.'

'Yeah, but why now?'

'Because it's my legal right.'

More silence. Hart glanced at Phillips, but Phillips was looking at Crane, his head tilted as if trying to work out what made him tick. Crane stared back, the two of them holding each other's gaze. He could tell Phillips had something about him. In many ways he wasn't dissimilar to Raker: they both observed, and watched for the rhythms of conversations - and the things that were out of place. Finally, Phillips stopped turning his wedding band and slowly started to nod.

'Then it looks like you get to call your solicitor,' he said.