She nodded to Marcel, who began to open up an envelope he was carrying.
‘He was here earlier,’ the youth said. ‘With you.’
‘Not my detective, Philip. Try to keep your premature ejaculations in check, if you can.’
This got an even bigger laugh from the gang. But now it was at their leader’s expense, and he didn’t appreciate it.
Marcel slipped a photograph from the envelope, handed it to Hannah. She held it up for them all to see.
‘This man is Joey Cobb. Anyone recognise him?’
She studied the gang as she passed the mugshot in front of their eyes. They remained stone-faced. The leader didn’t even focus on the image, but looked past it at Hannah.
‘What about you, Philip? Do you know him? Ever seen him in this building?’
The redhead was clearly still smarting from her put-down, and she wished now she hadn’t humiliated him.
‘Fuck this shit,’ he said, and went to push past her.
She grabbed him by the arm. ‘Hold on, son.’
He tore his arm from her grasp. ‘I’m not your fucking son. I bet you can’t even have kids, can you? Any kid of yours would take one look at you and drop dead.’
That was the trigger point.
Until that moment, Hannah had been calm and collected. She’d had control, and everyone had known it.
Now she lost it.
She dropped her clipboard and photograph, then grabbed the lad by his hoodie and spun him around before slamming his back into a nearby wall. Anger surged through her body. Thoughts of violence. A need to inflict damage.
‘Boss! Boss!’
She realised that Marcel had his hands on her arms, tugging her gently away from her wide-eyed victim.
She released her hold on the lad. He seemed suddenly very young and very frightened – not of her, or the police, but of life, and what it had done to him. It saddened her that she had just added one more item to his long list of reasons to hate the world.
The gang leader pushed himself off the wall and walked away, flipping his hood up to hide his face. His mates trailed silently after him.
‘You okay, boss?’ Marcel asked.
Hannah looked at the backs of the figures leaving the building. She thought, What did I do? I had them in the palm of my hand. I had them smiling. And then I had to go and piss it all away.
She slapped the wall. ‘Fuck!’
Another mistake. Another stupid mistake. How many more would there be?
Marcel gathered up the photo and her papers from the floor. ‘We can go back to the station if you like. I can get a team together for the house-to-house.’
She thought about it, and was tempted. Maybe the office was the safest place for her. Kept away from the minor crises she seemed no longer capable of handling. Prevented from making a fool of herself in public.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I want to get this moving now. I’m convinced there’s vital information locked up in this building. Let’s go.’
Marcel looked doubtful, but he kept his counsel. ‘Okay. How do you want to do this?’
‘I’ll start at the top and come down. You start at the bottom and go up.’
‘Going upstairs is harder.’
‘Privilege of rank, Marcel.’
As she said this, she realised that a descent from the summit was probably an ideal metaphor for her career right now.
‘Right. See you soon, then. I hope you’ve been on a first aid course for when you find me having a heart attack on the stairs.’
Hannah pointed along the corridor. ‘Go!’
He went. She smiled as she heard him singing, ‘You take the high road and I’ll take the low road . . .’
After he had disappeared through the double doors, Hannah paused for a moment in the now-deserted foyer. Half the ceiling lights didn’t work, casting a gloom over the whole area. Knowing that just above her head were dozens of people carrying on with their daily lives made the silence down here even more eerie.
What were they doing, those people? Watching television? Having sex? Reading the newspaper? Arguing? Crying?
And what about Barrington Daley? Was he panicking? Perhaps wondering if a net was closing in on him?
And, she thought, is there someone up there who knows what really happened to Joey Cobb? Someone who holds a key piece of information that could crack this case wide open?
Has to be. Even if they don’t know it themselves.
