Shallow Ground (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

ones who begin blustering. As if they can’t believe what they’ve just been asked and are frightened of incriminating themselves.’

‘The FBI agents I worked with called it GSS, which meant “guilty secret syndrome”,’ Hannah said.

‘Meaning?’

‘Suppose you get interviewed by the police about a serial murder. Or a rape,’ she said, adopting a more authoritative tone of voice than Ford had heard her employ before. ‘You know you’re innocent, and you have an alibi as well. But you’re also having an affair with your wife’s best friend. Or you’re fiddling your work expenses.’

‘I get it,’ Jools said, interrupting and earning a cross expression from Hannah. ‘They’re not talking about your guilt, but that’s how you interpret it. So you start dodging the question.’

‘It could mean one of two things,’ Ford said. ‘He could be such a good person, as the staff and patients described, that your questions horrified him, Jools . . .’

‘Or?’

‘Or he’s hiding something.’ He turned to Hannah. ‘Any advice on handling Matty?’

‘You said he was acting camp, Jools?’

‘As a row of tents, which is odd, given he’s married. To a woman,’ she added.

‘Then he won’t mind being interviewed by you,’ Hannah said.

‘I know you can have camp-acting straight guys, but what if he is gay?’ Jools asked.

‘Then the presence of a man, especially a good-looking man like Henry’ – Hannah glanced at Ford – ‘may throw him off balance. Maybe you could be the bad cop, Jools, and Henry could be the good cop.’

‘It’s a voluntary interview,’ Jools said, smiling. ‘I don’t think we’re quite ready to start working him over.’

Hannah blushed. ‘Yes. I see that. Sorry. But I meant it. Henry, if you were to flirt with him, it could destabilise him.’

‘Yeah, or he could file a complaint for sexual harassment against me,’ Ford said. ‘And I just know how much the Python would love me for that.’

Hannah sighed. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘play the traditional softer role that often goes to the female detective. Be empathetic. Smile.’

‘Flutter my eyelashes?’

She frowned. ‘I think that would be inappropriate.’

‘Boss?’ Jools said, winking at Hannah.

‘What?’

‘You could always undo another button on your shirt.’

She and Hannah burst out laughing, and Ford smiled. It was good that they could still find time for a safety valve, given the case surrounding them.

‘All right, enough. I get it,’ he said. ‘Of course, if he’s not our man, he’ll start to wonder about our methods.’

‘No, he won’t, Henry,’ Hannah said. ‘He’ll just ask you out.’

More laughter. Ford closed the meeting and they agreed Hannah would go down to meet Kyte.

Paula called Hannah when Matty arrived at Bourne Hill. Feeling a squirming anxiety in the pit of her stomach, despite the medication she took to keep it at bay, she rose from her desk and made her way to the stairs.

He was waiting for her in reception. She could tell it was him because there were no other men in the sunlit space; that, and the fact that Paula had whispered, ‘He’s very good-looking,’ before hanging up.

She hung back for a few seconds, making herself as unobtrusive as possible beside a tall potted plant. She took her time to assess his body language.

He was leaning against a wall, legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded in front of him. That much limb-crossing could be interpreted as defensive. It could just as easily mean he was finding a comfortable way to stand. It was important to see the person as a whole.

He smiled at a couple of female police staff crossing the reception area on their way to the lifts. Hannah noticed the way they smiled back, then leaned their heads closer together and giggled.

I can’t read you, she thought. Which is fine, because it’s not my job. It’s Henry’s. And Jools’s.

She stuck on her best social smile and strode across the reception area.

‘Matty?’ she said, from six feet out.

‘That’s me,’ he said as he turned, smiling. His face fell as he saw her. ‘You’re not Julie.’

‘No, I’m not. My name is Dr Hannah Fellowes. I’ll take you upstairs.’

In the lift, he made no attempt to start a conversation, for which she was grateful. It allowed her to control their interaction. She noticed the forefinger of his right hand twitching against his thigh, beating out a tight little rhythm.

‘I was nervous, too, the first time I came here,’ she said.

He looked down at her. ‘Why did you say that? I’m not nervous.’

‘I’m trying to make you feel at ease. Members of the public often get anxious inside a police station.’

He laughed. ‘Maybe they should visit more often. Get it out of their systems.’

‘Have you?’

‘Have I what?’

‘Visited more often?’

He pointed up at the row of orange numbers. The ‘4’ had just illuminated. ‘Is this us?’

She nodded.

‘On with the show!’ he said, waggling jazz hands at her.

Ford smiled at the man Jools had just introduced. Clearly fit, and strong enough to lift a dead body. Smart, too, for a hospital porter. Jacket and tie, pressed beige chinos. But then, being invited in ‘for a chat’, however informally, often had that effect on people.

He was finding it easy to maintain eye contact, which a lot of suspects couldn’t, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the cop who’d nicked them.

‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Kyte,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Can we get you something to drink? There’s tea, coffee, or a glass of water?’

‘Please, call me Matty. Do you have anything herbal?’ Matty asked. ‘Chamomile? I’m feeling a little, uh, you know . . .’

‘There’s no need to feel nervous, Matty,’ Ford said, ‘and I’m sure there’s a box of chamomile somewhere. Sometimes I like peppermint myself. Can you sort them, Jools?’

‘Okey-dokey,’ she said brightly. ‘Back in a jiffy.’

The exaggerated matiness and office small talk was part of their strategy: keeping Matty as relaxed as possible as they probed for the truth.

Jools returned after a few minutes with three steaming mugs, setting them on a low table in the centre of an arrangement of three armchairs.

Ford watched as Matty took