“Well, I didn’t. I thought it was clever. A new way to tell a story like that, makes you think, doesn’t it? Will you be writing another one, do you think? Another crime novel, I mean, another”—he paused to air-quote—“Caroline MacFarlane?”
Theo shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m thinking about it, certainly.” He waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the water. “I could take inspiration from this mess, couldn’t I? I could call it The Boy on the Boat.” They both laughed awkwardly.
“Is that where you get your ideas from, then?” the policeman asked. “From real life?”
“Well, now there’s a question . . . ,” Theo said, tailing off in hopes that the policeman didn’t really expect an answer to this.
There was a moment’s uncomfortable pause before the young man said: “Because, you see, if you ever wanted, you know, to discuss ideas for crime novels, like, maybe aspects of police work, or forensics, or anything like that . . .” The policeman was talking to him, Theo realized; he ought to be paying attention. “I might be able to help out with things like that, for example—”
“That’s very good of you,” Theo said, beaming at him. “Very kind indeed. I, uh, well, for now I suppose I was just wondering, you know, how much progress you’re making at the moment? On this case, my, uh, my nephew’s case?” The policeman pursed his lips. Theo stood back, spreading his fingers, palms upward. “Look,” he said, “I understand you can’t give details. I was just wondering, because, you know, this has been so upsetting for us—for my wife, for Carla; she’s been through an awful lot lately—and if an arrest were imminent, well it would be a huge relief for both of us, of course. . . .”
The officer inhaled sharply through his teeth. “We-ell,” he said, ducking his head a little, “as you say, I can’t give details. . . .” Theo nodded sympathetically, his expression rueful. He fished around in his jacket pocket and extracted a packet of cigarettes; he offered one to the policeman, who accepted. “Look, I can tell you,” the policeman said as he leaned closer to Theo to light his cigarette, “that there’s some forensic testing going on at the moment, and as I’m sure you know, these things take a little while—we don’t get the results overnight; it’s not like CSI or any of that rubbish. . . .”
“Forensic tests . . . ?” Theo prompted.
“Clothing,” the young man said, his voice low. “Bloody clothing.”
“Ah.” That was reassuring. “Bloody clothing belonging to . . . that girl? The one you questioned? Because, you know, I saw her. Running from the scene. That morning, I saw her, and I didn’t do anything. So stupid. I just thought, you know, she was a drunk or something. . . .”
“Mr. Myerson.” The policeman arranged his face into an expression of deep concern. “There was nothing you could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done for Mr. Sutherland; his injuries were much too severe.”
Theo nodded. “Yes, of course. Of course. But, to return to this girl, she’s the primary focus, is she, for the moment? There’s not . . . oh, I don’t know, a drugs connection, or theft, or . . . ?”
The young man shook his head sadly. “I can’t tell you that as yet,” he said. “We’re pursuing a number of leads.”
“Of course,” Theo said, nodding vigorously, thinking about how pursuing a number of leads was really code for We haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on. He made to walk away but he could see as he did that this policeman, this spotty young man, was desperate to give him something, to prove his importance, his worth, and so Theo asked, “Can you tell me anything about her? The girl? Not her name, of course. I was just wondering, you know, because I assume she’s local, they said in the papers she was a resident of Islington, and now she’s out there, wandering around, and of course because of my . . . my public profile, it’s not difficult to find out who I am and who my wife is, and the thing is, well, perhaps I’m being paranoid, but what I want to know is, is she dangerous, this person? Well, evidently she’s dangerous, but is she a danger to me? To us?”
The young man, clearly intensely uncomfortable and at the same time filled with the desire to impart top secret information, leaned toward Theo. “She does have a history,” he said quietly.
“A history?”
“Of violence.” Theo shrank back, aghast. “Look, it’s nothing to panic about. She’s just . . . she’s unstable. That’s all I’m telling you. That’s all I can say. Look, I want to reassure you here, I do—we’re dragging the canal again this afternoon. We’re still searching for the weapon and once we’ve got that, then Bob’s your uncle. Once we’ve got that, an arrest has got to be imminent.”