“Tristan here was starting to grill me about Joanna Duncan,” said Noah. “I’ve told him that I’m a big boy, and I don’t hold grudges, all water under the bridge.”
Tristan thought how confident Noah was and cursed himself for feeling shy. Why should he feel shy? It was crazy, but well-spoken people always made him feel like he was a country bumpkin.
Kate had bought herself a scone and was opening the little pack of butter. She glanced at Tristan. They’d agreed that he would lead with the questioning.
“We’ve been trying to find Joanna Duncan,” started Tristan.
“Yes, you’ve said that,” said Noah, his eyes down, buttering his scone.
“Yes, and there’s a large amount of information about the last few days before she went missing. We understand you met with her two weeks before she vanished, on the twenty-third of August, 2002. You met her that evening at a petrol station near the village where she lived, Upton Pyne.”
“There’s never enough bloody butter in these little packets,” he said, holding up the empty container. “Would you mind awfully getting me another one? Tristan?”
Tristan saw Kate give the tiniest roll of her eyes.
“I can go,” she said.
“No. Tristan, you can go. Your associate here has already made one trip up to the till.” He looked up at Tristan, and there was a mocking look in his eyes.
“Of course.”
Tristan got up and went over to the barista station and asked if he could have more butter.
“Sure, just a sec,” said the barista, who was spraying cream onto a large coffee. Tristan looked back and saw that Kate was talking to Noah, and he felt foolish. He hadn’t got anywhere with his questions. He had to go back to the table and start again. There was no reason to feel intimidated. The Starbucks was busy—most of the tables were full—and as he looked across, he saw Detective Mona Lim sitting at a table by the window. She was dressed in jeans and a woolen jumper, with headphones in her ears. She had the paraphernalia of a student in front of her: a large textbook open in front of a laptop. They locked eyes, and Mona looked a little panicked. Tristan saw through the window behind her a delivery truck outside on the pavement. Sitting inside was a courier who was looking into the Starbucks and talking into a radio. Across the street was a blue car, and sitting inside that, on the phone, was DCI Faye Stubbs.
He looked back to Mona, who was staring him down.
“Shit, he’s under police surveillance,” said Tristan to himself.
Abruptly, Mona got up out of her seat and reached into her coat hung on the back. Faye was getting out of her car, and two police cars screeched to a halt outside the Starbucks. And then it all happened very quickly. Four police officers in uniforms rushed into the coffee shop and over to the table where Kate was sitting with Noah. Mona reached the table just before Tristan and held up her police card and ID.
“Noah Huntley, I’m arresting you for the murders of David Lamb, Gabe Kemp, and Hayden Oakley . . .”
Noah looked up, holding half a buttered scone, and Kate sat back in her chair, looking at the officers.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, biting into the scone.
“You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” said Mona. Faye reached the table, and one of the police officers had a pair of handcuffs open.
“Could you stand up, please, sir?” he said.
“This is—you can’t be serious!” said Noah. “Is this what you wanted?” he said to Kate. “You lure me to a public place and make a big scene!”
“There doesn’t need to be a scene,” said Faye.
“Who the fuck are you?” shouted Noah, his face suddenly red with rage.
“DCI Faye—”
“Show me your fucking police ID card,” he spat, spraying the table with bits of chewed-up scone. Faye already had her card ready and held it up.
“I’m DCI Faye Stubbs. This is DC Mona Lim, and . . .”
“I don’t want to know all your fucking names!” shouted Noah. “Why do you have to do this here? You could have waited until I’d finished my fucking scone!”
“Cuff him,” said Faye.
Noah’s face was almost purple, and Tristan thought he was going to have a heart attack. Noah stood up, kicking his chair back into the wall, and allowed himself to be handcuffed.
“This way, sir,” said the two uniformed police officers as they led him out of the Starbucks, which had fallen dead silent. Everyone was staring.