Free The Wreckage: A Thriller by Michael Robotham Page B

appreciate the sarcasm. “You see how it looks? They robbed your house. Took personal stuff. You were pissed off. So you fol owed this girl home…”
    “You think I tortured this poor sod because he took some of my dead wife’s things?”
    “I think you know more than you’re saying. What did you say to the girl? Why won’t she talk to us?”
    “Maybe you’re not asking her nicely enough.”
    “Did you see anyone else leaving the flat?”
    “There might have been someone on the far stairs. It was dark.”
    “Convenient.”
    “I’ve told you al I know. She set me up, stole my stuff and I went looking for her. Then I fol owed her home and found her boyfriend dead. That’s the blood, guts and feathers of it.
    Maybe if you told me who this guy was, I could actual y help you.”
    Thompson weighs up his options.
    “Zac Osborne. War vet. Iraq and Afghanistan. Wounded twice, won the Queen’s Gal antry Medal. After his second spel in hospital he became addicted to painkil ers and the military discharged him. He was arrested eighteen months ago for breaking into a pharmacy in Kew. Given a good behavior bond because of his military record.”
    “What about the girl?”
    “Hol y Knight. Nineteen. In and out of foster care since the age of seven. She has two convictions for shoplifting and others for criminal damage, resisting arrest and anti-social behavior.”
    “What did she do?”
    “Broke a shop window, threw fireworks at a police horse and wrestled with a police constable.”
    “Where is she now?”
    “Next door.”
    “You keeping her in?”
    “For as long as we can.”
    There is a knock. A familiar figure fil s the doorframe. Commander Campbel Smith looks like he’s been stitched into his uniform. Every button polished. Shoe leather gleaming. Ruiz has known him for forty years—ever since they did their training together at the Police Staff Col ege, Bramshil . He also introduced Campbel to his wife Maureen at a barbecue—having slept with her first, a fact that didn’t enamor him to either of them.
    It’s been four years since Ruiz last saw him. Campbel has been promoted. He was always on the fast track. Not so much nose to the grindstone as nose between the cheeks.
    “Vincent.”
    “Campbel . You’re a commander now. Congratulations.”
    They shake hands. Campbel smiles. He has a great smile. You can see the child in it before the wear and tear of a thirty-year marriage and a longer sentence with the Metropolitan Police.
    “When they told me they had Vincent Ruiz in the interview room, I thought it must be a mistake. Had to come and see it for myself.” Ruiz opens his arms and does a slow turn.
    “You’ve put on weight.”
    “Living the good life. How’s Maureen?”
    “She’s gone on a cruise.”
    “Mediterranean?”
    “Canada.”
    Campbel Smith leans closer. Motions him to do the same.
    “How did you get mixed up in this?”
    “I’m an accidental tourist.”
    The commander nods. His hat is tucked under the crook of his left arm. “You know why this guy was kil ed?”
    “Nope.”
    He gives Ruiz a wry half smile and maybe a twitch of the eyebrow. Then he tosses his head towards the door.
    “Do you know what I learned first day in this job, Vincent?”
    How to brown nose, thinks Ruiz.
    “I learned that the simple answer is nearly always the right one. The explanation is never that complicated. There’s no mystery. The guy was a junkie. It’s a drug deal gone wrong.”
    “So that’s the official version?”
    “You think there’s more than one version?”
    “There’s always more than one version.”
    Campbel stares at him with his head cocked to one side. Turning to leave, he adds, “I’ve told the SOCOs you won’t mind having your fingernails scraped and giving them some swabs.”
    “Anything to help.”

    “Maybe you could also do us another favor.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Make a statement and press charges against Hol y Knight.”
    Ruiz can see where he’s going