Free Relentless by Simon Kernick Page B

the contempt.
'No,' I answered.
    'When was the last time you visited her there?'
I looked at McFee, and he nodded again, allowing me to
answer. 'I can't remember,' I said. 'Months ago.'
'This year?'
'I don't know. Probably not.' I was conscious that I sounded
nervous, which was because I was. And I wasn't stupid. I could
tell where they were going with these questions. 'There's a good
reason why I went today.'
'Is there a good reason why you sustained two knife cuts to
your face and body, Tom?' asked DCI Caplin.
'Yes,' I said, willing myself to remain calm. 'There is.' And I
told them how I came to be attacked, noting the sceptical look
on Caplin's ruddy face and the frankly incredulous one on
Sullivan's, as if I was telling them that I'd been attacked by a
marauding band of goblins led by Harry Potter. Mind you, the
more times I told it, the stranger a story it became, even to my
ears, and I remembered that McFee hadn't looked entirely convinced either when I'd told him earlier.
Caplin nodded slowly. 'So, this masked man who assaulted
you, he was the only person you saw. You didn't see the victim,
Miss Blake, or your wife when you were at the university?'
I shook my head. 'No.'
'Where do you think your wife'U be now?'
    The $64,000 question. 'I really don't know. I've tried to call
her on her mobile phone but she's not answering.' I knew that
this didn't sound good for Kathy, but it wouldn't take long for
the police to find out about my attempts to contact her. 'But one
thing I do know is that she's innocent. I was attacked by a man
with a filleting knife with a yellow handle, and he must have
been the person who killed Vanessa.'
They didn't argue with this version of events. Instead, they
    started questioning me about Vanessa. My relationship with her.
My wife's relationship with her. I was vague. I said I didn't really
know her that well, which was true. I said my wife got on fine
with her as far as I knew. Their technique followed a pattern.
Caplin would try to draw information out of me slowly and with
comparative gentleness, while now and again Sullivan would
chip in with a series of aggressive questions. It was the classic
good cop/bad cop technique, and it surprised me because, unlike
the ruthless lawyer business, I only thought they did that sort of
thing in the movies and on TV shows. It wasn't very effective
either, mainly because I was telling the truth.
Occasionally they tried to trip me up by asking the same
question twice but in different ways. However, because I wasn't
attempting any bullshit, I parried them without too much trouble,
and with only limited help from McFee, whose enthusiasm for my
case seemed to be plummeting faster than frozen airplane turd.
'You ought to be out there trying to find the man who
attacked me and killed Vanessa,' I said when there was a pause
in proceedings. 'And helping me find my wife.'
'We are trying to find your wife,' said Sullivan accusingly.
'She didn't do anything. I promise you.'
'Why are her prints on the murder weapon, then?'
They had me there. Whichever way I looked at it, and I was
looking at it in every way possible, I couldn't explain that cold
    fact away. 'I don't know,' I said eventually, trying too hard to
keep the defeat out of my voice. As I spoke, I looked at McFee,
but he seemed to be inspecting something on the ceiling with
rapt interest. For a long moment I felt completely and utterly
alone in the world.
'Why don't you tell us the truth?' demanded Sullivan, leaning
forward again, his narrow eyes boring into mine.
    I met his gaze. I had no choice. 'I am. I promise you. I am
telling the truth.'
'You've got to see things from our point of view, Tom,' said
Caplin quietly, folding his arms and rocking back in the chair
in a way that was peculiarly avuncular. 'No-one else saw this
man you're talking about, yet we have several witnesses at the
university today who saw a man fitting your description running
away from the scene.'
'My client's not denying, he was