Free Waiting for Wednesday by Nicci French

you ever go anywhere else? The furthest afield I’ve seen you is Heathrow, which must be your idea of a kind of man-made hell. You hate planes, and you don’t like beaches. But we could get a train to Paris, or go walking in Scotland. You love walking the streets at night – but do you like other kinds of walking, where you have a map and a picnic? I know you – but there are so many things I don’t know about you. That’s what I’ve been thinking. But we’ve got lots of time to find things now haven’t we, Frieda? Call me soon – Sandy xxxxxx



EIGHT
    ‘Can I have a cup of tea?’ said Billy Hunt. ‘I want a cup of tea and I want a lawyer. Tea with milk and two sugars, and a lawyer sitting next to me for every moment that you’re inter-viewing me.’
    Munster turned to Riley. ‘Hear that?’ he said.
    Riley left the interview room.
    ‘And a lawyer,’ said Hunt.
    ‘Wait.’
    They sat in silence until Riley returned. He placed the polystyrene cup on the table in front of Hunt, with two sachets of sugar and a plastic stirrer. Slowly, and with great concentration, Hunt tore the sachets open, tipped their contents into the tea and stirred them. He sipped the tea.
    ‘And a lawyer,’ he repeated.
    There was a digital recorder on the table. Munster leaned forward to switch it on. As he spoke the day’s date and identified the people in the room he looked at the device to check that the light was flashing. There was always the worry that it wasn’t working properly. Cases collapsed because of details like that.
    ‘We’re interviewing you on suspicion of handling stolen property. I’m going to caution you that you don’t have to say anything, but that anything you say can be used in evidence. Also, if you remain silent, that fact can be presented to the court.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ said Hunt.
    ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Munster. ‘And I probably do this sortof thing even more often than you do.’
    Hunt drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I guess I can’t smoke.’
    ‘No, you can’t.’
    ‘I can’t think when I don’t smoke.’
    ‘You don’t need to think. You just need to answer some questions.’
    ‘And what about my lawyer?’
    ‘I was about to inform you that you are entitled to legal representation, and that if you don’t have representation of your own, we can arrange it for you.’
    ‘Of course I don’t have fucking legal representation of my own. So, yeah, get me one. I want a lawyer sitting here beside me.’
    ‘It doesn’t work like that any more,’ said Munster. ‘Money’s tight. That’s what they’re telling us. We can bring you a phone and a phone number.’
    ‘Is that it?’ Hunt seemed baffled. ‘No cigs and no lawyers?’
    ‘You can talk to one on the phone.’
    ‘All right,’ said Hunt. ‘Get a phone.’
    It was twenty minutes before Billy Hunt had finished on the phone, Munster and Riley were back in the room and the recorder was on again.
    ‘So,’ Munster began. ‘You’ve talked to your lawyer.’
    ‘It was a bad line,’ said Hunt. ‘I couldn’t make out most of what she was saying. She had an accent as well. I don’t reckon English is her first language.’
    ‘But she gave you legal advice?’
    ‘Is that what you call legal advice? Why can’t I get a real lawyer?’
    ‘If you’ve got a problem, you can take it up with your MP. But that’s the way the system works now.’
    ‘Why is that window all boarded up?’
    ‘Because someone threw a brick at it.’
    ‘Can’t you get it mended?’
    ‘I don’t really think that’s your problem.’
    ‘And the room at the front – it’s like a building site. You’ll be next,’ he said. ‘You’ll be out looking for a real job like the rest of us.’
    ‘You’ve now officially got legal representation,’ said Munster. ‘Take a look at this.’ He slid a piece of paper across the table.
    Hunt examined it with a puzzled expression. ‘What’s this?’ he said.
    ‘An inventory.’
    ‘What’s