Page 155 of Too Close To Home

Harrison closed the file and looked up at the board.

If Jake were right, Brodie didn’t need to be the abductor to be involved. He needed proximity. Access. Motive that didn’t read clean on paper. Either he’d inserted himself into this to get close to Jake again… or he knew more than he was saying and was playing it carefully.

Either way, he’d moved up the list.

Officially.

Behind him, the low hum of the incident room carried on. Phones, keyboards, the scrape of chairs. But the energy had altered. The media appeal had gone out less than an hour ago, reward authorised and circulating. That should shake something loose. It usually did. Money changed loyalties. Nudged consciences. Brought out people who’d been waiting for a reason to talk. Or a reason to sell. Or move.

And as Brodie had asked about a reward, it only heightened that angle.

Let’s see what his real motive is in all this.

But now… he needed to re-question Andy. With only a limited number of custody hours remaining, he had to do it now. And had a few more angles to press.

He pushed away from the desk. “Calder.”

The DS looked up. “Sir?”

“Further interview. Mitchell.”

Calder stood. “I’ll get custody.”

Harrison grabbed his coffee. It had gone cold. He drank it anyway, then followed Calder down to custody, where Calder spoke to the sergeant first, outlining grounds for a further interview. New lines of inquiry. Potential inconsistencies. Enough to justify bringing Mitchell back under caution.

The sergeant gave a curt nod. “Solicitor?”

“Already requested,” Calder said. “On his way.”

Harrison stepped in then. “I want him as soon as legal’s in the building. No delays.”

The custody sergeant held his gaze a beat, then nodded again. “I’ll have him produced.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were in Interview Room Two again. Files laid out. Recording equipment checked. Strategy set. Harrison and Calder sat on one side of the table. Andy Mitchell opposite, solicitor at his shoulder, watchful and poised to intervene.

Harrison let the silence sit for a moment. Let Andy feel the room.

Then he reached forward and pressed record.

He ran through the usual. Time. Date. Persons present. Confirmation of legal representation. The caution delivered again. Grounds for detention restated.

Then Harrison met his gaze. “We’ve executed the search warrant on your flat, Andy.” He waited. Watching him. There was a minuscule squirm. A shoulder shift. Eyes not quite holding. “What do you think we found?”

Andy folded his arms. “Weren’t no girl.”

“No. There wasn’t.” Harrison let that hang, long enough to wrong-foot him. Waiting to see if Andy had expected a girl to be found and was surprised there hadn’t been. “Is there anything you want to tell us at this stage?”

“No.”

“When officers searched your property, they recovered an extensive collection relating to Robyn Whitton.” Harrison slid the photocopies across the table. One by one. Photographs. Printouts. Old articles. “Do you recognise these, Andy?”

Andy didn’t look at them. “No comment.”

Harrison left them there anyway. Hoping to elicit something from him. Give a little push. A nudge. Because whatever he’d done or not done to Robyn Whitton, these scrapbooks proved he’d had feelings for her. Unwanted. Bordering on obsession. And completely unhinged. But feelings, nonetheless. And her staring at him might push forward a guilt he hadn’t realised he had.

“You asked the barman about Emily Fisher and the staff rotation at the King’s Arms—”

“That’s a bullshit lie right there.”