Page 78 of Too Close To Home

Andy lifted a shoulder. “Go ahead.”

“We may also need to check your phone location for that evening.”

“Didn’t have my phone.”

Harrison looked up. “Why not?”

“Smashed it.” Andy gestured vaguely at the yard. “With the forklift. Ask anyone.”

Harrison noted that too, along with the need to request the phone records through the SPOC to confirm whether the device had been active that evening. He then fished in his inside jacket pocket and produced the photo of Emily. He showed it to Andy.

“Did you see this girl while you were out driving?”

He barely looked. “No.”

“Anyone walking?”

Andy thought. “No.”

“Did you stop the car?”

“No.”

“Leave the road?”

“No.”

Harrison observed him. Andy wasn’t calm. He kept moving his hands, tapping the forklift’s frame. Pulling at the rag in his pocket.

But nerves didn’t equal guilt.

“Andy,” Harrison said, “you were interviewed thirteen years ago when Robyn Whitton disappeared.”

Andy’s jaw tightened immediately. “I had nowt to do with that either.”

“You used to follow her home.”

“I didn’t follow her,” Andy snapped. “I walked the same route she did.”

“Jake Whitton believed otherwise.”

Andy laughed. “Aye. Well. Jake Whitton also broke into my house and nearly killed me.”

Calder looked faintly pleased by the memory.

Andy didn’t.

“I had nowt to do with Robyn,” he said. “I told the police that then.” His voice hardened. “And I’m telling you now.”

Harrison watched him for a moment. Then nodded. “For now we’re speaking to everyone who passed that road that night. But if you remember anything, anything at all, you call us.”

Andy nodded. “Aye.”

Harrison turned to leave.

But as he stepped away, he glanced back at the forklift. “Andy?”

Andy looked up.