––––––––
Pitt sat in the waiting area of the local police station; a large, bright room, a few chairs, posters on the wall, many windows, the reception office behind glass – a much smaller room. One police officer inside, engrossed in paperwork. Monthly statistics. A single door led into the main body of the station.
Pitt had committed triple murder two days previously, but that already seemed a long time ago. Holding Ju in his arms had altered all sense of perspective. He’d had no idea how long they’d stood like that in the cellar, and everything that had gone before now seemed to have happened in a different lifetime.
He felt no fear sitting in a police station.
The door opened and a dull man in plain clothes appeared before him.
‘Mr Pitt?’
Pitt nodded and the man indicated for him to follow. They walked along a dim corridor, the walls covered with posters offering advice on security and personal health and how to keep a tidy office. He led Pitt into a small room, containing a table and three chairs, and indicated for Pitt to sit down. He took a seat opposite.
Pitt might have hoped that he was being taken to see Yuan Ju, but he rarely ever hoped for anything. He would be prepared, he would have considered the possibilities, but he would not hope for any one particular turn of events over another, not even now.
‘I’m Inspector Malcolm.’ His voice was tired, a voice that had other things to talk about. A voice that could lie down and go to sleep, or slope off to the pub for a slow evening discussing football. ‘You’re not in any trouble as yet, Mr Pitt.’ He paused. ‘As I say, not yet.’
Pitt looked into Malcolm’s eyes, his own look non-committal. Malcolm assumed that Pitt was playing a game, pretending to be cool. He saw it so often. Did not know that he was seeing the usual Pitt, the Pitt that everyone who looked at him saw.
‘Perhaps you’d like to explain to us why you locked the girl in the cellar.’
He spoke as if there was more than one of him in the room.
‘I was protecting her,’ said Pitt blandly. He already had his stock phrases worked out. What he could say, what it would be imperative to omit.
‘From who?’
‘My wife and her mother were suspicious about Ju and reported her presence. I was hiding her in the basement until I could establish what was the best course of action for her.’
‘You were hiding an illegal immigrant with intent to further her unlawful residence in the United Kingdom?’
‘I did not know, and still don’t, if she’s an illegal immigrant. It was merely the suspicion of the women of the house. Whatever the problem, I determined to get her out of harm’s way, to establish what was best and to help her.’
‘Even if that was furthering the time an illegal immigrant was spending in this country?’
Pitt did not reply. Held Malcolm’s gaze across the table.
‘Mr Pitt?’
‘I thought the most likely eventuality would be that she’d benefit from leaving Britain, and it had been my intention that we would do that together. First of all, I hoped to establish her status, and her passport situation.’
‘You were going to leave the country together?’
Pitt was aware of feeling troubled by Malcolm’s use of the past tense in relation to his intentions.
‘That was something that I’d thought of. It depended on her passport situation.’
‘There are ways around that,’ said Malcolm. Pitt stared across the table and did not answer.
‘So, what then? You were having an affair? You were shagging the cook? Had you nailed her down there, in the basement? That’s what your kind of people do, isn’t it?’
‘None of that,’ said Pitt. Voice flat, refusing to be baited.
‘What then?’
‘She needed help,’ said Pitt dryly.
Malcolm finally snapped the gaze and looked down at the table. Invisible notes. Already knew that he was getting nothing from Pitt, and that Pitt was highly unlikely to be drawn to say something indiscreet.
‘Had you ascertained from the girl what she was doing in this country?’
‘She might be British,’ said Pitt, a little more edge to his voice. ‘I don’t know.’
‘She doesn’t look British,’ said Malcolm. Thought he had a wry tone to his voice, but even he knew it had been a stupid thing to say. Stupid enough, in fact, that he was put onto the back foot.
‘I’m curious what your plan was,’ said Malcolm, trying to regain the initiative by talking. ‘If she has a passport, the two of you were going to run away abroad? If not, what? You were going to stay in the UK, but flee to an island somewhere?’
Pitt suddenly realised that he needed to know how much he could rely on Ju’s passport. If he produced it, and it was taken away to be checked, would they be found out; or had the passport been produced from within the system, a document that would hold up under the closest scrutiny?
‘Can I see her?’ asked Pitt.
‘You must be kidding. Seriously? You kept her locked in the basement. We need to speak to her to establish whether or not it was against her will, and, until that’s been established, there is no chance of you getting to see her. No chance.’
Despite Malcolm’s answer, Pitt managed to remain expressionless, but he felt an uncomfortable twisting of his stomach.
‘When is that likely to be?’ he heard himself asking, although just in the question he knew that he was placing himself in Malcolm’s debt.
Malcolm snorted.
‘Can’t get a word out of her,’ he said. ‘Who knows if she understands? So, maybe tonight, maybe next year. We’ve got a guy coming tomorrow, an interpreter. But let’s not anyone get their pants in a fankle, ‘cause he speaks, you know, what is it, Mandarin. But he says she could speak any one of about a hundred different lingoes. Impossible to tell.’
Pitt was not listening. Already working the odds for the following day. He had to speak to Jenkins, and, in the first instance, hope that the passport would prove fool proof. Work on the basis that it would, and worry about it if and when he discovered that it was not. What then? Bring the passport to the station and show that Ju was a British citizen, held for no reason. Presumably they would have to let her go.
He sat across the table from Malcolm, Ju’s false passport in his pocket. It was too early to show it, however. He could not risk it without checking further, and kicked himself for not establishing with Jenkins the total reliability of the document at the time. Scanned through a passport machine was one thing; poured over by the system, every number and fact checked against a hundred databases, was another.
‘I take it you’re not going anywhere without her?’
Pitt did not answer. Barely heard the question.
‘Does Mrs Pitt have any idea that you’re planning to skip the nest and go off banging the hired help?’
He smirked at Pitt and then snorted a laugh at the unrelenting stare from across the table.
‘So, what’s your wine like? Any good? I had a bottle of English wine once.’