him while we were waiting for backup.’
The officer looked at him appraisingly. ‘Nye Thomas, Duty Sergeant. You think you can get him to talk some more?’
Jason shrugged one shoulder. ‘That was for free, but I reckon he’ll be after something in exchange for more. You’ve got nothing on him otherwise.’
‘Nothing? He destroyed my bike!’
‘Treacherous bit of road,’ Nye said. ‘And not a drop of alcohol in his veins. I don’t think we can hold him accountable for your bike, Miss Haas.’
Frieda looked between Nye and Jason as if she wasn’t sure who she wanted to eviscerate first. ‘I’ll talk to London.’
While the Icewoman made her phone call, Jason bummed a cigarette off one of the constables and went outside for a quick fag with him. Nothing like a dash of cold water and a near-death experience to send him running back to nicotine. The morning sun had burned off most of the mist and Jason was grateful for the warmth settling into his skin.
‘You’re up from Cardiff then?’ the PC asked, probably a year or two younger than Jason and still keen.
‘Checking out some leads,’ Jason said, like he knew what he was talking about and hadn’t just followed Frieda up here to get away from his boss.
‘It’s to do with that museum theft, isn’t it?’
‘Could be.’
‘We’ve been keeping an eye out, but truth is that our boys aren’t up to much about here. Snatching purses and growing weed, that’s about it. I don’t think any of them have got the brains to traffic a painting.’
‘We think it’s an international operation. Any strangers in town?’
The PC considered. ‘Usual tourists, but most of them have gone home now. If you wanted to sneak about, you wouldn’t come through Bangor, or stop off anywhere. People are right suspicious round here, unless you’re local. If you were smart, you’d drive up the A470 or take the A55 along the top of the country. Never see another soul.’
Jason nodded – that made a lot of sense. One painting would be easy enough to hide in a bag, and it wasn’t like North Wales was swarming with border control. You could stroll onto any ferry coming in or out and no one would be any the wiser.
He returned to the office, where Frieda was writing in a little black notebook, a firm do-not-cross perimeter in a five-foot circle around her. Jason had never been one for heeding warnings, though, and he stopped beside the desk she was leaning on.
‘What did they say?’
She didn’t look up. ‘I can question the suspect. If he gives me enough specifics, he can have immunity from prosecution. If not…’
Her tone was neutral, her cold mask firmly back in place. Jason thought he might prefer it that way. At least she was tolerating him and not calling for his head.
‘Can I watch?’
‘I thought you might be a voyeur.’
Her flirtation was careful, cool, and Jason wasn’t in the mood to play games.
‘I’ll be behind the screen then,’ he said, and made to walk away.
Frieda caught his arm, a firm warm grip on his bare skin. ‘Jason … I’m sorry. About before. Are you sure you’re all right? You should get the police medic to take a look at you.’
Her eyes were earnest, her voice pitched low so they weren’t overheard. Was this another game, or did she genuinely care about what happened to him?
‘I’m fine,’ he said, practising his own distance, the aloof voice he’d perfected during his time inside. ‘Let’s get on with it, yeah?’
She nodded, released his arm, and led the way out of the room as if nothing had passed between them. Nye joined them outside the interview room, gesturing at the ajar door of the observation room.
Jason had been in an interview room more times than he cared to remember, but never on the outside looking in. The one-way glass tinted the harshly lit room with a shadow, the miserable lorry driver leaning against the table edge.
Frieda and Nye entered the room together, Nye sitting opposite the driver
The officer looked at him appraisingly. ‘Nye Thomas, Duty Sergeant. You think you can get him to talk some more?’
Jason shrugged one shoulder. ‘That was for free, but I reckon he’ll be after something in exchange for more. You’ve got nothing on him otherwise.’
‘Nothing? He destroyed my bike!’
‘Treacherous bit of road,’ Nye said. ‘And not a drop of alcohol in his veins. I don’t think we can hold him accountable for your bike, Miss Haas.’
Frieda looked between Nye and Jason as if she wasn’t sure who she wanted to eviscerate first. ‘I’ll talk to London.’
While the Icewoman made her phone call, Jason bummed a cigarette off one of the constables and went outside for a quick fag with him. Nothing like a dash of cold water and a near-death experience to send him running back to nicotine. The morning sun had burned off most of the mist and Jason was grateful for the warmth settling into his skin.
‘You’re up from Cardiff then?’ the PC asked, probably a year or two younger than Jason and still keen.
‘Checking out some leads,’ Jason said, like he knew what he was talking about and hadn’t just followed Frieda up here to get away from his boss.
‘It’s to do with that museum theft, isn’t it?’
‘Could be.’
‘We’ve been keeping an eye out, but truth is that our boys aren’t up to much about here. Snatching purses and growing weed, that’s about it. I don’t think any of them have got the brains to traffic a painting.’
‘We think it’s an international operation. Any strangers in town?’
The PC considered. ‘Usual tourists, but most of them have gone home now. If you wanted to sneak about, you wouldn’t come through Bangor, or stop off anywhere. People are right suspicious round here, unless you’re local. If you were smart, you’d drive up the A470 or take the A55 along the top of the country. Never see another soul.’
Jason nodded – that made a lot of sense. One painting would be easy enough to hide in a bag, and it wasn’t like North Wales was swarming with border control. You could stroll onto any ferry coming in or out and no one would be any the wiser.
He returned to the office, where Frieda was writing in a little black notebook, a firm do-not-cross perimeter in a five-foot circle around her. Jason had never been one for heeding warnings, though, and he stopped beside the desk she was leaning on.
‘What did they say?’
She didn’t look up. ‘I can question the suspect. If he gives me enough specifics, he can have immunity from prosecution. If not…’
Her tone was neutral, her cold mask firmly back in place. Jason thought he might prefer it that way. At least she was tolerating him and not calling for his head.
‘Can I watch?’
‘I thought you might be a voyeur.’
Her flirtation was careful, cool, and Jason wasn’t in the mood to play games.
‘I’ll be behind the screen then,’ he said, and made to walk away.
Frieda caught his arm, a firm warm grip on his bare skin. ‘Jason … I’m sorry. About before. Are you sure you’re all right? You should get the police medic to take a look at you.’
Her eyes were earnest, her voice pitched low so they weren’t overheard. Was this another game, or did she genuinely care about what happened to him?
‘I’m fine,’ he said, practising his own distance, the aloof voice he’d perfected during his time inside. ‘Let’s get on with it, yeah?’
She nodded, released his arm, and led the way out of the room as if nothing had passed between them. Nye joined them outside the interview room, gesturing at the ajar door of the observation room.
Jason had been in an interview room more times than he cared to remember, but never on the outside looking in. The one-way glass tinted the harshly lit room with a shadow, the miserable lorry driver leaning against the table edge.
Frieda and Nye entered the room together, Nye sitting opposite the driver
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