The Inspector – Part 2: Case Closed

The interview was a masterpiece of pressure and patience. She asked the same question four different ways and listened to his answers without a flicker of expression. She walked slowly round the chair with her hands behind her back, stopped behind him, and spoke at his ear in a voice so low and level it seemed to come from inside his own head. She made him repeat his account, and corrected each inconsistency with a murmured no. She put a gloved finger under his chin and tilted his face to the lamp, and studied it as she might a clue. All of it was exact, calm and wholly without cruelty, and under the lamplight he felt himself dissolving, thought by thought, into a long, grateful quiet.

Every half hour: "Does the suspect wish to continue?" "Yes, Inspector." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

"The Inspector does not require thanks." But the corner of her mouth moved.

Near two, she slid a sheet of paper across the desk. It was a confession, three lines long, absurd and ridiculous, written in her own hand. I did it. I did it because I wanted you to ask.

"Sign."

He signed, with a trembling hand. She read it twice, nodded and closed the case file.

"Alibi," said Rosamund, softly.

It was her word, and she said it for them both. The gloves came off. The grey coat was draped over the back of the chair. She came round the desk in her stockinged feet and sat on the carpet in front of him, taking his hands in hers.

"How are you?"

"Cleared," said Calvin, with a shaky laugh. "Entirely."

"You were extraordinary." She kissed his forehead. "The best suspect I have ever had."

"Is the case closed?"

"The case is never closed." She smiled. "It is merely adjourned. There is a very large pot of tea, and I have a stack of unsolved files."

"I'll help," said Calvin.

"You will confess," said Rosamund, and kissed him again.

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