“Right,” Jim said. “The police are ready to begin, but I suggest you only speak to them in my presence, okay?”
“Are we in any trouble?” Sarah asked.
“None,” Jim said. “You haven’t been arrested so you’re under no obligation to stay here. You’re doing them a favour. As a witness to an offence, you –”
“Offence?” Joseph scoffed. “Is that lawyer-speak for ‘a brutal coldblooded murder’?”
Jim ignored the interruption. “– you aren’t obliged under UK law to answer any of the detective’s questions.” He pinned Dylan with a stare that probably scared the hell out of witnesses in court. “Technically you could just walk out now, Dylan.”
“I know. But I need to find out what’s going on.”
Jim glanced at Sarah. “Was Natalia Orlov – uhh – dear to you, Dylan?”
“No, but she died right in my arms. And I’m potentially about to do business with her husband. Her widower.”
“Her murderer,” Joseph muttered.
Jim transferred his stare to Joseph. “I wouldn’t go around making accusations like that without proof, young man.”
Dylan intervened before Joseph was able to give whatever sarcastic reply was formulating in his mouth.
“Look,” Dylan said. “In my mind, the police are helping me with my enquiries. I just wanna find out what the hell’s going on.”
Jim’s face remained as cool as an ice-bucket. “Fine. I’ll go and tell the detective my clients are ready to talk.”
Dylan wasn’t sure why he had such an instinctive dislike of the police. Perhaps it was because of the rumours of his father’s gun-running past, which had haunted the family in the decades since he’d given it up – if he had indeed done it. His dad wasn’t telling, and none of the brothers were keen to know the truth. But Dylan was keen to know the truth about Natalia.
This stuffy interview room was gloomy with dark grey walls and plastic chairs. There was a shabby wooden table between Dylan and the detective, with an industrial tape recorder screwed to the wall – as if anyone would try to steal such an archaic piece of junk in the middle of a police interrogation. Dylan drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the constable to finish setting up the recording device. Jim sat next to him, and Detective Edwards sat opposite – drinking coffee from a plastic cup and looking weary. She stank of cigarettes, and her voice was gravelly from smoking too much.
“So here we are again, Mr Quinlan. Perhaps if you’d been more cooperative earlier, Mrs Orlov might still be alive.”
Dylan’s irritation surged. “This has nothing to do with me. I didn’t stick that goddamn knife in her.”
Detective Edwards sighed. “Okay, Mr Quinlan. Could you tell us what your relationship was with Mrs Orlov? Is it true you were having an affair?”
Jim leaned casually back in his seat. “Dylan, you don’t have to answer that. The interview hasn’t officially started and you’re under no obligation to talk.” He glared at the detective. “Perhaps if the detective wants information, she might want to try being a bit more civil.”
Detective Edwards opened her mouth to reply, but Dylan’s phone rang, so he pulled it out of his inside jacket pocket. “Excuse me. This might be a client.”
Detective Edwards grumbled. “Mr Quinlan, please finish your call quickly then turn off your phone.”
Dylan ignored her and blocked out the petty squabble that she and Jim were launching into. He held his phone to his ear. “Dylan Quinlan speaking.”
The end of the line crackled. Dylan strained to listen. “Hello?”
A whispered Russian voice said. “We know you are with police. You must not tell what Natalia said to you, or else your brothers will die one by one. And then your sweet little sister. Understand?”
Dylan’s shoulders shuddered with shock as the air constricted around him. His mind raced with frantic dread. Were his siblings in trouble? Joseph was still here at the police station, wasn’t he? And Adam? Surely he’d be okay; at the office as usual. And what about… the others… He glanced at the detective, who was still having a restrained argument with Jim about Dylan’s involvement in all this. “You need to either arrest and charge my client, or let him go. He’s done nothing wrong.”
Dylan calmed his thrashing heart and opened his mouth to appease the caller, but the line went dead. Trying to stop his hands from shaking with adrenaline, he dropped the phone back in his pocket and forced himself to think straight. He needed to get out of here with as little fuss and suspicion from the detective as possible. Then he could sort this mess out himself.
He splayed his hands on the table. “I’m ready to answer your questions.”
The detective threw her attention over him. “Anyone important on the phone?”
“Wrong number.”
“Right. Okay, let’s get on with this witness interview then – before your lawyer decides to sue Her Majesty’s Law Enforcement Agency.” She pressed ‘record’ on the tape player and gave a preamble. Then she gazed deeply into Dylan’s eyes. He held her eye contact, refusing to be intimidated. “Okay, Mr Quinlan, first things first. We know Natalia Orlov shouted your name and sourced you out in Leicester Square. Our officers say Mrs Orlov spoke into your ear. What did she say exactly. Word-for-word, please.”