. ‘Which mate?’ she said.
‘Don’t remember,’ he back-pedalled.
‘Let’s see if we can jog your memory,’ Rachel said. She pressed play. The film showed Greg Tandy with his phone, making eye contact with Neil Perry, standing up from his barstool. ‘Which mate?’ she said.
‘Don’t know him.’
‘You just rang him,’ she said.
‘No, not him.’
‘Who then?’ Rachel said.
‘Can’t remember, I told you.’
‘How come you followed him to the gents?’
‘I didn’t follow him. I needed a slash,’ he said, his eyes flinty, a spasm twitching across his forehead. He rubbed at the sore on his mouth.
‘Why did you arrange to meet this man?’
‘I never.’
‘For the benefit of the tape I am now showing Mr Perry a screenshot of the text from his mobile phone, item number PR46. Will you read it out, please?’
His face darkened. It was getting to him. Rachel eased back in her chair a little. This wasn’t about getting him riled up, no need to provoke. Just the steady, relentless presentation of evidence, exposing lie after lie.
‘Tomorrow 830 Bobbins,’ he said.
‘I put it to you that you set up a meeting with the man in the CCTV film, that you used your mobile phone to alert him to your arrival at the bar and that you then met him in the men’s toilets.’
‘No comment.’
‘That man’s name is Greg Tandy,’ Rachel said. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘No comment,’ he said.
‘We’ll be talking to Mr Tandy later, perhaps he’ll be able to tell us what you were meeting him for. Was it drugs?’
‘No comment.’
‘Several different illegal substances were found in your room. Were you dealing?’
‘No comment.’
‘I’m interested in what business you’d have with another man in a pub toilet,’ Rachel said. ‘Were you meeting for sex?’
He sprang to his feet. ‘Don’t you fucking say that.’
‘Neil, Neil,’ his solicitor said, ‘sit down.’
‘Fucking libel, that is,’ spit flew from his mouth, ‘fucking bitch.’ He sprang at her, face contorted, the tendons on his neck taut like wires.
His fist connected with her shoulder, spinning her round, throwing her to the floor. He came after her, the solicitor shouting.
Neil Perry kicked at her, she dodged the blow, scrabbled up, not far from the wall. Rachel threw an arm back, connecting with the alarm rail, the bell sounding shrill.
‘Fucking lezzer,’ he yelled, ‘you take that back, take it back!’ He was enraged, Roid Rage, giving him both strength and aggression. He caught her wrists, his hands rock hard.
‘Let go,’ the solicitor shouted, ‘Neil, Mr Perry.’
‘You take it back,’ he said, froth at the corners of his mouth.
‘Get your fucking hands off me,’ Rachel said. ‘Assaulting a police officer, you want that adding to the charge?’