It was like he’d never spoken to the officer in the police car, the woman. He had to start from scratch. Sat in a meeting room with a copper who was a few years older than Mike. Grey hair but well turned out – suit and white shirt. He slipped the jacket off once they were settled. Joe Kitson, a detective inspector. ‘Call me Joe,’ he told Mike. Mike appreciated the informality. Understood it too. People would open up to you more if you were on first-name terms.
Joe asked Mike to talk him through what happened. Then he wrote down what Mike had told him. Checking sentence by sentence. He wrote on a laptop, fast, read back each complete paragraph and made sure he’d got it right. Joe didn’t talk much but he had an easy way to him, a good listener, not only for the statement but for the other stuff Mike mentioned: the situation at work, the shock he’d felt when he realized he was seeing it for real.
Then Joe printed it all out on a special form and asked Mike to read it, and sign and date it at the bottom. He’d give evidence if the case came to court, Joe said, Mike understood that?
‘Yes, of course,’ Mike said
Joe explained what would happen next. The police would be gathering as much evidence as possible to try and bring charges against the culprits. It would probably be a matter of months rather than weeks before they knew whether they had enough to mount a prosecution.
Joe told him that they intended to keep the witnesses’ identity secret to minimize any chances of coercion. He asked Mike not to advertise the fact he was giving a statement and might be called as a witness. Joe gave him his card, told him to get in touch if he had any questions, any concerns.
‘What do you reckon the chances are?’ Mike asked as Joe walked him out. ‘Reckon you’ll find out who did it?’
‘Oh, we’ve a pretty shrewd idea of who’s behind it,’ said Joe. ‘What we have to do now is see if we can prove it.’
‘Did you trace the car? You’d think a Beemer like that’d be a doddle to find.’
Joe smiled, shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss the investigation with you.’
Mike nodded. ‘Need to know basis,’ he said. Some line off the telly. He felt a prat as soon as he said it.
‘That’s right,’ Joe agreed. They shook hands at the front desk. ‘Thanks for coming in, and I hope we’ll be in touch later in the year.’
Mike had lost an hour and three-quarters and missed two calls from Ian. He rang his boss.
‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ Ian barked. ‘I’ve had Sandringham Way mithering about a new laptop for the past hour, stayed off work to take delivery.’