‘I only saw his face. He braked, I jumped back, there was this moment-’ her voice shook and her mouth felt dry – ‘we were just staring at each other, both shocked.’ She recalled the way he glared at her. ‘And then he drove on.’
‘And the other man?’
‘I barely registered him. I could tell there were two people in the car but I only saw the driver.’
Joe shifted in his seat. Typed a bit more into his laptop. Then he explained that he’d like her to try and identify the man she saw but she would have to do that at the police station. It was important to make sure it was done above board, the right checks and balances. ‘Someone else has to do it, I’m not allowed.’ He smiled. ‘Make sure I don’t tip you the wink.’
Fiona felt uneasy. ‘I don’t know.’
‘We could pop along now,’ he said quietly. ‘No fuss, no complicated arrangements. Be back within the hour.’ His eyes were greeny grey, the colour of shale, of bay leaf.
Later she thought he had planned it like that, making it easier to do because she wouldn’t be anticipating it, wouldn’t have a chance to get cold feet.
Still she hesitated. ‘But if I…’
He read her mind. ‘You find it’s too much, I’ll bring you straight home.’
She agreed. Wanting to be brave, wanting to impress him. Pathetic, she told herself.
The drive took only ten minutes and when they got to the police station it was all set up. Joe left her with a jovial, whiskery man and a younger woman. There was a monitor for her to watch and a camera would record Fiona’s reactions for evidence.
‘What we have are eight video IDs,’ the man said. ‘I’d like you to watch them, all of them, and only at the end tell me if the man you saw driving the BMW is among them and which number he is. You can look again at any of the images and we can freeze them for you too, if you ask. You can’t ask me any questions and please take your time. Is that all right?’
It was and the woman set the camera going.
They were like moving mug-shots, Fiona thought to herself, the men looking straight ahead then turning this way and that for the profiles. The men were all white with short hair. She saw him, number four, with a lurch of recognition. Then did as instructed and watched the rest. None of the others came close. ‘Number four.’ Her voice sounded dusty. ‘That was him.’ The man put number four back on the screen. He had large, dark eyes. A sensuous mouth, the sculpted face. Dress him in ringlets and kohl, pantaloons and a frilly shirt, and he could be Captain Jack in Pirates of the Caribbean.
‘You’re sure?’