followed her to her office. So I could go back there any time, any weekday, and wait for her to come out. Then follow her home.â
âWhere was that?â Harriman asked.
Kimber gave an address in Penzance Place; it was the right address.
âYou followed her when she went jogging,â Harriman observed. âYou jogged along behind her, did you?â
Stella detected the edge in Harrimanâs voice: irritation or disbelief. She said, âYou knew her routes.â
âShort run: Holland Park. Long run: Hyde Park. I didnât need to go. I could wait until she got back.â
âBut you were in the park. She died in the park.â
âWell, I always walked that way to get to her flat. Sometimes I saw her running through. That was wonderful. As if she was coming to find me, you know? Putting herself in my way.â
âYou wanted to be up close when you killed her: is that what you said?â
âThatâs right.â
âTell me about that.â
âWhy not kill her in her flat?â Harriman asked. âBreak in, kill her there.â Stella dropped her head and turned it a fraction to the side, as if Harrimanâs interruption had arrived on a cloud of bad breath.
Kimber was looking at Stella. He said, âShe had alarms.â Then, âUp close in the circle of light; up close when she died. How could it be any other way?â
âYou took a risk.â
âIt was almost dark.â
âThere were people about.â
âThe park was closing. It was dusk: everyone making for the exits.â
âOther joggers.â
âJoggers donât see anything. Theyâre running. They hear their own breath, they think about the next step. Why do you think it was so easy to catch her?â
âYou strangled her.â
âUp close. And you can see the life going. The light going from her eyes; a stillness coming over her.â
Kimberâs eyelids drooped. He looked a little dazed.
Stellaâs voice was low, almost a whisper. âHow did you do that?â
For a moment, Kimber didnât react; then he looked at her, eyes wide, as if startled. âDo what?â
Stella could see the change.
Lost him
.
âYou strangled her.â
âYes.â
âTell me how you did that.â Then, in the hope of finding her way back, âWhat was it like?â
Kimber folded his arms and placed them on the table, then bent over and rested his head.
He said, âIâm tired now.â
âIf Iâm trying to sneak in through the window,â Stella said, âIâd prefer you didnât kick down the fucking door.â
Harriman shrugged. âSorry, Boss. It seemed like a good question at the time.â
âI lost him.â
âHeâll talk some more; heâs a sicko.â
âYouâve got him down as a time-wasterâ¦â
Harriman shrugged. âHeâd been following her, so heâd know her hair colour, know she tied it back when she went jogging.â
âBut wouldnât know sheâd been stripped.â As if she were reading his mind, she added, âI know itâs slim.â
âWhat will you do?â
âCall this his statutory rest period, talk to him in the morning.â
âNot charge him?â
âNot yet. We need to find out where he lives: internetsearch, listings CD, old-fashioned electoral register. Get down there, toss the place, find something helpful.â
Sorley had gone to his office to sketch a report for the case-log: just the bare bones. They had taken DNA samples with the suspectâs permission: a mouth swab. They had suggested he might like to have a solicitor present and told him that they could provide him with one if necessary. The suspect had declined. He had smiled and declined. Sorley made a call to say he was on his way home. He was in a newish second marriage after a bad divorce and was still edgy about the hours he
Learning to Kill: Stories