Page 107 of 36 Hours

‘Wait, wait…’

Kim ended the call and then blocked his number.

‘Better?’ Bryant asked.

‘Much,’ she answered, getting out of the car.

‘Don’t wanna burst your bubble, boss, but that vehicle we’re looking for ain’t on the drive.’

‘Shit, Bryant, I often wonder how I’d get by without you. I was thinking it was wearing an invisibility cloak.’

‘That wouldn’t even be funny on a good day,’ he moaned.

‘Neither would you telling me what I can see with my own two eyes,’ she said, knocking the door.

The man that answered was in his late thirties, slightly overweight with a shaved head. Kim vaguely remembered seeing him in the middle of the litter-picking crowd when she’d addressed the whole group.

The same recognition dawned on his face. ‘You’re that copper from yesterday.’

‘I am indeed. May we come in?’

He hesitated and shrugged before stepping back.

The house was clean and tidy but with few adornments.

As she followed him to the kitchen, she noted ones of everything; one pair of boots by the door, one winter coat hanging up, and yet there were framed photos on the wall of a threesome, himself with more muscle, an attractive wife and a girl around ten years old. None of the photos showed the girl any older than that.

Looking even closer, the photos were printed copies and not originals.

The photos continued into the kitchen, but still without any signs of the child ageing.

Peter Harris pointed to a small bistro table suitable for one person. A picture was starting to form.

She and Bryant took the uncomfortable chairs while the man leaned against the countertop and folded his arms.

Defensive already, Kim noted.

‘Everything okay, Mr Harris?’

Again, he shrugged.

‘You don’t seem pleased to see us.’

‘You’re police. Is anybody ever pleased to see you?’

‘Is now convenient? I mean if your wife is?—’

‘Not a problem. Now’s fine for whatever brings you here.’

Kim wanted to get to the van, but she was intrigued by his attitude and the photos of the child who never aged.

‘Lovely girl,’ Kim said, nodding towards one of the photos.

‘She is,’ he said without looking towards the wall.

‘She looks just like you. What year is she in?’

‘College,’ he answered.