Opinion

...

Saturday 15th December

"He says he's not talking until his lawyer gets here," Spence informs the pair of them before stalking off to phone said lawyer and see how soon he's going to arrive. He's been irritable and annoyed with Boyd since they were all summoned into work and evidently, despite the hours that have passed since the early Saturday morning phone call, he's still not that keen to talk.

"He's got a new girlfriend," Grace tells Boyd as the door bangs loudly shut. "I think he had plans for the day."

"So did I," Boyd sighs as he looks through the glass at Brian Myers.

Grace allows a tiny sigh of her own, knowing full well what those plans involved and exactly how preferable they were to spending the day working. Still, there's nothing quite like achieving justice for those who need it.

Redirecting her thoughts she carefully watches Myers, who is rapidly pacing the length of interview room; up and down, up and down, over and over again. He's visibly trembling, too, and his eyes are darting from place to place, examining every inch of his surroundings as though he'll find something there.

They stand quietly for a few minutes, observing as Myers continues to try and wear a path in the floor.

"This guy's off his rocker," mutters Boyd, shifting irritably from one foot to the other, utterly bored and frustrated with the wait. "Either that, or he's an addict in need of his next hit," he remarks. He shifts his gaze to Grace and raises an eyebrow as he questions, "Care to take a guess as to which?"

Grace leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she regards him steadily.

"We've been through this before, remember? I don't guess."

"Right, sorry! I know, I know…" he holds up his hands, trying to remember. "What was it again…? Oh yeah… 'Informed views'! Well, Doctor Foley, would you like to give an informed view on this nutcase?"

"So you do listen to me then? On occasion?" She grins openly at him, and he smirks back, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Always, Grace, always!"

"He's not a nutcase; he's nervous," she declares, glancing back through the glass.

"You don't think he's a user?"

"No. Look at him Boyd! Expensive suit, watch, shoes, briefcase. Everything about him is very well-kept and polished. He's hiding something, yes, I'll agree with you on that but he's a politician, how likely is he to engage in that sort of risk?"

"We've been through this before too, haven't we – politicians are a psychologist's nightmare and all that?"

"Absolutely. I'm impressed," she tells him with entirely feigned seriousness and the look he gives her in return makes it very, very difficult to concentrate on the rest of what she has to say. She takes a deep breath and determinedly looks away from him, studiously concentrating on their suspect. "He's a professional liar. He'll probably tell you he was at home with the kids, getting ready for Christmas at the time of the murder, when instead he was out with his mistress."

"Oh really? Not speculating a little there are you, Grace?" Boyd is still grinning at her, and it's something of a struggle to keep a straight face as she replies, utterly deadpan,

"Professional opinion, Boyd! You asked for it."

"Whatever you say, Grace, whatever you say!" he laughs.

…

"Why am I here?" Myers demands imperiously, as soon as Boyd opens the door and walks into the room.

Boyd ignores him and places four glossy 8x10 photos on the table. "Karin Evans, Kiera Hall, Lucy Smith and Harriet Linton, that's why," he replies calmly.

"I've never, to my knowledge, met any of them," Myers declares smoothly, after making a show of studying each of the photographs in turn.

"I see," replies Boyd. "Well, Kiera was murdered ten years ago with the business end of a hammer - six blows to the skull. She was an activist who caused a lot of trouble surrounding a controversial environmental proposal you were campaigning for. Karin and Lucy died, together, four years ago now when they fought against your plan to close public recreation areas in order to save money in your constituency. They were also bludgeoned with a hammer. Harriet Linton here," he taps the most recent photo, staring right into Myers face, his eyes dark, angry and unyielding, "she died seven days ago – also by hammer. She was making a lot of noise about your tax proposal and cuts to funding for city park maintenance."

Myers doesn't blink, or even so much as twitch in response. He merely looks faintly bored, and that's the moment when Boyd can feel his blood pressure starting to rise and with it the inevitable impulse to start bellowing. It's always the cocky ones, the ones who think they're too smart and have got away with it that grate on his nerves the most.

"Seven days ago it was Sunday, correct?"

"Yes," replies Boyd, unsure where Myers is going.

"I was home all day with my children. We were decorating the Christmas tree and hanging the outdoor lights."

Very slowly Boyd takes off his reading glasses and runs a hand through his hair, all the while staring incredulously at Myers.

"You're not serious?" he asks, stunned.

The lawyer frowns. "My client has no reason to lie."

Boyd shoots him a withering glare. "And can your client provide a witness to prove he was at home all day?"

"No," admits Myers. "My wife was in Argentina at a conference."

Boyd scans the file in his hands before looking up again. "You have a full-time nanny, don't you?" he asks. "One who lives in? Can she not provide an alibi for your whereabouts?"

Myers is beginning to look uncomfortable. "No, she can't."

"Why? Surely if she was there and so were you, then she can give a statement to that effect?"

Myers looks desperately at his lawyer, who fixes Boyd with a rather beady-eyed stare.

"Detective Superintendent, this is all very entertaining, but do you actually have any evidence that requires an alibi from my client?"

Without a word Boyd hands over the pages of trace evidence test results Eve produced very late last night and that are responsible for dragging them all into work on a Saturday morning. The lawyer reads them carefully and purses his lips in consideration.

"Just tell him, Brian," he advises at last.

Myers looks even more uncomfortable, but does as he is told. "My nanny can't confirm I was home," he confesses in a rush, as though saying the words faster will somehow make it easier, "because I wasn't. I've been seeing another woman… and I was with her."

…

The door opens and Boyd walks out, files in one hand and reading glasses in the other. His eyes zero in on her where she is still sitting by the window, observing and trying very, very hard not to laugh.

"Have you started reading tea-leaves?" he demands. She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak.

His eyes say it all; he absolutely cannot believe what he's just heard.

"How did you know?" he pushes, because he's damned if he's going to let her get away with this one. There are indeed a great many things he would let her get away with, but not this. She keeps her lips sealed, shakes her head again. If she tries to speak, she won't be able to stop the laughter. He takes a single step towards her and then stops, standing very still. His eyes are narrowed, his attention entirely fixed on her. It's a very good thing that they are not at home, she thinks, because she knows exactly what he would do to her to try and make her talk if they were.

"Come on, out with it," he insists, and she just has to take pity on him and the desperate curiosity in his eyes. It takes several deep, steadying breaths, but eventually she thinks she has enough self-control in hand.

"Years of experience," she slowly explains, before an impish grin spreads across her face and she can't stop herself from adding, "and perhaps just the tiniest little bit of educated guesswork!"