desks with people bent over them. No one looked across at the visitors. It was strangely quiet and felt clinical and sterile. In front of them was a larger desk, behind which a woman was sitting.
âMs Ramsden?â Adam asked.
She looked up. She had dark hair, overlarge glasses, and a figure which polite people would call full. Her chubby face was puffy and her eyes small and tinged with red, the colour magnified by the thick lensesof her glasses.
âYes?â she said quietly. Adam introduced them, then asked, âI know this is a difficult time. How are you?â
She stared at him, gulped, and suddenly sprang up from her chair and lumbered towards the door. It swung open and she disappeared down the corridor and into a toilet. Adam let out a groan and followed.
Dan stood one side of the door, Adam the other. From inside they could hear the sound of sobbing.
âIs it, err â is it always like this?â Dan asked.
âNo. This is one of the more straightforward interviews,â Adam replied heavily. He knocked on the door, called to her, but received only more crying as a response.
âWhat do we do?â
âWe wait.â
Several minutes passed. Dan sat himself on the floor. Adam paced back and forth for a little longer, then did the same.
From the toilet came a low wail, followed by more sobbing.
âIâm no expert, but Iâd say she was upset,â Dan ventured.
âWell spotted. You really are going to be a valuable addition to the investigation.â
Adam rubbed at a dot of dust on his polished brogue, reached over and knocked again at the door. There was no response, save perhaps a small diminution in the crying.
They waited on. To fill the time, Dan asked, âDo you live in Plymouth?â
âWhy?â
Dan sighed. âItâs for Wessex Tonight . I want to do an exposé. Senior detective in living in a house in city where he works shocker. It should make a great splash. Or I might just have been making conversation while we wait for the storm of grief to blow itself out.â
âOK, no need for sarcasm. Yes, I live in Plymouth.â
âWhere?â
âPeverell. Down by Central Park.â
âNot far from me. Iâm up in Hartley. You got any family?â
In the half light of the corridor, Dan couldnât quite be sure, but he thought Adam flinched. The detective ran a finger over the thick gold band of his wedding ringand said quickly, âWeâll have to get her out in a minute. We canât hang around here all day.â
He got upand knocked on the door again, harder this time. From inside the toilet came slow footsteps, and Penelope Ramsden emerged. She was clutching a handful of tissues, her face lined with misery.
âHeâs dead,â she said, so quietly they had to strain to hear. âAnd I never told him. He never knew.â
âKnew what?â Adam prompted.
âThat I loved him. All these years Iâve worked for him. All these years and he never knew.â
The tears were starting to fall again. Adam led her to a side officeand sat her down on a chair.
âI can see youâre very upset, Ms Ramsden. We wonât bother you for long. But there are a couple of things I need to check. First of all â¦â
âHe was a good man!â she interrupted, her voice a yelp. âAll those things people said about him, they werenât true. He was always kind to me. I know Iâm not thin and pretty, like those young secretaries. But he gave me a chance and he always looked after me. He was a good man!â
âNo oneâs saying he wasnât â¦â
âI loved him,â she sobbed. âAnd he never knew. And now heâll never know. Poor, poor Mr Bray.â
It took Adam another half hour of gentle coaxing and questioning before he found out all he wanted to know from Penelope Ramsden. The time was punctuated by continual bursts of tears, and much