The Name Behind M. Pell

The interview room had no clock. Merrit had been there long enough to notice the screw holes where one had been removed and the pale square it had left on the wall.

Detective Sergeant Rusk set a paper cup beside her statement. “We can move you once we’ve finished. The address won’t be given over the phone, and you won’t travel alone.”

“Who knows where I’m going?”

“Me. The inspector arranging it. The two officers who’ll take you.” Rusk paused. “That’s the list as it stands.”

Merrit kept her hands around the cup. The tea was lukewarm. “And after that?”

“An officer will stay at the accommodation. We’ll discuss longer-term protection after the threat assessment.”

It was an answer with edges she could feel. It was more than she’d had yesterday. She looked at the statement folder. “I want the whole account in there. Including what Pell said about my skin.”

“It is.”

“His exact words?”

Rusk opened the folder and turned it so she could read the typed page. The phrase suitable for consideration sat among the lines in quotation marks. Seeing it in an official document made it feel both more solid and less hers.

Merrit read on. The statement recorded her room, the gate, the departure entry, the van Jory had described, and the register she had seen. It also recorded that she did not know what had happened to Bethan Pike after the van returned empty.

“They’ve found another record,” Rusk said. “It may help us identify the recipient.”

She took a photocopy from a separate sleeve. It was a narrow card, cream paper with a ruled border. The handwriting matched the careful capitals Merrit remembered from the register. M. PELL appeared above a line marked maintenance recipient. Below it, in a different hand, someone had written Maudren Pell.

Merrit lowered the page. “That’s her.”

“It’s a strong match. We still need to establish how the card was used and who wrote it.”

“She was there when I arrived. She offered me a room.” Merrit heard herself speak too quickly and forced a pause. “She had the authority to keep me on the estate after the shuttle left.”

Rusk made a note. “Did she ever discuss the register with you?”

“No. She didn’t need to.”

The sentence sounded more certain than the evidence. Merrit’s fingers tightened on the cup until the rim bent. She loosened them and placed it on the table.

Rusk waited.