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so Harriman had logged on to the national police computer and run Kimber’s name through the database – and come up empty.
    â€˜So that was why you killed her,’ Stella said. ‘Because it felt good.’
    Kimber nodded; the smile came back. ‘Same as before.’
    â€˜Before?’
    â€˜Same as with the others.’
    â€˜Let’s talk about the others.’ Stella avoided his eyes and kept her voice low: it said,
Tell me anything, tell me everything; I’m here to listen and believe
.
    â€˜I like that way of doing it,’ Kimber said. ‘I reckon that’s the best way of doing it.’
    â€˜What is?’
    â€˜So you’re close. Close up. With a gun or a knife… well, no, I’ve never thought about that way. You stand off, don’tyou? No contact. Bit closer with the knife, perhaps, but it’s not that
personal
, is it? Think of a gun, now. You point, like pointing your finger, and you’re way back, aren’t you? Think of a knife. You’ve probably got to stab any number of times and so you’re busy, aren’t you?
Busy
. My way, you’re able to see what’s going on. You can feel things; you’re using your hands. Close up.’
    â€˜How did you pick her?’
    â€˜Valerie? My Valerie? Well, there she was. You see someone, you take a shine –’
    â€˜Tell me how you happened to find her.’
    â€˜On the tube.’
    Stella paused. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting.
    She and Harriman were at the interview table with Kimber. Sorley was sitting in but saying nothing. Inspectors don’t make good interrogators: too much time spent pushing paper and balancing budgets. You lose the nose for it; a good liar can hold you off for hours.
    Harriman said, ‘When was that – on the tube?’
    â€˜A while back.’
    â€˜You’ve been following her.’ Kimber spread his hands and smiled, confirming the obvious. ‘Answer for the tape,’ Harriman told him.
    â€˜Followed her, yes. Of course.’
    â€˜That day? That week?’
    â€˜For a while.’
    Stella took over. She asked, ‘Why?’
    â€˜I used to have a place,’ Kimber said, ‘a place with a big window that looked down on to a street. Busy street. Shops and pubs and so forth. People coming and going most of the time. To and fro. Back and forth. Couples and friends and people on their own. I used to sit there and watch. Yashica seven by thirty-five with a six-point-five degree field.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Binoculars,’ Harriman told her.
    â€˜Binoculars. I was about thirty feet up from the street and the glasses brought people right up close. Next to you. As if you could touch. Couples and friends, they’re not what you’re after. Not really. They’re talking to each other, looking at each other, laughing and joking and you’re shut out. People on their own, that’s different. That’s what you’re looking for. Singletons. You’re beside them. They’re walking along and you’re there, looking into their faces, reading their expressions, reading their thoughts. They’re inside themselves and you can see that. And, if you think about it, there’s no other time you can do that, is there? Not even with people you know well.’
    â€˜Do what?’
    â€˜Study them. Study their faces. Imagine someone walking down the street and you’re there – really there – on the street with them, and they’re walking forwards and you’re walking backwards but just in front of them.’ He paused. ‘Got the picture?’ Stella nodded. ‘Just in front of them and looking directly at them. You couldn’t do it; they wouldn’t let you. Or on the tube and you get up and go to the person opposite and you crouch down and look them right in the face.’ He smiled at the self-evident silliness of the idea. ‘I