Perfect Strangers

Fox looked at her for a moment before he spoke.

‘Why don’t we go back a bit? Tell me how you met, what was the nature of your relationship?’

She watched as Fox turned on a tape recorder. Slowly, haltingly, Sophie told them how she had met Nick at the party, how they had spent the week together, the places they had been, anything she could remember. The woman sergeant was scribbling down notes in one of her files as she unfurled the story. When she had finished, Fox folded his hands.

‘What was Nick’s full name?’

It seemed a strange question to ask.

‘Nick Cooper.’

‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘

Sophie, do you know why Nick gave you a false name?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.’

‘We opened the safe in the hotel suite. His passport was inside and the name on this passport was Nick Beddingfield.’

Sophie shook her head vigorously.

‘You’re mistaken. His name was Nick Cooper.’

Fox shrugged.

‘His passport said otherwise.’

‘Maybe it was . . . maybe he had changed his name or something. People do, don’t they? For legal reasons, sometimes?’ She looked from Fox to Field and back again. ‘Why would he lie to me?’

‘I don’t know, Sophie. But we’d like to know why too.’

‘Nick Beddingfield,’ she repeated slowly, staring at the grainy wood of the tabletop. Her head was beginning to swim. She felt dizzy now. Sick, wounded. Could it be true? But why would the police lie? So what else had he been lying about? She made a mental trawl of the last few days, looking for clues, contradictions, inconsistencies in what they had talked about. Had it all been lies? Even his feelings?

‘Is he really from Houston?’ she said, feeling her eyes cloud with tears.

‘We’re making enquiries.’

The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room and her tongue was dry.

‘Could I have a drink, please?’

DS Field got up and returned with a plastic cup of water. It didn’t seem to make much difference; it still hurt to swallow.

‘Here’s the problem I have, Sophie,’ said Fox. ‘You claim that you have only known this man, what is it? Five days? You also claim you don’t know anything about him – you don’t really know where he’s from beyond perhaps Texas, you’ve never met any of his friends or family, you don’t even really know what he does for a job. And yet, you’re basically living together.’

‘Not really,’ said Sophie. ‘I mean, I stayed in his room a few times . . .’

‘All a bit quick, isn’t it?’ said DS Field.

‘Quick?’

‘Well, you meet him on the Thursday, by the Monday you’re shacked up together.’

‘We weren’t shacked up,’ protested Sophie. ‘I’d just been seeing him—’