‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ve got a statement from Zoe,’ Kelly said, chancing her arm. ‘She’s told us everything.’
Harris closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he avoided eye contact, staring instead at an illustrated guide to Italy in front of him on the coffee table. ‘I’d tried to get chatting to her that morning. I found her on the Overground, right where her profile said she’d be. I tried to speak to her, but she ignored me. I decided if I helped her with something it would break the ice: I thought I could give up my seat for her, or carry her shopping or something. But nothing like that came up. Then I was behind her at Whitechapel, and she was standing really close to the edge of the platform, and …’ He stopped talking, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him.
‘Go on.’
‘I pushed her.’
Kelly took an involuntary breath. Next to her she felt Nick sit up. So much for the softly, softly approach.
‘I pulled her to safety instantly. She was never in any danger. Women like being rescued, don’t they?’
Kelly bit back her instinctive response. She glanced at Nick, who nodded. Kelly stood up. ‘Luke Harris, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Zoe Walker. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court.’
26
PC Swift rings me on Monday evening.
‘We’ve arrested the man you spoke to at Whitechapel.’
‘Luke Friedland?’
‘His real name’s Luke Harris.’ She pauses just long enough for me to wonder why he lied to me. The answer comes in the next breath. ‘He’s admitted to pushing you; we’ve arrested him for attempted murder.’
I’m glad I’m already sitting down, because the blood rushes from my head. I reach for the remote and mute the television. Justin turns to look at me, the half-formed reproach on his lips freezing when he sees my face. He looks at Simon and nods towards me.
‘Attempted murder?’ I manage. Justin’s eyes widen. Simon reaches out a hand and touches the only part of me he can reach; my feet, curled up between us on the sofa. On the telly, a nine-year-old boy with a fractured femur is rushed down a corridor on 24 Hours in A&E.
‘I don’t think it will stick,’ PC Swift says. ‘To charge him we’d need to prove an intent to kill’ – my breath catches in my throat and she rushes to finish – ‘and he claims that wasn’t why he did it.’
‘Do you believe him?’ Attempted murder. Attempted murder. The term rattles around my head. If I’d said yes to a drink, would he have killed me?
‘I do, Zoe. It isn’t the first time he’s used this technique to approach a woman. He … er … he thought you’d be more receptive to being asked out, if you believed he’d saved your life.’
I can’t find the words to express how revolted I am that someone would think that way. I pull my feet under myself, sliding Simon’s hand off my ankle. I don’t want to be touched right now. Not by anyone. ‘What will happen to him?’
PC Swift sighed. ‘I hate to say it, but possibly nothing. We’ll pass the file to the CPS to look at, and he’ll be released on police bail with conditions not to make contact with you, but my guess is, he’ll be refused charge.’ She pauses. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we brought him in to shake him up a bit. To see if we could get any information out of him that would help us identify the ringleader.’
‘And did you?’
I know the answer before it comes.
‘No. I’m sorry.’
After she ends the call I keep the phone pressed to my ear, wanting to delay the point at which I explain to my partner and son that there is a man in custody in North London under arrest for pushing me in front of a train.
When I do, it’s Justin who reacts instantly, while Simon seems stupefied, unable to process what I’m telling him.
‘He thought you’d go out with him if he pushed you?’
‘White Knight Syndrome, PC Swift called it,’ I mumble. I feel numb, as though it’s happening to someone else.
‘They’ll harass kids on the street for hanging out, but they won’t charge someone who’s actually admitted to trying to kill someone? Pigs.’
‘Justin, please. Their hands are tied.’
‘They fucking should be. To a pipe at the bottom of the Thames.’
He leaves the room and I hear his heavy tread on the stairs. Simon is still looking lost.
‘But you didn’t go out with him. Did you?’
‘No!’ I take his hand. ‘He’s obviously nuts.’
‘What if he tries to do it again?’
‘He won’t. The police won’t let him.’ I say it more firmly than I believe. Because how can they stop him? And even if they stop Luke Friedland – Harris, I remind myself – how many other men have downloaded my commute? How many other men might be waiting for me on an Underground platform?