White entered the observation room and stared through the one-way glass at the lad in the interview room. Percival Trubshaw looked exactly like the faded photograph supplied by Miss McKinty. Exactly. Right down to the curl of hair over the ears and the bicuspid out of alignment.
It was as if he was looking through a window into the past. This man couldn't possibly be who he claimed to be. It must be a scam of some sort. A trick, perhaps, ough for what possible reason White couldn't imagine. The suspect – Miss McKinty was yet to press charges – appeared fearful, his hands constantly in motion as he scanned every inch of the room, paying particular attention to the camera in the corner. He betrayed no hint of the cockiness White would expect from a con artist and, indeed, gave every impression of being genuinely confused about his arrest.
White moved into the short corridor connecting the two rooms, took a deep breath and opened the door to the interview room. He modulated his voice to appear flustered, overworked and uncaring. “Right. Percival Trubshaw?”
“Yes?” He would have jumped up and the suddenness of White's entrance but the chair, being screwed to the floor, didn't move, collapsing his leg muscles before he even made it upright.
“My name is Detective-inspector White. I understand you claim to be a time traveller?”