‘What did you lack?’
‘A murder weapon for one. An eye-witness for another. We could prove he was there, but not that he shot her.’
‘But he was your only suspect, right?’
‘At this moment. . probably. That’s one reason why we needed to talk to your son.’
‘You don’t think I killed her?’ the youth exclaimed.
‘Don’t get excited,’ McGurk told him. ‘Let’s get that formality out of the way. Did you?’
‘No! I did not.’
‘Where were you at half past eight on the last morning of the school term?’
‘Probably cleaning my teeth after having a shower.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
‘Warty Armstrong, one of the lads.’
McGurk smiled. ‘I don’t suppose he was christened Warty.’
‘Sorry, Warren.’
‘He’ll confirm your presence in school at that time, you’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Fine. See? I told you it was a formality.’
‘Does that mean we can go?’ Davis asked.
‘Not quite. We need to ask you about Sugar. How well did you really know her?’
‘Very well. We were. .’ He stopped. ‘I don’t know how to put it without sounding silly.’
‘Just say it as you feel it,’ Stallings told him. ‘We’ll tell you whether it sounds silly or not.’
‘Okay, we were in love.’ He glanced sideways at his father, as if to gauge his reaction, but he was impassive.
‘Nothing silly about that,’ she retorted. ‘So am I. Sergeant McGurk might be too. Did Sugar ever talk to you about her life before she met you, about people she knew, people she didn’t like, people she might have been afraid of?’
‘Only one.’ The young man’s answer was almost a growl. ‘That man Weekes. Sugar wasn’t afraid of him. . she wasn’t afraid of anything: you could see that in her work. . but he upset her.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ McGurk asked. ‘She had no enemies, no rivals?’
Davis looked at him, with a hint of scorn. ‘Creative people don’t have rivals,’ he said. ‘Colleagues, more like. We all do our own thing, in our own way. Each one of us is unique. As for enemies: you didn’t know her, or you’d know how laughable that idea is.’
‘Apart from Weekes?’
‘Apart from him, although I don’t know if you’d call him an enemy. He was somebody from her past who wouldn’t let go.’
‘Did she talk to you about him?’
‘She told me all about him. She told me that they had been engaged once, but that she had chucked him.’
‘Did she tell you why?’
He nodded. ‘He gave her a dose, the bastard. He’d been two-timing her and he passed on a disease he’d caught off some slag. She told him it was all over, but he wouldn’t go away. There wasn’t a week went by without him phoning her. She told him to stop, but he didn’t and she was too nice to do anything about it.’
‘Did she tell you what his job was?’
‘No, she never mentioned it. I never knew until Dad told me. He must have been good at it, though, because he followed her. More than once, she’d see him at places she’d gone, or she’d see his car parked near hers.’
‘When you were with Sugar,’ Stallings asked, ‘were you ever aware of him following you?’
‘No, but he must have done, because he knew about us.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, because of that time at the Gyle.’
‘Weekes told us that Sugar agreed to meet him there,’ said McGurk. ‘Is that true?’
The young man gasped. ‘That’s bollocks!’ he exclaimed. ‘She went shopping there one day; she had just parked and he pulled into the bay right beside her. He jumped out of his car and came straight up to her, shouting at her.’
‘Shouting what?’
‘Stuff about me, about the two of us. She said he called her a fucking cradle-snatcher, and said a lot of other obscene stuff, about her and me. He told her to stop seeing me, or else.’
‘Or else?’
‘That was what she said he said. That was when she lost her temper; she told him that the two of us were going to France for a month, and that she was looking forward to having safe sex for the first time since she’d met him. Then she told him that he could fuck off, got back in her car and drove away.’ He paused. ‘When she told me about it later on, she was still shaking with anger. It’s the only time I ever saw her like that. Weekes killed her. I don’t care about proof; I’m telling you, he killed her.’
‘But, Davis,’ Stallings began, ‘after that, when Sugar didn’t appear in France, weren’t you worried?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I wasn’t. It never occurred to me that anything could have happened to her. To tell you the truth, once I’d had a few days to think about it, I began to wonder whether she still felt something for him, after all. If people can get so worked up about somebody, doesn’t that mean that deep down they care about them? I read that somewhere, in a psychology book.’
‘Maybe. But if it’s any consolation, there’s no evidence of that in Sugar’s case.’
‘In a way,’ said Michael Colledge, ‘that’s good to hear. I’m sure Dave will take some comfort from it.’ He gazed at the detectives. ‘That covers everything, does it not? I don’t want to rush you, but I have to get back down south. The House is still in session.’
‘There is just one thing I’d like to revisit,’ Stallings replied. ‘Davis, can I go back to the time when you discovered that Sugar was dead? Tell me once more, please. When was that?’
‘Yesterday, when I called Mr Skinner. He told me.’
The inspector straightened slightly in her chair. She looked from son to father. ‘At this point, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘the interview must proceed under formal caution. Davis, I have to advise you that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘What the hell?’ Michael Colledge exploded. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s necessary, I’m afraid, sir. There are matters we have to raise. Davis, when you were in Collioure did you ever go on the Internet?’
‘Yes,’ the young man blurted out. ‘I used a café.’
‘Inspector,’ his father intervened, ‘I must insist on a few words in private with my son.’
‘I’m not going to allow that. At this point, sir, you’re here as his legal adviser, at my discretion.’
‘Then this interview is at an end. Come on, Dave.’
‘You can go, Mr Colledge,’ said McGurk. ‘He stays.’
‘Have you any idea who. .’
‘Please, sir.’ The sergeant sighed. ‘Don’t insult us by finishing that sentence. Davis,’ he continued, ‘the Internet access you mentioned. Was it one of those places where anyone can walk in off the street?’
‘No,’ the young man replied, carefully and quietly. ‘The guy was fussy; he made you sign in and give your passport number every time you logged on.’
‘Yes; apparently he has a fixation about paedophiles using his kit and him getting the blame. Your name and passport number are both in his book. You used the place five times; three of those were during your first week there, on the Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. The other two were on Monday and Tuesday of last week. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do when you were on line? What did you look at?’
‘Just stuff. YouTube, music sites.’
‘Did you send any emails?’
A brief frown registered on Davis’s forehead. ‘I sent three to Sugar, the week before last, asking where she was.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t send four?’
His face reddened. ‘Sorry. Yes, I sent another last Monday. It wasn’t very nice. I was angry with her by that time.’
‘Was that before you visited the BBC website?’
‘What?’
‘You heard him,’ said Stallings. ‘Was it before?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Davis, you’re a bright guy, but maybe not as bright as you think. Web browsers leave a history. Our French colleagues looked at the terminals in your café on the days you were signed in. Last Monday somebody logged on to the BBC News page that reported the discovery of a woman’s body in Edinburgh. The next day there was a session in which someone logged on to the Evening News website and then to the BBC again, to a report which said that the body had been identified as that of Sugar Dean.’ The young man’s head was bowed: his father was silent, gazing at him. ‘Why did you lie to us?’ the inspector asked.