“CHRIST, WHAT on earth do you lot want this time?” Rose Preston said when she opened the door to let the two men in about an hour after Annie had left. She was just in the middle of watching Holby City, which she did like, and she really didn’t want to be disturbed.
The two men exchanged puzzled glances.
“Sorry,” Rose said. “It’s all right. Come in. I just hope it won’t take long, that’s all.”
“Ah, watching Holby City, I see,” said the tallest of the two. He had big shoulders and a tanned, shiny bald head, whereas his colleague was slight and round-shouldered, with wispy ginger hair and a pale, almost albino, complexion. “I don’t mind that, myself, though it’s a little gruesome for my tastes sometimes. Still, I wish I got to see it more often. But with the hours on this job…Anyway, I’m DS Sandalwood, and this here’s my colleague, DC Watkins. Just pretend he’s not here.”
Sandalwood flashed a warrant card. Rose didn’t even bother to look. She’d seen enough of them over the past two days to last her a lifetime. “What is it this time?” she asked. “Honest, there’s nothing more I can tell you. I’m new here. I don’t really know the other girls.”
“What do you mean, ‘this time’?”
“Well, you can hardly fail to be aware that this isn’t the first visit I’ve had from the police lately, can you? Or don’t you even talk to each other?”
“The lines of communication do get jammed up once in a while, I must admit,” said Sandalwood. As he spoke, Watkins was busy poking around the room, looking under cushions and in the sideboard drawers.
“What’s he doing?” Rose asked.
“Like I said. Don’t mind him. He can’t help himself. Habitual nosey parker. Stands him in good stead in this job sometimes, though, I can tell you. Like a bloodhound. Any chance of a cuppa, love?”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t be staying long enough.”
Watkins glanced toward Sandalwood from over by the bookcase. “She’s got quite a gob on her, don’t she?” he said. He had a thin, squeaky voice, which reminded Rose of fingernails grating on a blackboard.
“Now, now,” said Sandalwood. “There’s no need to fall out. Why don’t you go and have a good shufti around the rest of the house while the young lady here and I have a little chinwag?”
Watkins grunted and left the room. Rose could hear him climbing the stairs. “What’s he doing?” she said. “He can’t just poke around wherever he wants like that. Where’s your warrant?” Rose made to go after Watkins, but she felt a grip like a circus strongman’s around her upper arm. First it hurt, then her whole arm went numb. “Ow!” she yelled, trying to yank her arm away. “Gerroff!”
But Sandalwood held on and dragged her down into a chair none too gently. “Sit down, young lady,” he said between gritted teeth. “And speak when you’re spoken to.”
It was remarkable how still he remained through all this, Rose thought, not moving a muscle that didn’t need to be moved. She straightened her glasses. “Who are you?” she said. “You’re not police. You’re-”
The blow wasn’t hard, but it was enough to stop Rose in her tracks, and she hadn’t seen it coming. “Shut up,” said Sandalwood, pointing a stubby finger at her. “Just shut the fuck up, or I’ll get DC Watkins back down here and you’ll know what real pain is. He enjoys hurting people, Watkins does. For me it’s just a part of the job.”
Rose didn’t need telling twice. Her arm was beginning to ache, and her cheek stung. She started to cry.
“And you can shut off the waterworks, too,” Sandalwood said. “They won’t get you anywhere with me.”
“What do you want?” Rose instinctively crossed her legs, aware that her skirt had ridden up and she was probably showing far too much thigh.
Sandalwood caught her gesture and laughed. “It’s all right, love,” he said. “Don’t worry. That’s not what we’re after, tempting as it looks.”
Rose flushed and curled her fists tight on her lap. She felt powerless and scared. If she’d had a gun, she would have shot Sandalwood right there and then. She could hear the other one, Watkins, moving about upstairs. He was in her room now, going through her things, and the thought made her flesh crawl.
“A couple of simple questions. Straight answers from you and we’re gone,” said Sandalwood. “Deal?”
Rose said nothing, just started down at her fists, watching her knuckles turning white.
“Deal?” Sandalwood said again.
Rose nodded. All she wanted was for them to be gone. The doctors were working desperately over a bloody patient in Holby City. Suddenly it didn’t seem as exciting as it once had.
“Where’s Erin Doyle?”
“You must know,” said Rose. “It’s been on telly and in all the papers. She’s in Eastvale. Probably in jail now.”
Sandalwood nodded encouragingly, as if the question had been a test and Rose had managed to pass. “Do you know a bloke called Jaff? Paki bastard.”
“I’ve met him a few times.”
“He’s been shagging this Erin bint, right?”
“They’ve been going out together, yes. You don’t need to be so crude.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Where is he? Where’s Jaff?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“Why would I lie? I hardly know him. Like I said, I’ve met him once or twice. He’s Erin’s boyfriend.”
“You ever been to his place?”
“Never.”
“Well, we’ve just dropped by, and he’s not there. The bloke down the hall says he scarpered with some woman last night. Seemed in a bit in a hurry. Any idea who that is or why he’d do a moonlight?”
“No.”
Watkins came back and stood in the doorway shaking his head, then he held up three fingers. Sandalwood gave him a nod, then turned back to Rose. “DC Watkins tells me there are three of you living here. Who’s the third?”
“Francesca. Francesca Banks. But I think her real name’s Tracy.”
“Francesca but her real name’s Tracy? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Rose put her hands to her face and started crying again. “You’re scaring me.”
“Tell me about this Francesca.”
“She knew Jaff, too. I think she fancied him. She disappeared. She went out last night and she hasn’t come back. Please go away. Please leave me alone. I don’t know anything.”
“Is she the woman Jaff scarpered with? Don’t lie to me this time.”
“She might be. She’s got short blond hair with a few colored streaks. She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket.”
“Stud under her lower lip and a ring through her eyebrow?”
“That’s right.”
Sandalwood looked at Watkins. “That’s the one that was with Jaff. Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” said Rose in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? She’s gone. Probably with Jaff. That’s what the policewoman kept asking me. But I told her the same. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“What policewoman?”
“The one that was here just before you.”
“We don’t know nothing about any policewoman.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. Honest. It’s none of my business. I think Erin’s in jail, and I don’t know where Francesca is. Or Jaff. I don’t understand any of this. All I wanted was a room I could afford. This is all so not my problem.”
“Seems like it’s very much your problem at the moment, young lady,” said Sandalwood, looking around the room. “Seeing as you’re the only one here, apart from us.”
“Don’t! Please, don’t,” said Rose, holding her hands over her face again and sobbing. But instead of the blow she was expecting, or the sound of a gun cocking, the next thing she heard was the front door slamming. She put her hands down and opened her eyes. Were they really gone? Could it be true? She turned off Holby City, no longer interested in doctors and bleeding patients, and checked every room. They’d left a bit of a mess upstairs, but they were definitely gone.