She bought an orange juice for herself and a pint of lager and lime for Rose, and they sat down on one of the banquettes.
“Why were you so upset when I turned up?” Winsome asked. “And why would you be so afraid of being alone with me? Am I that scary looking?”
“No, it’s not you. I’m just being more careful, that’s all. I mean, it’s not because you’re…you know. It’s nothing to do with that.”
“Well, I’m glad to know it’s not because I’m tall,” said Winsome.
Rose managed a weak smile. “I meant because you’re black. You know I did. You’re teasing. Anyway, it’s nothing to do with that. I’ve just had it up to here with the police, if that’s what they really were.”
Winsome frowned. “What do you mean? Surely nobody’s given you a hard time during all this? What reason would they have?”
“Maybe not at first,” Rose said, sweeping back a stray tress and tucking it behind her ear. “I mean, it was a bit of a shock, the police coming around and searching the place and all that, right? But they were okay.”
“And DI Annie Cabbot? Didn’t she come by to see you?”
“Yeah. She was all right, too. Just wanted to chat about Erin and Francesca, you know.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Rose turned away. “The other two.”
“What other two?” Winsome had no idea that the Leeds police had sent anyone to interview Rose after the search of the house. Annie certainly hadn’t mentioned it. She had mentioned that two men had turned up at Jaff’s flat passing themselves off as police officers when nobody had, in fact, been sent out there. She could check with DI Ken Blackstone when she went to Leeds with Annie in the morning, of course, and she would. But for the moment it seemed a promising place to start her chat with Rose.
“Don’t you know?” Rose said. “Don’t you ever talk to each other?”
Winsome smiled. “Not very often, no. Especially if they’re from another county force. I mean, they’d be West Yorkshire, while Annie and I are North Yorkshire.”
“That’s what they said, more or less. But it still seems weird to me. All wrong. I had a feeling they weren’t real policemen right from the start. Anyway, they said their names were Sandalwood and Watkins, but I suppose they were lying about that, too. I don’t remember what they said their ranks were.”
“But they wore plainclothes?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get a good look at their warrant cards? Did you see if they said West or North Yorkshire?”
“No. They sort of pushed their way in. It all happened so quickly I didn’t really catch what was written on them. I don’t think they looked liked yours, though.”
“How were they dressed? Suits? Casual?”
“Casual. Jeans. Button-down shirts. One of them wore a tan wind cheater and the other had a sort of linen sports jacket on, light blue.”
“That’s good, Rose,” said Winsome, making notes. “You’ve got a good eye for detail.”
“I like to draw. You have to really look at things if you want to draw them.”
Winsome glanced up from her notebook. “Do you think you could draw them for me? Now. Could you do that? Head and shoulders.”
Rose nodded. Winsome went to the bar and asked the bartender for a few sheets of unlined paper. He managed to find some in the office and handed them to her without question. When she got back, she put them on the table and handed Rose a pencil from her briefcase. Rose’s hand moved deftly and confidently over the paper, sketching an outline, filling out the details. Finally she slid the pages over to Winsome. “That’s the best I can do from memory.”
Winsome didn’t recognize either of the men Rose had drawn, but that didn’t necessarily mean much, especially if they were from West Yorkshire. But somehow she doubted that they were. She didn’t think they were police officers at all. One of them was burly and overbearing, with hardly any neck and a shaved head perched atop his broad shoulders.
“He was the biggest,” Rose said. “And he had a tattoo on the back of his neck. It looked like a dagger or a cross, or something like that. I’m not sure exactly what it was. Some sort of symbol, anyway. It was small, but you could see it above his shirt collar.”
Winsome studied the other sketch. This man was slighter, thinner, more ferret-like in his features, perhaps more intelligent, too, in a feral sort of way, with fine, unruly hair-ginger, Rose told her-a very pale complexion and cold eyes.
“He was the scariest,” Rose said, as if reading her thoughts. “Watkins. I mean, the other one looks big and mean, and he wasn’t very nice, but this one”-she tapped the sketch-“I’m glad he was out of the room most of the time. He gave me the creeps. He didn’t say much, but he’s the one I was really afraid of. And the other one told me he really likes hurting people.”
“Did they hurt you? Threaten you?”
“The big one, Sandalwood, shoved me down in the chair once and gave me a slap across the face. That hurt.”
“We wouldn’t do that, Rose. Not real police. I know people say things about us sometimes, and it’s easy to be cynical, but really…” She thought of her famous “dropkick” and went on. “I mean, if we’re dealing with hard cases who want to hurt us, maybe we’d get a bit physical, but not in a situation like this. Not with someone like you.”
“I told you I didn’t think they were real policemen. But there wasn’t much I could do, though, was there? I felt threatened by them. It was much safer just to go along with them and do what they said. I thought they were going to beat me up or kill me. Or…”
“What?”
“Well, he leered at me once, the big one, and I was scared he might be going to rape me or something.”
“Did he try anything like that?”
“No. He just laughed at me when he saw what I was thinking, like, and said not to worry about that, tempting as it was. I felt dirty.” She hugged herself. “Totally powerless. They could have done anything.”
Winsome noticed that her glass was almost empty. “Another?” she offered.
“I shouldn’t, but yes, please. Talking about it brings the feelings all back. Can I have a Bacardi Breezer this time?”
“Sure.” Winsome brought her the drink and a Diet Coke for herself. “What did they want to know?” she asked, sitting down again. “Did they ask about the gun Erin had?”
“No. They never mentioned it.”
“Did you know anything about it?”
“Not until I saw it on the news.”
“Did they ever mention someone called Marlon Kincaid?”
“No.”
“Did Erin or Francesca ever mention him?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Marlon Kincaid? It’s a funny name. I’d remember.”
“What other sort of questions did they ask you?”
“One of them had a good look round the place. Watkins. Upstairs and everything. The other one asked me the questions. He wanted to know if I knew where Jaff had gone-that’s Erin’s boyfriend. I told him I didn’t. Then he wanted to know about Francesca. He said someone had seen Jaff and her leaving the flat by the wharf together. I said I didn’t know where they were, which is true.”
“How did they know about Francesca, that she was with Jaff?”
“They didn’t. They were only guessing from what they’d heard at the flats. But they knew there were three of us living in the house, and they must have worked it out. They wanted to know who she was.”