“We understand that you’re her solicitor and that, among other things, you handled the sale of her house.”
“Yes.”
“An address would help, for a start.”
Constance Wells managed a tight smile. “I think I can help you with that,” she said, walking over to a cabinet. She was wearing a green pastel skirt and matching jacket over a white blouse with a ruffled front. She opened a drawer, extracted a file and gave them an address. “I can’t really see how that will help you, though,” she said, sitting down again.
“It’s a start. Can you tell us anything else about her?”
“As Ms. Drew’s solicitor,” Constance said, “all communications between us are strictly privileged.”
“Ms. Wells, you don’t seem to understand. Karen Drew is dead. Someone slit her throat from ear to ear.”
Constance Wells turned pale. “Oh… you…”
“I’m sorry if I shocked you,” said Annie. “But believe me, it nearly shocked me right out of my breakfast.” She hadn’t had any breakfast yesterday, she remembered, having flown from Eric’s flat like a bat out of hell, but Constance Wells wasn’t to know that.
“Yes, well… I… look, I really can’t help you. I’m bound by… I only acted for Karen in her business affairs, the house sale, but I… I think you should… would you excuse me for a moment?”
She got up and dashed out of the office. Annie and Ginger stared at each other.
“What’s with her?” Ginger said. “Off to be sick? Taken short?”
“No idea,” said Annie. “Interesting reaction, though.”
“Very. What do we do?”
“We wait.”
It was almost five minutes before Constance Wells came back, and by then she seemed more composed. Ginger had stayed in her chair, but Annie was standing by the window looking down on Park Square, people-watching. She turned when she heard the door open.
“I’m sorry,” said Constance. “I suppose that was rude of me, but it’s… well, it’s all rather unusual.”
“What is?” Annie asked.
“Karen’s case. Look, Julia, that’s Ms. Ford, one of our senior partners, would like to see you. Can you spare her a few moments?”
Annie and Ginger exchanged another glance. “Can we?” Annie said. “Oh, I think so, don’t you, DC Baker?” And they followed Constance down the corridor.
5
Templeton hated grotty old pubs like the Fountain. They were full of losers and tossers drowning their sorrows, and an atmosphere of failure hung in the air along with the stale smoke and ale. Just being in such a place made him cringe. Give him a modern bar, chrome-and-plastic seating, pastel walls and subdued lighting, even if the beer did come in bottles and the music was too loud. At least he didn’t walk out smelling like a tramp.
The place was almost empty at three in the afternoon, only a few pathetic diehards with no lives worth living slobbering over their warm pints. A young man in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, shaved head and black-rimmed spectacles, stood at the bar polishing glasses. They still looked dirty when he’d finished.
“You the landlord?” Templeton asked, flashing his warrant card.
“Me? You must be joking,” the man said. He had a Geordie accent. Templeton hated Geordie accents, and he heard far too many of them around Eastvale. “The landlord’s away in Florida, like he is most of the time. I don’t think he’s set foot in the place more than twice since he bought it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jamie Murdoch.”
“Manager, then?”
“For my sins.”
“You look too young.”
“And you look too young to be a detective.”
“I’m a quick study.”
“Must be.”
“Anyway, much as I love a bit of banter, I’ve got a few questions for you about Saturday night.”
“Yeah?”
“Who was working?”
“I was.”
“Just you?”
“Aye. Jill called in sick, and we couldn’t get anyone else at short notice.”
“That must have been fun, on your own on a Saturday night?”
“Hilarious. Anyway, it happens often enough. This about the poor wee lassie who got killed?”
“That’s right.”
He shook his head. “A tragedy.”
“Did you serve her?”
“Look, if you’re asking me were her and her friends intoxicated, they might have had a few, but there was no way they were so drunk I would have refused to serve them.”
“Do you know they got kicked out of the Trumpeters before they came here?”
“No, I didn’t. They must have been rowdy or something. They were well behaved enough here. It was the end of the evening. Things were winding down. It wasn’t them causing the trouble.”
“But someone was?”
“Isn’t someone always?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Nothing much to tell, really.” Murdoch picked up another glass from the dish rack and started drying it with the tea towel. “It was Saturday night, wasn’t it? Saint Patrick’s Day, too. There always seems to be something, even on a normal Saturday. You get used to it. Didn’t Elton John have a song about it? ‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting’?”
“Don’t know that one,” said Templeton. “And this time?”
“Gang of yobs from Lyndgarth got into a barney with some students in the poolroom. Eastvale’s version of town and gown. It came to nothing. Lot of sound and fury signifying nothing.”
“Where’d you get that line from?”
“It’s Shakespeare. Macbeth.”
“Go to college, do you?”
“I’ve been.”
“So, tell me, an educated lad like you, how does he end up working in a dive like this?”
“Just lucky, I suppose.” Murdoch shrugged. “It’s all right. There are worse places.”
“So back to Saturday night. You’re here behind the bar all alone, you’ve just calmed down a fracas. What happens next?”
“The Lyndgarth lot left and the girl and her friends came in. They knew some of the other students, so some of them started playing pool and the rest just sat around chatting.”
“No incidents?”
“No incidents. That was earlier.”
“The fracas?”
“And the vandalism.”
“What vandalism?”
“The bastards smashed up the toilets, didn’t they? Ladies and gents. I think it was the Lyndgarth mob, but I can’t prove it. Toilet rolls shoved down the bowl, lightbulbs broken, glass all over the floor, piss—”
“I get the picture,” said Templeton.
“Aye, well, I was here until nearly half past two in the morning cleaning it up.”
“Half past two, you say?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“We saw you leaving on the CCTV, that’s all.”
“You could have said.”
Templeton grinned. “Look at it from my point of view. If you’d said you went home at half past twelve we’d have had a discrepancy, wouldn’t we?”
“But I didn’t. I left at half past two. Like you said, it’s on candid camera.”
“Anybody vouch for you?”
“I told you, I was here alone.”
“So you could have nipped out into the Maze, raped and killed the girl, then got back to cleaning up the bog?”
“I suppose I could have, but I didn’t. You already said you saw me leave on the CCTV.”
“But you could have sneaked out earlier and come back.”
“Look around you. There’s only two ways out of this place on account of its location. There’s not even a window opens on Taylor’s Yard. We take all our brewery deliveries down the chute at the front. The only ways out of the place are the front, which leads to the market square, and the other side, the passageway between the toilets and the kitchen, which leads to Castle Road. I assume you’ve got CCTV there, too?”