Not a junkie. Rachel could tell that straight away, the place would have been empty of everything that could be sold off to feed the beast. But Shirelle’s flat was well furnished. Curtains in red matched the sofa and the chair, the furniture was upholstered, plump, looked brand new. There was a chandelier for the central light and a large telly and SkyBox. Sean was on at Rachel to get one for the sport.
Framed pictures on the wall were taken from old copies of fashion magazines, Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. Browsing the coffee table as she sat down, Rachel saw the buff envelope, addressed to Ms Shirelle Young. Something official.
‘So?’ Shirelle said.
Her legs were crossed tightly together and she was blinking more often than was normal. She was shitting it, not so obvious until you saw those little signs. She reminded Rachel of a dog, a greyhound, the sort that look like they are dying from stress, about to keel over, but will run like the wind given chance. Shirelle picked up rolling tobacco, pulled out a paper. Rachel’s mouth watered.
‘Two bodies were recovered from the warehouse on Shuttling Way today. A man and a woman of African descent.’
Shirelle’s hand shook, she spilled some of the rolling tobacco.
‘We’re trying to identify those people. I believe you might be able to help us.’
‘Who told you that?’ she said.
‘Can you help us?’
Shirelle pinched her lip with her fingers. Rachel wondered what the problem was, why would she hesitate? ‘Shirelle?’
‘Victor,’ Shirelle said, ‘Victor and Lydia.’
‘Do you know surnames?’
‘Victor Tosin and Lydia Oluwaseyi.’
‘And what was your relationship to them?’ Rachel said.
Another pause. ‘I went out with Victor for a bit.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last Christmas. Just a few weeks.’
‘I am sorry,’ Rachel said, ‘this must be an awful shock.’
Shirelle flinched, her face sharpening, as though the sympathy angered her.
‘Can you tell me what the relationship was between Victor and Lydia?’
‘They were together,’ Shirelle said.
‘A couple?’
Shirelle nodded. She was picking strands of tobacco off her clothes, placing them in the paper, trying again.
‘So, was that a problem – you going out with Victor?’
‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘That’s why we stopped.’
‘Whose call?’
Shirelle took a drag on her rollie before answering, ‘Mine.’
‘How come?’ Rachel said.
‘What does that matter?’
‘I’m trying to get as much information as I can about Victor and Lydia to help us work out what’s happened.’
‘Lydia didn’t like it and I didn’t want to share,’ she said.
Could this be a motive? Had something erupted between Shirelle and Lydia or Lydia and Victor? The triangle imploding in violence?
‘Do you know why Victor and Lydia would have been at the warehouse?’ Rachel said.
‘They were squatting there.’
‘Do you know their previous address?’
Shirelle shook her head. ‘They’re illegals.’
‘Immigrants?’ Rachel checked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Where from?’
‘Nigeria,’ she said. Slowly she rolled the cigarette paper, brought it to her lips and licked the gummed edge. Her hand steady until she used her lighter.
‘Were they selling drugs?’ Rachel said.
‘No.’ She glanced at Rachel then away. ‘Couldn’t they get out?’ she said. ‘Was it the smoke?’
‘We’re trying to establish exactly what happened but it appears they were killed,’ Rachel said, watching her carefully. ‘They were shot.’
A flare of surprise darted through Shirelle’s eyes and her mouth dropped open. She composed herself quickly, dragging on her smoke, recrossing her legs, but it was enough to convince Rachel that although Shirelle was definitely hiding something, she had not known about the murders.
‘Why would anyone want to kill them?’ Shirelle said, her voice fraying. ‘That’s crazy.’ She sucked in her cheeks, a frown etched on her forehead.
‘Either of them been in any bother? Fights, feuds?’ Rachel said.
‘No.’
Shirelle’s phone rang, a polyphonic burst of music, a snatch of vocals and heavy bass. She froze.
‘Answer it, if you like,’ Rachel said.
Shirelle shook her head. ‘You’re fine.’
I might be, Rachel thought, but you’re far from. ‘Had they made any enemies, was anyone threatening them?’
‘No,’ Shirelle said, ‘I’ve not seen them for a while anyway.’
‘You broke up with Victor when exactly?’
‘End of January.’
Shirelle’s phone blared again and the girl started.
‘Answer it,’ said Rachel.
‘S’OK, I’ll text,’ she said. Her fingers flew over the screen, tapping lightly, then a trill of birdsong signalled the text had been sent.
‘Work?’ Rachel hazarded a guess.
‘No,’ she shook her head.
‘You got a job?’
‘Signing on,’ Shirelle said, taking a drag on her rollie.
‘So you can see, we’re concerned to try and find out who would have cause to harm Victor and Lydia. You sure you can’t think of anything?’
Shirelle pressed her lips together, puffed out her cheeks a little. ‘No. Sorry.’
‘They were living in the warehouse,’ Rachel said. ‘What was that like?’
‘Pretty grim,’ Shirelle said, ‘the place was in a state.’
‘They were downstairs?’
‘Yes, they had some old chairs and milk crates and pallets to put stuff on.’
‘How long had they been there when you met them?’ Rachel said.
‘Not sure, a few weeks.’
‘I hope you understand, as a matter of routine I have to ask you where you were on Friday evening,’ Rachel said.
Shirelle stared at her, a look of incredulity spread across her face. ‘What- you are not serious?’
‘Where were you?’
‘Here,’ she said emphatically. She took a final pull on the fag and crushed it out in the cut-glass ashtray.
‘Anyone verify that?’
‘No. Yes. Pizza delivery.’
‘What time?’ Rachel said.
Shirelle shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. Some time around eight.’
‘Which takeaway?’ Rachel said.
‘Gino’s.’
Rachel made a note. ‘Noel and Neil Perry,’ she said, ‘you know them?’
A look of dislike crossed Shirelle’s face. ‘A bit.’
‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’
‘Was it them?’ she said.
‘Did they know Victor and Lydia?’ Rachel repeated.
‘Don’t know.’
There was a sound from outside the flat, Shirelle glanced quickly at the door. Was she expecting somebody? She pulled her attention back to Rachel and said, ‘If that’s it…’ Putting a brave face on but Rachel could tell she was shocked and upset. If Shirelle knew the couple squatted in the warehouse she must have realized they could have been killed in the fire, even if she hadn’t known about the shooting. But she had not contacted anyone in authority to share her fears. All weekend she must have lived with that dreadful suspicion.
‘Almost done. When the warehouse went up in smoke, why didn’t you tell anyone there could be people inside?’ Rachel said.
‘I didn’t know they were still there,’ she said, her eyes darting round the room. ‘Like I said, I’ve not been for ages.’
‘Do you know whereabouts in Nigeria they came from?’ Rachel said.
‘Just Nigeria,’ she said.
‘Any relatives over there?’
‘No idea.’
‘Did Victor talk about Nigeria, why he’d come?’
‘No. Just said it was a nightmare, horror show and that was that. This was his life now. He was getting by. He wanted to go back to school, get an apprenticeship, but he was illegal.’