Detective Sergeant Eve King arrives at my flat just over an hour after I call the police. In the cold light of day, as the early winter sun streams in through the window, I feel less spooked. Not much less spooked, but enough that I don’t want to throw up every time I look at the paint on the wall.
I’ve just made up a pot of fresh coffee, when the door buzzer sounds, and I let DS King in. She’s accompanied by her tall, gangly colleague, DC Mark Black. All of our paths have crossed before and I know DS King sees me as a thorn in her side. I wonder if she is experiencing a sense of schadenfreude right now.
‘Ms Devlin,’ Eve King says as I open the door.
I spot a uniformed officer further down the corridor. No doubt this will be talk of the whole building.
‘I think we know each other well enough that you can call me Ingrid now,’ I reply.
DS King neither smiles nor tells me I’m okay to use her first name in return; instead she glances around, takes a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket and puts them on.
‘You said you had a break-in?’
‘That’s right. I did. When I came home last night, just after nine, the door was open. My door, and the door to the complex. I went into my bedroom and saw this …’
I turn to lead her to my room, but she doesn’t follow. When I reach for the handle to open the door, I hear an intake of breath.
‘Try to touch as little as possible,’ she says. ‘In case there is trace evidence.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble. It unnerves me how having the police in my own home makes me feel much more vulnerable.
‘So,’ she says, ‘you found the doors open when you got home last night?’
She has one eyebrow raised when I look at her.
‘Yes. About nine. I’d been working all day and came home …’
She raises a hand to stop me, mid flow. I’m pretty sure she’s enjoying this.
‘If you discovered a break-in last night, why are you only calling it in now?’
DC Black stifles a smile. I glare in his direction and he straightens up. I don’t have to remind him that I know exactly how to land him in deep trouble if I was so inclined.
Turning my attention back to DS King, I speak, doing my best to be honest, but not too honest.
‘I … I freaked out, I suppose. I was tired and scared and I certainly wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted to get away from here. I know Saturday night is a busy night for the police. I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting around. I just needed to go somewhere else. So I went and checked in at the Maldron for the night.’
I don’t mention my stop-off at Ryan’s house on the way.
‘We could’ve helped. Someone would have been with you as soon as was possible,’ DS King says.
‘I’m hoping you can help now,’ I say, turning back towards my bedroom door and opening it.
DC Black moves around me, walks to the far side of my bed and examines the wall closely.
‘This seems to be the only room he, or she, touched,’ I say. ‘Everything else was in its place.’
‘Nothing stolen?’
‘Not that I have noticed.’
‘And that’s paint, isn’t it?’ DS King asks, nodding her head towards the wall.
‘Thankfully, yes. It appears to be nothing more sinister.’
‘There’s blood on your hands,’ DC Black reads aloud. ‘And do you know what that might be referring to?’ he asks me.
He speaks to me as if we are total strangers, as if we don’t have our arrangement on the side. As if I’ve not seen him slightly the worse for wear from alcohol.
I blink. Direct my answer primarily to Eve King.
‘I’m not sure, but it could be to do with a story I’m chasing at the moment. It’s the anniversary of a child’s murder. Kelly Doherty. I’m not sure if you’ll remember that … Not everyone is happy about it. Especially now Jamesy Harte is making noises about an appeal.’
DS King nods. ‘I know the case,’ she says, and of course she does – DS King is the kind of woman who knows everything.
She takes her phone from her pocket and snaps a picture or two of the wall.
‘You do seem to like getting yourself into all sorts of trouble, don’t you?’
Her tone is friendly, but I believe it to be little more than an act.
‘Well, if you mean I’m not afraid to do my job and ask tough questions, then I suppose so,’ I say, my heckles rising.
‘Well, that’s not what I meant, but …’ She looks around the room again, turns to DC Black and tells him to call in SOCO and check for any CCTV images at the main entrance.
‘Those cameras have been out of action for weeks now,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve complained about it, but nothing’s been done.’
‘There might be some footage from the walkway. The council offices’ cameras might have caught something,’ DC Black says. ‘I’ll get that checked.’
‘Great,’ DC King replies. ‘And, Ms Devlin … I mean, Ingrid … maybe we can have a sit down and go over some details.’
I nod and lead her to the living room. I even offer to pour them both a cup of coffee, which they both decline, and then I go over the events of the previous night, down to the broken lights in the corridor outside my flat.
‘I didn’t get overly alarmed when the lights weren’t working in the hallway last night. Things here break. A lot. If it’s the weekend, you can forget about them getting fixed, even though we pay through the nose for management fees. But now, I think someone might have tampered with them.’
‘I’ll look into that, too,’ DC Black says.
DS King speaks. ‘And you went to the Maldron. How did you get there? Did you drive? Phone a taxi?’
I shift awkwardly, wondering if I can get away with not telling the entire truth.
‘I got a taxi. It was late and it was raining. My car’s in the garage …’
She nods and I take a deep breath; I might as well tell her the truth about that at least.
‘It was vandalised on Thursday night. So it’s in for repair.’
‘Vandalised how?’ she asks.
‘A window put in. Someone spray-painted the word “scum” on the bonnet. They left me a note.’
I watch as she looks back to DC Black. She sighs.
‘And you didn’t report this?’
‘No. I just took the car to the garage. Thought it was just some yob, annoyed I’d reported his court case or something. It happens.’
‘And you say there was a note. What did it say?’
I blush. Damn it. I’m about to be caught out in my own lie.
‘Something about letting the paedo rot,’ I say, my face blazing.
‘Doesn’t sound like the words of just some yob, does it?’ Eve King asks.
‘No. No, I suppose not. I just didn’t think it was anything serious.’
She raises an eyebrow. She’s not even trying to hide the smirk on her face now.
‘Didn’t think it was anything serious,’ she says slowly as she writes the words into her notebook, shaking her head at the end.
‘Look, officers, here’s the thing. I’m a journalist. If I contacted you every time I got a nasty letter in the post, you’d never have time to do any other work.’
‘Surely you don’t get the window of your car put in on a regular basis, though?’ DS King asks.
‘Well … no … But you can’t help but make enemies in this job. Journalists fall foul of everyone at some time. Even the police,’ I say, looking directly at her.
She doesn’t blush, but then again, it’s not her toes I’ve trodden on. Her boss, the inimitable DI Bradley, might not stay so quiet if he were here.
‘I’d say someone breaking into your home and leaving this message escalates things, though,’ she says.
I can’t argue, so I nod. ‘And that’s why I called you.’
‘You say you were working all day. At the newspaper office?’
‘No. I was in Portstewart. Doing an interview. Research for a book.’
‘Another true crime book on the go?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘Well, hopefully. I don’t have it signed off by my editor yet, but that’s the plan.’
‘Related to the Kelly Doherty murder?’
I wonder if she knows that Portstewart is where Jamesy has been housed. I imagine she does.
‘As it happens, I was interviewing Jamesy Harte yesterday.’
She raises an eyebrow again while she writes his name in her notebook – as if she is ever likely to forget it.
‘The aforementioned “paedo” alluded to on the note in your car, perhaps?’ she asks.
‘He claims he was framed. That he was an easy target.’
‘The police investigation and trial jury clearly thought differently,’ she says. ‘And I’d hazard a guess he’s not come to Derry because he knows he might not be welcome here.’
‘Yes. That’s correct.’
‘And are there many people who knew you were talking to Jamesy? Who know you’re working on this book.’
I think for a moment. There’s Ryan and Declan. Lorcan Duffy, the councillor, knows I’m doing interviews. I’m sure some of my colleagues have an idea. But none of those people knew I was in Portstewart yesterday.
I give DS King a list of all those names and tell her, honestly, I can’t imagine any of those people being in any way responsible for the break-in, or the attack on my car.
She tells me she’ll have to talk to them and I cringe at what Ryan will say. So much for keeping this quiet. I jump at a buzz at the door signalling the arrival of the SOCO team.