On Wednesday morning, four days after Ashleigh died, the police turn up at our front door at 7 a.m. and tell us we need to leave our flat for a few hours. They’ve got a search warrant, sniffer dogs and everything.
‘What the fuck?’ Nisha says, once we’re at Dom’s house, which is the only place we could think of evacuating to at that hour. The flat smells of last night’s fry-up, and the kitchen and lounge windowsills are lined with beer cans, many of which have been used as ashtrays. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘I didn’t tell them about your recreational drug use, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ I clutch my coffee mug. It’s a shitty powdered blend, the stuff they must scrape off the floor at the factory after packaging the more expensive stuff.
Skye twists her hair into a bun. ‘You don’t have anything in your room, do you?’
‘No,’ Nisha says, but she’s not looking too relaxed. ‘Why have they got a search warrant? What do you think they found in her autopsy?’
‘Head injuries and broken bones?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, so why are they going through our flat with sniffer dogs?’
Dom pours milk into a mug that says ‘If you’re happy and you know it, it’s the meds’ on the side. ‘Why, are you worried about the stash in your room?’
‘I don’t have a stash in my room.’ Nisha curls into the corner of the couch. ‘Not anymore, anyway.’
‘Do you think they did a tox screen on her?’ Dom asks.
‘Of course they did,’ Skye says, who seems to think she knows everything about this stuff, just because she wants to join the police force when she leaves uni. ‘Why wouldn’t they?’
‘As if they’d have found anything,’ I said. ‘She hated drugs, was always going on about them.’
‘Well, apart from the benzos,’ Nisha says.
Skye stares. ‘The what?’
‘Relax, they’re just sleeping pills. She was super stressed. She kept waking me up.’
‘Well, are you surprised after what Harrison did?’ I ask.
‘Sounds like a bad movie,’ Dom mumbles. He’s still in his pyjama bottoms and a rugby jersey with what looks like tomato sauce on the front.
‘The police must have interviewed Harrison,’ Skye says. ‘Maybe he told them about your, ah, little habit.’
Nisha gives her a look that could melt glass. ‘It’s not a habit.’
‘Of course they interviewed him,’ I say.
‘Did you tell them about the sleeping pills?’ Dom asks Nisha.
‘I told them I gave her some,’ she says. ‘But clearly she hadn’t taken one on the night she jumped out of the window because she’d have been asleep.’
Skye shudders. ‘I still can’t believe she did that.’
Nisha gives us a weird look. ‘Ashleigh could have taken something stronger.’
‘Like what?’ Skye asks.
‘Like the acid in your suitcase?’ I shift sideways on the couch to avoid a broken spring. ‘Please don’t tell me you gave her any to calm her down.’
‘Nisha wouldn’t do that,’ Dom breaks in.
‘She’s always offering us her drugs,’ I reply.
‘Did you?’ Skye asks Nisha, who looks away.
Dom leans forward. ‘Come on Nish, spill.’
Nisha won’t look any of us in the eye.
Skye frowns. ‘Nish?’
Nisha twists her hands. ‘I didn’t, I … look, all I know is that I was looking for the tabs a couple of days ago, after the police started interviewing us, and the envelope was empty.’
Skye widens her eyes at Nisha. ‘That doesn’t sound right. Did Van take them … or no, do you think the cops took them?’
‘No, I think she took them. Ashleigh.’ Nisha stands up, clutching at the ends of her hair, though the gesture looks put on, as though she’s acting.
‘That’s why they’ve brought the sniffer dogs in,’ says Skye.
‘Oh, my God.’ Nisha whirls around. ‘Did any of you tell the cops about the acid?’
My heart is going triple time. ‘Is that all you care about?’
Nisha glares at me. ‘You were feeding her sleeping pills like lollies.’
‘Well, who put her onto them in the first place?’ I ask, my voice rising.
‘Guys, guys.’ Dom holds up a hand. ‘Come on, this isn’t helping anyone. If neither of you owns up, then how are the cops going to know where any drugs came from? And second, it’s not as if you forced it down her throat, Nish. If Ashleigh took it of her own free will, then that’s her problem.’
Skye is silent, staring at Nisha, who’s doing the hair-pulling act again.
‘But they’ve got sniffer dogs,’ Nisha says, her eyes bright with tears. ‘They’ll be able to smell traces, won’t they?’
‘I thought you said acid was odourless,’ I say. ‘Stop worrying.’
But, given her other stashes, the dogs will have no trouble figuring out who the druggie in our flat is.