7

We’re in the supermarket manager’s office. The girl in front of me has long, straight, dark hair, generous breasts and is staring like she thinks the Grim Reaper is my best friend. Her mascara is a black and grey smudge, and her eyes are puffy and red.

Karen Gardner is her name, and she was Aileen Banks’s best friend. She’s sitting with her fist clenched, white knuckles pressed against her mouth as if trying to force the grief back down her throat.

‘Can’t believe it,’ she says over and over while shaking her head.

The manager is beside her with her arm across her shoulder, and she is in a similar state but hiding it better and doing her best to offer support to the younger woman.

‘Karen,’ says Ale, ‘Can you tell me some more about what happened that night when you and Aileen went out?’ From her tone there is no way you could deduce that this is not the first time Ale has asked her this question. I mentally send her a “well done”.

Because I arrived later and Ale already broke the news, I allowed her to carry on with the interview. The girl did look at me sharply when Alessandra mentioned my name. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and then grief stole the words. A sob clutched at her throat. Her bottom lip trembled.

‘You picked Aileen up at what time?’ asks Ale.

Karen’s head falls onto her boss’s shoulder, whose name badge reads “Jane Cameron”. She has a nose sharp enough to cut a steak with, and her hair is red, straightened to within an inch of its life and thick enough to fill a pillowcase. I feel a childish urge to spray it with water to see if it frizzes up to an afro.

Jane looks at Ale, ‘Can this not wait?’ she pleads. ‘The poor girl’s distraught.’

‘I understand that,’ says Ale. ‘However, the first few hours of a murder investigation are crucial. And the time it has taken to locate Karen has already cost us too much.’ She turns her attention to Karen. ‘Do you understand that, Karen? We need your help to stop this man doing the same to some other poor girl.’

Karen straightens in her chair, swallows and nods. She wipes a tear from her cheek using her sleeve and whispers, ‘Yes.’ Then, louder, ‘But I don’t know what happened.’

‘Trust me,’ I say, ‘you don’t realise it, but somewhere in the information you give us will be a wee gold nugget that will help us catch this guy.’

‘OK,’ she says. ‘I picked her up at her house after I finished my work. We went into town. A couple of pubs…’ Her eyes focus on the near distance as the events of that evening play in her mind. She bites her bottom lip. Gathers her strength and continues. ‘We went to a couple of pubs. I wanted to come home early.’ Shrug. ‘I was driving cos I was skint … and bored cos I was sober. Aileen got angry with me cos she wanted to stay out.’ She stops speaking. Clenches her eyes shut. Her shoulders start shaking. She says something in a high squeal.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ says Ale. ‘I don’t know what…’

‘It’s all my fault. We fell out, I went home in a huff, and she ends up deid and it’s all my fault.’ Her chest is heaving.

‘Karen, it is not your fault,’ says Jane Cameron. ‘You are not responsible for the actions of some sicko.’

‘But, but, but, if I hadn’t…’ She starts to cry again. Sobs like she has an attack of hiccups.

‘Look, you people will need to give the lassie a break,’ says Cameron. ‘Can you not come back tomorrow?’

‘Miss Cameron,’ I say.

‘Mrs.’

‘Right,’ I reply, thinking, you’ve got a husband, bully for you. ‘We really have lost too much time on this case…’

‘This “case,”’ she actually does the air speech commas, ‘being the death of my young colleague, Aileen Banks?’

‘Don’t think for a minute, Mrs Cameron, that we are anything but committed to this case…’

Ale interrupts by leaning forward and patting Karen on the knee. ‘You have a wee break, Karen. DI McBain and I will just go and have a wee coffee and let you gather your thoughts. OK?’

Jane Cameron sags in her chair. ‘I’m sorry, detective. This is such a…’

‘No worries,’ I say. ‘We all need a break for a moment.’ I stand up and walk to the door. ‘Give you guys half an hour or so for a breather, OK?’

With the door closing behind us, Ale and I walk along a grey corridor towards a glass door at the end and a set of stairs that lead down to the shop floor.

We make our way to the cafeteria, and minutes later, a mug of coffee in hand, we are facing each other across a table.

‘I wasn’t losing it,’ I say.

‘Didn’t say you were,’ Ale raises an eyebrow.

‘OK?’

‘But I recognised that tone. If she had come back to you with an answer you would’ve ripped right into her.’

‘No I wouldn’t, and anyway, who is she to judge me, ginger witch.’

‘She seems genuinely upset about Aileen and trying hard to comfort Karen.’

‘Only because she’s now two members of staff short. I know what these management types are like.’

‘She reminded me of someone. The manager,’ she adds by way of clarification.

‘Aye?’ I say, wondering where Ale is going with this.

‘That nun. Mother I’m So Superior.’

‘Piss off.’

Ale takes a sip of her coffee. Makes a face. ‘Just saying.’

‘Just talking shite.’ I chew on my irritation. Sigh. Ale’s right. There is something about that woman. She has the same air of, well, superiority.

‘Piss off,’ I say again, but with less conviction. We sit in silence, sipping at our drinks. Minutes later, Ale is the first to speak.

‘So anyway. Maybe everyone has calmed down, and we can go back and finish our conversation?’ Ale stands up.

‘How did you get so good, Rossi?’

She raises an eyebrow and smiles. ‘I had a good teacher.’

‘Well, whoever the fuck he is, tell him to teach you how to be less smug.’

She punches my arm as I walk past. ‘See you.’

* * *

Back in the manager’s room Jane Cameron acknowledges me with the barest of nods and gives Alessandra a full smile. Karen is sitting by the table, arms crossed, legs crossed, face clenched.

‘So, where were we, Karen?’ asks Ale. ‘Aileen wanted to stay out…’

‘And she’s been getting right stroppy the last wee while. We always had the code, you know? Never ever split up. Always go home together.’ Her eyes fill up. ‘And the one time we…’

Ale leans forward and holds Karen’s hand. ‘Was Aileen on her own when you left?’

‘No,’ Karen sniffs. ‘We met a bunch of people from uni. Barely knew them, but they were kinda familiar, you know. So, Aileen latches on to them. We have another row, so I think, “fuck you hen” and leave her…’ More gut wrenching sobs. ‘If only…’

‘Don’t torture yourself, Karen,’ I say. ‘Sounds like Aileen was a bit of a character?’

Karen nods in agreement. A smile ghosts through the tears.

‘The people you recognised from uni … girls or boys?’

‘Girls.’

‘Did you know any of their names?’

A shake of the head.

‘Sure?’

Then with reluctance. ‘The girl with bleached hair. Her name is Emma.’ Karen pauses and looks to the side. ‘She was a bit of a bitch. It was like, who are these two crowding in, you know? Her and her pal, Claire.’

‘Could you describe this girl Claire?’

‘Skinny. Black, straight hair. Tall.’ Pause. ‘Like, model tall.’

‘How come you recognised them from uni? In the same building? Same course?’

‘Dunno. Just seen them about.’

‘We had girls like that when I was at uni,’ says Ale. ‘The cool ones. The ones that every girl wanted as a friend and every boy wanted to shag.’

Karen snorted an “as if”. Quite unconvincingly.

‘What can you tell me about Aileen’s boyfriend?’

Karen looks up at me. ‘Didn’t have one.’

‘What about Simon?’

‘That was long finished.’

‘He wasn’t sniffing around?’

‘I used to warn Aileen that she was leading him on too much. Mind you, he was the one that did the dirty. But then he regretted it. Asked her to get back together. She said she was over him. But then she’d snog him in a corner somewhere, get him all hot and bothered and then walk away laughing.’ Pause. ‘You don’t think…’

‘At this stage we are just following every possible line of enquiry,’ I answer.