Ruby is sitting in front of the mirror in her room with her sketchpad on her knee. She’d like to hit the road immediately, but leaving too soon might raise suspicions. Her heart rate increases when a man’s voice echoes up the stairwell, informing Iris Caston that he needs to question her guests. It takes her a moment to steady her nerves. She’s had years to practise her reactions in the mirror. She only has to widen her eyes and flutter her hands to look like an anxious schoolgirl.
She’s still clutching her sketchbook when the landlady taps on the door. She lets it swing wide, revealing the tidy state of her room.
‘Sorry to disturb you, dear. This young man needs a word.’
‘It’s no problem at all, Iris.’
The police officer is in his early twenties. His eyes linger on Ruby’s face, then skim over her blonde hair and the new blouse she’s wearing. She can always tell when men fancy her, and this one’s struggling to conceal it.
‘Can I take your name please, miss, for my records, and how long you’re staying?’
‘Chloe Moore. I’m travelling home to Brighton tomorrow.’
‘Been visiting friends, have you?’
‘I’m an art student, doing a project; I’ve spent most of my time drawing the local buildings.’ She keeps her voice light. ‘It’s not my best skill. I have to work hard at it.’
The officer’s gaze drops to the self-portrait on her sketchpad. ‘That looks pretty lifelike to me. It’s obvious you’ve got talent.’
‘I wish my tutors agreed,’ she says, smiling.
‘This won’t take long.’ The man’s tone of voice suddenly becomes serious. ‘You’ll have heard about the fatal attack across the road.’
She nods rapidly. ‘It scared me, to be honest. Do you think the area’s safe now?’
‘The killer will be long gone, don’t worry. We’re just asking people if they spotted anything unusual. Your room’s well placed to see number seven.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve hardly been here. I went shopping this morning about ten o’clock.’ She gestures at the bags piled on a chair. ‘When I got back, the road was cordoned off and poor Mrs Caston was in tears.’
‘The whole community’s reeling. The victim was a police officer.’
‘That makes it even sadder,’ Ruby says, her tone gentle. ‘Did he have kids?’
‘One teenage son.’
‘I’m so sorry. Whoever did it should be locked away for good.’
‘We’ll find him, don’t worry. If you remember anything, please give us a call. Good luck with your studies.’ The officer gives her an appreciative smile, then says goodbye.
Ruby can hear the man in the next room receiving different treatment, the conversation echoing through the thin wall. He gets a grilling, while her interview only lasted a few minutes. When she glances in the mirror again, she looks too vulnerable to hurt a fly, with waves of blonde hair framing her angelic face. Ruby’s instincts are still telling her to pack up and leave while the going’s good, but there’s no need. Why deviate from the plan when it’s going so well?