“I told you. She went to the Dales for a while, then she came back.
She was in and out a lot over the next couple of weeks, then she took the room on the upper f loor. She started her postgraduate work, same as me, but she got bored even sooner.”
“So she dropped out?”
“Yes. Went back home, I think. At least for a while.”
“And then?”
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
2 3 5
Sarah looked down at her fingernails again, beautifully manicured and painted a tasteful shade of pink. “We sort of drifted apart, you know, the way people do. As I told you, after I got out of the graduate program I went traveling for a while, then I got immersed in my law studies.”
“So you didn’t see Kirsten again?”
“Only once or twice over the next couple of years. We’d have a drink for old times’ sake.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The past, mostly. The time before the attack.”
“Did she ever mention Whitby?”
“Whitby? No. Why should she?”
“Did she ever talk about someone called Eastcote. Greg Eastcote?”
“No.”
“Jack Grimley?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Keith McLaren, an Australian?”
“No, never. I haven’t heard of any of these people. Who are they?”
“Was she in touch with any of the others you used to know back then, the old uni crowd?”
“No, I don’t think so. Her boyfriend had gone off to Canada or America or somewhere, and the rest had scattered all over the country.
She seemed very much a loner, as if she cut herself off. I thought maybe it was because of what happened to her. She couldn’t adjust, pretend to be normal. I don’t know. It wasn’t that we didn’t have a nice chat and a drink and all, but there was always something remote about her, as if she’d sort of set herself apart from the rest. I don’t know how else to describe it. She even looked different, let herself go, cut her hair and stuff.
She used to be quite lovely but, you know, she just stopped bothering.”
“Do you know what she was doing with her life?”
“I don’t think she was doing anything, really. I think she was kind of lost. She talked of traveling, China, America, the Far East, but I don’t know if it was a real goal or just wishful thinking.” Sarah checked her watch for the first time. “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .” She glanced over at the MacBook. “I do have to finish this job before I meet with the client this evening.”
2 3 6
P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“That’s all right,” said Annie. “I think I’ve just about got to the end of my questions, anyway.”
“I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
“It’s not for nothing,” said Annie. “You’ve finally told the truth at last. Have you seen or heard anything of Kirsten in the last few years?”
“No,” said Sarah. “The last time I saw her must have been ’91 or early ’92, and after that it was just as if she had disappeared.”
“Ever heard of Lucy Payne?”
“Isn’t she the one who killed all those girls with her husband, the one who just got murdered? Is that what this is about? I don’t understand.”
“Maggie Forrest?”
“No, never.”
“Right,” said Annie, standing up to leave and handing Sarah her card. “If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
“What is it all about, anyway?” Sarah asked at the door. “You haven’t told me anything. Why were you asking me about all these people and what happened years ago? Can’t you at least give me a hint?”
“If there’s anything in it,” Annie said, “you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Typical police,” said Sarah, folding her arms. “Some things never change, do they?”
Annie’s mobile rang as she arrived at her car. It was Ginger.
“It’s me, guv. I’ve got a line on that Maggie Forrest. The publisher rang me back.”
“Great,” said Annie, fiddling for her keys, phone wedged under her chin.
“We’re in luck. She’s back in the country. Living in Leeds again.
