“Where’d you get that line from?”
“It’s Shakespeare.
“Go to college, do you?”
“I’ve been.”
“So, tell me, an educated lad like you, how does he end up working in a dive like this?”
“Just lucky, I suppose.” Murdoch shrugged. “It’s all right. There are worse places.”
“So back to Saturday night. You’re here behind the bar all alone, you’ve just calmed down a fracas. What happens next?”
“The Lyndgarth lot left and the girl and her friends came in. They knew some of the other students, so some of them started playing pool and the rest just sat around chatting.”
“No incidents?”
“No incidents. That was earlier.”
“The fracas?”
“And the vandalism.”
“What vandalism?”
“The bastards smashed up the toilets, didn’t they? Ladies and gents. I think it was the Lyndgarth mob, but I can’t prove it. Toilet rolls shoved down the bowl, lightbulbs broken, glass all over the f loor, piss—”
“I get the picture,” said Templeton.
“Aye, well, I was here until nearly half past two in the morning cleaning it up.”
“Half past two, you say?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“We saw you leaving on the CCTV, that’s all.”
“You could have said.”
Templeton grinned. “Look at it from my point of view. If you’d said you went home at half past twelve we’d have had a discrepancy, wouldn’t we?”
“But I didn’t. I left at half past two. Like you said, it’s on candid camera.”
9 0 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
“Anybody vouch for you?”
“I told you, I was here alone.”
“So you could have nipped out into The Maze, raped and killed the girl, then got back to cleaning up the bog?”
“I suppose I could have, but I didn’t. You already said you saw me leave on the CCTV.”
“But you could have sneaked out earlier and come back.”
“Look around you. There’s only two ways out of this place on account of its location. There’s not even a window opens on Taylor’s Yard. We take all our brewery deliveries down the chute at the front.
The only ways out of the place are the front, which leads to the market square, and the other side, the passageway between the toilets and the kitchen, which leads to Castle Road. I assume you’ve got CCTV
there, too?”
“We have,” said Templeton.
“There you go, then. You tell me how I’m supposed to get out, rape and murder a girl, and come back without being seen.”
“Mind if I have a look around?”
“Not at all. I’ll show you.” Murdoch put the glass down, called to one of the regulars to keep his eye on the place and first took Templeton upstairs, where there were an office, a toilet, a storeroom full of cases of wine and spirits piled against the wall, and a sitting room with a TV set, fading wallpaper and a let-down sofa.
Next, Murdoch showed him the poolroom and the toilets downstairs, which weren’t in such bad shape; then the kitchen near the back, which was clean as it should be; and the side exit onto Castle Road.
They went into the cellar next, a dank place with damp stone walls and barrels of beer in a row and crates of ale piled up. It stank of yeast and hops. The walls were solid everywhere, probably about three feet thick.
Templeton couldn’t see any possible way out, and he didn’t particularly fancy staying down there a moment more than he needed, so he headed back up the worn stone steps.
“Seen enough?” asked Murdoch when they got back to the bar.
“For now,” said Templeton. “This incident with the toilets. When did it happen?”
“Don’t know for certain,” said Murdoch. “The Lyndgarth yobs had F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
9 1
