“There was a young Canadian woman living on The Hill opposite the Paynes. She became quite close friends with Lucy, even after the arrest. Appeared on TV as her ‘champion,’ that sort of thing, thought Lucy was a poor victim.”
“I see,” said Ginger.
“She was also present when Lucy Payne had her ‘accident.’ Lucy F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
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was living in her house at the time. You can imagine the sense of betrayal she must have felt. Anyway, she has to be our chief suspect if she was anywhere near the scene. Her name’s Maggie, or Margaret, Forrest. She worked as an illustrator for children’s books, so the odds are that she’s still in the same line of work. You can check publishers, professional associations, what have you. You know the drill.” She passed a folder to Ginger. “The details are all in here.”
“You said she’s Canadian. What if she’s gone home?”
“Then she’s not our problem anymore, is she?”
“And if I find her?”
“Come straight to me,” said Annie. “That’s another interview I’d like to do myself.”
J I L L S U T H E R L A N D, part-time barmaid at The Fountain, was in the kitchen when Winsome called at her f lat about a mile from the college. “I was just making a cup of tea,” Jill said. “I only got home about five minutes ago. Can I offer you some?”
“That’d be great,” said Winsome
Jill carried the pot and two cups, along with milk and sugar, on a tray, then sat cross-legged on the small sofa in front of the coffee table.
Her living room was light and airy, with a distinct whiff of air freshener.
Innocuous pop music played on the radio, occasionally interrupted by a cheery voice turned so low that Winsome thankfully couldn’t hear a word he said. She sat opposite Jill and took out her notebook.
Jill smiled. She was a pretty redhead with a button nose and a pale freckled complexion, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. All in all, she had an air of innocence that Winsome thought probably belied her experience. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“I don’t know, really,” Winsome began. “It’s about Saturday night in The Fountain. The girl who was killed, Hayley Daniels, had just been drinking there. We’re trying to gather as much information as we can.”
Jill’s expression changed. “Yes, that was terrible. The poor girl. I read about her in the paper. And to think I could have been working just around the corner. Or even walking through there myself.”
“You walk through The Maze alone?”
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P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“Usually, if I’ve been working. It’s a shortcut. I park in the Castle car park, and it’s the fastest way. I never thought it was dangerous, really.”
“You should be more careful.”
Jill shrugged. “I never had any problems. There was never anyone else there.”
“Even so . . . Did you know Hayley?”
“I’d seen her around.”
“You’re a student at the college, too?”
“Yes. Forensic science.”
Winsome raised her eyebrows. “Forensic science? I didn’t even know they had a course in that.”
“It’s quite new. After two years you can get into analytical chemis-try at the University of Leeds.”
“Is that where you met Hayley, at college?”
“Travel and Tourism’s just around the corner. We share a coffee shop. I’d seen her in town sometimes, too, shopping.”
“And in The Fountain?”
“Once or twice.”
“But you weren’t friends.”
“No, just acquaintances. I only knew her to say hello to.”
“You called in poorly on Saturday, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“What was wrong with you?”
“Just a cold.”
Winsome guessed by the way Jill averted her eyes and f lushed as she spoke, that she wasn’t exactly telling the truth. As a further distraction, Jill chose that moment to lean forward and pour the tea. As she did so, she gave a small cough and put her hand to her mouth. “Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please,” said Winsome. She accepted the mug and went back to her question. “All better now?”
“Yes, thanks.”
