to a halt outside the station, nausea continuing to gnaw at my stomach while I tried to reassure myself that McKelvey was too young to have diseases such as those the doctor had mentioned, yet acutely aware that his age, perhaps, made it all the more likely.
When I got into the station, several people whose faces I hardly recognized enquired after my health and some patted my back or shook my uninjured hand. The doctor had elevated my arm in a sling – for comfort, he said, but it had the effect of drawing attention to the injury.
I was shuffling up to the interview room when Costello appeared, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. He offered me one.
'How's the hand?' he said, motioning towards my arm with his own cup.
'Fine. I'm on a painkiller trip. I'll tell you, I can understand the attraction of drugs.'
Costello laughed, thinking I was joking. 'Feeling up to talking to our latest visitor? We held back, just for you.'
McKelvey was in our holding cell, sitting on the edge of the lightweight metal bench which was suspended from the ceiling with thick wires. He was wearing black jeans, which were moulded to his legs and groin, and a pair of Nike trainers. On top he had been wearing only a white T-shirt when we picked him up, but someone in the station had given him a blanket which he had wrapped around himself. His hair looked bleached blond, almost white at the tips, like an albino, and despite its length, his ears stuck out almost at right angles to the side of his head. One of the earlobes had a nick taken out of it; the other was pierced with three gold studs. His face was thin and narrow, his eyes wide and blue, his cheekbones high, all of which, combined with his skin-tight trousers, gave him a feminine appearance. One of his eyes was badly bruised, the lid almost shut, and the knocks he had received had affected his nose, for he spoke with a harsh, nasal twang.
Harvey cuffed McKelvey and led him up to the interview room where we had set a table and enough chairs for McKelvey and the murder team. When McKelvey was brought in and sat down he slouched automatically and reached over to lift one of the cigarettes from the pack I had left in front of me. I put the packet in my pocket after taking one myself. If necessary, we could offer him one later in barter for information.
Costello introduced all present for the benefit of the twin tape recorders which were running beside us. Costello then asked McKelvey, for the second time, to confirm that he had waived his right to a solicitor. McKelvey laughed and said something unintelligible which we took to be agreement.
'Liam. Do you understand why you are here today?' Costello asked as a gentle opener.
'Aye. CSA. Can't take knickers off a bare arse, know what I mean.'
We looked at each other, trying to make some sense of what he had said. Eventually Williams said, 'What? Could you… could you explain that for us, Liam?'
'CSA. But you should be thanking me. Them sluts were sluts till I got them up the duff. They don't realize that, but they're slags and nobody respects them, see? Then I get them up the duff. They get respect then, wit' their sprogs. All claiming benefits anyhow. I get them slags respect. An' a good seeing to,' he said, winking at Williams, 'know what I mean, like.'
'Jesus,' Williams said disgustedly, 'it would take more than drugs, son.' Costello shot her a warning glance.
'Liam, did you know Angela Cashell?' Costello asked.
'Fuck's sake, course I do. Haven't I jus' tol’ you. She was a slapper – no one'd go near her. I got her respect.'
'You got her respect,' Holmes interrupted incredulously. 'How exactly did you do that?'
'I'm not talking to you,' McKelvey snapped, literally spitting. Costello announced that the interview was suspended for a break and called us outside, leaving Harvey in the interview room with the boy.
'What in God's name is going on in there?' he asked as we came out.
'He thinks he's been lifted for not paying child support,' Williams explained. 'The CSA in the North.'
'He also seems to believe that by leaving girls pregnant, he's doing them a favour by removing the stigma of being a 'slag' and replacing it with the honour of being a single mother to a litter of little Whitey McKelveys,' I said.
'And he seems to think that Angela Cashell was pregnant, too.'
'Was she?' Holmes asked with concern. 'You know, that would be a double murder.'
'No. If she was pregnant, the autopsy would have shown it. The question is why did he think she was pregnant?' I said.
'Unless she told him she was,' continued Costello. 'But why would you want that piece of shit to think he was father to your baby. Especially if there was no baby?'
'Perhaps she wanted to keep him,' suggested Williams. 'Maybe she thought he was going to dump her, so she said she was pregnant in the hope that he'd stick around. Or maybe she thought she was.
At that age, it's difficult to rely on the time of the month. If you're a week or two late, you convince yourself you've been caught.'
'Do you?' I asked, smiling.
'Oh yes,' Williams said. 'And it doesn't stop when you're past being a teenager.'
'Maybe she wanted money. Tells him she's pregnant and needs money for the baby,' I suggested.
'Or for an abortion,' Williams agreed.
'Maybe McKelvey thought she was pregnant and killed her to avoid having to pay anything,' Holmes suggested.
'No,' Williams said. 'You heard him in there. He doesn't give a shit how many babies he has, he has no intention of paying for them anyway. Why would one more be any different?'
'Shit,' I said, as a growing realisation dawned. 'That scuppers one theory.'
'What?' Holmes asked.
'Well, we know that McKelvey did a runner when he saw Johnny Cashell looking for him after Angela died. We'd assumed that that was a sign of guilt for her death. But what if it wasn't?'
'You mean, what if he thought Johnny was after him for getting his daughter pregnant?' Holmes said.
'Exactly,' I said.
Costello nodded towards Holmes and Williams. 'Look, I'd like you two to sit out of this one,' he said. 'We'll try him first,' he said to me, 'with you leading. If we don't get anywhere, we'll swap. Okay?'
I could tell that both were annoyed about being left out of the interview. As the two of them headed into the room beside us, where they could watch and listen unseen, I asked Costello why in particular he had excluded Williams, who had been getting on fine.
'Don't want to have a lady have to listen to that kind of chat. No place for a girl like Caroline,' he said, his tone serious, his face set. I wondered whether to point out that comments like that would have him before an industrial tribunal for sexist behaviour.
In the end I said nothing, but followed him into the room, taking time to nod in the direction of the two-way mirror, through which I knew Williams and Holmes would be watching.
We sat down and I took out a cigarette and lit it. I could see Whitey's gaze following the smoke and he licked at his lips and fidgeted in his seat.
'So, you knew Angela Cashell?' I asked and he confirmed that he did. 'What about her father?'
'Bloody lunatic,' he said.
'Why?'
'Psycho bastard tried to burn me fuckin' home down. Should be liftin' him, not the likes of me.'
'Why did he come after you Liam? Why'd you think he tried to-'
''Cause she were up the duff,' he stated, folding his thin arms across his chest.
'What? Because you got her pregnant?'
'Aye, why else?'
'Not because he thought you'd killed her?' I asked, as casually as possible.
'Aye, right.' He laughed. 'Me kill her. What would I kill her for? Wasn't she givin' me me hole?'
'You're a born romantic, Liam,' I said, earning a glance from Costello.
'What about drugs, Liam?' Costello asked.
'What about them?' he said, grinning inanely. 'Yes, please,' he laughed, looking from Costello to me and back to see if we shared his estimation of his sense of humour. Neither of us spoke. 'Oh, sorry, sir, I forgot. I'd
