Playing With Fire

grab something more healthy later, back in the town center. Besides, she thought, looking up at the looming house, she had an alibi to check.

She walked up the steps and peered at the names on the intercom box. Mandy Patterson. That was the person she wanted. She pressed the bell. It seemed to take forever, but eventually a sleepy voice answered. “Yes? Who is it?”

Annie introduced herself.

“Police?” Mandy sounded alarmed. “Why? What is it? What do you want?”

Annie was used to that reaction from members of the public who either felt guilty about some driving or parking offense or didn’t want to get involved. “I just want to talk to you, that’s all,” she said in as convincing a friendly voice as she could manage. “It’s about Mark.”

“First landing, flat three, on your left.”

Annie heard the door release click and pushed it open. Inside, the place was far less gloomy than out. The thick-piled stair carpets looked new, the hallway was clean and well kept, the interior well lit. Better than the student digs of her days, Annie thought, even though those days had been only about fifteen years ago.

Annie climbed the steep stairs and knocked on the door to flat three. Fit as she was, she was glad Mandy didn’t live all the way at the top. The damn cold was sapping her energy, making her feel dizzy when she exerted herself. She couldn’t meditate, either. All she experienced when she sat in the lotus position and tried to concentrate on the breath coming and going as it passed the point between her eyebrows was either a stuffed-up nose or a thick, phlegmy sniffle.

The girl who opened the door looked as if she had just been woken up, which was probably the case. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at Annie. “So you’re the police?” she said, looking at Annie’s army greatcoat, long scarf and high boots.

“Afraid so.”

Annie followed her into the room. Perhaps because Mandy had heard over the intercom that Annie was female, or perhaps because seminudity didn’t concern her, she hadn’t bothered putting anything on other than a long white T-shirt with a George and Dragon logo on the front. Annie thought it was too cold for such scanty clothing, but she could soon feel that the bed-sit was centrally heated. Another change from her own student days, when she had braved a dash from the piled blankets to the gas fire and hoped to hell her five pee from last night hadn’t run out. She took off her overcoat and found that she was warm enough without it.

“You woke me up, you know,” Mandy said over her shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” Annie said. “Part of the job.” The messed-up sheets on the mattress under the window testified to what Mandy said.

“Cup of tea? I’m having one myself. Can’t think in the morning without a cup of tea.”

“Fine,” said Annie. “If you’re brewing up anyway.” Mandy had a posh accent, she noticed. What had she been doing with Mark, then? Slumming it? A bit of rough?

The kitchenette was separated from the rest of the bed-sit by a thin green curtain, which Mandy left open as she filled the electric kettle. Annie sat in one of the two small armchairs, which were arranged around an old fireplace filled by a vase full of dried purple-and-yellow flowers and peacock feathers. There was a poster of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers on the wall, and the radio was playing quietly in the background. Annie recognized an old Pet Shop Boys number, “Always on My Mind.” That had been a hit back during her own student days in Exeter. She had liked the Pet Shop Boys.

A vivid memory of Rick Stenson, her boyfriend at the time, came to her as the music played. A handsome, fair- haired media studies student, he had always put her down for her musical tastes, being into Joy Division, Elvis Costello, Dire Straits and Tracy Chapman. He thought he was a cut above the Pet Shop Boys, Enya and Fleetwood Mac fans. He even used to go on about the original Fleetwood Mac, when Peter Green played with them. What had she seen in him? Annie wondered now. He’d been nothing but a bloody arrogant snob, and he hadn’t been an awful lot of good in bed, either, showing some slight flair for the obvious and no imagination whatsoever beyond. Ah, the mistakes of one’s youth.

Mandy came in with the tea and sat in the other armchair, legs curled up, the hem of her T-shirt barely covering the tops of her slim, smooth thighs. Curly brown hair, messy from sleep, framed a heart-shaped face with thin lips, a small nose and loam-brown eyes. She had beautiful Brooke Shields eyebrows, Annie thought with envy, her own being definitely on the thin and skimpy side.

“What did you do last night?” Annie asked.

“Do? What do you mean? Why do you want to know?”

“Would you just let me ask the questions?” Annie didn’t know why she was becoming testy with Mandy, but she was; she could feel the irritation building at the girl’s voice, the thighs, the eyebrows. She took out a paper handkerchief and blew her nose. The room felt hot now; she could feel the sweat prickling under her arms. Or maybe it was a fever that came with her cold.

Mandy sulked and sipped some tea, then she said, “Okay. Ask away.”

“Was Mark here with you?”

“Mark? Of course not. That’s ridiculous. What’s he supposed to have done? If he said-”

“You do know him, don’t you?”

Mandy toyed with a strand of hair, straightening and curling. “If you mean Mark Siddons, yes, of course I know him. He comes by the pub sometimes when he’s working on the building site.”

“Which building site?”

“Over the park. They’re putting up a new sports center for the college.”

“And are you friendly with Mark?”

“Sort of.”

Annie leaned forward. “Mandy, this could be important. Was Mark here with you last night?”

“What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Annie said, feeling her head spin with the fever and the irritation. “This is supposed to be a simple job. I ask you the questions and you give me honest answers. I’m not here to judge you. I don’t care what kind of girl you are. I don’t care if you just fancied a bit of rough and Mark-”

Mandy reddened. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Then tell me what it was like.”

“What’s this all about? What has Mark done?”

Annie didn’t want to give Mandy any reason for prevarication, and she knew that every piece of information altered the equation. “You answer my questions first,” she said, “then I’ll tell you why I’m asking them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s the only deal you’ll get. Take it or leave it.”

Mandy glared at her, then settled down to playing with her curls again. She let the silence stretch before answering. “Mark came to the pub a few times, at lunchtime, like I said. It was the holiday period, so I was working extra shifts. I liked him. He wasn’t a bit of rough.” She gave Annie a harsh glance. “Maybe he seemed like that on the surface, but underneath, he’s… well, he’s a nice bloke, and you don’t get to meet many of those.”

So cynical so young, Annie thought, but Mandy had a point. Annie thought of Banks. He was a nice bloke, but she had split up with him. Maybe she should have hung on to him instead. He had another girlfriend now, she knew, even though he didn’t like to talk about her. Annie was surprised at the flash of jealousy she felt whenever she knew he was going away for the weekend. Was she younger than Annie? Prettier? Better in bed? Or just less difficult? Well, she had her reasons for doing what she did, she told herself, so let it be.

“He’d flirt a bit and we’d chat,” Mandy went on. “You know what it’s like.”

“What about last night?”

“He came to the pub late. He seemed a bit upset.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. He just seemed depressed, like he had a lot on his mind.”

“What time was this?”

“About a quarter to eleven. Nearly closing time. He only had the one pint.”

“Then what?”

“I invited him back here for a coffee.”

“So he was here?”