“He’s been shagging this Erin bint, right?”
“They’ve been going out together, yes. You don’t need to be so crude.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Where is he? Where’s Jaff?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“Why would I lie? I hardly know him. Like I said, I’ve met him once or twice. He’s Erin’s boyfriend.”
“You ever been to his place?”
“Never.”
“Well, we’ve just dropped by, and he’s not there. The bloke down the hall says he scarpered with some woman last night. Seemed in a bit in a hurry. Any idea who that is or why he’d do a moonlight?”
“No.”
Watkins came back and stood in the doorway shaking his head, then he held up three fingers. Sandalwood gave him a nod, then turned back to Rose. “DC Watkins tells me there are three of you living here. Who’s the third?”
“Francesca. Francesca Banks. But I think her real name’s Tracy.”
“Francesca but her real name’s Tracy? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Rose put her hands to her face and started crying again. “You’re scaring me.”
“Tell me about this Francesca.”
“She knew Jaff, too. I think she fancied him. She disappeared. She went out last night and she hasn’t come back. Please go away. Please leave me alone. I don’t know anything.”
“Is she the woman Jaff scarpered with? Don’t lie to me this time.”
“She might be. She’s got short blond hair with a few colored streaks. She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket.”
“Stud under her lower lip and a ring through her eyebrow?”
“That’s right.”
Sandalwood looked at Watkins. “That’s the one that was with Jaff. Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” said Rose in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? She’s gone. Probably with Jaff. That’s what the policewoman kept asking me. But I told her the same. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“What policewoman?”
“The one that was here just before you.”
“We don’t know nothing about any policewoman.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. Honest. It’s none of my business. I think Erin’s in jail, and I don’t know where Francesca is. Or Jaff. I don’t understand any of this. All I wanted was a room I could afford. This is all so not my problem.”
“Seems like it’s very much your problem at the moment, young lady,” said Sandalwood, looking around the room. “Seeing as you’re the only one here, apart from us.”
“Don’t! Please, don’t,” said Rose, holding her hands over her face again and sobbing. But instead of the blow she was expecting, or the sound of a gun cocking, the next thing she heard was the front door slamming. She put her hands down and opened her eyes. Were they really gone? Could it be true? She turned off Holby City, no longer interested in doctors and bleeding patients, and checked every room. They’d left a bit of a mess upstairs, but they were definitely gone.
Well, that was the bloody limit, Rose decided. She went to her room and threw what few clothes and books she had into a suitcase, packed her toiletries and makeup into her hold-all, then paused for a moment to look around and see if she had forgotten anything. She hadn’t. She had obviously had the misfortune to end up in a house full of bloody lunatics, and her nerves couldn’t stand it anymore. She would post the rent she owed later. Right now, if she hurried, she might just be able to catch a train or a bus back to Oldham and her mum and dad. At worst, she could phone home and her dad would drive over and pick her up. He’d complain, and he’d lay on the I-told-you-so guilt trip long and thick, but he’d do it. Anything had to be better than stopping a moment longer in this madhouse, she thought. Then she slammed the door behind her and pushed her key through the letterbox.
ANNIE WAS sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, focusing on her breathing, letting the thoughts come and go like bubbles, holding on to none of them, her mind fixed on her breathing. In, out. In, out.
A knock at the door broke her concentration. Irritated, she glanced at her watch. After ten. Who would come calling at this time? The spell was broken anyway, so she got up slowly, aware of her knees cracking from lack of practice, and answered. It was Nerys Powell, the female AFO.
“What are you doing here?” Annie asked. “You shouldn’t be here. Chambers will go spare.”
Nerys held up her hands. “I know. I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But can I talk to you? Please? Just for a minute or two. There’s no reason Mr. Chambers has to know about it, is there?”
“How did you find out where I live?”
“I’ve got a friend in Human Resources.”
“Who?”
“Just a friend.”
“I could find out easily enough, you know.”
“Why do you say that? What do you mean?”
Annie sighed. “Nothing,” she said. “Just that you shouldn’t be here. It’s inappropriate.”
“What are you so afraid of? Being seen with me? If that’s the case, the quicker you let me in the better. Besides, we’re miles from Eastvale. I know it’s late, and I’m sorry. I did come earlier but there was nobody home. I’ve been wandering around getting lost, trying to pluck up my courage to come back. I stopped for a couple of drinks. I just want to talk to you, that’s all. Nobody has to know.”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t.” Annie chewed on her lip and thought for a moment, still disoriented from being snapped out of her meditation. Nerys certainly didn’t appear drunk. Then she made a snap decision and stood aside. “Okay, you can come in. But just for a couple of minutes.”
Nerys entered the room. “Cozy,” she said, looking around. “Just another word for cramped.”
“Bijou.”
“Another word for too small.”
Nerys laughed. “No, I like it. Seriously.”
“Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea or something. Coffee?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“My body is a temple.”
“Well, I’m having a glass of wine.”
“In that case…” said Nerys.
Annie went into the kitchen and took a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge. She felt uncomfortable with Nerys’s visit and knew she shouldn’t be talking to her, or even listening, but she was feeling rebellious after today’s excitement. She was also frustrated by her visit to Tracy’s house in Leeds, and her later one to Jaff’s flat in Granary Wharf. It had been easy enough to locate. There had been nobody home there, of course, and one of the neighbors had informed her, before slamming his door in her face, that the police had already been around asking questions, that he had told them all he knew, and that he was damned if he was going to repeat it all again to her.
So she decided she might as well lend her ear to Nerys for a while. You never know, she told herself, you might even learn something. She opened the wine and took it through to the living room along with two glasses. Nerys was on her knees by the small selection of CDs on the lower shelves of the bookcase. She was wearing blue jeans that showed a bit too much arse crack and a light wind cheater over a black T-shirt, none of which did much to disguise the muscles or hide the bulge at her waist when she stood up. Probably pure muscle, too, Annie guessed. “See anything you like?” she asked.
Nerys glanced over at her. “Nope,” she said. “But then I’m not much of a one for music. Not like your boss, I hear.”
“Alan? Yes, he does have a bit of a reputation. I can’t say I’ve got a clue what he’s listening to half the time. Some of it sounds pretty good, but some of it, well, to put it frankly, it just sounds like a bull with a pain in its testicles to me.”
