we’ll clear this up.” He spread his hands, and her eyes followed the key dangling in his fingers. “Then you’ll go home in the morning. We’re the good guys, remember?”

Her shoulders dropped and she nodded. “He came on to me at the party last year. I thought he was being forceful, so I...” She looked from Marks to Gilmore, “I slapped him on the face. He tried to kiss me. Then he told me he loved me. I can’t remember what I said to him. Things I shouldn’t have, I guess.”

“For example?” Marks unlocked the cuffs and freed her hand.

“I told you I don't remember.”

“Right,” Marks said. “You had a lot to drink according to your statement last night.”

Alice pouted at him as she continued to rub the welt left by the cuffs. “Yeah.” She saw Marks’ eyes flit to her wrist, but he gave no sign he noticed her scars.

“Why didn't you tell us last night?”

For a moment, Alice wondered if Marks was referring to her scars. She wasn't thinking straight, and she tried to compose herself by taking several deep breaths. The whole point of this late interview would be to undermine her and catch her in any lies or inconsistencies. “Tell you what?”

“About him coming on to you and your response.”

“I did.”

Gilmore flipped through his file and passed a sheet to Marks.

Marks looked down and drew his finger across the page. “According to this transcript, you said, ‘I told him I wasn't interested. I think he was drunk. So, I said stuff to make him stop. Look, I don't remember, okay?’ Nothing about him trying to kiss you or you slapping him.”

“I didn't think the details were important. Why would I?” Alice swallowed and her throat felt dry. “I’m tired and I’m thirsty. Could I get a drink of water please?”

“In a minute. Now, you said things to him you shouldn't have, and you told us you can't remember what they were. But the fact is, you remember saying things to him, so you must have an idea?”

“I don't know.”

Marks linked his hands and cracked his knuckles. “Come on Alice. Give us an example. Did you goad him? Insult him?”

Alice winced as she tried to recall the gist of her tirade. “I think so.”

“Good. Did race come into it? Religion?”

Alice shifted in the chair and shook her head. “I was scared and angry. I didn't mean it. You know, to be nasty.”

“Go on.”

“I don’t like repeating it.”

“It’s best you do.”

Alice sighed. “I might have called him a stupid refugee. Something about backward superstitions, and that he should go back to the Middle East to be with the rest of the regressive misogynists that live there. I’m sorry I said stuff like that. I didn't mean it. It all came tumbling out. I’m not proud of it, because I’m not like that.”

“It's okay.”

“Those weren't my exact words, but it was like that.”

“How did he react?”

“He looked angry. Then he approached me. Others had come over to see what was going on. I slapped him then, which surprised him. And me.”

“So there are witnesses to this?”

Alice nodded. “People were there when I, er, slapped him. Someone got me a cab soon afterwards. Dee, I think. A few days later, I heard some of the guys chased him from the party after I left. They might have been rough, I don’t know.”

Marks frowned. “Oh yeah?”

While Marks scribbled something in his notes, Alice remembered what Olivia said at lunch and how Ian agreed. “Maybe that’s why Samir went to Exhibition Road? For revenge?”

Marks finished writing and looked up. “That would be convenient for you, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind.” He ran his hand under his shirt collar, loosened the knot in his tie and then undid the top shirt button. “Go on.”

Alice rubbed her wrist again. “It was the local high summer festival. I think they call it the Thurloe festival even though it’s on Exhibition Road. We held the wrap party during last year’s festival. That might explain it.”

Marks and Gilmore exchanged a glance and save for a low whirr from the recording equipment, silence settled in the room. Then Marks sniffed. “Explain what, Alice?”

“Why he attacked the Thurloe area when he did.”

“Did you suggest that to him?”

“No. Don't be ridiculous. I told you, the last time I saw him was at the wrap party.”

“You mean the festival?”

“No. You don't understand. The festival meant nothing to us. For us it was all about the wrap party, not the festival. We didn't associate the two. Maybe Samir did, I don't know. But I guess that’s your job, not mine.” Alice stared at Marks, and he stared back. She blinked first and looked away.

Then Marks indulged in his annoying habit of cracking his knuckles again. “You said Dee got you the cab?”

“I think it was Dee.” Alice rubbed her forehead and felt a sheen of perspiration on her fingers.

Marks went back to his writing in his notepad. “Dee’s surname?” He glanced up and his eyes stopped at her chest for an instant before turning away.

Alice blinked several times in rapid succession while she used her arms to hide her bra-less breasts, afraid to look down herself lest she see the outlines of her nipples pushing against the flimsy tee shirt. “Stansfield.” She cursed them for taking her bra and her dignity, now convinced they did it more for control than for suicide prevention.

“Will she support your story?”

“They all will. Ask anyone who was there. Dee’s number’s in my phone, Anna’s too. Anna Forrester, she saw the whole thing. Yesterday you told me you had all my work contacts. Even before you stole my phone. So call them.”

“Don't worry, I will.” Marks tapped his fingers

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