Holloway asked if he might have a glass of water, then went to the kitchenette and took a mug from the drainer. The mug had been sitting there so long its base was filmed with dust.
The woman, Hadley, stood by the window. A double-decker bus went past. Hadley was watching it. Nathan understood. There was something surreal and fascinating about it: an upper deck of oblivious strangers, sailing directly past your living-room window.
Holloway drained the water.
'Do you mind if I sit?'
'Please.'
He took a dining chair, the first person to sit in it since Sara, in just a T-shirt, reading the Guardian Review.
Hadley stayed by the window, hands clasped at the small of her back, watching the intermittent buses go past.
Nathan sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, offering Holloway a cigarette. Holloway said, 'Not since New Year's Eve, 1989,' and took a biro from his jacket. 'So, Mr Redmond.'
'Nathan.'
'So, Nathan. I expect you'll have gathered why we're here.'
'Pretty much. Mark's party.'
Holloway pointed the biro at him, as if to say Well done!, then said, 'What time did you arrive at the party?'
'I don't know. Nine, maybe. A bit later.'
'And what time did you leave?'
'That, I can't tell you.'
Holloway scrutinized him.
'Drinking,' said Nathan. 'Quite heavily. Quaffing.'
There was a patch of sweat between Nathan's shoulder blades.
Holloway said, 'And while you were there - quaffing - did you see, or speak to Elise Fox?'
'Not that I know of
'Not that you know of
'I mean - there were like a million people there. So all night you're hello this and excuse me that. So I suppose I might have, whatever.
Said hello or something.'
'There's no need to be so nervous. I'm not hungry.'
Nathan boggled at him.
Holloway said, 'I'm not going to eat you.'
'Oh. Ha ha. Yes.'
Holloway grinned, and from his pocket he took a packet of Chewits. He unwrapped four of them, placing the wrappers neatly back in his pocket. Then he popped the sweets into his mouth, four at once, and, chewing, said, 'Did you, to your knowledge - accepting the fact of your heavy drinking - did you see Elise Fox?'
'Not to my knowledge, no.'
'So, I understand you left the party - and then came back.'
'That's right.'
'You left at what time?'
'I'm not sure. Pretty late.'
'After midnight?'
'Before, I'd say. Just before. Quarter to? But I can't be sure. I was--'
'Drinking heavily, I know. So what happened?'
'How do you mean?'
'You left the party, why?'
'Oh. I had an argument.'
'With . . . ?'
'My girlfriend. You know how it is.'
Holloway's cool look implied that no, he didn't know how it was.
And Nathan began to wonder if his apparent ennui might not be some kind of affectation.
'You argued about what?'
'Well, it wasn't an argument. Not at first.'
'Then what was it?'
'I saw her. Dancing with Mark.'
'Mark Derbyshire?'
'The one and only. Yes.'
'And . . .'
'And I got pissed off
'Because she was dancing with him?'
'Because of the way she was dancing.'
'How was she dancing?'
'I don't know. He was, like - he was practically goosing her.'
'And you didn't like that.'
'No, I didn't like that.'
'And you - what, stormed out?'
'I did. I stormed out.'
'With what intention?'
'I don't know, really. I just sort of went for a walk.'
'A walk to where? There isn't really anywhere to go.'
'That's what she said.'
'Who?'
'Sara. My girlfriend.' He ground out the cigarette. 'Ex-girlfriend.'
'Right. That'll be Sara Reed, of this address.'
'That's right.'
'And where is Sara now?'
'She's staying at her friend's. Michelle's. I'd need to look up the address.'
'No need. And how did you get back to the party?'
'A bloke called Bob came driving past.'
'Driving past.'
'He'd left the party. He was on his way home. But he stopped to pick me up.'
'Right. I assume we're talking about Robert Morrow here?'
'Probably. I mean, yes. I didn't know his surname.'
'He picked you up and took you back to the party.'
'That's right, yes.'
'And how long have you known Mr Morrow?'
'I don't really know him. Not really. We met once, a few years back. I hadn't seen him since. Tell the truth, he's a bit odd. He's into ghosts and what have you. Spends his time in haunted houses.'
'I know.'
'Oh. Right. I see.'
'It takes all sorts.'
'Apparently.'
'So. You and Mr Morrow were gone for some time.'
'Probably.'
'What were you doing? Ghost-hunting?'
'Ha. No. I'd stormed off. I was pissed off. Drunk. I had this idea, that I'd walk into the nearest town, village, whatever. Call a minicab.'
