Garnethill

They took her to an interview room on the ground floor. McAskill seemed to be in charge. He gave her a cheeky encouraging look, took a big chocolate bar out of his pocket, ripped the packaging down the middle with his thumbnail and broke the chocolate into squares. He put it down in the middle of the table, setting it on top of the wrapper like a serving suggestion. "Wire in," he said, sucking on a square.

I

I

"Now, Miss O'Do

He produced a knife from a crumpled paper bag and put it on the table. It was a new Sabatier kitchen knife with an eight-inch stainless-steel blade and a black wooden handle. She had seen them in shops. They were expensive. A paper tag was attached to it with a piece of string, a long number scrawled on it in Biro. It had been cleaned and polished, the blade flawlessly reflecting the fluorescent bulb above their heads, a pitiless slit of light sitting on the table.

Maureen wished she hadn't taken the chocolate. Her mouth was dry and the sticky paste was stuck under her tongue and up between her gums and cheeks. Her mouth began to water at the sight of the knife in a way she found disturbing.

"Is that it?" she asked, staring at it.

"Is it what?" said McAskill.

"Is that what was used on Douglas?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Have you seen it before?"

"No," said Maureen.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he said, and handed it to I

"Where did you find it?" she asked.

"How do you mean?" said McAskill uncomfortably.

"Where was the knife? Was it out the back of the flat?"

"We found it in the house. Why?"

"I just thought you'd have asked me about it before, that's all."

"We only just found it," said I

"A week and a bit afterward?" said Maureen.

"It was quite well hidden," muttered I

Maureen wondered how well hidden anything could be in a flat the size of a fifty-quid note with ten men raking through it.

"Can I ask you something else?" she said, addressing McAskill this time.

"Depends what it is," he said carefully.

"Have you any idea who did this?"

"We're following a number of leads," he said, shuffling his papers.

"One more question?"

He smiled kindly. "Go on, then, try me."

"Did you talk to Carol Brady?"

"Aye," he said. "She's not your greatest fan."

"Yeah, I know that."

"She's convinced you blackmailed him for that money."

"I didn't even know it was there, honestly."

"We've seen the security video at the bank," said McAskill. "Douglas paid in the money himself."

"When?"

"First thing in the morning on the day he was killed."

Maureen could almost see the time-lag security video, blurred and gray, Douglas jolting across the floor to the teller like a bad animation.

"Can you think of a reason for him to pay that much money into your account?" asked McAskill.

"Sorry?"

"Why would he do that? It was pretty obvious the other day that you had no idea it was in there. What would he give you money for?"

"I don't know." She looked at the table and wondered, "Maybe he wanted me to pass the money on to someone else and he didn't get the chance to tell me about it."

McAskill nodded but didn't seem convinced. "Okay," he said. "We'll look into that."

"Did you find out who'd told Carol Brady where I was staying?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," said McAskill stiffly, rolling his eyes and nodding at the tape recorder. Maureen didn't understand the signal. He nodded at it again. Maureen leaned across the table and pressed the Stop button on the tape recorder.

"No!" said McAskill, lurching over the table and pulling her hand away. "You have to tell us you want the tape off and we need to say we're going to, right?" He switched it on again.

I

"Yes, I did just turn the tape off."

"Do you want me to turn the tape off before we continue the interview?"

"Yes."

"Miss O'Do

"I don't particularly want a tape of me telling you this," said Hugh, "but a young officer's facing disciplinary action over it. We went to see Brady and she gave us his name."

"Without blinking an eye," said I

"Nice lady," said Maureen.

McAskill smiled. "Lovely."

"Where did the money in my account come from?"

I

"God," said Maureen. "How does anyone get that much money in their account in the first place?"

"That's none of your business," said I

"He'd saved it over a number of years," said McAskill. "His wife didn't even know he had the account until he died."

Maureen took out her cigarettes and lit one. The smoke mingled with the sweet chocolate in her mouth, turning both tastes bad.

"Where do you think the rest of the money went?"

She shrugged, mulling over the lump of money in Siobhain McCloud's handbag. The other fifteen thousand couldn't be in there: it would take seven hundred and fifty twenties to make it up and the roll couldn't possibly have had that in it. "I du

"No," said McAskill. "He gave it to you. It's yours."

She didn't know why Douglas had given it to her but she had a bad feeling about it. She didn't really want the money. "Does Mrs. Brady still think I did it?"

"Yeah," McAskill said. "She's not interested in any evidence, she's just certain it was you."

"Certain," echoed I

McAskill nudged I

"Sure," said Maureen.

He turned on the tape. "Anyway, Miss O'Do

"Right," said Maureen tentatively. "What happens about the mess? Do you clean it up or do I?"

"It's down to you, really. It should be covered on your home insurance. We only clean the place if the person living there can't clean it on their own, like a disabled or an old person."

"Right," she said, her heart sinking at the thought of her minimal house insurance. "I see. Is that it, then?"

McAskill looked at his notebook. "Yes," he said. "That seems to be all for now."

On the way down to the lobby she asked them if she could see Joe McEwan. I

"I know. I wanted to apologize about that."

"We can tell him you're sorry," said I