her, but somehow Kirsty could not face putting on the same clothes she had worn when she’d found Eva’s body. There were her old black Levi’s that were too tight for her now, but maybe she could yank the zip halfway up, hiding her stomach under a baggy jumper? She sighed. Mum and Dad would expect her to be a bit smarter than that, though, wouldn’t they? Well, she could just keep her jacket on. Anyhow, who was going to bother about what she looked like? She bit her lip again. Did it really matter what sort of impression she would make for that detective inspector?
Colin had texted her earlier to ask when she was going to Stewart Street and she’d called him back to say that her dad was willing to pick them all up if they wanted. He’d sounded strange on the phone, bone weary, his voice heavy as though he had been doped up with something. And maybe he had, Kirsty thought, wondering how the three boys had coped together yesterday. Saturdays at the flat were normally great. Sometimes she would do a great big fry-up for them all, even Eva who would tuck into her French toast or scrambled eggs. Then one of them would race downstairs to the newsagent’s for a paper and they’d spend ages deciding whether to see a film or stay in to watch
The X Factor
. It had all been so
normal
, Kirsty thought. So how could it have gone so wrong?
Kirsty and the three boys got out of Alistair Wilson’s car and made their way to the main entrance of A Division, a three-storey building surrounded by modern blocks of flats. The blue building was dwarfed by the high-rise tenements on several sides but it still managed to make an impression, the thistle badge sitting proudly over the front door.
Colin Young lagged behind the others, his hand sliding on the steel rail, his feet reluctant to follow his flatmates into the building. Yet, even once inside the foyer where there was nothing that ought to have intimidated him, Colin told himself, why did he have this peculiar sensation of dread?
You know fine
, a little voice whispered in his ear.
You’re feart in case the other lads tell the police what happened at the party
.
The glass doors and that blue mat were welcoming enough and Pete the Penguin with its jaunty police cap should have made him smile the way it had for Gary and Rodge who were pointing at the poster as they waited for someone to come for them. Colin’s eyes were on other things, however: the bit of pale blue material that looked like a discarded curtain and those two polystyrene cups, one inside the other
sitting at an angle as if waiting to be taken away
. Colin composed the words in his head. Was there a story to tell from these objects? Even as his mind skirted their possibilities a woman in a blue overall emerged from behind the sliding doors and lifted them off, flicking a weary duster over the wooden seats.
It was comfortable enough sitting with his back against the dark wood, curved to make waiting less of a drag, he supposed. Some clever engineer of ergonomics had no doubt won a prize for that design. But the chairs curved around the wall were fixed firmly by bollard-like tubes, making Colin wonder about the need to secure the fixtures and fittings against vandalism. His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from the adjacent corridor.
‘Miss Wilson?’ A pleasant-faced constable had appeared through the wooden doors and then Kirsty was being ushered out, leaving the three boys alone in the reception area.
‘I just don’t understand it,’ she whispered, her hands clasped around the glass of water that DI Grant had given her. The policewoman had been kind but efficient, asking questions slowly and writing down the answers as though everything that Kirsty said really mattered. But it didn’t, of course. Nothing that she said would ever bring Eva back again.
‘Did Eva have a boyfriend, do you know?’ the DI asked.
Kirsty shook her head. ‘Och, she could’ve had her pick.
Colin had texted her earlier to ask when she was going to Stewart Street and she’d called him back to say that her dad was willing to pick them all up if they wanted. He’d sounded strange on the phone, bone weary, his voice heavy as though he had been doped up with something. And maybe he had, Kirsty thought, wondering how the three boys had coped together yesterday. Saturdays at the flat were normally great. Sometimes she would do a great big fry-up for them all, even Eva who would tuck into her French toast or scrambled eggs. Then one of them would race downstairs to the newsagent’s for a paper and they’d spend ages deciding whether to see a film or stay in to watch
The X Factor
. It had all been so
normal
, Kirsty thought. So how could it have gone so wrong?
Kirsty and the three boys got out of Alistair Wilson’s car and made their way to the main entrance of A Division, a three-storey building surrounded by modern blocks of flats. The blue building was dwarfed by the high-rise tenements on several sides but it still managed to make an impression, the thistle badge sitting proudly over the front door.
Colin Young lagged behind the others, his hand sliding on the steel rail, his feet reluctant to follow his flatmates into the building. Yet, even once inside the foyer where there was nothing that ought to have intimidated him, Colin told himself, why did he have this peculiar sensation of dread?
You know fine
, a little voice whispered in his ear.
You’re feart in case the other lads tell the police what happened at the party
.
The glass doors and that blue mat were welcoming enough and Pete the Penguin with its jaunty police cap should have made him smile the way it had for Gary and Rodge who were pointing at the poster as they waited for someone to come for them. Colin’s eyes were on other things, however: the bit of pale blue material that looked like a discarded curtain and those two polystyrene cups, one inside the other
sitting at an angle as if waiting to be taken away
. Colin composed the words in his head. Was there a story to tell from these objects? Even as his mind skirted their possibilities a woman in a blue overall emerged from behind the sliding doors and lifted them off, flicking a weary duster over the wooden seats.
It was comfortable enough sitting with his back against the dark wood, curved to make waiting less of a drag, he supposed. Some clever engineer of ergonomics had no doubt won a prize for that design. But the chairs curved around the wall were fixed firmly by bollard-like tubes, making Colin wonder about the need to secure the fixtures and fittings against vandalism. His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from the adjacent corridor.
‘Miss Wilson?’ A pleasant-faced constable had appeared through the wooden doors and then Kirsty was being ushered out, leaving the three boys alone in the reception area.
‘I just don’t understand it,’ she whispered, her hands clasped around the glass of water that DI Grant had given her. The policewoman had been kind but efficient, asking questions slowly and writing down the answers as though everything that Kirsty said really mattered. But it didn’t, of course. Nothing that she said would ever bring Eva back again.
‘Did Eva have a boyfriend, do you know?’ the DI asked.
Kirsty shook her head. ‘Och, she could’ve had her pick.
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