‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Farrer,’ says Manon, setting her clipboard down on the table in interview room three while Davy fiddles with the recording device, saying the date and time and names of everyone in the room.
Jason Farrer leans back in his chair, legs wide apart, one elbow bent behind him on the chair’s backrest. He wears a yellow knitted waistcoat with leather buttons, brown baggy corduroys, and a checked shirt. His hair hangs in a foppish wave across one side of his face. He straightens as she takes up her seat opposite him.
‘Look, I want to help in any way I can.’ His aristocratic accent comes as a shock – surprising to hear and awkward to deliver. He is barely moving his mouth, the words escaping out the sides.
‘Bit unusual, isn’t it, for postgrads like Edith and Will to live outside the town – as far as Huntingdon, I mean?’ says Manon.
‘Not just unusual, practically unheard of. Everyone lives in Leckhampton, where the dining room is and the bar. But they’re like that, Edith and Will. Superior. Like being out on a limb.’
She’s wrong-footed by his candour. Charmers like him normally fight hard to mask themselves with affable decency towards absolutely everyone. Then he leans forward towards her across the desk, his hands clasped, and she realises he’s drunk. Rolling drunk. The ethanol rises off him in an energetic dance with the air.
‘They have a project,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘To live truthfully. Grow food, cook wholesomely, cycle, or chug along in that trumped-up lawnmower of hers. I think they thought student digs would corrupt them. Course, her father pays for everything – the house, the evil gas and electricity. She is Will’s flexible friend in so many ways.’
‘Who’s driving this project then – Edith or Will?’
‘Oh, they’re both really into it. The aim is to live a simple but, I s’pose, pure life. They called it living truthfully, which made me want to self-harm. I thought it was vanity. You have to understand – Edith and Will are the most beautiful specimens Cambridge will ever produce. When they got together in our final year, it was like Kate-Middleton-Barbie had found Ken.’
‘Sorry, I don’t get it. How is growing fresh food vanity?’
‘Life’s a competition,’ says Farrer. ‘Their superior lifestyle was their quickest route to looking down on people. I mean, that’s why people do it, isn’t it? Grow loads of chard? It isn’t because they want chard. I mean, no one buys chard. It’s so they can tell someone else they grow chard. And that someone will go away worrying about the fact they don’t grow chard.’
‘Except you.’
‘I’ve never wanted to grow chard.’
They look at each other. Farrer is slumped, lolling with the drink. He lets out a little girlish giggle, like gas bubbles escaping – then puts a hand in front of his mouth to stifle them.
‘You do realise you’re being questioned in relation to the disappearance and possible abduction of a young woman,’ says Manon.
‘Sorry,’ says Farrer, another little giggle escaping involuntarily. ‘I find it hard to take anything seriously. Look, they used to bang on about it endlessly.’ His words are not quite slurring but rolling up against each other, like waves swelling out at sea. ‘You know, “Here’s some organic muffins I made.” “Will is at home, fashioning us a table out of reclaimed crutches.” It was tiresome.’
Manon nods.
‘Still, it’s not enough to murder someone, is it?’ says Farrer. ‘I mean, you don’t think Edith was abducted because she had a curly kale glut, do you?’
‘You don’t seem very concerned,’ says Manon.
‘That’s me all over.’
‘Can we go back to Saturday night at The Crown? You were with Edith at the bar.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what made the two of you go outside?’
‘She put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, “Let’s go outside, Farrer.” Very sexy it was, too.’
‘Had she been flirting with you in the run-up to that night?’
‘God, no. Edith always treated me with the utter contempt I deserve. That’s what made it so exciting when she came on to me.’
‘So you went outside. Then what happened?’
‘Well, lots of heavy breathing. She was up against me, against the wall of the pub. It was freezing and dark. She was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Then we had … Well, I’ll protect her honour, if you don’t mind. Then she suddenly stopped and went back inside.’
‘I’m sorry, we’re going to need some detail. Did you kiss?’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Did it go further than that?’
Farrer smiles at Manon but she has done too many of these interviews to be squeamish.
‘Digital penetration?’ she asks.
‘You make it sound so romantic,’ he says.
‘Answer the question, please.’
‘Yes.’
‘Consensual?’
‘I had given my consent, yes,’ he says, giggling again.
‘How did Edith call a halt?’
‘She pulled my hand out from her knickers, straightened her clothes, and went back inside the pub.’
‘Did you follow her?’
‘No, I didn’t.’