He leans back in his chair and takes a long slurp of coffee, sorting through his file. ‘Meanwhile,’ he says, ‘since we’re here, you mind clearing up a couple of small things? Just so we can cross them off our list?’
‘Ah, Jaysus, you and your lists,’ I say, rolling my eyes. ‘Ignore him, Rory. This guy makes lists of what he puts in his pockets, so he can double-check that he hasn’t dropped anything. Don’t get sucked in. Get out while you can.’
‘Don’t knock my lists, you,’ Breslin says, pointing at me. ‘How often have they saved our arses?’
‘Yeah yeah yeah.’
‘Rory? Is that cool with you? Just a few more minutes.’
We all know Rory’s not leaving, not with nowhere to go but round and round his flat and his head. He says, ‘I suppose—’
‘See?’ Breslin says to me. ‘Rory doesn’t mind humouring me. Am I right, Rory?’
‘Yes. I mean—’
‘I mind,’ I say. ‘If I have to put up with one more—’
‘Beautiful,’ Breslin says. ‘Suck it up, Conway.’ He flips paper. I sigh heavily, twisting my hair back into its bun: business time.
Breslin was right, we’re good in interviews. It shoves the message home: working well together means bugger-all else. I catch the smooth cold span of the one-way glass in the corner of my eye and wonder if Steve is behind it.
‘Ah,’ Breslin says. ‘Here we go: lovely list. Question One. Rory: Saturday evening, Aislinn and one of her friends were talking about you calling round for dinner. Sounds like she was looking forward to it.’ He gives Rory a smile, holds it till Rory more or less smiles back. ‘Sweet. And the friend warned Aislinn to’ – he pretends to check his notes – ‘“be careful OK?” Why would she do that?’
Rory stares, bewildered. ‘Who said that?’
‘Who would you expect to say it?’
‘I don’t – I wouldn’t. I hardly even know any of Aislinn’s friends. Who—?’
‘Hang on,’ Breslin says, lifting a hand. ‘You’re telling us that, if Aislinn’s friends had known you, they’d have had a reason to warn her to be careful? What reason?’
‘No. That’s not what I said. They wouldn’t have a—’
‘One of them thought she did.’
‘She didn’t. None of them had any reason. At all.’
‘Must’ve been a misunderstanding,’ I say. ‘Was there something the mate could’ve taken up wrong? A new fella on the scene, mates can get protective, start seeing red flags everywhere—’
‘Or jealous,’ Breslin offers. ‘Maybe the friend’s a hound, can’t get a fella of her own; she gets her knickers in a knot and decides to spin some little thing to try and put Aislinn off you. What could she have spun?’
Rory passes a hand over his eyes and tries to think. He’s abandoned his Oreo untouched; he’s figured out that we’re not playing that game any more. Me and Breslin are still all smiles, but the air in the room’s changed; the pulse is faster and harder and it’s Breslin setting it now, not Rory.
‘The only thing I can think of . . .’ We wait encouragingly. ‘I told you last time: it was complicated, setting up dates with Aislinn. But I kept trying, even when she cancelled. I suppose that could have come across as . . . I don’t know. Pushy? I mean, I know Aislinn didn’t think I was being too pushy, or she would have ended it, but maybe one of her friends might have—’
‘Whoa,’ Breslin says. ‘Slow down. You just said you kept pushing Aislinn for dates, even when she cancelled; but then you’re telling us, if she’d told you to get lost, you would’ve gone. Which is it?’
‘But— No. That’s not the same thing. She never said she didn’t want to see me any more. If she had, then of course I would have gone. Saying “I’m busy on Thursday” isn’t the same, it’s completely—’
Rory’s winding himself into a tangle of indignation and defensiveness. ‘Hey, you don’t need to convince us,’ I say. ‘The mate’s the one who was worried. We’re just trying to work out why.’
‘That’s the only thing I can think of. That’s it.’
Breslin gets up from the table and goes for a stroll, giving Rory two places to look. He says, ‘Sounds a bit thin to me.’
‘And me,’ I say. ‘The friend’s not the hysterical type, you know what I mean? If she thought Aislinn needed to be careful, she had a reason.’
‘Maybe . . .’ Rory clears his throat. ‘Um, if I’m right, about the guy watching Aislinn . . . Maybe Aislinn had noticed him, and mentioned him to her friend? And the friend was worried that he’d get angry about her having me over?’
Breslin stops and gives Rory a long quizzical gaze – Rory holds it, in a blinky way. He says, ‘Did Aislinn ever mention an ex who gave her the willies?’
Rory shakes his head.
‘Out loud for the tape.’
‘No. She didn’t.’
‘Most women aren’t gonna bring up the ex to the new boyfriend,’ I point out. ‘Makes you sound like a bunny-boiler.’
Breslin shrugs. ‘Fair enough, I guess. She ever mention having a stalker?’
The word makes Rory wince. ‘No.’
‘Not once?’
‘No. But she might not have wanted to – I don’t know, scare me off—’
‘What, she thought you’d run a mile just because some rando was hanging around? Would you have?’
‘No! I—’
‘Of course you wouldn’t. And Aislinn, not being an idiot, knew that. You think she would’ve bothered her arse with you, if she thought you were that much of a wimp? Conway: would you want a guy who scared that easy?’
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I like them to have at least one ball.’
‘Exactly. I’m willing to bet Aislinn did too.’
Rory’s shifting. ‘OK. Maybe she didn’t, she might not have known the guy was watching her—’
‘Maybe not,’ Breslin says. He leans in sharply towards the table and Rory flinches, but he’s only going for another swig of his coffee. ‘Maybe not. In which case, we’re back where we started: when the friend told Aislinn to be careful, she couldn’t have been talking about the stalker ex. Who’s never entered anyone’s head but yours.’
Except that he did. It twinges like a sore tooth that I thought was fixed, sorted, gone: an ex entered Lucy’s head. According to her story, he was part of the reason she sent that text.
Breslin puts down his mug with a hard, precise clunk. ‘So,’ he asks, ‘what was the friend talking about?’
Rory shakes his head. He’s subsided back into his heap.
‘Out loud for the tape.’
‘I don’t know what she meant.’
‘Shame,’ Breslin says. ‘That could really do with an explanation. But if you’re sure you can’t help us there . . .’ A small pause for Rory to come in, which he doesn’t. ‘I suppose we can leave it, for now. Let’s move on down my list, shall we?’
He leans over his notes and scans. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘That’s right. Question Two.’
He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and unfolds it with a snap that makes Rory’s shoulders leap. He has another stroll around the room while he reads down the page, taking his time, wandering behind Rory to make him twist in his chair.
‘Tell me that’s not another list,’ I say, rolling my eyes at Rory. No response.
‘This,’ Breslin said, tapping the page, ‘this is Rory’s timeline for Saturday night.’
Rory’s shoulders stiffen. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Yeah. That’s not as big a deal as you’re making out.’