police officer was, ‘so that she could make a difference.’
It had been different for Neal. At the age of eighteen he had received offers from all the best Scottish universities, and he’d had his sights set on a law degree. Becoming a policeman could not have been further from his thoughts, or desires. A year later he was a single father with a child to support, and his dreams of becoming a lawyer seemed suddenly extravagant.
As he had faced up to his responsibilities and embarked on the daily grind of earning a living as a policeman, there had been no time to mourn his bankrupt future. He had never expected to like the job, but gradually it had taken hold of him, and now he could barely remember a time when he had wished to do anything else. Nor had he missed out on his education; he had a first class Open University degree under his belt and was studying part time for a Masters in Criminology. And he had never regretted being a father. “Sorry. Time to stop the music,” he said to Ava, rapping loudly on the door.
“Who is it?”
“Police. Open the door.”
“Just a minute!”
Neal and Ava exchanged glances. “I expect they’re tidying up for us, sir,” Ava said, her tone ironic. Neal rolled his eyes.
“Come on lads. We haven’t got all day,” he called, impatiently. The door opened and they were invited in by a young man in black skinny jeans and a T-shirt bearing one of those slogans about keeping calm and carrying on.
“Good vibes boys,” Ava commented as she stepped into the communal kitchen, which was surprisingly clean and tidy; so much for students’ unsanitary living habits. There were no piles of unwashed dishes, no rubbish overflowing from the bin, and Neal was sure he could detect the faint odour of a chemical air freshener.
Two lads were seated at the kitchen table; another was turning the music off. The one who had answered the door looked Ava up and down and asked if they’d like a drink.
“We’re on duty,” Ava said, eyeing the half-empty bottle of scotch on the table.
“I meant a cup of tea,” the lad said. Ava shook her head. She explained the reason for their visit.
“Sy’s not here,” one of the lads said.
“Your name is?” Ava asked.
“Ray Agorini.” Ava wrote his name down and asked each of the others in turn for their names, jotting them all down in her notebook.
“Is Sy in some sort of trouble? “asked a gangly lad with a black goatee beard, who’d identified himself as Gary. As he spoke, he sat down abruptly, clearly attempting to cover an ashtray with his elbow, only succeeding in drawing attention to the burned-out end of a joint. Neal resisted the urge to sigh.
“It’s alright. Your mate’s not in any trouble, not at this stage anyway. We just want to ask him a few questions, that’s all.” Ava reassured them.
“This hasn’t got something to do with that dead girl, has it?” asked one of the lads, called Ric.
“Amy Hill. Did you know her?” Neal asked. There was a collective shaking of heads.
“Are you sure, not even to look at?” asked Ava, flashing them a photo of Amy on her smartphone.
“I might have seen her around,” said Gary, “she looks sort of familiar. This isn’t a huge campus; you get to know people by sight.”
“Yeah,” she does look a bit familiar, probably seen her in the bar or somewhere,” Ric agreed. After looking more closely at Amy’s picture, the others agreed.
“What about Simon Foster. Did he know Amy?” Ava asked. They thought not, but no one knew for certain.
“Does Simon have a girlfriend, or has he mentioned recently that he’s been seeing anyone?” Neal asked.
“There’s girls he likes, same as all of us,” Gary said, seeming embarrassed.
“Simon’s kinda quiet, shy, you know,” said Ray.
“I think he did like Amy,” the fourth flat member, Dan, said, “like I was with him in the bar once and she was there with a group of friends. I asked him which one he fancied and he pointed