Evie’s gaze is fixed on her knees.
‘I think that’s enough,’ Jack grates, glaring at PC Patel as the man moves towards him. ‘Evie, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.’
DI Blake shoots him a warning glance and then looks back to Evie. ‘What were you arguing about, Evie?’ she asks.
Evie shrugs. ‘Just a boy.’ She repeats what Imogen had told me when I drove her home. ‘Immy was trying to get off with him.’
‘And this is a boy you were keen on?’
She nods reluctantly again.
‘I see.’ DI Blake smiles understandingly. She pauses for a moment, then, ‘Did you argue about your father, Evie?’ she asks. ‘Did Imogen say something that upset you?’
Jack rakes a hand furiously through his hair. ‘Evie, don’t answer that.’
Evie doesn’t acknowledge him, keeping her gaze firmly down instead.
‘Evie?’ the detective urges. ‘You should know we have a witness statement confirming that you did.’
Evie drops her gaze lower. ‘She said they had sex,’ she whispers. ‘But she waslying. She was trying to wind me up,’ she adds quickly, her panic-stricken gaze shooting again to Jack.
‘Jesus Christ, you can’t do this. You’re putting words into hermouth.’ Jack moves towards them again, only to be blocked by PC Patel.
‘It might be an idea to calm down, sir,’ the officer says. ‘Unless you would prefer we talk to Evie at the station?’
Jack eyes him with ill-disguised disdain. Then, ‘Fuck,’ he curses. ‘You’re questioning her without legal representation.’ He looks back to DI Blake, his eyes filled with tangible fury.
And something else, I notice, my stomach turning over.Fear.The knot of fear in my own stomach tightens as I wonder whether it’s Evie he’s frightened for, or himself.
‘She doesn’t need legal representation,’ DI Blake responds calmly. ‘Currently.’
‘Meaning you have no evidence other than a witness statement that implicates Evie in what happened to Imogen that night,’ Jack surmises. ‘In which case, we’d like you to leave.’
DI Blake appears to ignore that. ‘Do you own a pair of Nike trainers, Evie?’ she asks.
‘ForChrist’s…’ Jack intervenes. ‘There must be thousands of kids who own Nike trainers.’
DI Blake concedes the point with a small nod. ‘We can identify specific markers on a particular pair, Mr Conley,’ she says, ‘plus they appear to be a UK size five. If your daughter doesn’t take a size five, that should clear things up.’ She turns back to Evie. ‘Evie, would you mind telling me what size your trainers are?’
Evie doesn’t look up. ‘Five,’ she says, her voice barely audible.
‘And are they here?’ DI Blake presses her.
‘Upstairs,’ Evie mumbles. ‘In my wardrobe.’
DI Blake exchanges glances with DI Patel, then nods him that way.
‘Wait.’ Jack is a step behind him. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘Jack,stop,’ I implore him. ‘You’re not helping.’
‘They need a fucking warrant, for Christ’s sake!’ He looks at me with a combination of disbelief and disappointment, as if I should be backing him up. How can I?
‘We can have a warrant in a matter of hours, Mr Conley,’ DI Blake informs him. ‘It might be better if Evie comes in voluntarily and offers any further information she may have.’
Jack looks at her in bewilderment. ‘What information? She doesn’thaveany information to offer, other than what’s she’s already told you.’
DI Blake holds his gaze briefly and then turns her attention back to Evie. ‘Did you threaten to kill Imogen, Evie? Think carefully. You were overheard making that specific threat.’
