‘No.’
‘Did he have any trips planned?’
‘No.’
‘Has Mr O’Neill done anything like this before?’
‘No.’
I was waiting, desperately hoping that she would just add one little anecdote that would make this whole puzzle slot neatly into place. But instead, she gently licked the tip of her finger and began to gradually rub a smudge off the steel desk in front of her. I thought I saw her mouth ‘dirty place’, to herself, but I wasn’t certain. This small lady – difficult to discern her age, mid-fifties maybe – with thick round-rimmed glasses and a bucket hat perched on her head, was going to drive me to the point of insanity. Considering Sofia was the one who’d called 101, I’d thought it wouldn’t hurt to find out if she could enlighten me a little.
‘And how have you found Mr O’Neill as a person? What is his personality like?’ I asked, giving in and breaking the silence, but rotating in Selleck Detective as the identity at the forefront.
‘Very pleasant. Very nice, always very polite,’ she said, her eyes still fixated on the small mark in front of her.
This was pointless; all the active listening training that we had been taught was failing me now. The page in my diary which I had allocated for this meeting was obnoxiously blank. So, I activated my contingency plan. I got up from my chair and, without speaking, began to make myself another coffee on the small kitchen counter we had in each questioning room.
I gestured to the kettle to ask if Sofia would like anything, but she lamentably shook her head. I filled the kettle up from the rusty tap, pushed the switch down, and began to drum my finger on the desk. I had to hold out on talking. I had to wait for that info dump that would make this case a little more tangible in my head. Sofia wasn’t a suspect, nor was there technically an official case surrounding Mr O’Neill, but Vivian was out of the station today, and what she didn’t know and all that. Plus, the questioning room had excellent soundproofing, so it wasn’t like anyone could eavesdrop on me disobeying direct orders.
‘And no family on the system, no next of kin, emergency contact, or anything like that?’ I said, twisting the top half of my body round to talk to her, trying to embody my hazy memory of Magnum PI while the kettle bubbled away.
She gave an exasperated sigh and buried her face deep into her hands.
‘I’ve told you already,’ she said, her voice muffled as she spoke through her palms. ‘He didn’t give any emergency contacts. He started the care support from the agency after he went to hospital for his knee surgery some five or so years ago. He never said any more than that.’
‘So, he didn’t mention anything at all?’ I asked, persistent. My back was to her now as I began to spoon the coffee granules into one of those mugs you get with Easter eggs. ‘No wife, no children, nephews, nieces, cousins, friends?’
‘Well, he didhavea wife. I told you that already, I think,’ she said, giving a side-eye glance that even the eyes in the back of my head could see. ‘But she died a while ago I think; he only ever mentioned her in past tense.’
As the kettle’s switch popped, reaching temperature, a switch flicked off in my brain at the same time. A fourth personality began to percolate and emerge into being as the cheap coffee began to bubble, froth, and rise to the rim of the mug whose cartoon graphic had been worn away over decades of usage.
‘Anyway, tell me about you. How long have you been working for the agency, Sofia?’ I asked, my voice mechanically rising in pitch.
‘I don’t really see how that’s relevant, Detective…’ she began to reply, tilting her head up to peer at me through her glasses. She had clearly forgotten my name.
‘I’m not asking about Mr O’Neill. I’m asking about you,’ I responded, swatting my hand at her playfully and taking a seat.‘And call me Gareth. I know we’re the police and all, but that doesn’t mean we need to be quite so formal.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, readjusting herself in the chair, taken back by my sudden change in mood.
‘Now, I want to know all about you, Sofia,’ I said, resting my hand over hers for just a second before placing it back on the table, remembering I had just broken official police guidelines. Whoops.
Now, let me be frank. The next forty-seven minutes were pure pain. I asked Sofia about her family, her friends, all the latest gossip at the agency. Turns out, a bunch of people were thinking of quitting after their area manager, Lisa, called a colleague’s husband ‘a man-slag’. A big walkout, Sofia told me, was going to happen any day now, just as soon as Maggie got over her bad hip.
I’ll save the rest of the unnecessary details. But once Sofia got in a chatty mood, she just couldn’t stop. I kept shoving more and more coins into the jukebox to the point that I was listening to the same lyrics over and over again. While the active listening training workshop we had undergone had advised us not to use words that the witness could interpret as approval or disapproval (‘Avoid using words/phrases such as “Right”, “Are you sure?”, “Interesting”, etc.’), they seemed to actually encourage more relevant information out of Sofia.
‘And Mr O’Neill.’ She took a sip of her coffee and then clapped her hands together flamboyantly. ‘I liked Mr O’Neill a lot, you know. I liked him. I said I liked him not five minutes ago.’
It had been over half an hour since we had mentioned him in passing.
‘But, my gosh, he was a strange man. A strange, strange man. All those poetry books. Hundreds of them.’
‘Do you knowwhyhe had so many?’ I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing one leg over the other.
‘No,’ she said, finishing her third cup of coffee. ‘But I’m very good at reading people, Gareth. You know that about me now, I think, and something about that man wasn’t quite right. Can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think Gordon had a lot of secrets.’
First-name basis, now. Interesting.
‘And he would always go on about this community foundation he was a part of, the something somethings. You know he was a successful businessman in his time, right?’
