They both shrugged. I shook my head and ate more of my sandwich.
“Do we have a number for Mottley?” Neuberger asked Maslin.
“With all the Frobisher stuff.” Maslin looked at me.
“Oh, yes. The Frobisher stuff,” Neuberger said. “So sorry to see your private life splashed over the papers, Mr Forrest. Can’t imagine. Now, you were with Mr Mottley from when to when?”
Twenty minutes later, it was all over. Neuberger whistled as he exited the room. Maslin grabbed my emptysandwich wrapper and gave me a nod. “A uniformed officer will drive you home,” he said.
I followed him out but hesitated by the gents. “Can I?” He waved me on.
The bathrooms were a truly vile shade of beige with little in the way of space. I checked the place was empty, then went to the sink and ran the tap. I scrubbed my face vigorously and splashed enough water over my cheeks to drown a small elephant. My hair and the top of my shirt were sopping. A stinging sensation travelled over my skin as I scrubbed with my hands. Suddenly, my shoulders gave in, and I slumped down, resting my forehead on the mirror in front of me. The cool glass felt amazing on my skin.
The door opened and I scrambled to stand up straight.
Simon stood before me in the doorway. His burly frame taking up most of the space and red hair standing out at all angles over his pale face. He took in the sight of me and then slowly closed the door.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. “I’m … so sorry,” I managed eventually. He nodded tersely. Like the act caused him pain.
“I …” I had nothing to say.
“Are you okay?” he asked me through gritted teeth. His voice sounded choked, like the idea of my well-being sickened him. But he was polite.
“Fine,” I answered. “I’m fine.”
He did the nod again. “I need to know—” He faltered. His head cocked, and a second later, he walked into a cubicle and shut the door behind him, his feet disappearing.
I had no time to react prior to the door opening again and Jack Maslin walking in. He whistled as he did. He’d started unbuckling his belt before he’d even opened the door and was turning to the urinal when he saw me and stopped.
“Sorry, I forgot you’d be in here still.”
“I … I needed to wash my face … I—”
He gave a grim smile. “Perfectly understandable,” he said. “First time I saw a dead body, I had the shakes for a week.”
I shuddered at Simon hearing that. Not my first dead body, I wanted to correct.
“Listen,” he said, reaching into his blazer pocket and pulling out a card. “We were a bit rough on you in there, but you know how it is, people don’t always remember what they actually remember if you don’t push them to get the facts straight. But if you think of anything else, don’t call the station or Neuberger, gimme a bell, alright? I’ll go easy on you. I’ve no bad blood over that nonsense with the Sweet murder. I’m a friendly ear if you need one.”
He smiled.
I pocketed the card and returned the smile as best I could.
He cocked his head. “I’ll go get that lift sorted for you.” He departed before I could react.
Instantly, the cubicle door opened. Simon stood there giving me a filthy look. “Why did you hide?” I asked.
Simon came forward and gripped my arm. “Is there anything you’re not telling the police? Please, Arden, be honest. Any dodgy shit you’ve been up to doesn’t matter to me.”
“What? No, of course not. Jesus, dodgy shit? What do you think I do?”
His face fell. “Sorry,” he said gently. “I should choose my words better. I apologise.” He turned and paced the room. “But there’s nothing?” he asked again after a few seconds.
“Simon, no. Why?”
Simon shook his head. He tapped Maslin’s card and gave a rictus grin. “Only you could pull in a police station.” He shook his head again and departed the room.
Wait, what?
