‘No,’ he says. ‘No, I didn’t see anyone.’
‘What about this lady?’
DI Currie passes him a photograph. It’s an attractive young woman in what looks like an official company portrait. She has long blond hair and is wearing a red blouse.
He shakes his head, rubs his chin nervously. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘Well, this lady lives two doors down from you. And she says on the night in question that you physically threatened her at around midnight. That you attempted to block her path. That youcalled her “a bitch”. She says she felt very, very intimidated by you and nearly called the police.’
Owen inhales deeply. ‘That’s not what happened.’
‘OK, so you do remember this lady.’
‘Well, I do now. I just didn’t recognise her from that photo. But I remember her being there. She was staring at her phone. She didn’t see me coming. And it was her who got inmyway. She was rude tome. I was just defending myself. Reacting to her rudeness. For God’s sake.’ He tuts and folds his arms petulantly.
‘OK, so you’re heading home. You have a contretemps with this lady. You see the young girl outside your neighbour’s house at about midnight. Can you describe it for us now? Whatever you can remember about that?’
He sighs. ‘I mean, I don’t even know any more. It was late. It was dark. I was still quite drunk. It could have been anything.’
‘Just try, Owen, please. Thank you.’
‘I saw …’ He pauses, tries his hardest to put himself back there, outside his house, the chill air of his breath around him. ‘A figure. With a hood. Slim. Not tall. Not short. I thought it was a man at first. They were staring ahead, at the top of the footpath, by the gate. They had their hands in their pockets so their elbows were sticking out like this.’ He makes pointy wings of his own elbows. ‘And then, after about a minute – less, half a minute – they turned slightly towards me, and I saw then that it was probably a girl. With kind of …’ He searches for the right word. ‘Puffy hair.’
‘Puffy? You mean like Afro-Caribbean type of hair?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I don’t really know what that means.’
‘OK. So you saw this figure. And then what happened?’
Owen shakes his head gently, searching his memory for the moment that came after the girl’s eyes met his. But there’s nothing there.
He shakes his head properly. ‘Nothing happened. I saw her and then I went straight indoors.’
‘And then?’
‘I got into bed and I fell asleep.’
‘Did anyone see you coming back in?’
‘No, not that I’m aware of.’
‘We’ve asked the neighbours in your building and none of them recall hearing the door close at that time of night.’
He blinks. ‘I don’t see …’ he begins. ‘They were probably all asleep. Why would they hear the door go?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Pick. But it’s a big heavy door. And it does make quite a loud bang when it’s shut.’
He blinks again and shakes his head. ‘Not really,’ he says.
‘Well,’ says DI Currie, ‘I suppose that’s a matter of opinion.’ She glances at the other detective. ‘OK, I think DI Henry has a few questions too. Are you OK? Can I get you some more water? A hot drink? Anything to eat?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, thank you.’
DI Henry opens his notes. He clears his throat and he says, ‘So, your neighbours across the street, the, er, the Fours?’
Owen shakes his head.
‘Cate and Roan Fours.’
