“I’m DS Dale Saint. I believe you wanted to speak with me?” he said. His voice was soft-spoken, kind—the sort of tone that put you at ease.
“Yes.” Sloan stood. “I’ve been told my girlfriend is here and you’re holding her for some reason. I’d like to know why.”
“I’m not at liberty to give you much at this stage. I can tell you that we are holding Ms Bradford, and we are taking this very seriously.”
“Taking what seriously?” Sloan asked urgently. “What has she done? She’s not a criminal.”
He half-smiled at her. “Evidence will decide that. And right now, that’s what I’m gathering. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
Sloan stepped back. “Me?”
“For corroboration. How long have you known Matty?”
“A few months. She works for my mother. She’s been helping to take care of her while I’m working.”
He nodded. “So, you don’t know her very well?”
Sloan narrowed her gaze at him and brought her voice down to a whisper. “I know enough to be very comfortable leaving my disabled mother in her care.”
“I hear you.” He guided her back towards the corner. “Have you ever visited Matty’s home?”
“The horrible little bedsit above the Polish shop?”
He smiled again. “That’ll be the one. I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Yes. Once.” She stopped. “Unless you count this evening. That’s how I discovered she was here.”
“What can you tell me about her flatmate?”
“Which one?” Sloan asked.
His head tilted slightly, his face taking on a curious look. “Any of them.”
“Well, the man…can’t think of his name.” She thought hard. “Brendan? Anyway, he’s…” She turned her nose up. “A character, if I’m being generous. He smokes weed. The whole place stinks of it.”
Saint nodded. “Go on.”
“The woman, I don’t know much about, but then neither did Matty. She said she was a bit of a mystery, out all night with friends partying, home most of the day recovering. She seemed…rough round the edges, if I’m being honest. When I arrived unexpectedly to see Matty, the woman shouted—no, bellowed—up the stairs that I wasn’t the police.”
“So, she was expecting the police?”
Sloan shrugged. “I assumed it was so Brendan would get rid of whatever he was smoking.” She pursed her lips. “Brandon…it’s Brandon, not Brendan.”
“And what does Sarah look like?”
“Uh, white, about five foot four maybe, average build. Dark hair. Attractive, if you like shabby chic.”
“Okay, thank you. That’s really helpful.”
“And what about Matty? When are you letting her out?”
“I imagine she will be with us for most of the night. You should go home, get some rest.”
“Is she entitled to make a call?”
“If she wants to,” he answered. “She hasn’t as yet.”
“Have you offered? Isn’t that her right? Or is that just the movies?” Sloan sighed. She was so out of her comfort zone.
