Captain Underpants now had a sidekick.
‘Roy Brinkley’s his name,’ Young told her. ‘All I know is, he dated Ishbel for seven or eight months, then a couple of months back they split up.’ They were alone in the murder room, the others having set out with their assignments.
‘You see him as a suspect?’
‘There’s a link there we need to ask him about. Cruikshank does time for attacking Tracy Jardine... Tracy tops herself and her sister does a runner...’ Young gave a shrug, arms folded.
‘But he was Ishbel’s boyfriend, not Tracy’s... surely if anyone was going to have a go at Cruikshank, it’s more likely to’ve been one of Tracy’s boyfriends than one of Ishbel’s...’ Siobhan broke off, fixing her eyes on Young’s. ‘But then Roy Brinkley’s not the suspect, is he? You’re wondering what he knows about Ishbel’s disappearance... You think she did it!’
‘I don’t recall saying that.’
‘But it’s what you’re thinking. Didn’t I just hear you say the blows came from a man?’
‘And you’ll keep hearing me saying that.’
Siobhan nodded slowly. ‘Because you don’t want her to know. You’re scared she’d become even more invisible.’ Siobhan paused. ‘You think she’s close, don’t you?’
‘I’ve no proof of it.’
‘Is this what you’ve been doing all weekend, mulling it over?’
‘Actually, it came to me on Friday night.’ He unfolded his arms, started walking towards the door, Siobhan following.
‘While you were playing bridge?’
Young nodded. ‘Unfair on my partner — we hardly won a hand.’
They’d left the murder room now and were in the main library. Siobhan reminded him that he hadn’t locked the door.
‘Not necessary,’ he said, giving a half-smile.
‘I thought we were going to talk to Roy Brinkley.’
Young just nodded, making to pass the reception desk, where the morning’s first batch of returns were being run through a scanner by the male librarian. Siobhan had taken a few more steps before she realised Young had stopped. He was standing directly in front of the librarian.
‘Roy Brinkley?’ he said. The young man looked up.
‘That’s right.’
‘Any chance we could have a word?’ Young gestured towards the murder room.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing to worry about, Roy. We just need a little bit of background...’
As Brinkley emerged from behind his desk, Siobhan stepped up next to Les Young and poked him in the side with her finger.
‘Sorry,’ Young apologised to the librarian, ‘there’s nowhere else we can do this...’
He’d pulled out a chair for Brinkley. It gave a direct line of sight to the murder-scene photos. Siobhan knew he was lying; knew the interview was being conducted here because of those very photos. Try as he might to ignore them, the young man’s eyes were drawn towards them anyway. The look of horror on his face would have been defence enough in most juries’ minds.
Roy Brinkley was in his early twenties. He wore an open-necked denim shirt, his wavy mop of brown hair reaching the collar. There were thin threaded bracelets on his wrists, but no watch. Siobhan would have called him pretty rather than handsome. He could pass for seventeen or eighteen. She could see the attraction for Ishbel, but wondered how he had coped with her noisy ladette friends...
‘Did you know him?’ Young was asking. Neither detective was seated. Young leaned against a table, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles. Siobhan stood at a distance to Brinkley’s left, so that he would be aware of her from the corner of his eye.
‘Didn’t so much know him as knew of him.’
‘Two of you at school together?’
‘But different years. He was never really a bully... more the class joker. I got the feeling he never found a way to fit in.’
Siobhan was reminded for a moment of Alf McAteer, playing jester for Alexis Cater.
‘But this is a small town, Roy,’ Young was protesting. ‘You must have known him to speak to, at the very least?’
‘If we happened to meet, I suppose we’d say hello.’
‘Maybe you always had your head in a book, eh?’
‘I like books...’
‘So what about you and Ishbel Jardine? How did that start?’
‘First time we met was at a club...’
‘You didn’t know her at school?’
Brinkley shrugged. ‘She was three years below me.’
‘So you met at this club and started going out?’
‘Not straight away... we had a few dances, but then I danced with her mates, too.’
‘And who were her mates, Roy?’ Siobhan asked. Brinkley looked from Young to Siobhan and back again.
‘I thought this was about Donny Cruikshank?’
Young made a noncommittal gesture. ‘Background, Roy,’ was all he said.
Brinkley turned to Siobhan. ‘There were two of them — Janet and Susie.’
‘Janet from Whitemire, Susie from the Salon?’ Siobhan clarified. The young man just nodded. ‘And which club was this?’
‘Somewhere in Falkirk... I think it closed down...’ He wrinkled his brow in concentration.
‘The Albatross?’ Siobhan guessed.
‘That’s the one, yes.’ Brinkley was nodding enthusiastically.
‘You know it?’ Les Young asked Siobhan.
‘It came up in connection with a recent case,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘Afterwards,’ she said in warning, nodding towards Brinkley, letting Young know this wasn’t the time. He twitched his head in agreement.
‘Ishbel and her friends were pretty close, weren’t they, Roy?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Sure.’
‘So why would she run off without so much as a word to them?’
He shrugged. ‘Have you asked them that?’
‘I’m asking you.’
‘I don’t have an answer.’
‘Well, what about this then: why did the two of you split up?’
‘Just drifted apart, I suppose.’
‘Had to be a reason, though,’ Les Young added, taking a step towards Brinkley. ‘I mean, did she dump you or was it the other way round?’
‘It was more a mutual thing.’
‘Which is why you stayed friends?’ Siobhan guessed. ‘So what was your first thought when you heard she’d run off?’
He twisted in his chair, making it creak. ‘Her mum and dad turned up at my place, wanted to know if I’d seen her. To be honest...’
‘Yes?’
‘I thought it might be their fault. They never really got over Tracy’s suicide. Always talking about her, telling stories from the past.’
‘And Ishbel? Are you telling me she did get over it?’
‘She seemed to.’
‘So why did she dye her hair, style it so she looked more like Tracy?’
‘Look, I’m not saying they’re bad people...’ He squeezed his hands together.
‘Who? John and Alice?’
He nodded. ‘It’s just that Ishbel got the idea... the notion they really wanted Tracy back. I mean, Tracy rather than her.’
‘And that’s why she tried to look like Tracy?’
He nodded again. ‘I mean, it’s a lot to take on, isn’t it? Maybe that’s why she left...’ His head dropped disconsolately. Siobhan looked across to Les Young, whose lips formed a thoughtful pout. The silence lasted the best part of a minute, until broken by Siobhan.
‘Do you know where Ishbel is, Roy?’
‘No.’
‘Did you kill Donny Cruikshank?’