“Really.”
“Yes. Really. And I definitely haven’t seen her since.”
“So you said.”
Friel walked up and down the narrow space, hands behind his back, for all the world as though he were pacing in front of the fireplace in his own personal library.
“I don’t really understand what this is all about, Sergeant-”
“Well, let me explain then, for your benefit. I think you’ll agree it might seem just a wee bit odd that shortly after a young girl goes missing on our patch, you turn up, sleeping out in your van, tucked away, clearly emotional and upset.”
“I don’t think it’s odd,” replied Israel. “And I’m not emotional and upset.”
“With a beard.”
“It’s…just a coincidence.”
“The beard?”
“No, the whole thing.”
“A coincidence?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me by what strange coincidence you’re here then?”
“Just. I had a bit of a shock yesterday-”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you tell all about it, Mr. Armstrong?”
“Because it’s…Well, it’s private.”
“Well, you’re among friends, Mr. Armstrong.”
“I don’t know if I’d-”
“And I’m sure you’d rather have it this way, Mr. Armstrong, rather than accompanying me to the station, wouldn’t you?”
Israel had absolutely no desire to revisit Rathkeltair police station.
Friel pulled up one of the metal tub steps and sat down.
“A nice cozy little chat. Just the two of us.”
“Cozy little chat?”
“That’s right.”
“So I don’t need a lawyer?”
“Only the guilty need a lawyer, Mr. Armstrong,” said Friel, smiling, and showing his teeth.
“Erm. Actually, the last time we had a cozy little chat I was falsely accused and had to-”
“Ach,” said Friel, shaking his head disappointedly. “Let’s not talk about the past, Mr. Armstrong. That’s all water under the bridge. Let’s concentrate on the present, shall we?”
“Well…”
Friel produced his notebook.
“You’re taking notes?” said Israel.
“That’s right.”
“Of a cozy little chat?”
“Just so that we get an accurate record of our conversation.” He smiled again.
“Right.”
“So, why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“What happened when?”
“From the beginning.”
“From the beginning of what?”
“I don’t know. You’re what? Early thirties, Mr. Armstrong-”
“I’m still in my twenties, actually. It’s my birthday next-”
“And you’re not married?”
“No.”
“And have you got a girlfriend?”
“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”
“Just asking.”
“Well,” said Israel. “Yes, I do have a girlfriend, actually. Or, no. I mean, I did have a girlfriend, until recently, we…split up.”
“On the rebound, then, are we?”
“Sorry?”
“Looking for someone to share our little secrets with?”
“I don’t know what you’re implying-”
“I’m not implying anything, Mr. Armstrong. I’m just thinking aloud here. Trying to piece things together.”
Israel had the feeling that the conversation was being pieced together in a way that was not advantageous to him. And that it was about to be made into a very unpleasant jigsaw.
“Where were you last night, Mr. Armstrong?”
“Erm. I was here. In the van.”
“And you make a habit of sleeping in the mobile library, do ye?”
“No. It was just-”
“A sort of secret meeting place for you, is it?”
“No.”
“Somewhere to entertain?”
“No! Nothing like that.”
“So did you see anyone last night?”
“Yes,” said Israel. “I did. Yes. I saw the Reverend Roberts, actually.”
“And what time would that have been?”
“At about eleven o’clock.”
“That’s the Reverend Roberts of First Presbyterian Church in Tumdrum?”
“That’s right.”
“And you were entertaining him on the van?”
“No, I wasn’t entertaining him anywhere. I visited him at the manse, up in town.”
“I see. And you make a habit of dropping in around eleven to see him every night, do you?”
“No. It’s just-”
“You have a close relationship, you and the Reverend Roberts?”
“No! I’m not…What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Mr. Armstrong. It’s obviously your business who you visit late at night-”
“Look. I’m not-”
“What, Mr. Armstrong?”
“I’m a perfectly…normal…red-blooded heterosexual, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I see,” said Friel.
“I was…just upset…”
“I see. And you’d often go to your friend the Reverend Roberts if you’re ‘upset,’ would you?”
“No, not really. I just…He’s a friend. You can ask him.”
“Oh, we will be asking him, Mr. Armstrong, don’t you worry about that.”
Israel could feel all the early warning signs of a migraine coming on.
“And before you visited the Reverend Roberts, Mr. Armstrong. Can I ask where you were before that?”
“Before that? Erm. I was at the Devines’. You can ask them as well.”
“Good. Thank you. We will.”
“And before that I was-”
“OK, thank you. That’s enough for the moment. You certainly seem to have your alibi all worked out.”
“Alibi! What do you mean, alibi? It’s not an alibi! It’s the truth. An alibi is when you…try and prove that you didn’t do something-”
“That’s right,” said Friel.
“So it’s not an alibi,” said Israel.
“We’ll be the judge of that, shall we, Mr. Armstrong?”
At which, he got up and started to walk toward the door.
“Hang on,” said Israel. “Where are you going?”
“I have no further questions for you at the moment, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Well, you can’t just leave, having suggested I’ve concocted some sort of alibi for something I don’t know I’m supposed to have done.”
“I just want to make sure we all lay our cards on the table, Mr. Armstrong. If you cooperate with us I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of things very quickly and easily.”
“Yes. Right,” said Israel, unconvinced. “You don’t seriously think I’ve got anything to do with this girl’s disappearance, do you?”
“Actually, to be honest, Mr. Armstrong, on this occasion…” And Friel paused for what seemed like an eternity. “No, I don’t think you have anything to do with the disappearance.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Israel.
“But we do have to ask, you understand.”
“Yes, of course.”
“No stone unturned.”
“Absolutely.”
“But,” said Friel, at the door.
“There’s a but?”
“There’s always a but, Mr. Armstrong. I don’t think you had anything personally to do with her disappearance-not really your style, is it?”
“My style?”
“Violence. Kidnapping.”
“What? She’s been kidnapped?”
“We’re keeping our lines of inquiry open at this time,” said Friel, looking Israel up and down. “But not your style.”
“Of course it’s not my style! I’m a librarian! I’m a paci-fist! I-”
“I’m sure, Mr. Armstrong. It’s just I have a wee hunch that tells me that you might be able to tell us something about the disappearance.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Israel.
“Nothing at all?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Fine. If you want to stick with that story.” He turned his back again, as if to leave.
“It’s not a story! It’s the truth!” said Israel.
“The whole truth and nothing but the truth?” said Friel.
“Yes. And I’d swear it on the Bible, if we had a…Bible in here.”