Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(23)

Hoyle enters the interview room, accompanied by DS Edgar. The solicitor follows them. Tall and thin, with hair pinned tightly to her scalp, she is dressed in a dark grey trouser suit and a white blouse.

Foley gets to his feet, smiling and holding out his hand, as though this is a social engagement. Neither detective takes up the offer.

‘I don’t know how much I can help you,’ he says. ‘I barely knew Maya.’

‘Why have you referred to her in the past tense?’ asks Hoyle.

Foley blinks at him. ‘Pardon?’

‘Is Maya Kirk dead?’

‘I have no idea …’

‘Yet you referred to her in the past tense.’

Foley begins to stammer. ‘It was a slip of the tongue.’ He looks at his solicitor, hoping for instructions.

Giana Camilleri introduces herself. ‘My client is here voluntarily. He heard Maya Kirk’s name mentioned on a radio report and has come forward. He wishes to help the police in any way he can.’

‘Is that why he brought you along?’ asks Hoyle.

‘He has a right to legal counsel.’

‘We only met once,’ says Foley. ‘On Sunday night. We had a drink. We chatted. We parted ways.’

‘Where did you meet?’

‘A pub near the river. The Canalhouse.’

‘How long did you stay?’ asks Hoyle.

‘About an hour. Then we walked into town and went to a few other bars. One of them was on Low Pavement. I can’t remember the names.’

‘Who arranged the date?’ asks Hoyle.

‘We both did. We were texting each other and we talked on the phone.’

‘About what?’

‘Usual stuff. Likes. Dislikes. Family. Work. Music. I thought she was very chill and down to earth.’

‘Did Maya tell you where she lived?’

‘No.’

‘Apart from messaging on the app, did you communicate any other way?’

‘Texts, but I deleted them.’

‘Why?’

‘I liked Maya, but the chemistry wasn’t there, you know? You can tell, can’t you – if there’s a spark – but I just didn’t feel it with Maya.’

‘When did you decide that?’ asks Edgar.

‘Almost immediately. We had a few drinks. We didn’t click. We said goodbye.’

‘Maya left by herself?’

He nods resolutely.

‘And that was the last time you saw her?’

‘Yeah.’

Hoyle signals to Edgar, who produces a laptop and turns the screen to face Foley. ‘This is CCTV footage taken by a security camera on Sunday evening.’

Lenny points me to a nearby desktop computer and calls up the same footage. Although grainy and poorly lit, it clearly shows Maya standing on a footpath, struggling to get her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Foley helps her. She stumbles. He holds her up.

Hoyle continues, ‘We also have CCTV footage taken of you and Maya crossing St Peter’s Square shortly before ten o’clock.’

Foley grows agitated. His relaxed, eager persona has been replaced by a prickly defensiveness.

‘Yeah, OK, I was hoping we might kick on. I offered to buy Maya dinner and said we could go see a mate’s band. They play covers – Dire Straits, Oasis, Blur, that sort of stuff. Maya wasn’t interested.’

‘Earlier, you said there was no chemistry. No spark.’

‘We could still have a fun night.’

‘Hook up, you mean?’

Foley doesn’t answer.

‘Why is she stumbling?’

‘She’d had a few drinks.’

‘Are we going to find her fingerprints in your car?’ asks Hoyle.

Foley hesitates and comes to a decision. ‘I offered to drive her home. It was the least I could do in the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’ asks Edgar.

‘She was drunk. I was concerned.’

‘Maya was in your car?’

‘Only for a minute. She vomited. I kicked her out.’

‘Charming,’ says Edgar.

‘Hey! I was trying to do the right thing.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘She was walking towards the taxi rank on Wheeler Gate.’

‘And then what?’

‘I went home.’

‘What about your mate’s band?’

‘They’re pretty shite.’

Edgar smiles, but Hoyle doesn’t find it funny. Lenny has scrawled something on a piece of paper, which she hands to a female constable. Moments later, the same constable knocks on the door of the interview suite and passes the note to Hoyle. He glances at it quickly and crushes it in his fist. Instead, he opens a green manila folder and reads from a single page.

‘Tell us about Alice Shelley.’

Foley frowns and looks at his solicitor. ‘Who?’

‘August two years ago, you took Alice for a drive to Sherwood Forest. You pulled up at a secluded spot and unzipped your trousers. Alice said she wasn’t interested. You didn’t listen. You began masturbating. When she tried to phone for help you threw her handset out the window.’

Foley’s face reddens and his shoulders grow rounded. He looks to his solicitor, expecting her to intervene.