wide open, but they may as well have been having their conversation inside an oven. "It seemed safe enough to flog them in Clacton anyways. I didn't expect Querashi to turn up there."
"So you were caught trying to sell the jars in the market square? Querashi caught you there?"
"Right. Big as life, he was. 'Course, he didn't expect to see me in Clacton any more'n I expected to see him there. And considering what he was up to, I figgered he'd turn an eye away from my little character lapse and forget all about it. Specially since he was having a little character lapse of his own."
Barbara's fingertips tingled at this remark, the way they always tingled when a new direction was unpredictably unveiled. But she also felt wary.
Trevor was watching her closely to gauge her reaction to the titbit he'd just dropped. And the very closeness of his scrutiny suggested he'd had more than this single run-in with the police. Most people were at least discomposed when answering official questions. But Trevor seemed completely at ease, as if he'd known in advance what she'd ask and what he'd say in reply.
"Where were you on the night that Mr.
Querashi died, Trevor?"
A flicker in his eye told her she'd disappointed him in not nosing after the scent of Querashi's
"little lapse of character." That was good, she thought. Suspects weren't supposed to be the ones directing the investigation.
"At work," Trevor said. "Clean-up on the pier. You c'n ask Mr. Shaw if you don't believe me."
"I have done. Mr. Shaw says you report for work at half past eleven. Is that what you did on Friday night? D'you have a time card there, by the way?"
"I punched it when I always punch in."
"At half past eleven?"
"Somewheres thereabouts, yeah. And I didn't leave, if you want to know. I work with a crew of blokes and they'll tell you that I didn't leave once all night."
"What about before half past eleven?" Barbara asked him.
"What about it?"
"Where were you then?"
"When?"
"Before half past eleven, Trevor."
"What time?"
"Just account for your movements, please."
He took a final draw on his cigarette before he flipped it out of the window and into the street below. His forefinger took the cigarette's place.
He gnawed at it thoughtfully before he replied.
"I was home till nine. Then I went out."
"Out where?"
"Nowheres special." He spit a sliver of fingernail to the floor. He examined his handiwork as he continued. "I got this girl I sort of see off and on. I was with her."
"She'll corroborate?"
"Huh?"
"She'll confirm that you were wim tier on rn-day night?"
"Sure. But it's not like she was a date or anything.
She's not my girlfriend. We just get together now and again. We talk. Have a smoke.
See what's what with the world."
Too right, Barbara thought. Why was it that she had trouble picturing Trevor Ruddock embroiled in deep philosophical colloquy with a female?
She wondered about the explanation he was giving, about why he found it necessary to give one in the first place. He'd either been with a woman or he hadn't been with a woman. She would either confirm his alibi or she wouldn't.
Whether the two of them had been snogging, discussing politics, playing snap, or boffmg each other like two hot monkeys made no difference to Barbara. She reached for her bag and brought out her notebook. "What's her name, then?"
"You mean this girl?"
"Right. This girl. I'll need to have a word with her. Who is she?"
He shuffled from one foot to the other. "Just a friend. We talk. It's no big - "
"Give me her name, okay?"
He sighed. "She's called Rachel Winfield. She works at the jewellery shop on the High Street."
"Ah, Rachel. We've already met."
He clasped his left hand round his right elbow.
He said, "Yeah. Well, I was with her on Friday night. We're friends. She'll confirm."
Barbara observed his discomfort and mentally toyed with the nature of it. Either he was embarrassed to have it known that he associated with the Winfield girl, or he was lying and hoping to get to her before Barbara checked his story out.
"Where were the two of you?" she asked, seeing the need to establish a second source of corroboation.
"A caff? A pub? The arcade? Where?"
"Uh . . . none of those, actually. We just went for a walk."
"On the Nez maybe?"
"Hey, no way. We were on the beach all right, but nowheres near the Nez. We were off by the pier."