All the Rage (DI Adam Fawley #4) - Cara Hunter Page 0,112
than she’d expected.
‘These must make a hell of a racket when you open the door,’ she says.
Ev joins her. ‘Perhaps that’s the point,’ she says in a low voice. ‘There’s no lock.’
Neither of them likes where this is going, but they can’t afford to jump to conclusions. Somer raises a hand and knocks. ‘Patsie? It’s DC Somer, can we come in?’ There’s the sound of footsteps and a moment later the door opens. Patsie is barefoot, in denim shorts and a black Ariana Grande T-shirt. She has a bruised look around the eyes.
‘What do you want?’
‘We’ve just got some new information. Something we weren’t expecting. I know it’s boring but it means we have to ask you some more questions.’
Patsie’s eyes narrow. ‘It’s about that creep Scott, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry, Patsie, but we’re not allowed to talk about it here. We need to take you back with us to St Aldate’s, so we can record the interview.’
Patsie rolls her eyes. ‘Seriously?’
‘I’m sorry. We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
She sighs. ‘Yeah, yeah. I get it. But you’ve got to promise me you’ll actually nail that creep, OK?’
* * *
Interview with Patsie Webb, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford
9 April 2018, 4.45 p.m.
In attendance, DC V. Everett, DC E. Somer, Mrs D. Webb (mother)
ES: So, Patsie, we’re hoping you can help us by answering a few more questions.
PW: I’ve told you everything I remember already.
ES: This is about something that happened before Sasha died. The morning of Saturday 17th March.
PW: I don’t get it – what’s that got to do with it?
ES: The incident involves Mr Scott, your art teacher.
PW: Oh right. That perv. I thought you said you arrested him?
VE: We did. Which is all down to you, incidentally – to the information you gave us.
PW: He deserves it, the bloody weirdo.
DW: Actually, I think you should be grateful to my daughter for all the help she’s given you.
VE: Oh, we are, Mrs Webb. In fact, Graeme Scott has been here answering questions today.
PW: He’s here? Like, now?
VE: There’s no need to be alarmed. He can’t talk to you.
ES: So, can we talk about that Saturday morning, Patsie? Do you remember where you were?
PW: [shrugs]
Not really. It’s ages ago.
ES: Only a couple of weeks, surely? And if I said it was on Walton Street, would that jog your memory? Isabel’s mother met her at the coffee shop that day – do you remember that?
PW: OK. Right. Yeah, I remember.
ES: There was a woman with a bike there too, and we’re pretty sure she saw something. Something she found disturbing. Shocking, even. But we haven’t been able to talk to her. In fact, it may be impossible to trace her at all.
PW: Well, I didn’t see anything, so –
ES: But someone else did. Your teacher – Mr Scott. He was there that morning. He saw you – all four of you.
PW: [silence]
ES: Do you know what he told us, Patsie?
PW: What’s that creep been saying? The fucking perv –
DW: Patsie, there’s no need for that sort of language.
PW: [getting to her feet]
I’ve had enough of this crap. I’m going home.
VE: Sit down, please, Patsie. I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere.
ES: [to Mrs Webb]
It seems Patsie doesn’t want to tell you, Mrs Webb, so I will. Mr Scott saw the four girls – your daughter, Sasha Blake, Isabel Parker and Leah Waddell. They were walking up Walton Street from town and stopped at the junction of Great Clarendon Street where they talked for a moment. Then they all hugged each other and Sasha left the rest and crossed the road towards the Blavatnik centre.
DW: So? What’s wrong with that?
ES: According to Mr Scott, as soon as Sasha turned her back on her friends, Patsie lifted her hand and mimed a gesture. And the other girls laughed. But Patsie wasn’t laughing – Patsie was deadly serious. That’s why it stuck in his mind – it wasn’t just what she did, but the look on her face as she did it. He said it made his blood run cold.
DW: I still don’t get it –
ES: She mimed a gun, Mrs Webb. Shooting a gun. Your daughter play-acted killing her friend. And now that friend is dead.
DW: And that’s the reason you dragged us in here? For that? They were just play-acting. Even you admitted that. They’re kids, for God’s sake. You know what it’s like with teenagers, on one day, off the next –