and I was sure we couldn’t be overheard that I turned to Liv.
‘Search warrant?’
She gave me a small, wicked smile. ‘Search warrant.’
12
Getting a search warrant was routine, a matter of finding a magistrate who was at home and prepared to sign the papers since it was outside court hours.
‘Do we suspect there’s evidence of an offence in there?’ Liv asked me as she filled in the form.
‘From the way Roddy wouldn’t let us into the house? Definitely.’ I sounded sure. In truth, though, my main reason for wanting to get into his house wasn’t so much recovering evidence as it was a way of reminding him that we were waiting for him to talk to us, and we weren’t going to give up until he told us everything he knew. If his housemates were inconvenienced in the process, that was a bit of extra pressure to pile on him.
‘You – you can’t do this,’ Roddy said helplessly as a search team marched into the hallway of his house carrying an array of containers for any evidence we might find. There was a theatrical element to it and I hid a smile. I’d told them to make a big entrance and they’d done me proud. ‘You can’t just come in here,’ he blustered.
‘This piece of paper says we can.’ Liv handed it to him. ‘Now I might have that sit-down, since I’ve got in here at last.’
‘I’m sorry about leaving you on the doorstep. I’m sorry about all of this.’ He looked as if he was on the verge of tears. ‘Do you have to do this? Really?’
‘We wouldn’t be here otherwise,’ I said briskly.
‘You only wanted to talk before. You didn’t say anything about searching the house.’
‘That’s right. But the circumstances have changed.’
‘What do you mean? I don’t know what happened to Paige. I don’t know anything about how she died or who killed her. You have to believe me.’
‘Mate.’ A figure appeared in the doorway behind him, a dark-haired man about the same age as Roddy, but otherwise as different as it was possible to be. He was thin, with the leanness of a keen runner, and close-cropped hair. His suit was impeccably tailored, unlike his housemate’s. His skin was sallow and his light-brown eyes were shrewd under straight black brows. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Roddy. Not a thing.’
‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced,’ I said. ‘Detective Sergeant Maeve Kerrigan.’
‘Orlando Hawkes.’ He held out a slim hand and gave me a handshake that was so firm it very nearly qualified as assault on a police officer.
‘Do you live here, Mr Hawkes? Which is your room?’
‘The big bedroom at the front.’ As he said it, footsteps overhead told me that the search team had entered his room. He grimaced. ‘Do you have to search it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Lando, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Roddy was babbling, now, distressed. His friend stopped glowering at me for a moment.
‘It’s OK. It’ll be fine. Sit tight. This is all a game.’
‘It’s very much not a game,’ I said tightly. ‘A woman died.’
‘Nothing to do with us.’ Orlando leaned against the doorway and folded his arms, trying to look as if he was unconcerned though I felt his attention was on the movements we could hear from above us. ‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘Are you a member of the Chiron Club too?’
His eyelids flickered, a reaction he wasn’t quite quick enough to conceal. ‘I don’t need to answer your questions either.’
‘I think you just did.’ I smiled at him. ‘And where’s the third musketeer?’
‘Luke’s away.’ Roddy looked at Orlando. ‘It’s OK to tell her that, isn’t it?’
His housemate shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t say another word, mate. Let her figure it out for herself.’
‘Fortunately, I’m good at that.’ I pulled my search gloves out of my pocket and started to draw them on. ‘Thank you for your help, gentlemen.’
I’d expected the house to be both untidy and in need of a good clean, given that three men in their twenties lived there, but the living room was immaculate and so was the kitchen.
‘We have a cleaner,’ Orlando drawled when I commented on it. He was sitting at the kitchen table, watching me search, tilting his chair at a dangerous angle. ‘She pops in twice a week.’
‘She does our ironing too.’ Roddy now blushed every time I looked at him, something that I was starting to find irritating. ‘Well, mine and Lando’s. She doesn’t do Luke’s.’
‘Why not?’
‘Luke does his own cleaning and ironing.’ Orlando rolled his