Liaise with Clive about his police interview, or should it be Liaise with the police?
Whatever they wanted to speak to him about, it seemed important. There is still a question mark over what has happened to him and why he keeps mentioning the wife that never existed. The more time I spend with Clive the more I want to know, but the less I am able to find out anything. Hopefully the police are one step closer to really knowing what is going on. Because what hope do I have of finding out anything else when my avenues of enquiry are only producing dead ends?
30
Clive
Clive was getting used to occupying unfamiliar spaces. He decided the first thing he should do in Keisha’s home was get acquainted with the layout of the place. It would look odd if a police officer arrived and asked to use the toilet facilities and he wasn’t able to point them in the right direction.
Because it was a house with tenants, it felt far more like prying. Whereas back at the lab, the rooms were owned by the university, here, they were people’s personal spaces. Fortunately he didn’t need to go into the bedrooms other than sticking his head round the door to check which one was supposed to be his.
There was a narrow corridor with one room to the left that had a sign saying: Hiro. Keep Out. Keisha had already said not to go in there. They never knew whether their housemate was in or out and he didn’t like it if he was disturbed, apparently. Clive was hoping he wasn’t home. It would be hard to explain why he’d turned up and the police had followed shortly afterwards.
The corridor opened out to the living area. It was neat and basic, a kitchen area against one wall, a dining table and lounge area with a sofa and TV. The floor had white tiles, as did the kitchen wall, almost as if the landlord had got them on special offer. The walls were also white and the sofa had a white blanket thrown over it. There were no pictures hanging up and it was almost clinical in appearance.
It made Clive think about his home for the first time in a while. His living room was far more homely than this and had a lot more colour. It was dated, admittedly, but Clive liked the brown-and-orange swirling carpet that he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere these days. There was nothing here filling the space, but in his he had old boxes, shelves full of trinkets and ornaments. He had two upright chairs and a sofa all in green. They kind of clashed with the carpet, but that’s why he liked them. His home was as colourful as he was, he thought as he admired the Hawaiian shirt he’d opted for today. He’d hoped the bright red-and-orange flowers would cheer him up after his failed trip to the allotment. So far he hadn’t worked out why he’d written the note and his shirt hadn’t brought the cheer he was hoping for. As far as he could tell he was still in Keisha’s bad books and all he had to show for it was a stupid bit of paper that made no sense.
He thought on it some more as he wandered round the house, heading up the stairs to the other bedrooms. It seemed important and yet new allotment owner also meant nothing to him. It certainly didn’t relate to why he’d lost Nancy. He considered telling Keisha, but then it would mean admitting what he’d been up to. Although he was beginning to think he should just come clean with her.
A knock at the door brought his short tour of the house to an end.
Clive took his time getting downstairs. Even though he’d put on a cheery smile when talking about it to Keisha, he was dreading encountering the police. Surely this should be over already if he’d only ever dreamed up the crime in his imagination.
‘Ah, Mr Ellington, at last. It’s been quite the task to try and get a hold of you,’ said the officer, once Clive had opened the door.
‘Sorry about that.’ Clive showed PC Doyle and his colleague PC Yeung through to the living space. ‘Can I get you both a drink?’
‘We’re fine, thank you. How come you haven’t been here when we’ve called round?’
Clive breathed a sigh of relief at them declining his offer. For all his familiarising he’d not thought