The Swedish Girl (6 page)

Gary Calderwood was a nice-looking young man, smartly dressed in a polar fleece that looked like it had come straight off its clothes rail in the shop and jeans so new that they almost creaked when he moved. Plenty of money, DI Jo Grant decided, taking in the young man’s appearance at a glance. He’d evidently gone out yesterday and bought himself some new clothes. Was he trying to make a good impression for his visit to this divisional headquarters? Or had he wanted to cast off any memory of Friday night? Maybe he was just a tad vain, Jo thought, watching as Gary smoothed a cowlick from his forehead. As the student entered the interview room Jo had caught a strong whiff of expensive aftershave. Eau Sauvage, she decided, remembering the brand her dad had used all his life. Now, leaning back in his chair, arms folded, she was aware of him watching her as she wrote down the date and time on her report sheet.

‘Right, Mr Calderwood, thanks for coming in. I’m Detective Inspector Grant, the senior investigating officer in this case. You may remember me from Friday night, though we were all pretty similar, weren’t we?’ she joked. It may have been a frightening sight for the students, seeing all those figures, suited and masked, their gloved hands holding clipboards or bags for forensic equipment. Plus, the boys had been given the news about Eva Magnusson in a fairly brutal manner, arriving in their street to see the close mouth cordoned off and several police vehicles with blue lights flashing.

‘No, sorry, I don’t,’ Gary said, then, leaning forward, he surprised Jo by sticking out his hand.

‘How do you do, Inspector,’ he added gravely.

Jo took the lad’s hand, noticing his firm grip. This one was not a bit afraid of coming into a police station. A cool customer, then, and possibly more able to cope with Eva’s death than the others.

‘I know you gave a statement to DS MacPherson on Friday night, but there was a lot going on and I wanted to have the chance to chat to you,’ Jo told him in as casual a manner as she could adopt.

‘We were all a bit wrecked,’ Gary replied ruefully, his expression apologetic.

‘Yes,’ Jo agreed then flicked through the file in front of her as if to find something important. In truth, she knew exactly where Gary Calderwood’s statement was, but it helped to give an air of gravitas to the proceedings, especially as the DI was conscious of the young man’s eyes boring into her.

‘I’ve got most of your details here, Mr Calderwood. You are a student at the University of Glasgow studying economics, is that right?’

Gary Calderwood nodded and Jo noticed him sitting back again in a relaxed fashion, his arms folded across his chest.

‘The main point of bringing you all in to see me today is to find out what we can about Eva’s movements on the night she died,’ Jo continued, jumping into the interview with less of a preamble than she had intended.

A slight lift of his dark eyebrows was the only reaction displayed by the young man so Jo ploughed on.

‘Can you tell me just what you remember about the party from the time you all left the flat until the time you arrived back again?’ she asked, swinging her pen idly in her fingers as though she might or might not take notes from what Gary told her.

He sniffed then let his eyes wander above him as though thinking through an answer.

‘Hm,’ he said at last. ‘Well,’ he began slowly, still considering a spot high up on the opposite wall, ‘we left the flat about ten o’clock and went round to the pub for a carry-out then caught a taxi to Kelvinbridge.’

Jo nodded encouragingly.

‘Well, I don’t recall much about what actually happened at the party. Lots of loud music, some of it pretty dreadful if you want to know the truth.’ He smiled suddenly, showing a set of perfect white teeth.

‘Was Eva with anyone in particular?’

Gary frowned. ‘You mean one of us?’ he said sharply. ‘Not really. I mean she hung about with us a bit, saw her dancing with Colin at one point. If you could
call
it dancing.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh, that boy has no sense of rhythm at all,’ he said with a smile.

Jo glanced up at him and saw the lips curve in an almost sneer that transformed his face for an instant. Then it was gone and the handsome young man was back again, his expression wholly respectful.

‘When did Eva leave the party?’

Gary shook his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t know. Wasn’t wearing my watch as it happens,’ he added, tapping his wrist. Jo looked at the chunky Rolex, her eyes widening. That, she thought, must have cost someone an arm and a leg.

‘It was my dad’s,’ Gary said softly, staring at her as though he had read her thoughts. ‘I was given it after he collapsed and died last year.’

You’re no stranger to sudden death, then, Jo thought. She had wondered at his calm exterior: now perhaps it could be explained. This one was maybe more mature than the others, having already experienced the death of someone close.

‘Good idea not to wear it to a rowdy party, then,’ Jo agreed. ‘You picked it up from the flat that night?’

Gary nodded. ‘They let us go up to take some of our things… eventually,’ he said. As he tailed off, Jo could hear the beginnings of strain in his voice. Friday night must have been all sorts of hell for these students and this chap was making a good show of holding his emotions in check.

‘Any idea who was with Eva when she left, then?’ she asked.

The young man sat back in his chair and let his eyes wander across the ceiling once more, but this time Jo detected a shift in his manner. This, she thought, was a delaying tactic as she watched his eyes flick back and forth as though searching for the right lie to tell.

‘Didn’t she go home on her own?’ he asked eventually, shrugging as though he had no answer to give.

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Jo told him sharply.

‘Maybe the taxi driver would know,’ he said.

Jo gave him a wintry smile. ‘We’re already investigating all of the taxi firms in the area,’ she told him. ‘What makes you so certain that she took a cab anyway?’

Gary Calderwood’s eyebrows took another lift upwards. ‘Because that’s what she always did,’ he said simply.

I
t was warm in the office where they had asked him to wait, but Colin simply could not stop himself from shivering. The hotel bedroom had been small and stuffy, too hot for sleeping, he’d thought, though he must have dozed off at some point because when he had woken up this morning daylight was streaming in through the window. He’d forgotten to flick shut the blinds last night, preferring to sit at the window and watch the lights from the traffic below, anything to keep out the memory of the past two days and nights.

It seemed like hours since Mr Wilson had arrived to whisk them off to the police station.
A Division
, Kirsty had told him
,
as though that might mean something to him. He had been waiting in that reception area for ages, watching the shadows of officers behind the frosted glass screens, looking up every time a figure emerged from the wooden doors, following them with his eyes when they went out into the streets, wondering if they were police officers or not. Plain clothes? Undercover? Some of them looked so ordinary he simply couldn’t decide.

Kirsty had been first to go, then Rodge and then Gary, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Colin stood up and wandered across to the square window of the office that looked out onto the street. A thin drizzle still fell, the grey pavements slick with rain that had been falling all morning. He could see a couple hurrying along under a huge golf umbrella, their faces hidden by the way one of them held it, slantwise against the driving drops. For a moment he let his mind wander, making up a story about them, giving them a history, a shared past that had brought them to this moment on a Glasgow street. If he had been at home, his laptop open on the desk, then perhaps these strangers might have come alive under his imaginative fingers. Then the thought of home, the flat in Merryfield Avenue, brought Colin back to why he was here, waiting in this room inside the vastness of a Strathclyde divisional headquarters.

The jittering began in his face as though his cheeks had become icy cold.

Putting his hands out against the window sill, Colin tried to remember what Kirsty had told him about breathing against these rising panic attacks that she had witnessed back at the flat. He gulped air into his lungs, held it there for a count of four then exhaled as slowly as he could, feeling the shivers gradually subside. A numb sensation crept over his nose and mouth and Colin turned to grasp the back of the chair. Breathe, breathe, he told himself, but with every gulp of air he took, he could see Eva’s lifeless face, all her breath snuffed out for good.

‘Mr Young?’

Colin looked up sharply as the woman came into the room, the sudden motion making him feel light-headed and nauseous.

‘Detective Inspector Grant,’ the woman said. ‘Would you like to follow me, please?’

Colin stood up, forcing his feet to walk across the floor and out into a corridor. The ringing in his ears subsided as he tried to match the dark-haired woman’s stride, the sound of their footsteps unnaturally loud. They passed several doors, one marked VIPER, another FORENSIC DRYING CABINETS, before the woman stopped and turned towards him.

‘In here, please.’ DI Grant was smiling at him encouragingly, her hand raised to indicate that Colin should enter the door marked INTERVIEW ROOM 3.

Taking another deep breath, Colin walked into the room. His first thought was of all the real criminals who had been here, quizzed about their terrible misdeeds. A throbbing began in his temple. Was that tension headache returning, or was it that the very air shimmered with the lies that had been spun like spiders’ webs over the years?

‘Mr Young? Are you all right?’ DI Grant was taking Colin by the arm now, sitting him down in that blue padded chair by the table. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’

Colin nodded then licked his lips and swallowed. ‘Please,’ he whispered.

She was gone and back in less than a minute, returning with a bottle of mineral water and a plastic beaker. Not glass, Colin realised, imagining a mad thug smashing a tumbler and hefting it across the woman’s face. He winced, the image was so real, then took the bottle and poured it into the beaker, watching his hand shaking all the time. She must see that too, Colin realised, grasping the beaker and taking deep gulps of the water.

‘Better?’

Colin nodded and stifled a sigh. Glancing up, he looked at the detective properly for the first time. Detective Inspector Grant was quite a pretty woman, her dark hair cut short in a way that suited her elfin face. She had little make-up on that he could see and the tiny silver earrings shaped into knots were her only adornment. Colin’s gaze fell onto her fingers. No rings. Not married, then, he thought, trying to sum her up as best he could. Her rust-coloured shirt and dark brown suit were smart but not intimidating and he had noticed her high-heeled shoes tapping a beat along the corridor before him. A stylish lady, he would say were he asked, but not the sort of woman he fancied.

Her grey eyes were looking into his face as he regarded her and Colin blushed, suddenly aware that he was staring.

‘Okay, well, thanks for coming in today, Mr Young. We know it’s been a pretty traumatic time for you all these last couple of days so we do appreciate your being here.’

Colin looked up over her shoulder, seeing a uniformed officer for the first time standing by the door. Of course there had to be a second person there, hadn’t Kirsty told him that? They needed to corroborate any witness statement, didn’t they? Or was it in case one of the people being interviewed turned nasty?

‘… want you to tell me about the party,’ DI Grant was saying, her words cutting in on Colin’s thoughts.

‘Party?’ He gave his head a little shake as though to clear it. ‘Oh, right. What can I tell you?’ he asked, his hands clenched together under the table where he hoped she could not see them.

‘What can you remember of Eva’s movements that night?’ the detective asked.

They were dancing together, Eva’s hand clasped in his when he pulled her closer, smelling the sweet scent of her hair, feeling her body mould itself to his. Did she notice his hardness? She’d smiled up at him as though it were the most natural thing in the world; a cat’s smile of satisfaction, he remembered. Then his arms were around her and they were kissing, moving into a darker corner where he swayed to the music, wanting her, wanting her…

‘She was dancing quite a lot,’ Colin began, swallowing hard and avoiding eye contact with the woman opposite.

‘With anyone in particular?’ Grant asked, her tone sharp, reminding him that this was an official enquiry.

Colin shook his head, not trusting his voice to add to all the years of lies that smothered the air in this room.

‘Can you remember when she left the party, perhaps?’

Sleep must have overtaken him afterwards, for when he eventually did awaken, she was gone, leaving him shivering and alone. Had he imagined that too? Had that longing translated itself into a dream or reality? Wandering back into the main room his eyes had peered through the gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of her in that pretty frock, hoping that she wasn’t one of the couples necking in a corner. And then, when he was sure she had gone, stumbling down the front steps and walking all the way back to the flat. He had walked for the best part of an hour, in a daze, holding onto the magic of the night like a fragile balloon that might blow away at the first tug of a freakish wind.

‘Mr Young?’

‘Sorry, think I was out of it,’ Colin shrugged. Would she take his diffidence for embarrassment that he had been too drunk to know what had been going on?

The DI laid down her pen and clasped her hands together, resting her chin upon them. ‘Can you tell me what she was like, Colin?’ she asked, startling him by the use of his first name.

‘She was beautiful,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Then, to his horror, Colin Young began to cry.