1.
Laura pulled the brand new T-shirt down and smoothed it over the waist of her jeans. It was a little tighter than she would have liked and she was glad of those recent sessions in the local gym. The particular mix of colours wasn’t something that she would normally wear, but the heavy cotton was artfully pre-faded and it seemed to suit her summer complexion. After brushing her short brown hair back into shape and turning back and forth in front of the long mirror several times, Laura eventually declared herself content to leave the house. She told herself that she would put on a cardigan for the short journey and could then take it off once inside the venue, which she assumed would be hot and stuffy.
It was quite a long while since Laura had been to see a live band and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect or indeed quite how this evening’s entertainment had even come about. She recalled once making a passing comment in the staff kitchen about having quite liked Pink Floyd when she was younger. But she hadn’t expected that her early retirement last month would include gifts of a T-shirt and a ticket to see a tribute band (amongst the obligatory wine, chocolates and gift voucher for a local spa and wellness centre).
Laura assumed that this part of the gift package at her leaving presentation had been Emily’s idea, given that they were going to the gig together. As if on cue her ’phone buzzed with a message: “see you in 45 mins!! Em xx.” Laura was struggling to quite muster a similar sense of anticipation, but reminded herself that retirement, not to mention her new singledom, was meant to be a time for broadening her experiences. ‘Get out of the rut, Laura’ she told herself once again as she put on the black cardigan, swung her small bag over her left shoulder and took one last, somewhat doubtful, look in the mirror. Her long-haired silver cat, Arnold, regarded her quizzically from the comfort of the nearby bed.
In the month or so since she had retired Laura had not seen any of her former colleagues. There had been much talk of how much she would be missed and how indispensable she was. But as was always the case when someone left, the office had continued to function as before, as Laura had correctly assumed it would; she wasn’t a sentimental person. She had just been happy to leave the stress behind, but still had some idle curiosity and so a part of her was looking forward to catching up with the gossip. And there was no one more inclined to gossip than Emily.
2.
Around forty minutes later Laura stood waiting on the pavement outside the rather grandly named ‘Central Music Hall’ - an unprepossessing brick building that had once been the function room to the attached Victorian pub, which on this summer Thursday night already seemed very busy. A poster display panel by the venue’s entrance advertised, in cheap psychedelic-style artwork, ‘Shrink Floyd: The South’s Premier Pink Floyd Tribute Band.’ Laura wondered to herself whether there was much competition for this accolade.
As she stood there Laura felt a playful tap on her shoulder and turned to see Emily smiling broadly and leaning forward enthusiastically for a hug in her usual extrovert manner. Laura rather reticently obliged. She hadn’t seen Emily in the weeks since her since retirement and was relieved to note that her hair was back to being its natural blonde and had begun to grow longer again. When Emily had first cut and dyed her hair in a similar fashion to her own, Laura had initially been flattered - after all Emily was a good few years younger and quite vivacious. They were of similar height and once people at work had started to mention how they could be sisters, that feeling had turned to unease. Emily had only been at the company for less than a year and Laura had never made any great effort to befriend her, so this apparent bond between the two of them was strangely bewildering to Laura. She had certainly never seen herself as a role model.
Emily was her usual bubbly self this evening and she had a knack of making people feel important.
“You look great Laur! Let’s see the Pink Floyd T-shirt then”
Laura obliged by unbuttoning her cardigan and holding it open.
“Perfect! I knew it would be. I told you before, didn’t I, that it’s a limited edition one?”
“You did indeed.” replied Laura, trying her best to sound appreciative.
“I can tell you now, no-one else in there will have that one!”
Laura knew that this was supposed to be a good thing, but the prediction nevertheless made her a little uncomfortable – she had never been too keen to stand out in a crowd.
“So, no such T-shirt for you then?” Laura gestured to Emily’s outfit, which was unusually plain for her.
“Oh no, you’re the fan and, anyway, I don’t want to upstage the retirement girl, do I?”
Ignoring the awkward contradiction inherent within the term ‘retirement girl’, Laura suggested they go inside. Emily took her arm and they joined the short queue. Presently Laura found herself offering the back of her hand as a young man with long hair, seated behind a metal trestle table, stamped it with what was presumably meant to be some form of logo, but which simply came out as an indecipherable red smudge.
“You know they called themselves ‘Shrink Floyd’ because they formed the band while they were at medical school, training in psychiatry?” announced Emily, as they passed through the inner doors and made their way through a growing crowd towards the small bar.
“Really?” replied Laura somewhat dubiously. She did not know Emily very well, but well enough to think this may have been a fanciful suggestion.
3.
Plastic glasses of cheap white wine in hand, they pushed and squeezed their way through the crowd. The gig appeared to be sold out. Laura hadn’t realised that tribute bands were quite so popular. They eventually managed to find a spot in the middle of the crowd, from where they were able to get a reasonably clear view of the stage. The air was hot and close, as expected, and Emily self-consciously removed her cardigan and tied it around her waist. She was soon relieved to note, though, that no-one appeared to pay any attention to her T-shirt.
The lights dimmed and the band appeared to a smoke machine and enthusiastic cheers, before the opening sounds to ‘Comfortably Numb’ announced that the gig had begun. Laura couldn’t quite imagine any of the men on stage listening intently as someone lay on a couch relating their dreams or fears, but they certainly looked like a rock band should do, she thought. Then a flash of coloured lights burst through the smoke-filled murkiness as the first guitar solo took flight.
Laura only knew a few of the more well-known songs, but as the band ploughed impressively through their repertoire, she found that she was enjoying herself far more than she had ever expected. Emily took her arm once again as they swayed elatedly through the reverie until ‘Time’ brought the set to an appropriate close and the band members waved nonchalantly before disappearing into the wings. As the crowd clapped and stamped their feet, Emily put her mouth to Laura’s ear to say that she was just going to the loo and would be back shortly. Laura had no reason to doubt that her friend would return.
The crowd’s clamour was rewarded as the band members soon reappeared and ‘On the Run’ led the way in the encore. Emily was not yet back. The band followed with ‘Wish You Were Here’ and Laura looked round several times for her friend, but she was still nowhere to be seen. As the four band members took their final bows amid a cacophony of appreciative whoops and whistles, leaving the small stage for the final time, the house lights came up and Laura looked in vain for any sight of Emily. She made her way to the toilets but found no sign of her friend there. Concerned now, Laura sent a message: “where are you? are you okay?” Presently the screen informed her that the message had been delivered.
Meanwhile the crowd had all but dispersed. Laura hung around in the inner lobby as she waited anxiously for a reply, but after five minutes she felt the suspicious eyes of the door staff on her, so made her way outside, where the night air cooled her. But there was no response to reassure her. After looking up and down the road several times, Laura began walking in the direction of the bus stop, ’phone in hand. She knew that this was not the direction that Emily would take home, but she kept a watchful and hopeful eye around her nonetheless.
This was why she immediately noticed the large dark car pull up beside her, a man and woman briskly emerging and blocking her path. A streetlight cast long shadows behind them. They reached into their jackets and held up wallets with badges. Laura peered at them, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. The man, who was the older of the two, then spoke. He had a round face, unruly dark hair and was wearing an ill-fitting black suit.
“Detective Seargent Gates and this is Detective Constable Piper.” He nodded in the direction of his younger colleague, who wore a smart blue trouser suit over a cream blouse, her black hair pulled tightly up from her forehead into a tight bun. Neither smiled. “We would like to ask you a few questions madam. Down at the station if you don’t mind.” Still unsmiling, he gestured towards the car. Laura thought she detected a faint trace of a Welsh accent.
“Is this about Emily?”
DS Gates looked questioningly at DC Piper, who shrugged silently.
“We’ll explain when we get there.”
Laura looked bemusedly back at him and tried to form words, but her mouth resolutely refused to cooperate. Soon she found herself sitting in the back of the unmarked police car as it made its way smoothly through the city’s night-time traffic. No-one spoke. Laura reflected that she was certainly broadening her life experiences, but a growing tightness in her stomach belied any sense that this would turn out to be one that she would look back on fondly one day.
4.
An hour or so later Laura found herself sitting in a plain, white-walled interview room. She had watched plenty of police dramas on television so it almost felt familiar, but at the same time strangely disconcerting. The room was warm and airless, so Laura removed her cardigan and placed it over the back of the hard metal chair. She also felt very tired; this was well past her usual bedtime and she imagined Arnold impatiently waiting for her on the duvet. Then after what seemed like an interminable length of time, the two police officers who had intercepted her earlier entered the room and sat down opposite, their chairs scraping on the hard floor as they did so.
Laura thought that, under the harsh lighting, DS Gates looked just as tired as she now felt. DC Piper on the other hand looked fresh and business-like. Laura saw that she was likely of mixed race, with her hairstyle emphasising her high cheekbones and flawless skin. Laura also sensed already that ambition burned fiercely within her.
If Laura had been expecting some kind of good cop/bad cop routine, she was soon disabused of this notion; neither was friendly. After the formalities were over there was some perfunctory small talk about whether Laura had enjoyed the band. She confirmed that she had, but was worried about her friend Emily, who had disappeared before the gig ended. Neither of the police officers seemed to be interested in this piece of information though. Having established that she was happy for them to call her by her first name, the pair instead went straight into a series of questions, seemingly taking it in turns with these. In each case Laura struggled to see what on earth they had to do with her - or indeed with the absent Emily.
The officers wanted to know if she had been to the Highdown area of the city recently and when Laura had replied that, no, she never had any reason to go there, DS Gates asked her about a specific address and again it meant nothing to Laura. Did she know a man called Peter Wall? The name didn’t ring any bells with her, but Laura admitted truthfully that she had a bad memory when it came to names. Laura was trying very hard to be helpful. Could it have been someone she met in her job? She used to meet so many people after all. DC Piper showed Laura a head and shoulders photograph of Mr Wall, but no glimmer of recognition passed through her mind. Laura wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
DS Gates then asked her about a specific date – a Wednesday night about 5 weeks ago – and what she had been doing that night. Since Laura rarely went out for the evening she was sure she would have been at home all night, but said that she could check her ’phone if necessary to confirm. Neither officer responded to this but asked her if anyone could confirm it. “Just Arnold!” Laura replied with a broad smile. Both officers leant forward over the table at this and Laura had to sheepishly explain that Arnold was her cat. She had thought this remark might have lightened the mood, but it only seemed to irritate the pair of them, especially DC Piper.
“Are you right or left-handed, Laura?” the female officer enquired. Her voice was severe A voice used to making itself heard.
Laura now struggled to hide a growing sense of frustration.
“Left. But I’m sorry I just don’t understand why I’m here and what this is all about.”
DS Gates leaned forward wearily and Laura could see a two-day growth of stubble and a redness in his eyes, which were fixed disconcertingly on her.
“Let’s just say Laura that you are a person of interest in a murder inquiry and we received some intelligence that you would be at the Central Music Hall this evening. The room suddenly felt stiflingly hot and these unexpected words swirled in Laura’s head along with thoughts of absent Emily, but before she could even try to make sense of them, DC Piper’s sharp voice cut through the still air. A South London accent certainly.
“So Laura, for the record, we can sum up your responses so far by saying that you have never been to 8 Fletcher Street, you don’t know a man named Peter Wall and you were at home alone all evening and all night on Wednesday 1st June this year. Is that correct?”
“Yes” replied Laura quietly, resisting any temptation to mention Arnold again.
“Well then, perhaps you would like to take a look at this CCTV footage and let us know if there’s anything you’d like to add to what you’ve told us.”
As she said this, DS Gates opened the laptop that had been lying unassumingly on the table between them, pressed a couple of keys with his stubby fingers and turned the screen to face Laura. A grainy view of a street unfolded and Laura saw a slight female figure with short darkish hair, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, emerge from what Laura assumed to be the entrance path to a house. The number 8 was helpfully displayed on a gate pillar to the left edge of the screen. The woman, whose back was to the camera, held a knife in her gloved left hand. After looking along the road in both directions, she walked calmly to the kerb and appeared to drop the knife into a drain. She then turned so that she was now facing towards the camera and at that point the image paused.
Laura stared uncomprehendingly at the frozen image before DS Gates turned the laptop back to face him with a look of satisfaction. A look that reminded Laura of Arnold just after she had just fed him a can of tuna. With his eyes still fixed firmly on Laura, DS Gates sat back in his chair and crossed his large arms with an air of finality, before addressing his colleague.
“A very distinctive T-shirt there, wouldn’t you say so DC Piper?”
His colleague crossed her arms in a mirroring gesture and glanced rather theatrically first at the screen and then at Laura, a hint of a smirk playing on her perfectly-shaped lips. She fixed Laura with her piercingly dark eyes beneath arched brows.
“I certainly would Sarge. Very distinctive indeed."
