how you’ve both been coping?’ No preamble with this guy whatsoever. Just efficiently cuts to the chase, like we’ve come in about a missing passport and are now holding up a v. long queue.
Simon starts to fill him in, aided by me shoving notes I made earlier in front of him, with exact names of who last saw Kitty, where and critically at what time. I keep on red-pencilling around stuff, so he won’t forget and impatiently tapping my biro off sheaves of paper in front of him to draw his attention to anything he’s leaving out. Driving the poor guy completely mental, in other words.
Crown works his way through a whole list of fairly standard-sounding questions and we answer almost in unison, nearly tripping over each other to get our spake in first. It’s a long, long list, and we tell him everything: Kitty’s age, gender, height, build, hair colour, eye colour, the date she was last seen, where she was last seen, plus full details about her next of kin and, more specifically, all about poor Mrs K. and her condition.
Then I can’t help myself butting in.
‘So you see, by far the weirdest thing of all here,’ I interrupt, overeager to get the story out, ‘is that we know she was most definitely planning to visit her foster mum in the nursing home on Christmas Day. So that categorically proves that something awful must have happened in the meantime … because only something really disastrous would ever have prevented her from …’
‘… Going to see Mrs Kennedy on Christmas Day,’ Simon butts in, finishing the sentence for me. ‘Which, of course, was when we both started to realise just how serious the situation was, because up till then, we’d thought … that is to say, we’d hoped, that maybe she’d just been out having a few Christmas drinks somewhere …’
‘… And maybe crashed out at friend’s house or something? So then, between the two of us, we phoned around just about everybody we knew, not to mention everyone she worked with, even random strangers who were booked into the restaurant where she was working that night …’
‘… And we got absolutely nowhere. Total dead end.’
‘OK, OK, guys,’ Crown interrupts, waving at us to quieten down. ‘Let’s just hear one voice at a time and take the whole story from the very beginning. Why don’t we start with you, Angie?’
Strongly suspect it’s because he knows I won’t shut up or stop interrupting otherwise, but v. happy to have the floor properly opened to me.
‘Now, I want you to take your time and tell me in your own words exactly when you last saw Kitty and when you first became alarmed at her disappearance. Remember, don’t leave anything out. Even the most insignificant detail could prove to be vitally important to our investigation at this point. OK?’
‘OK.’
I feel a bit like a star witness who’s just been ushered up to stand in front of packed courtroom. But Crown’s not making any eye contact with me at all. Which is not exactly what you might call encouraging.
‘So,’ he starts off, face buried deep into his blessed notes, ‘let’s take it right from the very beginning. Firstly, tell me how long exactly have you known Kitty for?’
And so I start talking. About how she and I first met, all of seven years ago now. Remember it like it was yesterday. I was fresh out of college and because I hadn’t the first clue what I wanted to do with my life, I managed to get a part-time job working at telesales in a call centre. I can vividly see myself there on my very first day, nervously cold-calling and trying not to fluff my lines. ‘Excuse me, may I interest you in taking a market research call that could possibly end up saving you hundreds on your household bills?’ That kind of shite.
I was only at the job for about an hour when this bright, bouncy beautiful creature with long legs as skinny as two Cadbury’s chocolate fingers, springs into the cubicle right beside me and yells an apology over to the male supervisor for being late. Roared at him, ‘Won’t say what delayed me this morning, Sean, but by the way, you can sleep easy! The gonorrhoea test was negative!’ ’Course the whole room cracked up, supervisor included.
Right from the start, I was completely mesmerised by her; this glorious ball of energy with enough personality for two people, wearing a bright blue fleecy sweatshirt over what looked suspiciously like pyjama bottoms. I remember having to stifle giggles when I overheard her dealing with a particularly rude person she’d just cold-called. Instead of apologising and getting off the phone a.s.a.p. like we were trained to do, she just laughed and said, ‘Nah, don’t worry, I don’t blame you for telling me to feck off, love. After all, I work in a call centre, selling house insurance. So technically, that makes me the devil.’
And when she introduced herself and dragged me off to the pub after work, that was it. She and I just bonded and it was like my whole world suddenly went from monochrome to Technicolor. I knew we’d be mates and what’s more, we’d stay that way.
‘So you see, that’s how I’m so certain that something really horrendous must have happened to her!’ I find myself getting more and more upset now, borderline hysteric. Part relief that we’re finally being taken seriously, part vom-making worry at what in hell’s actually unfolding.
‘Because I’ve known Kitty for that length of time, practically all of my twenties, she’s like my sister! We’ve shared flats together and everything … And, OK, so she may be a tiny bit unreliable and scatty at times, but I know that vanishing over Christmas, when we’d all be out of our minds worrying about her, just isn’t something she would ever do!’
‘OK, OK, take it easy,’ Crown suggests in a don’t-argue-with-me tone. ‘And remember that jumping to conclusions isn’t helpful at this point.’
Which at this point slightly gets my back up, I have to admit. It’s unsympathetic.
‘I fully understand what you’ve been through,’ he goes on, ‘and how worrying this is for both of you, but trust me when I tell you, it’s far more useful at this point to try and leave all emotion out of it. So how about we just stick to the actual hard facts?’
I take a deep, soothing breath, then nod curtly back at him. Jeez, what is this guy, anyway? Some kind of emoticon? I feel like snarling across at him, ‘How would you feel if your best friend vanished into thin air over Christmas then, sonny? Or would you just “keep all emotion out of it” too?’
‘OK then.’ Crown looks up from his notes just in time to catch me glaring furiously across at him. ‘So when was the last time you actually did speak to Kitty?’
Like this is some kind of test, I’m fully ready for him.
‘It was just after lunchtime on the 23rd. About half-two.’ Don’t mean to snap, but that’s how it comes out. Sorry, but this guy is seriously starting to get my back up now.
‘That’s very specific. You’re quite sure about the time?’
‘Absolutely. Because I was—’
I break off a bit here. Because I was actually in the dole office signing on, when she called me. Distinctly remember as I had to give up my place in the queue and head outside to take the call. But then I decide it’s none of Crown’s bloody business anyway and keep on talking.
‘Em … I was in town when she called,’ I continue, ‘so we didn’t chat for very long. She was on her way into Byrne & Sacetti to start her last shift before the holidays, and she was calling to confirm a spa day we were due to have together the following day. It was my birthday, you see. So we arranged to meet at the Sanctuary Spa at eight in the morning for an early breakfast. Then she told me she couldn’t wait to see me and …’
I’m forced to break off a bit here. The threatened wave of upset has now given way to the kind of tears you have to choke back, and I’m absolutely determined not to get sobby, not in front of Crown.
Softie Simon notices, though. He tactfully rummages round in his coat pocket, then produces a clean tissue, which I gratefully take from him.
‘Come