People die and life goes on. Soon, I have to do the same, move on and get on with my life and all I have is a collection of memories of her. Would I ever heal from this? I pass by the bottle of vodka I abandoned earlier. I cough as this tasteless, odourless drink hugs my body.
I smoke and pace around the room, avoiding looking at the laptop. Why did she lend it to me? Did she do it intentionally? Most importantly, what was she trying to achieve by making those videos?
I take out my headphones from my backpack. I take a deep breath and press play.
Lottie’s Recordings
I know why I’m doing this. There are things you can’t tell your family or friends. Some things are best kept to yourself, but what happens when you can’t take it anymore? When do they start to eat you out? What happens then? Do you keep on going until they drive you mad? I think I’m going mad.
***
Was she in danger? Is this why she made those videos? I stare at her lovely face. How the sun used to shine on her long brown wavy hair. Her thick eyebrows complemented her heart-shaped face and her strong cheekbones. How she used to look at me with her big almond-shaped grey-blue eyes. The way she used to press her bee-sting lips together before she spoke. Her milky white skin free from blemishes. There was something innocent and mysterious about her, but it was a beautiful face.
I press pause. Is this what these videos are? A trip to memory lane? So she would look back in years and laugh at herself? I let it pour out of me, why her? Why did it have to be her? Why would someone do this? What had she done to deserve this? Why was she the one to suffer?
The buzzer makes me jump as it pierces through the silence. I rise from the chair and go to the window; there is a man with black hair and a woman with red hair. They must be detectives; they had to be.
Chapter Two
The panic rises as I snatch the laptop off the desk and survey the room. This is my home. It’s safe and secure, but nowhere seems to be safe enough to hide this computer, not with what it contains. I open the cupboard under the sink and place it with the washing detergents. The buzzer slices through the flat again. I open a garbage bag and seal the laptop in it. Not the best hiding place, but it will do for now.
I take a deep breath and I buzz the detectives in without speaking to them through the intercom. The woman is attractive, in her forties with delicate features, green eyes and flaming red hair. The man has short black hair, dark eyes and thin lips. They have their badges ready, but I don’t peek at their IDs.
‘Good morning,’ the man says. ‘I’m DC James Taylor and this is my partner DC Fiona Gallagher. Are you Anthony Hughes?’
‘Yes.’
Still holding his badge, he says, ‘We would like to ask you a few questions regarding Lottie Gibson. We’re sorry for your loss.’
I glance at their IDs and lead the way. They look at each other and proceed inside. The woman scans the flat, looking at my designs, my record collection and books.
‘You’re an artist?’ DC Gallagher asks, looking at the picture on the wall.
It’s an artwork of a nude woman given to me by Davian.
‘No, a sculptor,’ I say.
‘How old are you?’ DC Gallagher asks, now eyeing me.
I maintain eye contact with her. ‘Twenty-five.’
DC Taylor takes out his notebook and pen. ‘How long did you know the victim?’
I sit across from him on the armchair. ‘Three years.’
He scribbles on the notebook. ‘Would you say you’re close?’
‘Yes, we were close.’
‘And you were the one who found her job for...’ he flips pages of his notebook, ‘Giselle Pearson?’
I work for Giselle. Well, sort of. She buys the sculptures from me and she sells them. Her company sells photographs and sculptures from artists and photographers. Giselle is always hungry for new talent. For the next best thing. She owns a gallery, dealing with the crème de la crème in the city. Davian is her main photographer and collaborator; to put it bluntly, her leading man. I thought working with Giselle would help Lottie get back on her feet after she got laid off from her previous job.
‘Yes, I did. I had a word with Giselle to see if there were any openings. She was looking for an assistant, doing coffees, photocopies, filing, that sort of thing.’
DC Taylor nods. ‘Her ex-boyfriend, Abdel - did she talk to you about him?’
I light a cigarette. ‘Not a lot, but she seemed happy with him. He treated her well, took her out to fancy restaurants, surprised her, and they went on trips together.’
‘She never mentioned he was violent or treated her with disrespect?’ DC Gallagher asks.
Do they think Abdel is involved in her murder? How could he be when they broke up months ago?
‘No, she didn’t.’
DC Taylor looks down at his notepad.
‘Did she mention another man in the picture or give you the impression she was seeing someone?’
Another man in the picture? Where are they going with this? Are they implying that Lottie was seeing someone in secret?
I blink at him. ‘You mean in secret?’ I ask.
‘We’re the ones asking the questions,’ DC Gallagher points out.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
Dc Taylor lifts an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean it wouldn’t surprise you?’
‘Well... she’s a pretty girl,’ I say.
DC Taylor rests his back on the sofa. ‘Yes, she was a beautiful girl.’
‘Why did she break off with her boyfriend?’ DC Gallagher asks.
I placed the cigarette on the ashtray and shift on my seat.
‘He was the one who broke up with her the first time.’
‘When was this?’ DC Gallagher asks.
I stretch my neck. ‘There was a work party and Lottie brought Abdel as her date.’
‘Were you at this party?’ she asks.
‘Yes, I was. Abdel was talking to Davian and—‘
‘Davian Levine?’ DC Taylor asks, checking his notebook for clarification.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s Lottie’s colleague, correct?’ DC Taylor asks.
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you known him?’ DC Gallagher said, her eyes never leaving me.
I play with my lighter. ‘Since childhood.’
‘What happened at the party?’ DC Gallagher asks.
‘As I said, Abdel and Davian were engaged in a deep discussion. Lottie began wrapping her arms around me and my date wasn’t too happy about that.’
‘What about Abdel?’ DC Taylor asks.
‘They left. I found out later that he broke up with her.’
‘Did she tell you the reason behind the breakup?’
I run my hand through my hair. ‘She said Davian said something to him.’
‘Do you remember what he said?’
‘Something about us being too close, that there was something going on between us, which wasn’t true.’
It came back to me that day; Davian didn’t feel any remorse for what he did, but that’s him: stubborn. A complication of being an artist, he likes to call it. I call it being an ass.
‘Did Lottie have any enemies, someone who wished her harm?’ DC Gallagher took over the questioning.