‘You didn’t see them?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Maybe they left,’ she says, taking out a tissue from her trousers. ‘She had nothing but nice words to say about you. You made her happy, and for that, I’m grateful.’
She begins to sob. Nothing I say would bring back her daughter. No parent should bury their child, and Lottie was an only child. I peek at the photographs of Lottie on top of the fireplace. Lottie as a little girl on the beach standing by a sandcastle. Another of her with her parents as a teenager.
‘Are there any updates?’ I ask after she’s calmed down.
She blows her nose, shaking her head. ‘Did the police talk to you?’
I sit on the sofa. ‘Yes, they did. Did they tell you how she...’ I trailed off, unable to go on.
She dabs her eyes with the tissue. ‘She was shot... Someone... shot her... in the face.’
If there was any colour in my face, it’s gone now. My mouth gapes open. The words bounce around my head, shot her in the face. Her beautiful face, demolished, gone. My eyes grow moist. Who would do this to my friend? My lovely, sweet friend?
‘They are going to interview everybody who had a connection with Lottie. Colleagues, friends, ex-boyfriends, anyone. She was so full of life, so optimistic.’
It occurs to me that Lottie’s father is nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is Mr Gibson?’
‘He’s in the garage. He hasn’t come out since...’
I nod in understanding. ‘Mrs Gibson.’
‘Please call me Emily.’
‘Emily, did Lottie tell you about a man? The police suspect she was seeing a man,’ I pause, looking for the right word without upsetting her further, ‘...secretly.’
‘A man?’
‘The police asked me if... if there was another man besides Abdel... They believe she was seeing someone right after the break-up.’
Emily considers this. ‘She didn’t say. The police didn’t tell us much...’ She trails off as tears pour down her eyes. I give her time to recover.
‘Is it okay if I go to her room?’
She wipes her nose. ‘The police have already been there but yes, I suppose you can. It’s upstairs to the left.’
‘Thank you.’
She glances up at me as I rise. ‘Why you want to see her room?’
‘I just need... to get the feel of her. I miss her.’
She nods.
I have never been to her room, and it’s as if I’m standing in a museum of a girl I once knew but now, she’s not part of this world anymore, but of another. My chest tightens as I study the room. Her bedroom is a typical girl’s room with flowery wallpaper, a single bed dressed with a white duvet and a stuffed toy in the middle. A stereo on the shelf with a collection of CDs, a few books and old magazines stacked neatly. On the dresser were jewellery boxes and photos with friends. I didn’t know them. These photos were taken before I met her. Was she still in touch with these girls?
I cross the room and open the closet. A smell of fresh linen hits my nostrils. Dresses and jackets hang there, and on the bottom shelf are shoes, with bags on the top shelf.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. Whatever was useful in this room, the police must have taken it. If she needed to hide something, she wouldn’t hide it in here. I think of the password-protected file in her laptop. Whatever she was hiding, it’s there and it haunts me. As I am about to close the closet, something attracts my attention. I squint at the photograph pinned on the door. It has a black background and neon colours that make the shape of a heart. This work is unfamiliar to me. It’s professionally made, out of Photoshop or another advanced software. Where had she got this from? Did Abdel give it to her? How did the police miss this, or did they think it meant nothing to them? To me, it does.
I wrack my brain thinking of what Lottie liked that she could use as a password. I type her mother’s name, her father’s, Abdel’s but no success. I even go as far as typing Davian’s name and surname. Nothing. I cross out the places I visited on my map. I think about her apartment, but I can’t go there; it’s a crime scene.
****
Lottie’s Recordings. Clip four
I took my breaks outside with the view of the Thames and ate a packet of biscuits. It was lonely. All I did was file papers in that little room. I was so bored and I craved excitement. Anthony never came, nor Davian. When he did grace us with his presence, Davian glided past me with his nose up in the air, never looking down. He carried himself with a certain dignity and grace. A confident man.
After my break, I started towards the filing room. Davian stomped towards me looking like gold from a treasure chest. He had a set of papers in his hand while his musky rather oaky perfume slapped me across the face.
‘Where have you been? I have been looking all over for you.’ he demanded.
‘I... was-‘
‘I don’t care where you were, don’t take off.’
‘Um... uh, I didn’t-‘
‘Don’t waste my time. Here,’ he said wryly, shoving a set of papers into my hands. ‘Photocopy these for me, will you?’
‘Okay,’ I said.
Without another word, he marched off. A girl walked past him and stole a glance at the ice king. I didn’t know where the photocopier was or how to use it. No one had shown me anything and I wasn’t going to ask him; I feared he’d bite my head off. Lilia was behind her desk, typing.
‘Lottie, how are you holding up?’ she asked. She frowned when she saw my flustered expression.
‘I uh... Davian asked me to do photocopies for him but I don’t-‘
She rolled her eyes. Is it because of me or the mention of Davian? ‘Follow me.’
***
Davian is confrontational, and for someone like Lottie, he could come across as intimidating and hostile.
***
In the lift, Lilia pressed -1. I thought we were going to the parking area, but it was a large room with boxes; at the back, there was a large complicated-looking photocopier. Lilia explained to me how it worked.
‘Remember what I showed you. I might not be here next time and if he asks you again, he won’t help you.’
‘Is he always like this?’
‘He is used to having everything go his way. He can be difficult. You’ll get used to him.’
She photocopied the papers and asked me to do the extra copies so I could get used to the machine.
‘Would you like to go out for drinks?’ she asked me.
My eyes widened; this woman wanted to go out for a drink with me?
‘I would love that.’
‘How about Friday night? We go after work?’
‘Er... sure,’ I said.
‘Great, it’s a date. Now go and hand him these before he gets all cross and moody.’
I realised I didn’t know where his office was, so I had to ask the receptionist. I nearly crashed into him as he was on his way out.
‘What took you so long?’ he asked.
‘I... I... didn’t know-’
‘You did them?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
He snatched the photocopies from my hand, turned on his heel and shut the door on my face.
***