Alex Gray - The Swedish Girl

Jo tried not to make a face. It was true that the lad had been drunk as a skunk. He’d thrown up in the street, narrowly missing the floor of the police van, one of the officers had told her. And yet… he was no fool and even a night’s hard drinking hadn’t made him forget everything that had happened at that party. His reaction to her questions had told her that at least. And now there was a stubborn cast to his mouth that the DI recognised as a decision on the student’s part to clam up.

This wasn’t going anywhere. She was certain from his body language that Roger Dunbar was lying to her and she was pretty sure that she knew why. Whoever had left the party that night with Eva Magnusson might well have been the last person to see her alive.

Rodge breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out into the cold air. Someone had escorted him out of a different door from the way they had come in and, as he walked past the cars parked tightly together under a canopy, he realised that his initial impression of the place had disappeared. He and Gary had looked at all the posters on the walls of the reception area — anything to take their minds off why they were really there — laughing at the daft penguin, impressed by the well burnished plaque that mentioned a fallen comrade. It had given him a sense that the people working in this place shared a sense of pride in what they were doing. Was DI Grant proud of her methods? She hadn’t believed him when he’d told her that he couldn’t remember much. Why hadn’t she just left it at that? Roger Dunbar scowled to himself as he walked up past the Piping Centre and waited for the lights to change. He’d given her his version of the events as he wanted to recall them and as far as he was concerned he was sticking to them.

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.