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 on, Angie, you’re doing great,’ he tells me gently, leaning into me and squeezing my shoulder. ‘But just try to take it nice and easy. There’s absolutely no rush. You all right now?’
I nod weakly back at him.
‘So if we can just get back to your statement,’ Crown interjects and I half-glower back at him. Then notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Now why doesn’t that surprise me?
‘Can you remember if Kitty sounded in any way distressed or stressed out about anything?’
‘Not in the least,’ I tell him defiantly. ‘But then, she rarely ever did.’
‘OK,’ he says, head buried back in his notes and scribbling away. ‘Now if you feel up to it, just keep on talking.’
And so I do, and before I know it, it’s Simon’s turn. He’s completely brilliant, though, far more businesslike and far less of a hysterical seesaw than I was. V. detailed and factual. I can practically see the sheer relief on Crown’s stony, emotionless face that at least one of us is making his life a bit easier, and not clouding the issue with tears and gulpy sobs, or with having to reach for Kleenex every two minutes.
Even though we’re essentially both telling same story except from two different viewpoints, this still takes us ages. Actually starts to feel bit like we’ve been stuck in this stale, stifling room for hours. But then, as soon as Simon’s done with his statement and Crown’s finally stopped writing on the file in front of him, our questions right back at him start all at once, in a barrage.
‘So what happens now?’ Simon wants to know. ‘What exactly is the next step here?’
‘Yeah! I mean we’ve got buddies out trawling the streets, knocking on doors locally and asking if anyone’s seen or heard anything, and we could really use a bit of help. Proper, professional help,’ I throw in, fervently hoping offer of SWAT teams and helicopters is only round the corner.
‘Because we’re now working on the theory that she left the restaurant at around one in the morning,’ Simon takes up from me, ‘on Christmas Eve, when her shift ended. We’re assuming that she went to walk home, as she always did, and that something could have happened to her then. Maybe a mugging? An abduction of some kind? Maybe she’s being held
