‘The Importance of Being Earnest. At the Playhouse. Have you seen it?’
‘Not this production, but yes, I’ve seen versions of it.’
‘You should go to see this one. Awfully good. Take a girlfriend with you.’
Cody clears his throat. ‘So, you went to the play…’
‘Yes, and then tea afterwards. Italian place near the town hall. Forget the name.’
‘And you got back at eight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Other than the sound of the television, there were no signs of anything out of the ordinary.’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘And then what happened?’
Mrs Washington sips her tea with gentility. ‘Not a lot. I did some reading, tidied round and then went to bed.’
‘But something aroused your suspicions.’
‘Yes, the television. It was on all night, you see. My eyes aren’t so good these days, but my hearing is excellent and I’m a light sleeper. These flats are well-built, but I could still hear the news coming from down below. That dum-da-dum-dum, dum-da-dum-dum.’
‘Was it unusual for Sam to keep the television on all night?’
‘Absolutely. He’s very considerate, very polite. A lovely neighbour.’ She pauses and glances wistfully at the photograph of her standing with pride alongside her new husband. ‘I mean, he was a lovely neighbour. It’s so hard to get used to the passing of people, and I have to do a lot of that these days.’
While Cody allows her a moment, he thinks about what he knows of Sam Ridley, which is that he was a man who made up stories about sleeping with women, and who also mocked up photographs of them in lascivious poses. He chooses not to burst Mrs Washington’s bubble.
‘I assume the television was still on this morning,’ he says.
‘Yes. And that’s when I started to worry. It’s most unlike him. So, I went downstairs, and I rang the bell and I knocked, but I didn’t get an answer. And then I tried the door. And it was unlocked…’
Cody can see from her expression that she is transporting herself back to that time, that place. He says, ‘Do you want to take a break for a few minutes?’
‘No. I’m fine. I’m used to death now. And Sam was most definitely dead. Not like Archie.’
‘Archie?’
She points to the photograph. ‘My husband. He died two years ago. Found him in that very chair.’
When she nods towards where Cody is sitting, he suddenly feels very uncomfortable. As though he’s sitting in the lap of a ghost.
‘He looked so peaceful,’ she says. ‘Serene. But Sam… well, he didn’t have a good death.’
‘No.’
She looks down at her slippers again. ‘They took my shoes.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Cody says.
‘My good shoes. The policeman took them from me.’
‘Oh. Yes. It’s because you went into Sam’s flat. We have to check them for evidence.’
‘Will I get them back?’
‘Yes. I’ll make sure of it. Did you touch anything in the apartment?’
‘No. Oh, wait. Yes. The remote for the television. I turned the news off. It didn’t seem right. Those drums, I mean.’
‘From the time you came home, did you ever hear anything else from downstairs, like the sounds of a fight or a struggle?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Did you see any visitors to Sam’s flat in the past few days?’
‘No. He lived quite a solitary life, buried in his work. Perhaps he preferred it that way, but it always seemed such a waste to me.’ She looks Cody in the eye. ‘I don’t think he could have been much older than you. No wife, and I never saw any girlfriends either.’ She pauses. ‘Promise me one thing.’
‘What’s that?’ Cody asks.
‘Promise me you won’t let the same happen to you. You’re young. Live your best life while you can. Find someone. For me, it was Archie. I can die happily knowing that he filled my life with such happiness. If I ever wrote a book about my life, almost all of it would be about the times I spent with him. I sense you’re a good man, Mr Cody. You deserve to have what I’ve been so lucky to have. You deserve your own book.’
* * *
Webley suits up outside the flat. White Tyvek overalls ballooning around her, hood up, blue overshoes and latex gloves, face mask. Very sexy.