Page 74 of Mad Mabel

“I’m old but I’m not deaf, Adeem.”

It’s not entirely true, though. I was down twenty-five percent hearing on the left side at my last audiologist appointment. But that wasn’t the point.

The day has passed in what feels like minutes. No one has eaten. Libby and I have drunk four cups of tea. Adeem has barely looked at his phone.

Adeem still looks confused. “Then why aren’t you getting up to answer it?”

I point at the clock. “It’s 3:45, which means Persephone has just arrived home from school. As such, I’d bet my bottom dollar that what she has to say is that she’d like some afternoon tea. And as I a) don’t have any snacks, and b) don’t have any time, I think it’s best that I leave it, don’t you?”

Adeem has no retort other than a shrug. We are about to continue with the interview when I hear an unfamiliar voice.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick? It’s Detective Inspector Carlaw and Detective Wills. Are you home?”

Adeem, Libby, and I blink at each other.

“I’d better get that,” I say, and I shuffle to the front door.

These detectives are not in uniform, but they are in a marked police car, which is parked in the laneway. This has not escaped the attention of my neighbors, who are out in the street, trying to act casual.

I’m impressed to see that these detectives are both women. Mid-forties at a guess. Tall too, and very attractive. A big step up from Baldy and Hairy.

“I’m Detective Inspector Lise Carlaw,” one of the detectives says, before gesturing to her partner. “This is Detective Sarah Wills.”

Wills is almost eye to eye with me, which I don’t come across often.

“Good for you,” I say. “Breaking those glass ceilings.”

They stare at me. It has to be said, they have none of the charm of Baldy and Hairy either. “What can I do for you?” I ask, eventually.

“We’d like you to come down to the station to answer some questions,” Carlaw says, stony faced. “About the death of your neighbor Ishaan Patel.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “I already spoke to constables”—I scan my memory for the names of the officers I call Baldy and Hairy, but I do not find them—“to some other police.”

“We understand,” Wills says. “But we have some updates on the case that we’d like to discuss with you.”

“What updates?” I ask.

“We’d rather discuss this at the station,” Carlaw says.

Adeem and Libby appear behind me in the hallway. “Is she under arrest, Detective?” Libby asks.

I stare at her in disbelief. Is she trying to give them ideas?

Carlaw’s facial expression doesn’t move. I wonder if perhaps itcan’tmove? Some kind of stroke or something? “No, but—”

“Then you’re under no obligation to go anywhere, Elsie.”

“That’s true,” Carlaw says to me, “though it won’t look good in court if you’re not seen to be assisting the police.”

In court. I feel a shudder go down my spine.

“Detectives,” Adeem says, “Elsie is an elderly woman, who has recently been released from hospital. I don’t think a court in the land would have an issue with her denying such a request.”

Adeem sounds rather powerful, speaking like this. I’m quite impressed. I find myself giving him the thumbs-up, even as I say: “I’ll go.”

“You don’t have to, Elsie,” Libby says again.

“I know. But frankly, I’m curious to hear these updates. It’s fine. Can we reschedule the rest of the interview?”