“You live in Fyfield House with Natasha Panov?
Though she’s paying more attention to her notebook than to him, Oscar smiles at the woman detective.
“Yes, although the ladies sleep on the floor above, the lads sleep downstairs.”
Now she looks up to ask, “Is that a problem?”
Oscar laughs nervously. He doesn’t dare tell her the joke that’s popped into his head, not to the filth. He’s never at a loss for what to say, but he is now. What’s she written in that book of hers already? It would make anyone nervous. The not knowing. God.
“No. It’s fine. Most everyone contrives to be out most of the time.” She writes it down, but doesn’t say anything, pensively reading over what’s already written. What if they find him out? He doesn’t know if he could stay here if it came out. Damn. Oscar feels the discomfort level increase exponentially. Understanding it is just an interrogation technique doesn’t help, and suddenly the oppressive silence is more than he can bear.
Oscar says, “We go out when we can, to the pub, computer lab, library or the caf. Sometimes Callaghan’s or a film for a change. Mostly people only stay in when they’re short of funds.”
“What’s your relationship with Natasha Panov?” asks the male detective standing behind him. Oscar fancies he can feel the man’s glare of the on the back of his neck. Disconcerting. Oscar has to twist around to address him.
“There isn’t one, then, is there, other than that we’re both in Fyfield. To be perfectly honest, this is the first I’ve heard her surname. Don’t really know her, you see.”
“She’s not your girlfriend?” Detective Wolfrom asks.
“No, no, nothing like that. She’s always with that weight lifter. They’re both in the photography program, aren’t they.”
Wolfrom says, “You’d like to get to know her a little better though.”
Oscar shrugs. “I rather doubt we’ve anything in common. Girl didn’t even come to the Ubuntu party.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but my own, but no. No, I don’t.”
“Are you gay?”
“Certainly not, “Oscar says, “Just I’m rather more interested in getting a degree at the moment.” Oscar meets the man’s eye, starting to feel a bit more confident. “There’s actually very little fraternization.”
The woman detective snorts derisively; Oscar turns back to her as she says, “That’s not what we’ve been hearing. It sounds as though there’s a lot of fraternization.”
Oscar is getting angry. This is absurd. He’s not some stupid kid for them to push around, he is a bloody grown up. He served in the 31st Southern Brigade for godsake. Why is he letting these wankers make him feel like a child? Shite. Don’t get angry. Stay calm, and answer their questions.
Taking a deep breath, Oscar decides it would be better get it over so life can get back to normal. Or as normal as it can get.
“Oh, there’s a fair bit ‘o that in the Res, but it’s cross program fraternization I was meaning. There’s not so much as you’d think between students in the photography and computers, considering photography has gone digital, you see.”
“That’s all very interesting, but that’s not what makes me curious.” The woman detective narrows her eyes at him. “What makes me curious is why you would come here.”
“Christie is a very good school.”
“Still, it’s a long way from Tipperary.”
“Seeing the world is a fine part of getting an education.”
The woman studies him carefully. Oscar can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Damn. Damn and damn. “Still, you could have gone to university in Ireland for free. Christie is expensive for foreign nationals. It doesn’t make sense.”
Oscar can feel his jaw tightening. This one’s done some homework. The question is, how much. Does she know? He stares back, examining her. Looks like it is still a question.
“There were some family issues. I’d rather not say.”
She frowns. “That could mean any number of things.”
Oscar asks, “Why can’t you just leave me in peace?”
She answers quietly, “Because there has been a particularly brutal attack on one of your classmates.”
Studying her he decides she probably doesn’t know. Yet. But if he tries to lead her along the garden path, she’ll see it. And then she’ll find out anyway. He sighs heavily. Father Ted always said confession was good for the soul. Maybe.
“Can what I tell you be kept in confidence?”
The woman shrugs. “It depends. If it isn’t material to the investigation, we’ll do our best to be discreet. But.”
“Anything can happen in a paramilitary organization,” Oscar nods. “I know the drill. Army Reserve in Limerick was where I got into computers.”
From behind him, the man says, “Family issues?”
Oscar wonders if the chip on his shoulder is playing havoc with his judgment. He thought it was all over. An ocean away, but maybe it will never go away. They say you can run but you can’t hide. “Yes, family troubles.” Oscar deflates back into the chair. “Do your best to keep it to yourselves then.”
Breaking eye contact with a sigh, Oscar leans back and closes his eyes before continuing. “My family was what they call dysfunctional. Textbook. My Da was crazy jealous of my Ma.” Oscar stops a moment, takes a deep breath and decides, fuck it. They’ll find it out anyway. Better from him, and be done with it. “One fine day me Da up and killed her … murdered me Ma, strangled her with his hands.”
Oscar opens his eyes, and sits up straighter, as though relieved of a weight. “See the world, Ma used to say, and if you must know, that’s what it was that brought me here. After that there was nothing there for me. My sainted sister visits the bastard every weekend but as far as I’m concerned he can rot in hell, thanks. To be honest, I don’t want to talk about this shite, so I left. No one here knows any of it and that’s how I want it to stay.” Oscar glares at the cop defiantly. She looks stunned. He asks, “So is that it then? Can I go?”
Lewis nods, says, “I’m sorry for your loss. We may have more questions later, but you can go.”
Oscar leaves with alacrity, pushing his way past the man, striding into the hall, pushing out the door into the fresh air. Heading down the path, he fumbles in his pockets for the cigarette case. The one he inherited from Ma. Right now he doesn’t care who sees him smoking. Even Maggie.
He fookin’ needs it.
