Trust No Bitch: Part 1

Alice Jenkins

Alice gave the interview room a brief examination as she sat down in her seat, tucking her skirt underneath her, trying to restrain herself from fiddling with her shirt buttons or straightening her collar. Moving was fidgeting and fidgeting was caused by anxiety and anxiety was an indicator of guilt. This thought process had been instilled into her by none other than her father, Howard Jenkins. She stared forlornly at her foot which was already against tapping the table leg, wondering how else she could release the pent up energy and desperately praying that March, the detective, a squat, dark skinned woman with the face of a bullfrog, would remain apparently impervious to the dull rattling of the table. Waddling round to her own seat on the other side of the table, March plonked herself down and hit a button on the tape recorder situated at the side of the table. For a moment, they sat in complete silence as March studied Alice, who was suddenly wishing that the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. The detective wore a pompous, faintly-amused look on her face, which Alice did not like one bit; it was that "I know something you don't know" look and it incensed her beyond compare. There was nothing Alice Jenkins liked less than a pensile answer, which she couldn't reach; she knew from the moment she had seen March's expression, that this interview, or interrogation, whatever it was, would be an onerous duty.

Stay calm, breathe, she told herself.

It was crucial that she remained stoic and that she did so until March broke the silence. First she sniffed, through her large, flat, lion-like nose and then she began to talk.

"Miss Jenkins. I'm Detective March, and I will be leading the investigation into the death of your friend Cleo. " Her voice was deep, but had a adenoidal quality to it. Alice nodded to let March know that she could continue. "I have just a few questions to ask you today. It shouldn't take too long and I would just like you to cooperate as best as you can. You and your friends are our closest links to Cleo, and what happened to her. You can choose not to answer a question at any time but we recommend that you try your best. We are also required to inform you that this interview is being taped." March said, her words clear, slow and purposeful. "I think it would be best if we start by discussing Cleo's behaviour before the time of her death. Did you notice anything or anyone particularly suspicious?" She asked, to which Alice shook her head.

"No. She was the same as normal." She said plainly, staring March down. Alice did not trust her. Not even a little bit.

"Nobody at all? Anybody she was spending an abnormal amount of time with other than yourselves?"

"No. Not that I know of." Alice replied. March frowned and made a quick note. Alice could imagine what it said: is reluctant to talk about victim.

"When was the last time you saw Miss. King?" March asked.

"I don't know exactly but probably the last day of term. I think we all hung out together at Cleo's flat. I don't recall what we did. Maybe we watched films or something. Sorry I can't be more specific."

"Your relationship with Cleo. How would you describe it?"

Well that question was harder to block, thought Alice. For the least conspicuous answer would be a lie. Saying their relationship was fine, that they were close, they had a normal, stable friendship, would be a lie. Because what Alice and Cleo had was unique in many ways. Ways she could not possibly describe to a detective looking into Cleo's murder. Alice had nothing to do with it but to admit that their bond was irreparably fractured after their last argument would put her straight to the top of the suspect list. The argument that preceded their bickering the night of the party was still mildly painful to think about. The wounds that Cleo had inflicted were still tender, like the patch of skin beneath the hangnail that's just been ripped away. Cleo's would probably still be angry too if she was here, thought Alice; she knew she, herself, had said things she shouldn't have, said things that would make her visibly uneasy if she had to recount them to March. And she had known that entering into a serious fight with Cleo was completely illogical. But the bitch had pushed too hard, too many times. It was all quite ridiculous, really. In fact, if Alice were an outsider, she would probably scoff at the way it had all started, with that Henry James.