Free Witch Is When Things Fell Apart by Adele Abbott

Facebook messages or tweeting. She looked the sort—not that I was judging.
    “What about the other residents? How well do you know them?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t speak to any of them.”
    “No one?”
    “I just said, didn’t I?”
    Beauty, charm and a liar.
    “I understand you’re a model, Ms James?”
    “Miss. I don’t go in for all that ‘Ms’ rubbish. Only part time.”
    “What do you do the rest of the time?”
    “I’m studying for a degree in psychology.”
     
    After I’d knocked for the third time, I was beginning to think the man on the second floor must have slipped out. Then the door opened.
    “Hello?” He peered around the door which was on a chain.
    “Morning. Jason Allan?”
    He nodded but made no eye contact.
    “I’m Jill Gooder. I’m investigating the murder in the lift, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    “What kind of questions?”
    “Just routine. It should only take a few minutes.”
    “I have to go out shortly.”
    “Like I said, it won’t take long.”
    He slid off the chain, and opened the door. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
    “Sorry about the mess.” He led the way inside. “I need to tidy.”
    He’d got that much right. The apartment looked like an explosion in a launderette. There were clothes, most of them dirty, all over the floor, and on every surface.
    “Take a seat,” he said.
    Every chair was covered with clothes—including some unsavoury looking underwear.
    “It’s okay. I’ll stand.”
    I ran through my usual list of questions. His answers were slow and ponderous. I wasn’t sure if he was nervous or high on something.
    “What do you do for a living?”
    He shrugged. Maybe the question was too difficult. I rephrased it.
    “Where do you work?”
    “I don’t have a job. Not at the moment anyway. I used to be a carpet fitter, but I had to give it up. Problems with my knees. The job’s murder on the knees.”
    “I can imagine. Do you know any of the other residents?”
    He shook his head.
    “Are you sure? What about the woman on the first floor?”
    His cheeks flushed red, and he began to shuffle around on the chair. “I don’t know her.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Positive.”
     
    I wasn’t sorry to get out of his apartment. That made two for two in the dishonesty stakes. Darcy had denied she knew Jason—which to be honest, was understandable, and he’d denied he knew her. What did they have to hide? And, how were they paying the rent on this place? I hadn’t checked the actual figures, but there wouldn’t be much change out of two thousand pounds a month. Darcy’s part-time modelling and Jason’s carpet fitting, when he was actually working, wouldn’t cover that kind of outlay.
     
    I took the stairs, and bumped into the cleaner in between the first and second floors.
    “Do you have a minute?” I said.
    “Sure. Nothing exciting going on here.”
    “Were you working when the murder happened?”
    “No. It was my day off. I work two on and one off.”
    “Do you clean the apartments?”
    “No. Just the common areas. Some of the residents employ their own cleaners.”
    Not the guy on two obviously.
    “Do you talk to the residents?”
    She laughed. “Me? I doubt they know I exist. I’m invisible.”
    “I bet you see what goes on though.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Do you have any ideas about who might have committed the murder?”
    She shook her head.
    “Anything you can tell me? Did you witness any arguments between the residents?”
    “No arguments, but—” She seemed unsure whether to continue.
    “Go on. I won’t mention this to anyone.”
    “I suppose you already know about those two? The woman on one and the man?”
    I nodded. This was confirmation that the concierge had been correct about Darcy and Jason. So why had they denied knowing one another?
     
    I called Jack Maxwell’s number. I didn’t have anything much to report—it was more a courtesy call to let him know I’d spoken to all of the residents of