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Farah’s voice came over more clearly than Kevin’s, presumably because the Dictaphone had lain closer to her. From what Strike could make out, she’d suggested twice they leave for somewhere quieter in the first five minutes, but Kevin, pathetically, said they should stay, because he knew it was her favourite bar. Apparently Kevin had been thoroughly convinced the good-looking Navabi was interested in him sexually.
Strike turned the volume up to maximum and listened closely, trying to make out what was being said. Farah kept asking Kevin to speak up or repeat things, and Strike was forced to rewind and relisten multiple times, pen in hand, trying to transcribe anything that was audible.
Initially, as far as Strike could make out, their chat had nothing to do with the UHC. For ten minutes, Farah talked indistinctly about her supposed job as an air stewardess. At last, the church was mentioned.
Farah:… ways been interested in the UH…
Kevin:… on’t do it… isters… still in b… aybe leave one d…
Somewhere close to where Farah and Kevin were sitting, a rowdy song broke out which, typically, was as clear as a bell.
And we were singing hymns and arias,
‘Land of my Fathers’, ‘Ar hyd y nos’.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ muttered Strike. The group of what Strike assumed were elderly Welshmen, because he wasn’t sure who else would be singing a Max Boyce song, struggled for the next ten minutes to remember all the lyrics, breaking out intermittently into fragments of verses that petered out again, rendering Kevin and Farah’s conversation completely inaudible. At last, the Welshmen reverted to merely talking loudly, and Strike was able to pick up the faint thread of what Farah and Kevin were saying again.
Kevin:… vil people. Evil.
Farah: How were they ev…?
Kevin:… ean, cruel… hypocr… ’m writing a b…
Farah: Oh wow that’s gr…
One of the Welshmen broke into song again.
But Will is very happy though his money all has gone:
He swapped five photos of his wife for one of Barry John.
Cheers greeted these remembered lines and when the yelling had subsided, Strike heard Kevin again: ‘… orry, need a…’
From the lack of chat from Farah, Strike surmised that Kevin had gone to the bathroom.
The next fifty minutes of recording were worthless. Not only had the noise in the pub become ever louder, but Kevin’s voice grew progressively more indistinct. Strike could have told Farah that offering unlimited drink to a young man who’d grown up never touching alcohol was a mistake, and soon Kevin was slurring and rambling, Farah trying very hard to keep track of what he was saying.
Kevin:… ’n she drown… said sh’drowned…
Farah: (loudly)… talking about Dai…?
Kevin:… unny thing zappenin… ings I keep… emembrin… or of ’em…
Farah: (loudly) Four? Did you say f…?
Kevin:… more ’n jus’ Shree… nice to kids, an’ she… Bec made Em l… visible… ullshit…
Farah: (loudly)… ecca made Em lie, did you s…?
Kevin:… drugged… sh’wuz allowed out… sh’could get things… smuggle it’n… let her ’way with stu… didn’ care ’bout ’er real… sh’ad chocolate once n’I stole some… bully though…
Farah: (loudly)… oo wa… ully?
Kevin:… ake ’lowances… gonna talk t’er… z’gonna meet m…
Farah: (very loudly) Is someone from the church going meet you, Kev…?
Kevin:… ’n’answer f’r it…
