Silent Playgrounds (12 page)

‘Mostly. Sometimes—’ But she stopped herself. She wasn’t going to tell him about the tapes, not until she’d cleared it with Richard. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I wondered how well you knew Ashley Reid,’ he said. ‘Have you had any contact with him away from the centre?’

So that was it. He was trying to show that she was protecting Ashley because they had a kind of – something, she didn’t know what. Trying to show that she wasn’t impartial, that she would lie, in fact. The barrier was there again. He wasn’t an attractive man gently chatting her up over a cup of coffee, he was a professional interrogator. ‘I’ve only ever seen Ashley at the centre. I met him for the first time about eleven weeks ago, and I’ve seen him on and off at the centre since
then. Some weeks, I haven’t seen him at all.’ That wasn’t strictly true. She had spent more time with Ashley than any of the others, and though there had been one week when Ashley had left early, he was always there.

‘OK.’ He seemed happy to accept that. ‘We’re having some problems tracking him down. I thought you might have some ideas.’ She shook her head, waiting. He was thinking over what she had said. ‘As I remember, you said when I interviewed you that you
caught a glimpse
of the person, of his face.’

‘Yes.’ She was beginning to get that knot in her stomach again.

‘But you can’t be sure, can you, that it was or that it wasn’t Reid? You just saw someone answering his description.’ His voice implied that this was logical, reasonable. ‘Listen, Suzanne, we think he was at the scene. You could help us with the time. By your own admission, you hardly know Reid – not to tell at a glance.’ He looked at her again. ‘You saw this person walking away from you towards the woods. He looked back over his shoulder. You thought it was Reid, and then you thought it wasn’t – but really, you can’t be sure either way.’
Just tell us where Adam is. We want to help the lad, Suzanne.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘you just need to tell me what happened, what you saw. You’re not responsible for Reid.’

I hold you responsible for this, Suzanne.
She froze. Adam’s face in the picture; Emma under the water. A young man with dark hair walking away, looking back, quickly, furtively. Could she trust what she
remembered? She looked at the man sitting opposite her. He was waiting for her to answer, looking faintly puzzled. Had she said something? She shook her head. ‘It’s like I told you,’ she said. ‘I saw someone who reminded me of Ashley Reid. I didn’t think it was him at the time, and I still don’t think it was.’ He didn’t say anything. ‘I’m sorry. That’s what I saw.’ She was going to start babbling, explaining, justifying in a minute. She didn’t meet his eye as she stubbed out her cigarette and picked up her bag. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’

McCarthy watched her disappear through the door, feeling a sense of frustration. Everything about her said that she was lying to him, and he couldn’t see any reason for it. Just possibly she’d been sheltering Reid in some misplaced benevolence when he’d talked to her before, but she’d had time to think since then. She wasn’t stupid. He’d told her they had information that could put Reid on the spot. All he’d asked for was confirmation.

He stayed where he was and finished his coffee. The coffee bar was painted cream and blue, the carpet echoed those colours, and the whole effect was light and airy. The rows of tables by the windows said canteen, but the area where he had been sitting with Suzanne had low tables, bars with high stools, greenery, all arranged to create comfortable, private seating. There were a few people scattered around the tables, a low buzz of talk, but nothing to disrupt the general air of sunny quiet. He thought about the canteen at police headquarters. Adequate, but there was no carpet, no
greenery, just an acoustic that amplified and echoed the noise of conversation and the grating sound of chairs on lino. It all seemed designed to increase the sense of tension and pressure under which they worked these days. He wondered what students did to deserve this air of calm and peace that always impressed him on the few occasions he came on to the campus.
Get that chip off your shoulder, McCarthy.

He ran his conversation with Suzanne through his mind. He hadn’t meant to upset her – she wasn’t coming across the supercilious academic this time. She’d been friendly; a bit wary at first, but then she’d become genuinely engaged as they’d talked about her work, seeming suddenly confident and in control. He’d found what she was saying interesting. She’d sketched a vivid picture of the Alpha team closing ranks in horror, including a slanderous impersonation which had made him laugh, and then, as he’d rather reluctantly moved on to business, suddenly it had all collapsed, and she had looked frightened and lost.

He’d been pleased when he’d seen her standing by the wall, her face turned up to the sun, smiling, very different from the way she’d looked before. She’d spotted him, and her smile had changed to a frown, hastily modified when she realized he had seen her. If he was honest, he’d admit that he was watching her because he enjoyed looking at her. She reminded him a lot of Lynne, except there was a fucked-upness about her that there never had been about Lynne. A vulnerable Lynne, a Lynne without that intimidating competence. He’d enjoyed the process of breaking down the barriers of
her resistance until she’d confided in him, but then, without meaning to, he’d put the boot in.

And he still didn’t have his confirmation that someone answering Reid’s description had been seen in the park around the important time – he was going to have to talk to Suzanne again. He checked his watch and finished his coffee. He had a trip to Derby on his schedule.

It was playtime. Lucy shook her head when Lauren asked her if she wanted to join in their game. ‘Go on, Lucy, you’ve got to play. It’s my game.’ Lucy shook her head again, and wove her way through a group of boys who were shouting and pushing near the seats. She heard Kirsten’s voice behind her.

‘Her babysitter got killed. The police came to her mum.’ There was a buzz of chatter. Lucy clenched her fists. She would show Kirsten. But she had something more important to do. She went to the wall that looked out over the road and scrambled up a bit, holding onto the railings. She could see the shops on the other side, people rushing up and down. There was the shop where Mum got all her
flowers and herbs.
Daddy was always talking about Mum’s flowers and herbs. There was the shop with all the cheese. Lucy didn’t like going in there. It smelt funny. She gripped the railings harder and scrabbled her toes into the irregularities in the stone. There were cars parked all the way along the road. Pollution. That’s what Mum always said. All the people looked ordinary. There was Mrs Varney, who babysat for Lucy sometimes. There was the lady with the funny
shoes. And Kath from the fruit shop with her baby in the pram. Lucy waved, and Kath waved back. The strange feeling that had been inside her all morning began to go away. It looked as though it was all right, as though maybe she didn’t need to worry. She craned her neck to see further along the road.

And he was there, just outside the bookshop. He seemed to be looking at the books, but Lucy knew he was only pretending. Grandmother’s Footsteps. She was looking now, and everything was still, nobody was moving. The monsters were still there, and they were closer. She didn’t know what to do.

The monsters were still waiting.

‘You’re going to get me the sack, guys.’ The young man looked at the two detectives waiting for him in the manager’s office. ‘Look, can’t this wait until I finish? I need the money …’ His voice trailed off. He looked uneasy, like someone with something on his conscience. He’d been working on Friday, at his keyboard all day in the Derby office, working to supplement the loan that hadn’t even covered his rent for an academic year. McCarthy liked the uneasiness, liked the fact that Paul Lynman, undergraduate and ex-resident of 14, Carleton Road, flatmate of Emma Allan and Sophie Dutton, was frightened of losing his job. The quicker he answered their questions to their satisfaction, the quicker they would leave him alone.

‘We’ll make this as quick as possible,’ he said. Lynman nodded. ‘I want to ask you some questions about Emma Allan and Sophie Dutton. You shared a house
with Sophie from last September. And we understand that Emma Allan was an unofficial lodger there for a few weeks.’

Lynman looked taken aback. He hadn’t expected this. McCarthy wondered what he had expected, to have looked so worried, so uneasy when they announced themselves. ‘Emma?’ His look of unease began to grow. ‘She’s Sophie’s friend. I don’t really … And I haven’t seen Sophie for weeks. She’s left ….’ He looked at McCarthy. ‘I wasn’t there in September. I moved in in October. I was living with my girlfriend, but there wasn’t room. I didn’t know them …’

McCarthy thought. ‘Why did you move in so late?’ The house was for four people. The university was short of accommodation, so how had there been a room available in October? A room in a premium area, as well.

Lynman looked at him, weighing up the question. ‘The place was full, but then someone moved out, so they needed someone else. I knew two of the people there, they were on my course, Gemma and Dan.’ The students who were in Germany. ‘So …’ He shrugged.

OK. McCarthy shelved that. ‘Mr Lynman, did you see the news yesterday?’ Lynman’s bafflement was convincing. It looked as though he didn’t know about Emma. So why the panic McCarthy thought he had seen?

‘No, I don’t bother with … What news?’

‘Emma Allan is dead, Mr Lynman.’ He watched as the young man’s face registered the knowledge.

‘I didn’t … I told her … What happened?’

McCarthy didn’t want to soften it. ‘She was murdered,’ Lynman’s
face showed first disbelief, then shock as he realized that McCarthy meant what he was saying, wasn’t playing some elaborate trick. He went white and grabbed at the wall for support. Corvin steadied his arm and pulled out a chair, raising his eyebrows speculatively at McCarthy.

Lynman put his hand over his mouth. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ he said.

McCarthy nodded to Corvin who went to the water cooler outside the office door. ‘Just take deep breaths,’ McCarthy advised as Corvin offered the paper cup. Lynman looked at both of them, took the cup and sipped at the water. He was crouched down in his chair, looking hunted. McCarthy looked through the glass walls of the office, and saw the manager at the other side of the room, standing over someone’s desk, peering across. The light was bright, flat, fluorescent. There was no way of knowing that it was a clear sunny day outside.

McCarthy reversed a chair and sat down opposite the young man. ‘Paul,’ he said. Time to establish relative status. ‘You
told her.
What did you tell her?’ Lynman’s eyes wavered away from McCarthy’s. He didn’t answer. ‘You didn’t know Emma was dead …’ Lynman shook his head in quick affirmation. ‘But you weren’t too surprised. Now, we can do this the quick way, or we can do this the slow way, but you’re going to tell me everything you know about Emma. I need to know about Sophie as well – we can’t find her. She isn’t where she’s supposed to be. You can talk to me here, or you can come back to Sheffield and help us with our inquiries
There.’ The familiar phrase made Lynman’s head jerk up as he looked at McCarthy. McCarthy waited. He was aware of Corvin settling himself into an authoritative stance behind him. Thug mode. Good.

Lynman ran his tongue across his lips. ‘Christ. I can’t …
Em.
It’s …’ He looked at McCarthy in indignant protest. ‘It’s doing my head in.’ McCarthy waited. ‘I don’t know anything about it,’ Lynman said in sudden alarm.

‘But you know something about the drugs, don’t you, Paul?’ McCarthy smiled blandly at him.

‘Oh, Christ.’ He looked scared. ‘I did … Look, it was Emma. She’s OK, Emma, she’s fine. Was fine. She just – she was short of cash, man, we all are.’

‘What did she do, Paul?’ McCarthy’s voice was bland, avuncular.

‘It wasn’t anything …’ He looked at the two men in panic. Whatever had been worrying him when they first arrived seemed to have coalesced with his current panic. His eyes travelled between McCarthy and Corvin.

Corvin shifted slightly. ‘This is a waste of time. Let’s take him back to Sheffield,’ he suggested.

‘No!’ Lynman didn’t want that. ‘Look, I just don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’ McCarthy translated that into Lynman’s not wanting to get himself into trouble. He began to talk. Emma had got herself a lucrative sideline. She’d got access to good pills. ‘Real E,’ Lynman enthused, forgetting himself for a moment. ‘The stuff you get now is mostly shit.’ And good speed, paste. ‘It was cheap, too.’ He brooded for a moment. ‘She wasn’t dealing,’ he said. ‘She was just selling to
students, you know? McCarthy couldn’t see the distinction, personally, but he nodded, waiting. Lynman went on to describe an efficient and profitable operation. Emma sold to other students and to her friends. She sold to her friends at prices that were lower than street prices, sold to others for a bit more. ‘But everyone knew it was good stuff. You went to Em for good stuff. She wasn’t a dealer, see.’

McCarthy thought about it. ‘And Sophie … ?’

‘Well, Sophie used pills sometimes. We all did.’ He rubbed his hand nervously over his face. ‘Sophe thought Em was getting in a bit heavy just lately.’ McCarthy caught Corvin’s eye. If Emma was running a lucrative pills operation, why was she so eager to earn peanuts childminding for Jane Fielding? He needed to think about that. ‘And then something happened,’ Lynman said. ‘Emma had a row with her mum and walked out, and next thing I know, Emma’s in the house and Sophie’s packing up her course and going home. She said she didn’t want her parents to know she’d dropped out, not until she’d got a job. She said Emma could join her, once she got settled in. That was why we let Em stay at Carleton Road, see. We needed someone to help with the rent, and Sophe wanted to be able to get in touch.’