The Secret Place (20 page)

She moved her chin at the photo. ‘I think someone just made that up.’

‘You say it wasn’t any of your mates. Which means it had to be Joanne Heffernan or one of her friends. They’re the only other people who were in the building at the right time.’

‘You said it was them. I didn’t. I don’t have a clue.’

‘Would they? Make it up?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Why?’

Shrug. ‘Maybe they were bored. They wanted something to happen. And now here you are.’

Flare to her nostril:
They.
Rebecca didn’t think much of Joanne’s lot. Meek little thing, to look at. Not so meek inside.

‘And Chris,’ I said. ‘Who do you think did that?’

Rebecca said – no pause – ‘Guys from Colm’s. I think a bunch of them sneaked in here – maybe they were planning some kind of joke, like stealing something or painting something; a few years ago some of them came in one night with spray cans and sprayed a picture all across our playing field.’ Tinge of red running up her cheeks. She wasn’t going to tell us what the picture had been. ‘I think they came in for something like that, but then they had a fight. And
.
.
.’

Her hands spreading. Setting the image loose, to float away on the air.

I said, ‘Was Chris the kind of guy who would do that? Sneak out of his school, come in here on a prank?’

Some picture unfolded inside Rebecca’s mind, taking her away from us. She watched it. Said, ‘Yeah. He was.’

Something lying across her voice, a long shadow. Rebecca had had feelings about Chris Harper. Good or bad, I couldn’t tell, but strong.

I said, ‘If you could tell me just one thing about him, what would it be?’

Rebecca said, unexpectedly: ‘He was kind.’

‘Kind? How?’

‘This one time, we were hanging around outside the shopping centre and my phone was doing something weird; it looked like I’d lost all my photos. A couple of the other guys were being total morons – like, “Ooo, what did you have on there, were there photos of
.
.
. ”’ The tinge of red again. ‘Just stupid stuff. But Chris went, “Here, give me a look,” and he took the phone off me and started trying to fix it. The idiots thought that was
hilarious
, but Chris didn’t care. He just fixed the phone and gave it back to me.’

A small sigh. The picture in her mind folded away, slid into its drawer. She was looking at us again.

‘When I think about Chris, that’s what I think about. That day.’

A girl like Rebecca, that day could have meant a lot. Could have rooted and grown, inside her mind.

Conway moved. Said, ‘You got a boyfriend?’

‘No.’

Instant. Almost scornful, like it was a stupid question:
You got a rocket ship?

‘Why not?’

‘Do I have to?’

‘A lot of people do.’

Rebecca said flatly, ‘I don’t.’

She didn’t give a fuck what either of us thought of that. Not Alison, not Orla. The opposite.

Conway said, ‘We’ll see you around.’

Rebecca left stuffing my card in her pocket, forgetting it already. Conway said, ‘Not our girl.’

‘Nah.’

She didn’t say it. I had to. ‘Took me a while to get off the ground.’

Conway nodded. ‘Yeah. Not your fault. I steered you wrong.’

She’d gone absent, eyes narrowed on something.

I said, ‘I think I got it right in the end. No harm done, that I could see.’

‘Maybe not,’ Conway said. ‘This fucking place. Trips you up every time you turn around. Whatever you do, turns out it was the wrong call.’

Julia Harte. Conway didn’t brief me on her, not after how Rebecca had gone, but I knew as soon as Julia walked in the door she was the boss of that outfit. Short, with dark curly hair fighting a ponytail. A bit more weight on her than the rest, a few more curves, a walk that showed them. Not pretty – roundy face, bump on her nose – but a good chin, small chin with plenty of stubborn, and good eyes: hazel, long-lashed, direct and smart as hell. No glance at the Secret Place, but there wouldn’t have been either way, not with this one.

‘Detective Conway,’ she said. Nice voice, deeper than most girls’, more controlled. Made her sound older. ‘Did you miss us that much?’

A smart-arse. That can work for us, work nicely. Smart-arses talk when they shouldn’t, say anything as long as it’ll come out good and snappy.

Conway pointed at the chair. Julia sat down, crossed her knees. Looked me up, looked me down.

I said, ‘I’m Stephen Moran. Julia Harte, right?’

‘At your service. What can I do for you?’

Smart-arses want a chance to be smart. ‘You tell me. Anything you think I should know?’

‘About what?’

‘You pick.’ And I grinned at her, like we were old sparring partners who’d missed each other.

Julia grinned back. ‘Don’t eat the yellow snow. Never play leapfrog with a unicorn.’

Ten seconds in, and it was a conversation, not an interview. The boy was back in town. I felt Conway ease back on the table; felt the whoosh of relief go through me.

‘I’ll make a note of that,’ I said. ‘Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me what you did yesterday evening? Start with first study period.’

Julia sighed. ‘Here I was hoping we could talk about something interesting. Any reason why we’re going for, like, the most boring thing in the world?’

I said, ‘You’ll get your info once I’ve got mine. Maybe. Till then, no fishing.’

Twitch of her mouth, appreciative. ‘Deal. Here you go: boring storytime.’

The same story as Rebecca’s: the art project, the key, the forgotten picture and the toilet breaks and the chalk, the too busy to look at the board. No mismatches. It was true, or they were good.

I brought out the photo. Did the fingertip flip. ‘Have you put up any cards in the Secret Place?’

Julia snorted. ‘Jesus, no. Not my thing.’

‘No?’

Her eye on the photo. ‘Truly, madly, deeply no.’

‘So you didn’t put up this one.’

‘Um, since I didn’t put up any of them, I’m going to go with no?’

I held out the photo. Julia took it. Blank-faced, all set up to give away nothing.

She turned the photo towards her and went still. The whole room went still.

Then she shrugged. Handed the photo back to me, almost tossed it.

‘You’ve met Joanne Heffernan, right? If you find anything she won’t do for attention, I’d love to hear it. It probably involves YouTube and a German shepherd.’ Squeak from Houlihan. Julia’s eyes went to her and flicked away again, insta-bored.

‘Julia,’ I said. ‘Messing aside, just for a sec. If this was you, we need to know.’

‘I actually do know serious when I see it. That was totally, one hundred per cent not me.’

Julia wasn’t out. Almost out; not quite. ‘You figure Joanne’s behind it?’

Another shrug. ‘The only people you had waiting outside the office were us and Joanne’s little poodles – plus you’re asking about yesterday evening, so it has to be someone who was in the school then. It wasn’t us, so that leaves them. And the other three don’t scratch their arses unless Joanne says they can. ’Scuse my language.’

I said, ‘How come you’re so sure none of your mates put this up?’

‘Because. I know them.’

An echo of that note that had rung through Rebecca’s voice. That signal-flash again, so bright it almost hurt my eyes. Something different. Something rare.

I shook my head. ‘You don’t know them inside out. Trust me. Doesn’t happen.’

Julia looked back at me. One eyebrow raised:
Is there a question here?

I could feel Conway, hot. Holding back.

I said, ‘Tell us. You have to have thought about who killed Chris. What’s your guess?’

‘Colm’s guys. His friends. They’re the type who’d think it was totally hilarious to climb in here to play some joke – steal something, paint “SLUTS” on a wall, whatever. And they’re the type who’d think it was a wonderful idea to start messing about in the dark with sticks and rocks and anything else dangerous they could find. Someone got a little overexcited, and
.
.
.’

Julia spread her hands. Same gesture as Rebecca. Same story as Rebecca, almost word for word. They’d talked it over.

I said, ‘Yeah, we heard something about Colm’s boys spray-painting a picture on the grass, a few years back. Was that Chris and his mates?’

‘Who knows. They didn’t get caught, whoever they were. Personally, I’d say no. We were in first year when that happened, so Chris would’ve been in second year. I don’t think a bunch of second-years would’ve had the guts.’

‘What was the picture of?’

Another squeak from Houlihan. Julia threw her a finger-wave. ‘Scientifically speaking, a great big penis and testicles. They’re such imaginative boys, over at Colm’s.’

I said, ‘Any reason you think that’s what happened to Chris?’

‘Who, me? I’m just guessing. I leave the detecting to the professionals.’ Batted her eyelashes at me, chin tucked down, watched for a reaction. Not sexy, not Gemma. Mocking. ‘Can I go?’

I said, ‘You’re in some hurry to get back to class. Studious type, yeah?’

‘Don’t I look like a good little schoolgirl to you?’

Little pout, mock-provocative. Still nudging for that reaction.

I said, ‘Tell me one thing about Chris. One thing that mattered.’

Julia dropped the pout. She thought, eyes down. She thought like an adult: taking her time, not worried about letting us wait.

In the end she said, ‘Chris’s dad is a banker. He’s rich. Very, very rich.’

‘And?’

‘And that’s probably the most important thing I can tell you about Chris.’

‘He was flash with it? Always had the best stuff, used it to pull rank?’

Slow head-shake, click of her tongue. ‘Nothing like that. He was a lot less of a show-off than most of his friends. But he
had
it. Always. And first. No waiting for Christmas or his birthday. He wanted it, he had it.’

Conway moved. Said, ‘Sounds like you knew Chris’s gang pretty well.’

‘I didn’t have much choice. Colm’s is like two minutes away, we do all kinds of activities together. We see each other.’

‘Ever go out with any of them?’

‘God, give me some credit. No.’

‘You got a boyfriend?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Julia’s eyebrow arching. ‘Since I’m such a total babe? All we meet is Colm’s guys, and I’m holding out for someone who can actually have conversations in words of more than one syllable. I’m so picky.’

Conway said, ‘OK. You can go. You think of anything, you ring us.’

I passed Julia my card. She took it. Didn’t stand up.

She said, ‘Can I ask you for a piece of that info? Now that I’ve been such a good girl and given you all mine.’

‘Go for it,’ I said. ‘Can’t swear I’ll answer, but go ahead and ask.’

‘How did you hear about that card?’

‘How do you think?’

‘Ah,’ Julia said. ‘I guess you did warn me. It’s been fun, Detectives. See you around.’

She stood up, automatically gave her waistband a quick roll so her skirt came above her knees. Walked out, without waiting for Houlihan.

I said, once Houlihan had skittered after her, ‘The card was a shock.’

‘That or she’s good,’ Conway said. She was still watching the door, tapping her pen off her notebook. ‘And she’s good.’

Selena Wynne.

All gold and bloom. Huge sleepy blue eyes, cream-and-rosy face, full soft mouth. Blond hair – the real thing – curling in short raggedy ringlets like a little boy’s. Nowhere near fat – Joanne had been talking out of her hole – but she had curves, soft round ones, made her look older than sixteen. Lovely, Selena was; the kind of lovely that couldn’t last. You could see that somewhere this summer, maybe even this afternoon, this was the loveliest she’d ever be.

You don’t want to notice this stuff on a kid, your mind wants to jump away. But it matters, same as it would on a grown woman. Changes every day of her life. So you notice. Scrape the greasy feeling off your mind whatever way you can.

Posh girls’ school: lovely and safe, I’d’ve thought, if I’d thought. Beats a council estate where buses won’t go. But I was starting to see it, out of the corner of my eye: the shimmer in the air that says
danger
. Not aimed at me personally, no more than it would’ve been in that estate, but there.

Selena stood in the doorway, swinging the door back and forth like a little kid. Gazing at us.

Behind her Houlihan murmured, trying to nudge Selena forward. Selena didn’t notice. She said, to Conway, ‘I remember you.’