Читать книгу Her Deadly Secret - Chris Curran - Страница 7

Joe

The thought that kept going around in Joe’s brain was that this didn’t happen to families like theirs. He knew that his little girl, his Lily, was gone. Murdered. He’d identified her body. But, no matter how many times he told himself it was true, his mind refused to understand.

Once or twice in the past, a past that seemed so remote he’d begun to think of it as before, he had asked himself how people coped in a situation like this. He’d imagined the parents would cling together, support each other.

But this was nothing like that.

Hannah was pumped so full of tranquilizers and sleeping pills, she was either a hump in the bed he dared not touch, or a ragged-haired zombie, smelling of coffee and sweat. When he tried to talk to her, suggested a drink, some food, or a warm bath, she looked right through him and turned to whisper something to that bloody Loretta – the FLO, as she called herself. Then Loretta would smile her fake smile, saying, oh so kindly, ‘Maybe just leave her for now, Joe,’ making him feel even more like a spare part.

And there was no peace, no quiet; no time to take in what had happened; to turn the nightmare into reality. Every day, and well into the evenings, there were people outside. Teenagers bringing flowers and even balloons. He watched from the window of the spare bedroom as the girls clutched each other and dabbed tears from under their eyes.

The phone rang constantly, and he thanked God for caller ID. He begged his mum to stay away for now, told her they were coping and there was nothing she could do. And he could tell she was relieved. She’d never really got on with Hannah, never accepted Lily as a proper granddaughter. His brother, Dave, sent texts and emails. Obviously, didn’t want to talk, but Joe couldn’t blame him – what could he say that would help?

The police asked to search the house and, of course, there was no question of refusing. The place was filled with them for hours. Watching them go through Lily’s room was the worst and, when Hannah saw them, she started up with that groaning again.

He didn’t even try to go to her this time. Let her precious Loretta deal with it. She took Hannah downstairs, made yet more coffee, and went through the photo albums with her again. It seemed to help Hannah, although how she could bear to look at them he didn’t understand.

He stood at the door of Lily’s room while they searched. They looked through her clothes, even in her pockets, took out the drawers, pulled back the covers on her bed. That was when he wanted to punch someone. To tell them to leave her alone.

At least they left it tidy and, when they’d gone, he went in and smoothed the wrinkles out of the duvet. Sat on the bed and picked up her pillow, holding it close. Then he remembered seeing someone do that in a film and almost laughed at himself for being so corny. And for a moment, the great chunk of something that had been hurting his chest all this time surged into his throat. But even as the tears came he stopped them, squeezing the pillow into a hard lump. If he let go he would lose control.

So he sat there crushing the pillow that still smelled of her and staring at nothing. All the time keeping out the image he must never let himself see again. Lily, as she was now.

They wouldn’t say much about how she died; only that she wasn’t raped – thank God. But he imagined all sorts, and even thinking about how the doctors must have pulled her about was horrible.

Loretta had been there, of course. Watching him when he identified the body. Noting down his reactions, no doubt. But he had simply looked at the face that was and wasn’t Lily. It certainly wasn’t his cheeky laughing girl who loved his special cheese on toast and was always trying different hair dos. He stood, staring, numb and yet aware of being watched. And suddenly, horrifically, he’d wanted to giggle. He’d fought to keep it down, gritted his teeth and pressed his lips together until he was able to look up and nod that, yes, this was his daughter.

As he put the pillow down, smoothing it carefully, he realized Loretta was watching him again, leaning on the wall outside the door. She laid a warm hand on his arm as he slid past, but said nothing. He didn’t speak either. If he did she would probably write it down in that fucking notebook of hers.

That was what made him so angry. He couldn’t even tell Hannah to be careful about what she said. She must think bloody Loretta was just there to help them. But she was police, the same as Philips and the rest, and she was watching them all the time. Reporting on everything.

He went into the spare room – the only place he could escape to. It was empty apart from a sofa bed, so the police hadn’t spent as long in there and it felt less contaminated somehow. The venetian blinds meant he could see the street without being seen.

After the first few nights the group of reporters and cameras had thinned out. Lily wasn’t top of the news bulletins anymore, and his mum said the papers had gone quiet too. More important things to focus on: celebrities and football.

Loretta was outside talking to a group of girls. The ones who seemed to have nothing better to do than hang around all day. Probably hoping they’d get their faces in the paper or even an interview on TV. As if none of this was real. As if Lily wasn’t lying back there in the morgue, cold and all alone. He told himself not to be mean: they were Lily’s friends. Trying to show they cared; trying to make sense of it.

Loretta

Right now, Loretta hated her job. She had trained as an FLO because she thought she was good with people, and it was always useful to have an extra qualification. Also, her kids were happier when she was out of uniform. What she hadn’t bargained for was the way, when you were working with a family, it set you apart. She had no reason to spend much time at the station. When she was there hardly anybody bothered to talk to her or ask her how it was going. They seemed to think she was onto a cushy number. ‘Sitting about drinking tea all day,’ was how she’d overheard that bitch Maggie describe it.

And this was her first murder as an FLO. It had come as a surprise when they’d found a body, because with a 14-year-old you expected the girl to come back, shamefaced, after a couple of days hiding out.

But there had been something wrong with the atmosphere inside that house from the start. The parents both seemed sure the worst had happened on the very first night. And the mother, Hannah, well, she was something else. Loretta knew she should feel more sorry for her – the poor woman had lost her only child for fuck’s sake – but it was difficult when she was so cut off. So cold.

At least she whispered the occasional word to Loretta. A lot more than the husband got. Hannah still blanked him completely, which was curious. The most likely explanation was always going to be that he had something to do with it, so she probably had good reason to reject him, but for now they had to keep him sweet. It stuck in Loretta’s throat to be pleasant when she let herself imagine the possible scenarios, but that was the job.

Hannah was asleep again – out of it with all the stuff the doc had given her. It was obvious Joe wasn’t going to be forthcoming either, and DCI Philips had suggested she try to talk to some of the kids hanging around outside, so she had the excuse she needed to get out for a bit.

As she closed the front door behind her silence fell. The kids lounging in small groups looked studiously away. She strolled out, mimicking their pretence of indifference. A lanky boy of thirteen or so in a school sweatshirt and grey trousers elbowed his smaller friend, who turned to stare at her. Then, very deliberately, the smaller boy placed a cigarette between his lips, head to one side, daring her to do something.

When she ignored them, and approached the three girls nearest the gate, the taller lad shouted, in a voice hoarse with puberty, ‘He’s too young to smoke, ya know, Miss. Tell him, Miss.’

An eruption of honking laughter and the two began punching each other, the smoker yelling in a still squeaky treble, ‘It’s constable, you dork, not Miss – she’s fuckin’ police and I’m brickin’ it. She’s gonna arrest me cos of you, you wanker.’

Loretta caught the eye of one of the girls who looked heavenwards and mouthed, ‘Idiots.’ The other two nodded, and she had her way in.

‘Well, that’s lads for you, isn’t it? Don’t mature until they’re forty or so. If then.’

‘Yeah, right.’ This from the blonde girl who’d spoken. She gave the boys a scornful look, shaking her head, and hooking one bare leg behind the other so that her short navy skirt stretched over plump thighs.

The other two stayed silent, looking at the boys with eyes that fired shards of ice before turning the same cold gazes onto Loretta. She walked away and began reading the cards and bits of damp paper on the flowers and the balloons attached to the fence and the gateposts.

Lily, can’t believe you’re gone.

One more angel in heaven.

Missing you, babe.

All the usual stuff. Then, without turning, she said, ‘You were friends of Lily’s.’ It was better to make it a statement rather than a question. Hope they’d assume she knew already.

‘Monique was her best mate.’ Again, it was the blonde talking. Her head jerked to one side, indicating the tall, dark girl who was pulling threads from the zip of a bag on her shoulder that bulged with coloured folders and files. Blondie again, ‘Go on, Mon, tell her.’

Monique looked up through a curtain of dark strands. ‘We started at St Mary’s together.’ She had an unusually deep voice for such a thin girl, seemed shy but sensible, and for some reason, Loretta was reminded of her own daughter, Pearl. Pearl, at 16, was more assured. But then, her friend hadn’t just been murdered.

‘The primary? You were – what – 4, 5?’

The girl nodded, staring at the ground, still pulling those threads, and scraping the toe of one shoe on the pavement.

‘I’m sorry. You must miss her.’

Another nod, but something else was going on here. The other two girls exchanged a glance. Looked from Monique to Loretta. The third one, small and pretty, with mousy hair streaked with one or two fake strands of bright red, elbowed Monique, who shrugged and shot a fierce glance at her, letting out a flamboyant, ‘Ow,’ as she rubbed her arm.

‘What?’ Loretta made the question light, smiling and looking from one to the other.

They didn’t speak. Blondie shrugged and crossed her arms, as if it was nothing to do with her. The other girl looked at Monique still scraping the pavement.

It probably was nothing, schoolgirl gossip or fantasy, but she needed to clear it up, in case it came out later that she’d missed something. They’d love that down at the station, Maggie and her crew. She turned as if to go, her voice even lighter, unconcerned. ‘OK.’

This was too much for blondie. ‘Go on, Monique, tell her.’

Take it easy now. Get her confidence. ‘If there’s anything at all then you should tell me. You won’t get in trouble, and Lily would want you to help us. You know that, don’t you?’ For a moment, she almost mentioned Lily’s mum and dad, but, of course, whatever the girl was revving up to say might be about them – or one of them, at least.

Monique shuffled and twitched and the other two closed in, arms around her back, heads close to hers. She looked up and her lips were pressed tight together, the soft little chin wobbling. ‘It’s just – well – we didn’t. You know, we weren’t, anymore.’

‘You weren’t friends anymore?’

‘No. Well, not really.’ Her eyes dropped again and a tear ran down her cheek.

‘So you fell out? You had a fight?’

Silence. Monique was crying lumpy sobs from deep in her chest, and blondie could stand it no longer. ‘She didn’t want to see none of us. It was that boyfriend, that Samuel. That’s all she was interested in.’

‘Do you know this boy’s other name?’

Scrabbling in her bag for a tissue Monique shook her head.

And Loretta looked at the others. ‘What about you two?’

Blondie again. ‘Nah. Lily didn’t talk about him. Just stopped going around with us, but I saw them together, once, and asked her who he was. She said his name was Samuel.’

‘So he doesn’t go to your school?’

Monique crossed her arms tight over her chest and looked at Loretta with big brown eyes. They were red-rimmed but looked more angry than unhappy. ‘He don’t go to school at all. He’s with that mad lot – The Children, or whatever they call themselves.’

‘Do you mean the commune that runs a farm out in the country? The Children of Light?’ From what Loretta had heard they were some kind of semi-religious sect.

Blondie said, ‘Yeah, those nutters. Hardly talked to us after she got with them.’