Читать книгу Blackbird - N.D. Gomes - Страница 8

‘What time did you last see your sister on the night of the thirty-first?’

The room is cold, dimly lit, in the police station in Stenness near the Barnhouse Settlement. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and tuck them between my legs. How long have I been here? Is it still morning? Why am I here? I don’t know anything. I can’t share anything. I’m as in the dark as them.

I can feel my eyelids twitching, but I can’t stop it. I try opening them a little wider.

‘Alexandra?’

‘Alex.’

‘Alex, what time did you last see your sister on the night of the thirty-first?’ The police officer shifts in his seat like he’s uncomfortable, but his eyes never leave my face. Maybe he’s the reason my eyes are twitching. I remember him from yesterday. I remember the expression on his face.

‘Detective Birkens, is it?’ I cautiously ask.

‘Detective Inspector Birkens. I’ll be leading the investigation into your sister’s whereabouts. We met yesterday, very briefly.’

‘I remember.’

‘Sorry I had to get you up so early today.’

My body weighs heavily in the chair beneath me. My eyelids are starting to drop. It really is cold in here. There’s a breeze coming in from somewhere. The detective doesn’t seem to notice. What is the difference between a policeman and a detective anyway? Should I ask him?

‘Are you OK? Do you want anything to drink – water, tea, a Coke?’

No, I just want to go home.

The door clicks open and the younger policeman from yesterday steps into the room. He closes the door behind him, and leans against the wall by the doorframe. Now he’s watching me too. Everyone is.

‘Where are my mum and dad?’ I eventually ask.

‘They’re in the next room. They’re talking to another police officer.’

‘Why are we here?’

‘Because it’s been over twenty-four hours since Olivia was initially reported missing, so it’s now treated as a missing persons case.’

‘Case?’

‘It’s just a formality,’ smiles the younger policeman.

The detective inspector turns to him then looks back at me. ‘So back to Hogmanay evening,’ he says.

‘We ate dinner together.’

‘What time was this?’

‘Around half past five–’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Me, Olivia, Mum and Dad.’

This chair is really uncomfortable. I arch my back for some relief then try to settle back into the frame. There needs to be a cushion or something on the base.

I want to go home.

‘How would you describe the atmosphere at dinner?’ he says, looking up from his notepad.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was there tension?’

‘Tension between who?’

‘Between her and your father, or between her and your mother . . . or between you and her?’

‘We didn’t fight, if that’s what you mean.’

‘And your parents?’

‘No, nothing like that. Dinner was normal. We ate at the dining table, talked about normal stuff – work, school, friends, then she went upstairs to shower and get dressed; while Mum and I washed up and dried the dishes.’

We always ate together on Hogmanay evening, even if everyone had plans. We sat down together for one last time before the old year ended and a new one began. That time was special to us. This year, Olivia helped cook a roast with my dad. She chopped the potatoes and carrots, while my dad made a glaze and tied the meat together with twine. I don’t know why he did that. But it tasted good in the end.

My sister and my dad are really close. They enjoyed cooking together, while I preferred to set the table. They go for walks together while I stayed home.

They watched movies on the sofa together, while I read in my bedroom. My dad was devastated when Olivia told him she was moving to London, like he was losing his best friend. I was still going to be here. But that didn’t seem to be enough for him.

‘And where was your father during this?’

‘He was upstairs in the bedroom or his work study, I think.’

‘Did your parents go out on Hogmanay?’

‘They went to the Legion for their annual dinner and dance. They go every year.’

‘What time did they leave the house?’

‘After Olivia left. Maybe around quarter to seven?’

‘Olivia went straight to Emily Morrison’s house?’

‘That’s what she said she was going to do.’ My throat feels warm, the words hot in my mouth. Does he know I’m lying?

He looks at me for a moment too long, like he knows.

‘And your parents?’

‘Yes?’

‘When did you see them next?’

‘At home, the next morning.’

‘And you?’

‘I was at home. Olivia and I were supposed to watch a movie together around ten . . . after she got back from Emily’s. We were going to ring in the New Year together this year. I’d bought –’

‘Ten, you said?’

‘– Popcorn.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, never mind. Yes, ten.’

He scribbles in his notepad then looks up at me again.

‘Did you see the headline about the blackbirds?’ I ask, feeling my palms start to sweat.

‘No.’ He clears his throat and slides the notebook on the table in front of him. ‘And what did you do at home before ten?’

‘Before?’ Oh no. ‘I told you, I just stayed in,’ I say, fidgeting with the bottom of my shirt. I loop the fabric around my finger, feel it stretch beyond its limits.

‘Alone?’

Why is he asking me all these questions?

‘Yes, alone.’

‘Alex.’

‘What?’

‘You wouldn’t be the only fifteen-year-old who drank alcohol on Hogmanay with their friends while their parents were out the house.’

‘I didn’t do that.’ I shrug, glancing up at the door. Is he sure they can’t hear us?

He leans back in his chair and crosses his leg over his knee. He’s waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to confess all my sins. ‘I’m not going to arrest you for lying to your parents.’

‘OK fine, I wasn’t alone all night. Andy and Siobhan came by.’

‘What time?’

‘After everyone had left, so around seven.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘We watched telly until around half-past nine or quarter to ten.’

He doesn’t believe me. He knows I’m lying. I’m going to get in trouble and be grounded for the next ten years of my life.

‘I’m not here to arrest you for underage drinking. I’m just trying to get an idea of where everyone is when Olivia goes missing. Whatever you say won’t get back to your mum and dad. Understand?’

I nod, and relax my shoulders. ‘Exactly what you said – we drank alcohol while my parents were out of the house.’

‘Who brought the alcohol?’

‘Nobody. My dad has a stash of beers in the garage. He wouldn’t notice any were missing, and if he did he would never ask me because then he would know that I know that he drinks beer in the garage when Mum isn’t looking.’

‘She doesn’t like him drinking?’

‘She put him on a diet earlier this year. He has diabetes.’

He nods, and writes something down on his notepad. I lean my body a little to the left to try and see what he’s writing but then he scoops up the cover and places it over the pad.

‘And how many beers did you have?’

‘Just one –’

He raises his eyebrows and looks at me, waiting.

‘OK, more than that. Maybe three.’

‘Last question.’

Thank god. ‘OK.’

‘If your sister was upset about something – and I’m not saying she is – where would she go?’

‘You mean, like a secret hiding place? You think she’s hiding somewhere?’

‘Maybe.’

‘She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t want to scare us like that.’

‘Even if she was upset, maybe even scared?’

Why would my sister be scared? Was she in trouble and she never told me? Who’s scaring her?

‘Her boyfriend’s house –’

‘James MacIntosh, right?’

‘Yes. Her friend Emily’s, the dance studio where she takes classes – they have an open studio in the afternoons when anyone can go – the library, the Ring –’

‘– of Brodgar?’ asks the younger policeman.

‘She likes that, especially around sunrise, before the tourists come, of course,’ I smile.

‘Of course,’ he says.

Birkens is writing in his pad again. His hand must be sore from all the writing. ‘Sunrise? That’s early.’

‘She always wakes up earlier. She doesn’t like to sleep late. Not like me. I can sleep all day. Olivia likes to go for a walk in the mornings.’

‘Where?’

‘Down to the Ring, along the loch, through the woods by Binscarth Farm – there’s a little trail there. My dad sometimes goes with her, you should ask him.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He rises from the chair, pushing it back gently on the wooden floor. ‘Thank you, Alex. Your mum and dad are waiting outside.’

As he starts towards the door, I call after him. ‘Will Olivia be in trouble when she comes home?’

He doesn’t turn for a while, just looks straight ahead towards the other policeman or maybe beyond him. Slowly he turns to face me and has a forced smile on his face. ‘No, she won’t be in any trouble.’ He gestures towards the closed door.

When I leave the conference room, Mum and Dad are waiting for me in the lobby of the station. They both stand up when I come out.

‘Everything OK?’ Mum asks, as she gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. She hates seeing me with my hair across my face. She likes it up off my face, in a bun or a French braid like Olivia’s.

‘What did they ask you?’ says Dad, as he digs his car keys out from his jeans pocket.

‘Just about Hogmanay night.’

‘Well, let’s get home,’ my mum says, as she wraps her arm around me and nudges me towards the exit.

Walking over, I grab the knob but don’t turn it. I have to ask them something, and I have to see their faces when I ask it. ‘She’s just staying at a friend’s, right? We’ll find her?’

My mum nods but my dad doesn’t say anything. He’s not looking at me so I wait for him to say the words.

‘Yeah, sure. We’ll find her,’ he eventually says.

When we reach the house, my dad drops us at the front door. He tells us to go inside and lock the door. He’s going to get some posters printed with my sister’s face on them.

She’s going to be so embarrassed when she comes back.

Scooping up the phone directory, my mum disappears into the living room to start calling people. I think she’s called everyone by now.

No one’s seen Olivia.

No one knows where she is.

The house seems bigger to me now for some reason. And colder. A shiver shoots up my spine, and I hug myself to keep warm. I shuffle over to the wood burner and load some logs into the furnace. Lighter in hand, I search around for some newspaper to scrunch up. Sliding a paper out from under the TV remote, I kneel back down in front of the furnace and begin ripping pages off. I make only three paper strips to burn with the logs when something catches my eye. Lifting the paper up to my eyes, my sister’s name stares back at me. There she is.

Underneath her name is one word, in bold capitals: MISSING. That’s all she is now. Missing. She’s the missing girl from the Orkneys. The missing persons case that’s rocked this small community. That’s what the paper is saying.

Olivia.

Where are you?

Come home before this gets any worse.