The Secret Place

Chapter 9

Rebecca O’Mara, in the art-room doorway, hovering on one foot with the other wrapped round her ankle. Long dark-brown hair in a ponytail, soft and straggly, no straighteners here. Maybe an inch taller than Holly; skinny, not scary-skinny but definitely could have done with a pizza. Not pretty – face still catching up with her features – but it was coming soon. Wide brown eyes, on Conway, wary. No glance at the Secret Place.

If Rebecca was low on the old confidence, the old self-esteem, I could bring that. Give it the sweet big brother, looking for help with the important adventure and shy Little Sis is the special one who can save the day.

‘Rebecca, yeah?’ I said. Smiled, not too big, just easy and natural. ‘Thanks for coming in. Have a seat.’

She didn’t move. Houlihan had to dodge past her, scurry off to her corner. ‘It’s about Chris Harper. Isn’t it?’

Not scarlet and tangled up this time, but her voice was barely over a whisper. I said, ‘I’m Stephen Moran – maybe Holly’s mentioned me along the way, has she? She gave me a hand with some stuff, a few years back?’

Rebecca looked at me properly, for the first time. Nodded.

I held out a hand at the chair, and she pulled herself out of the doorway and came. That gangly teenage half-prance, like it was only the heavy shoes bringing her feet back to the ground. She sat down, tied her legs in a knot. Wrapped her hands in her skirt.

Sucking feeling in my chest, like water draining: let-down. From knowing Holly, from Conway saying Just something, from all that wide-eyed shite about freaks and witches, I’d been expecting these to be more than the last lot. This was just Alison over again, a bundle of fidgety fears wrapped in a grow-into-it skirt.

I let my spine go loose like a teenager’s, knees everywhere, and gave Rebecca another smile. Rueful, this one. ‘I need a hand again. I’m good at my job, I swear, but every now and then I need someone to help me out or I’ll get nowhere. I’ve got a feeling maybe you might be able to do that for me. Would you give it a shot, yeah?’

Rebecca said, ‘Is it about Chris?’

Not too shy to dig in her heels a bit. I made a face. ‘I’ve gotta tell you, I’m still trying to work out what it’s about. Why? Has something happened to do with Chris, yeah?’

She shook her head. ‘I just…’ Gesture at Conway, with the bundle of hands and skirt. Conway was picking her nails with the cap of her Biro, didn’t look up. ‘I mean, because she’s here. I thought…’

‘We’ll try and figure it out together. OK?’

I shot her the warm crinkly smile. Got a blank look back.

I said, ‘So let’s start with yesterday evening. First study period: where were you?’

After a moment Rebecca said, ‘The fourth-year common room. We have to be.’

‘And then?’

‘We get our break. Me and my friends, we went outside and sat on the grass for a while.’

Her voice was still a scraped-down wisp, but it got stronger on that. Me and my friends.

I said, ‘Which friends? Holly and Julia and Selena, yeah?’

‘Yeah. And some others. Most of us went out. It was warm.’

‘And then you had second study period. You were here in the art room?’

‘Yeah. With Holly and Julia and Selena.’

‘How do you go about getting permission to spend a study period here? Like who asked who, and when? Sorry, I’m a bit…’ I did shrug, head-duck, sheepish grin. ‘I’m new on this. Don’t know the ropes yet.’

More blank. Great with the young people, me, I’ll get them relaxed, I’ll get them talking… Lovely Big Bro was striking out.

Conway was squinting at a thumbnail against the light. Missing nothing.

Rebecca said, ‘We ask Miss Arnold – she’s the matron. Julia went and asked her day before yesterday, at teatime. We wanted to go for first study, but someone was already going then, so Miss Arnold said to go for second study instead. They don’t like too many people being in the school after hours.’

‘So at break yesterday evening, yous got the key to the connecting door off the other girls who’d been up here?’

‘No. We’re not allowed to pass it around. Whoever signs the key out has to sign it back in, when they said they would. So the other girls gave it back to Miss Arnold, and then we went and got it off her.’

‘Who did that?’

I saw the instant where a streak of fear flew bright across Rebecca’s face, and she thought about lying. No reason why she should, nothing there that could get her in trouble as far as I could see, but that was where she turned all the same. Conway was right about this one, anyway: a liar, at least when she was scared; at least when something pulled her separate from her friends, put her in the spotlight all alone.

Not stupid, though, scared or not. Took her half a second to realise there was no point. She said, ‘Me.’

I nodded like I’d noticed nothing. ‘And then yous came up to the art room. All four of you together, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘We have this project.’ She untangled one hand from her skirt, pointed at a table by the windows: bulky shape under a paint-spattered dropcloth. ‘Selena was doing calligraphy, and Holly was grinding up chalk for snow, and Julia and I were mostly making stuff out of copper wire. We’re doing the school a hundred years ago – it’s art and history together. It’s complicated.’

‘Sounds it. So you put in the extra time,’ I said. Approving. ‘Whose idea was that?’

The approval did nothing for Rebecca. ‘Everyone’s needed to use study time on the project. We did last week, too.’

Which could have been when someone’s light bulb switched on. ‘Yeah? Whose idea was it to come back last night?’

‘I don’t even remember. We all knew we needed to.’

‘And did all of yous stay here the whole time, till nine? Or did anyone go out of the room?’

Rebecca unwrapped her hands from her skirt and tucked them under her thighs. I was lobbing the questions fast and she was still wound tight and wary, and getting warier all the time, but the wariness was scattergun stuff, general cover; she didn’t know where to point it. Unless she was good or I was thick, she didn’t know about the card.

‘Only for like a minute.’

‘Who went where?’

Fine dark eyebrows pulled down. Brown eyes ticking back and forth between me and Conway.

Conway traced over table graffiti with her Biro. I waited.

‘How come?’ Rebecca asked. ‘How come you need to know?’

I left a silence. Rebecca matched it. All those thin elbows and knees looked like sharp corners, not so frail any more.

Conway had got her far wrong, or a year had taken her a long way. Rebecca wasn’t looking for a confidence boost, wasn’t looking for me or anyone to make her feel special. She wasn’t Alison, wasn’t Orla. I was going wrong.

Conway’s head had come up. She was watching me.

I binned the easy slouch, straightened my spine. Leaning forward, hands clasped between my knees. Adult to adult.

‘Rebecca,’ I said. Different voice, direct and serious. ‘There are going to be things I can’t tell you. And I’m going to sit here asking you to tell me everything you know just the same. I know that’s unfair. But if Holly’s ever said anything about me, I’m hoping she’s told you that I’m not going to treat you like an idiot or a baby. If I can answer your questions, I’ll do it. Give me the same respect. Fair enough?’

You can hear when you hit the right note, hear the ring of it. Rebecca’s chin lost the stubborn tilt; some of the wariness in her spine shifted to readiness. ‘Yeah,’ she said, after a moment. ‘OK.’

Conway quit messing with her Biro. Sat still, ready to write.

‘Grand,’ I said. ‘So. Who left the art room?’

‘Julia went back to our room, to get one of our old photos that we’d forgotten. I went to the toilet; I think so did Selena. Holly went to get chalk – we ran out of white, so she went and got more. I think from the science lab.’

‘Do you remember what times? What order?’

Rebecca said, ‘We were in the building the whole time. We didn’t even go off this floor, except Julia and she was only gone like a minute.’

I said gently, ‘No one’s saying you did anything wrong. I’m only trying to work out what you might have seen or heard.’

‘We didn’t. See or hear anything. Any of us. We had the radio on, and we just did our project and then went back to the boarders’ wing. And we all left together. In case you were going to ask.’

Spark of defiance in there at the end, chin going up again.

‘And you gave the key back to Miss Arnold.’

‘Yeah. At nine. You can check.’ We would. I didn’t say it.

I took out the photo.

Rebecca’s eyes hit it like magnets. I kept it facing me, did the flip back and forth against a fingertip. Rebecca tried to crane her neck without moving.

I said, ‘On your way here last night, you passed the Secret Place. You passed it again on your way to the toilet and back. And again when you left at the end of the evening. Right?’

That pulled her eyes away from the photo, back to me. Wide eyes, on guard, riffling through wild guesses. ‘Yeah.’

‘Did you stop for a look, any of those times?’

‘No.’

I gave it the scepticals.

‘We were in a hurry. At first we were working on the project, and then I had to get the key back on time. We weren’t thinking about the Secret Place. Why?’ One hand coming out from under her leg, uncurling towards the photo; long thin fingers, she was going to be tall. ‘Is that–’

‘The secrets on there. Any of them yours?’

‘No.’

No beat beforehand, no split-second decision. No lie.

‘Why not? You don’t have secrets? Or you keep them to yourself?’

Rebecca said, ‘I’ve got friends. I tell them my secrets. I don’t need to go around telling the whole school. Even anonymously.’

Her head had gone up; her voice had filled out all of a sudden, rang through the sunlight to the corners of the room. She was proud.

I said, ‘Do you figure your friends tell you all their secrets, too?’

A beat there; quarter of a second when her lips opened and nothing came out. Then she said, ‘I know everything about them.’

Still that ring in her voice, like joy. A lift to her mouth that was almost a smile.

I felt it change my breathing. Right there, a flash like a signal: the something else I’d been looking for. Burning hotter, throwing off sparks in strange colours.

Not the same thing, Conway had said; not the same as Joanne’s lot. No shit.

I said, ‘And you all keep each other’s secrets. You’d never rat the others out.’

‘No. None of us would. Ever.’

‘So,’ I said, ‘this isn’t yours?’ Photo into Rebecca’s hand.

Breath and a high whimper came out of her. Her mouth was open.

‘Someone put that on the Secret Place yesterday evening. Was it you?’

All of her was sucked into the photo. It took a moment for the question to sink in enough that she said, ‘No.’

Not lying: not enough of her attention was left for it. Another one down.

‘Do you know who did?’

Rebecca hauled herself out of the photo. She said, ‘It wasn’t any of us. Me and my friends.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because none of us know who killed Chris.’

And she put the photo back into my hand. End of story. She was pulled up straight-backed and head high, looking me in the eye, no blink.

I said, ‘Let’s say you had to guess. Had to, no way out. What would you say?’

‘Guess what? Who did the card, or… Chris?’

‘Both.’

Rebecca gave me the blank teenage shrug that sends parents apeshit.

I said, ‘The way you talk about your friends, it sounds like they mean a lot to you. Am I right?’

‘Yeah. They do.’

‘People are going to know the four of you could have had something to do with this card. Fact. No way round that. If I had friends I cared about, I’d do whatever it took to make sure there wasn’t a killer out there thinking they had info on him. Even if it meant answering questions I didn’t like.’

Rebecca thought about that. Carefully.

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.’

‘Same here,’ said Conway. Her glance at me, as she headed back to her chair, said Selena hadn’t clocked the Secret Place. Zero out of seven. Our card girl had self-control. ‘Why don’t you have a seat.’

Selena moved forward. Sat down, obedient and incurious. Examined me like I was a new painting on one of the easels.

I said, ‘I’m Detective Stephen Moran. Selena Wynne, am I right?’

She nodded. Still that gaze, lips parted. No questions, no what’s-this-about, no wariness.

And no point in trying to bond with this one. I could burst my bollix trying, get the same answers as if I’d sent a list of questions by e-mail. Selena wanted nothing from me. She barely knew I was real.

Slow, I thought. Slow or sick or hurt, or whatever this year’s approved words are. The first snip of why Joanne’s lot thought these were freaks.

I said, ‘Can you tell me what you did yesterday evening?’

Same story as the other three, or bits of it. She wasn’t sure who’d asked for permission, who’d left the art room; looked vague at me when I asked if she’d gone to the toilet. Agreed that she might’ve done, but agreed like she was saying it to make me happy, being kind because it didn’t matter to her either way.

She hadn’t looked at the Secret Place, any time during the evening. I asked, ‘Have you put up any cards there?’

Selena shook her head.

‘No? Never?’

‘I don’t really get the Secret Place. I don’t even like reading it.’

‘Why not? You don’t like secrets? Or you figure they should stay secret?’

She wove her fingers together, watched them fascinated, the way babies do. Soft eyebrows pulling together, just a touch. ‘I just don’t like it. It bothers me.’

I said, ‘So this isn’t yours.’ Slapped the photo into her hands.

Her fingers were so loose, the photo fell right through them, spun to the ground. She just watched it fall. I had to pick it up for her.

It got us nothing, this time. Selena held it and gazed at it for so long, not a budge in that sweet peaceful face, I started wondering had she copped what it meant.

‘Chris,’ she said, in the end. I felt Conway twitch, No shit Sherlock.

I said, ‘Someone put that up in the Secret Place. Was it you?’

Selena shook her head.

‘Selena. If it was, you’re not in any trouble. We’re only delighted to have it. But we need to know.’

Another head-shake.

She was mist-smooth, your hand went right through her without touching. No cracks to jimmy, no loose threads to pull. No way in.

I asked, ‘Then who do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know.’ Puzzled look, like I was a weirdo to ask.

‘If you had to guess.’

Selena did her best to come up with something; trying to make me happy again. ‘Maybe it was a joke?’

‘Would any of your friends play a joke like that?’

‘Julia and Holly and Becca? No.’

‘What about Joanne Heffernan and her friends? Would they?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t understand most of what they do.’ The mention of them slid a faint frown across Selena’s forehead, but a second later it had faded.

I said, ‘Who do you think killed Chris Harper?’

Selena thought about that for a long time. Sometimes her lips moved, like she was about to start a sentence but then it fell out of her mind. Conway at my shoulder, sizzling with impatience.

In the end Selena said, ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever going to know.’

Her voice had turned clear, strong. For the first time, she was looking at us like she saw us.

Conway said, ‘Why not?’

‘There are things like that. Where no one ever knows what happened.’

Conway said, ‘Don’t you underestimate us. We’re planning on finding out exactly what happened.’

Selena gazed at her. ‘OK,’ she said, mildly. Passed the photo back to me.

I said, ‘If you had to pick one thing to tell me about Chris, what would it be?’

Selena turned back to vague. Drifted off into the sunlight like the dust-motes, lips parted. I waited.

What felt like a long time later, she said, ‘Sometimes I see him.’

She sounded sad. Not scared, not trying to scare us, impress us, nothing. Just so sad.

Twitch from Houlihan. Sound of Conway clamping back a snort.

I said, ‘Yeah? Where?’

‘Different places. On the second-floor landing, once, sitting on the windowsill texting someone. Running laps around the Colm’s playing field, during a match. Once on the grass outside our window, late at night, throwing a ball up in the air. He’s always doing something. It’s like he’s trying to get all the things done that he’ll never have a chance to do, get them done as fast as he can. Or like he’s still trying to be like the rest of us, like maybe he doesn’t realise…’

A sudden catch of breath that lifted Selena’s chest. ‘Oh,’ she said quietly, on the sigh out. ‘Poor Chris.’

Not slow, not sick. I had practically forgotten even thinking that. Selena did things to the air, slowed it to her pace, tinted it her pearly colours. Brought you with her, strange places.

I said, ‘Any idea why you see him? Were you close, yeah?’

A flash across Selena’s face, as she raised her head. Just that one flash, there and gone in a blink, too fast to catch and hold. Something sharp, shining through the haze like silver.

‘No,’ she said.

That second, I would’ve sworn to two things. Somewhere, down some tangled thread we might never follow, Selena was at the heart of this case. And I was going to get my fight.

I did puzzled. ‘I thought you were going out with him.’

‘No.’

Nothing more.

‘Then why do you think you see him? If you weren’t close.’

Selena said, ‘I haven’t worked that out yet.’

Conway moved again. ‘When you figure it out, you go right ahead and let us know.’

Selena’s eyes shifted to her. ‘OK,’ she said, peaceably.

Conway said, ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

Selena shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want one.’

‘Why not?’

Nothing. Conway said, ‘What happened to your hair?’

Selena lifted a hand to her head, puzzled. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That. I cut it.’

‘How come?’

She considered that. ‘It felt like the right thing.’

Conway said, again, ‘How come?’

Silence. Selena’s mouth had gone loose again. She wasn’t ignoring us; simpler. She had let go of us.

We were done. We gave her our cards, sent her drifting out of the door with Houlihan, no backward glance.

Conway said, ‘Another one we can’t rule out.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Chris Harper’s ghost,’ Conway said, shaking her head, disgusted. ‘For fuck’s sake. And there’s McKenna upstairs, giving herself pats on the back because her and her shrine got rid of all that carry-on. I’d love to tell her, just to see her face.’

And, last of all, Holly.

Holly had changed her angle – for Conway or for Houlihan, no way to tell. She was all good little schoolgirl, straight back, hands folded in front of her. When she came in the door, she practically curtsied.

It occurred to me, a bit late, that I had no clue what Holly wanted off me.

‘Holly,’ I said. ‘You remember Detective Conway. We both really appreciate you bringing in that card.’ Solemn nod from Holly. ‘We’ve just got a few more questions to ask you.’

‘Course. No problem.’ She sat down, crossed her ankles. I swear her eyes had got bigger and bluer.

‘Can you tell us what you did yesterday evening?’

Same story as the other three, only smoother. No nudging needed here, no going back to correct herself. Holly reeled it off like she’d been rehearsing. Probably she had.

I said, ‘Have you ever put any secrets up on the board?’

‘No.’

‘Never?’

Quick spark, the impatient Holly I knew, through all that demure. ‘Secrets are secret. That’s the point. And no way is it totally anonymous, not if someone really wants to track you down. Half the cards up there, everyone knows who they are.’

Daddy’s daughter: watch your back, always. ‘So who do you think put up this card?’

Holly said, ‘You’ve narrowed it down to us and Joanne’s lot.’

‘Say we have. Who would you guess?’

She thought, or pretended to. ‘Well. It obviously wasn’t me or my friends, or I’d have told you already.’

‘You sure you’d know?’

Spark. ‘Yes, I’m sure. OK?’

‘Fair enough. Which of the others would you bet on?’

‘It’s not Joanne, because she’d have made a total incredible drama out of the whole thing – probably she’d have fainted in Assembly and you’d have had to go talk to her in her hospital bed, or whatever. And Orla’s way too stupid to think of this. So that leaves Gemma and Alison. If I have to guess…’

She was loosening, the longer we talked. Conway was staying well out, head down. I said, ‘Go for it.’

‘Well. OK. Gemma thinks her and Joanne run the universe. If she knew something, she probably wouldn’t tell you at all, but if she did, it’d be straight out. With her dad sitting in – he’s a solicitor. So I’d guess Alison. She’s scared of basically everything; if she knew something, she’d never have the guts to go straight to you.’

Holly snatched a glance at Conway, made sure she was writing this down. ‘Or,’ she said. ‘Probably you’ve thought of this. But someone could have got one of Joanne’s gang to put that card up for her.’

‘Would they do it?’

‘Joanne wouldn’t. Or Gemma. Orla totally would, but she’d tell Joanne before she even did it. Alison might. If she did, though,’ Holly added, ‘she won’t tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because. Joanne would be way pissed off if she found out Alison had put up that card and not told her. So she won’t let on.’

This was giving me the head-staggers, keeping it straight who would do what to who if which. Fair play to teenage girls; I’d never have been able for it.

Conway said, ‘If she put it up, we’ll find out.’

Holly nodded gravely. All faith in the big brave detectives, coming along to make everything OK.

I said, ‘What about Chris’s death? Who would you guess was responsible for that?’

I was waiting for the prank-gone-bad story, rattled off nice and neat with Holly’s own fancy twirls on top. Instead she said, ‘I don’t know.’

The clamp of frustration said it was true. ‘Not Colm’s guys messing about, and it went wrong?’

‘I know some people think that. But that would’ve probably been a whole bunch of them, and I’m sorry, at least three or four guys managing to keep their mouths shut and keep their stories straight and not slip up even once? I don’t think so.’ Holly’s eyes went to Conway. She said, ‘Not if you questioned them the way you questioned us.’

I lifted the photo. Said, ‘Someone managed to keep her mouth shut this long.’

That spark of irritation again. ‘Everyone thinks girls blab everything, yap yap yap, like idiots. That’s total crap. Girls keep secrets. Guys are the ones who can’t keep their mouths shut.’

‘There’s a lot of girls blabbing on the Secret Place.’

‘Yeah, and if it wasn’t there, they wouldn’t blab. That’s what it’s for: to get us spilling our guts.’ A glance at Houlihan. Sweetly: ‘I’m sure it’s very valuable in lots of ways.’

I said, ‘Pick one thing to tell me about Chris. Something important.’

I saw the breath lift Holly’s chest, like she was bracing herself. She said, clear and cool, ‘He was a prick.’

Protest noise from Houlihan. No one cared.

I said, ‘You know I’m going to need more detail on that one.’

‘He only cared about what he wanted. Most of the time that was fine, because what he wanted was for everyone in the world to like him, so he was all about being nice. But sometimes, like when he could make everyone laugh by slagging off someone who wasn’t important? Or when he wanted something and he couldn’t get it?’ Holly shook her head. ‘Not so nice.’

‘Give me an example.’

She thought, choosing. ‘OK,’ she said. Still cool, but an underline like anger in her voice. ‘This one time, a load of us were down at the Court, us and some Colm’s guys. We’re in line at this café, and this girl Elaine orders the last chocolate muffin, right? Chris is behind her, and he goes, “Hey, I’m having that,” and Elaine’s like, “Uh-uh, too slow.” And Chris goes, loud, so everyone can hear him, “Your arse doesn’t need any more muffins.” All the guys start laughing. Elaine goes scarlet, and Chris pokes her in the arse and goes, “You’ve got enough muffins in there to start your own bakery. Can I have a bite?” Elaine just turns around and practically runs out of the place. The guys are all yelling after her, “Shake it, baby! Work the wobble!” and everyone’s laughing.’

Going by what Conway had said, this was the first time anyone had talked about Chris anything like this. I said, ‘Lovely.’

‘Right? Elaine wouldn’t go anywhere she might see Colm’s guys for, like, weeks, and I think she’s still on a diet – and just by the way, she wasn’t even fat to begin with. And the thing is, Chris didn’t need to do that. I mean, it was just a muffin, it wasn’t the last tickets to the rugby World Cup final. But Chris thought Elaine should’ve backed down the second he wanted it. So when she didn’t’ – twist of Holly’s mouth – ‘he punished her. Like he figured she deserved.’

I said, ‘Elaine what?’

A beat, but it was easy to check. ‘Heaney.’

‘Anyone else Chris was a prick to?’

Shrug. ‘It’s not like I was taking notes. Maybe most people didn’t notice it, because like I said, it was only sometimes, and mostly he made people laugh doing it. He made it seem like just messing, just fun. But Elaine noticed. And anyone else he did it to, I bet they noticed.’

Conway said, ‘Last year you didn’t say Chris was a prick. You said you hardly knew him but he seemed like an OK guy.’

Holly examined that. Said, picking her words, ‘I was younger then. Everyone thought Chris was nice, so I figured probably he was. I didn’t really get what he was doing, till later.’

Lie: the lie Conway had been waiting for.

Conway pointed at the photo in my hand. ‘So why’d you bring us this? If Chris was such a prick, why do you give a damn if whoever killed him gets caught?’

Good-girl gaze. ‘My dad’s a detective. He’d want me to do the right thing. Whether I liked Chris or not.’

Lie again. I know Holly’s da. Doing the good-boy thing for its own sake isn’t on his horizon. He never did anything in his life without an agenda.

Got fuck-all out of her, Conway had said. Like pulling teeth. Last year, Holly hadn’t wanted the killer caught, or hadn’t cared enough to stick her neck out. This year, she cared. I needed to find why.

‘Holly,’ I said. Leaned forward, close, held her eyes: It’s me, talk to me. ‘There’s a reason why you’re so into getting this solved, all of a sudden. You need to tell me what it is. You have to know from your da: anything like that could help us out, even if you don’t see how.’

Holly said, straight on and no flinch, ‘I don’t know what you mean. There’s no reason. I’m just trying to do the right thing.’ To Conway: ‘Can I go?’

‘You got a boyfriend?’ Conway asked.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Angel face. ‘I’m so too busy. With school and everything.’

‘Such a good little student,’ Conway said. ‘You can go.’ To Houlihan: ‘All eight of them. In here.’

When they were gone, Conway said, ‘If Holly knew who killed Chris. Would she go to you or her da? Tell someone straight out?’

Or would she make up a card to bring me. I said, ‘Maybe not. She’s been a witness before, it wasn’t a great experience; she might not be on for doing it again. But if she had something she wanted to give us, she’d make good and sure we got it. Anonymous letter, probably, with all the details laid out nice and clear. Not a something-and-nothing hint like that card.’

Conway thought, pen flicking between two fingers. Nodded. ‘Fair enough. Tell you what I noticed, but. Your Holly talks like, whoever put up the card, she wanted it to get to us. She’s assuming this card wasn’t just meant to get a secret off someone’s chest; this girl wanted to tell us something, and this was the best way she could find.’

She wasn’t my Holly. That was getting obvious, to me anyway. I didn’t say it.

I said, ‘Holly could be feeling bad about coming to me. That age, taking something to adults is a big deal; makes you a rat, and that’s about the dirtiest thing you can be. So she’s convincing herself the girl wanted her to do it.’

‘Could be. Or she could know for sure.’ Conway tapped her pen up and down between her teeth. ‘If she does, what’s the odds of getting it out of her?’

Two hopes: Bob and no. Unless Holly wanted to tell us, and was waiting for a moment we couldn’t see.

I said, ‘I’ll get it out of her.’

Conway’s eyebrow said We’ll see. She said, ‘I want you to see them together. I’ll do the talking this time. You just watch.’

I leaned on a windowsill, sun warming my back through my jacket. Conway moved, back and forth across the front of the art room in an even long-legged stroll, hands in trouser pockets, while the girls filed in.

They settled, like birds. Holly’s lot by the windows, Joanne’s lot by the door. No one looking across the gap.

Slouched and fidgeted in their chairs; batted looks, eyebrow-lifts, whispers back and forth. They had thought we were done with them, had dumped us out of their minds. Some of them, anyway.

Conway said, over her shoulder to Houlihan, ‘You can wait outside. Thanks for your help.’

Houlihan opened and shut her mouth, made a small-animal noise, scuttled off. The girls had stopped whispering. Houlihan gone meant the fib of school protection gone; they were all ours.

They looked different, a blurry streak. Like the Secret Place, the strobe of it: I couldn’t see the separate girls any more, just all those crests on blazers, all those eyes. I felt outnumbered. Outside.

‘So,’ Conway said. ‘One of you lot lied to us today.’

They stilled.

‘At least one of you.’ She stopped moving. Pulled out the photo of the card, held it up. ‘Yesterday evening, one of you put up this card on the secrets board. Then sat here and gave us, “Oh God no, wasn’t me, never seen that before in my life.” That’s fact.’

Alison blinking like a tic. Joanne with her arms folded, bobbing a crossed foot, sliding a glance to Gemma that said OMG can’t believe we have to listen to this. Orla sucking her lips, trying to kill a nerves-giggle.

Holly’s lot were still. Not looking at each other. Their heads tilted inwards, like they were listening to each other, not to us. The lean of their shoulders into the centre, like they were magnetised, like it would take Superman to pull one of them away.

Just something.

Conway said, ‘I’m talking to you. The girl who put up this card. The girl who’s claiming to know who killed Chris Harper.’

A twitch around the room, a shiver.

Conway started moving again, photo balanced between her fingertips. ‘You think lying to us is the same as telling your teacher you left your homework on the bus, or telling your parents you didn’t sneak a drink at the disco. Wrong. It’s nothing like that. This isn’t small-time bullshit that’ll vanish when you leave school. This is real.’

All their eyes following Conway. Pulled by her; hungry.

She was their mystery. Not like me, not like guys, an alien mystery they were learning to barter and bargain with, a thing they knew to want but didn’t know why. Conway was theirs. She was a woman, grown: she knew things. How to wear what suited her, how to have sex right or how to turn it down, how to get her bills paid, how to balance through the wild world outside the school walls. The water where they were dipping their toes, she was over her head in it and swimming.

They wanted to get closer to her, finger her sleeves. They were judging her hard, deciding did she come up to the mark. Wondering if they would, someday. Trying to see the precarious trail that led from them to her.

‘I’m gonna spell this out for you: if you know who murdered Chris, then you’re in serious danger. Danger like, you could get killed.’ She flicked the photo through the air, a sharp snap. ‘You think this card is gonna stay a secret? If the rest of this lot here haven’t spread it round the school already, they will by the end of today. How long is it gonna take for word to get back to the killer? How long is it gonna take him or her to work out who his problem is? And what do you think a killer does about that kind of problem?’

Her voice was good. Straight, clipped, intent. Adult to adult: she’d been paying attention to what worked for me. ‘You’re in danger. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every second, right up until you tell us what you know. Once you’ve done that, the killer’s got no reason to go after you. But up until then…’

A shiver again, a ripple. Joanne’s lot swapping those covert sideways checks. Julia scraping something off a knuckle, eyes down.

Conway pacing faster. ‘If you made up this card for the laugh, you’re in just as much danger. The killer doesn’t know you were mucking about. He, or she, can’t afford to take risks. And as far as she’s concerned, you’re a risk.’

She snapped the photo again. ‘If this card is bogus, probably you’re worried about coming clean in case you get in hassle, with us or with the school. Forget that. Yeah, me and Detective Moran, we’ll give you a lecture about wasting police time. Yeah, you’ll probably end up in detention. That’s a lot better than ending up dead.’

Joanne leaned sideways to Gemma, whispered something in her ear, not even trying to hide it. Smirked.

Conway stopped. Stared.

Joanne still smirking. Gemma fish-faced, trying to work out whether to smile or not; work out who she was more afraid of.

It needed to be Conway.

Conway moved fast, right up to Joanne’s chair, leaning in. She looked ready to head-butt.

‘Am I talking to you?’

Joanne staring back, slack-lipped with disdain. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Answer the question.’

The other girls’ eyes had come up. The arena eyes you get in classrooms when trouble starts, waiting to see who bleeds.

Joanne’s eyebrows lifting. ‘Um, I have literally no clue what it even means?’

‘I’m only talking to one person here. If that’s you, then you need to shut up and listen. If it’s not, then you need to shut up because no one’s talking to you.’

Round Conway’s patch of rough and mine, someone disses you, you punch hard and fast and straight to the face, before they see weakness and sink their teeth into it. If they back off, you’re a winner. Out in the rest of the world, people back off from that punch, too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve won. It means they’ve filed you under Scumbag, under Animal, under Stay Far From.

Conway had to know that, or she’d never have got this far. Something – this girl, this school, this case – had thrown her. She was fucking up.

Not my problem. I swore it the day I got my acceptance to cop college: that kind of rough wasn’t my problem any more, never again, not that way. Mine to handcuff and throw in the back seat of my car; not mine to give a damn about, not mine like we had anything in common. Conway wanted to fuck up, let her.

Joanne was still wearing that open-mouthed sneer. The others were leaning in, waiting for the kill. The sun felt like a hot iron pressed against the back of my jacket.

I moved, on the windowsill. Conway swung round, midway through taking a breath to reef Joanne out of it. Caught my eye.

Tiny tilt of my chin, just a fraction. Warning.

Conway’s eyes narrowed. She turned back to Joanne, slower. Shoulders easing.

Smile. Steady sticky voice, like talking to a stupid toddler.

‘Joanne. I know it’s hard for you, not being the centre of attention. I know you’re only dying to throw a tantrum and scream, “Everybody look at me!” But I bet if you try your very best, you can hang on for just a few more minutes. And when we’re done here, your friends can explain to you why this was important. OK?’

Joanne’s face was pure poison. She looked forty.

‘Can you manage that for me?’

Joanne thumped back in her chair, rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever.’

‘Good girl.’

The circle of arena eyes, appreciative: we had a winner. Julia and Holly were both grinning. Alison looked terrified and over the moon.

‘Now,’ Conway said, turning back to the rest of them – Joanne was dismissed, done. ‘You; whoever you are. I know you enjoyed that, but fact is, you’ve got the same problem. You’re not taking the killer seriously. Maybe because you don’t actually know who it is, so he or she doesn’t feel real. Maybe because you do know who it is, and he or she doesn’t look all that dangerous.’

Joanne was staring at the wall, arms twisted into a knot of sulk. The rest of the girls were all Conway’s. She had done it: come up to the mark for them.

She held up the photo in a slash of sun, Chris laughing and radiant. ‘Probably Chris thought the same thing. I’ve seen a lot of people who didn’t take killers seriously. Mostly I saw them at their post-mortems.’

Her voice was steady and grave again. When she stopped, no one breathed. The breeze through the open window rattled the blinds.

‘Me and Detective Moran, we’re going to get some lunch. After that, we’ll be in the boarders’ wing for an hour or two.’ That got a reaction. Elbows shifting on desks, spines snapping straight. ‘Then we’ve got other places to be. What I’m telling you is, you’ve got maybe three hours left where you’re safe. The killer’s not gonna come after you while we’re on the grounds. Once we leave…’

Silence. Orla’s mouth was hanging open.

‘If you’ve got something to tell us, you can come find us any time this afternoon. Or if you’re worried someone’ll notice you going, you can ring us, even text us. You’ve all got our cards.’

Conway’s eyes moving across the faces, coming down on each one like a stamp.

‘You, who I’ve been talking to: this is your chance. Grab it. And until you have, you look after yourself.’

She tucked the photo back into her jacket pocket; tugged down her jacket, checked to make sure the line fell just right. ‘See you soon,’ she said.

And walked out of the door, not looking back. She didn’t give me any heads-up, but I was right behind her all the same.

Outside, Conway tilted her ear towards the door. Listened to the urgent fizz of two sets of talk behind it. Too low to hear.

Houlihan, hovering. Conway said, ‘In you go. Supervise.’

When the door closed behind Houlihan she said, ‘See what I meant about Holly’s gang? Something there.’

Watching me. I said, ‘Yeah. I see it.’

Brief nod, but I saw Conway’s neck relax: relief. ‘So. What is it?’

‘Not sure. Not yet. I’d have to spend more time with them.’

Sniff of a laugh, dry. ‘Bet you would.’ She headed off down the corridor, at that fast swinging pace. ‘Let’s eat.’