The Secret Place (64 page)

To them I wasn’t a detective any more, big bad authority. I was something else: something to play with, play for, dance for. Strange thing dropped into their midst out of the sky, who knew what it might do, what it might mean. They were circling me.

I said, ‘Not that I know of.’

‘OhmyGod, her
attitude
? It’s like, hello, just because you managed to save up for one suit that isn’t from Penney’s, it doesn’t
actually
make you queen of the world?’

Gemma said, ‘Do you have to work with her all the time? Or sometimes, if you’re good, do they let you work with someone who doesn’t eat live hamsters for fun?’

All of them laughing, beckoning me or daring me to laugh back. I heard the small dull thud of Conway closing the door in my face. Watched those three faces dancing, every spark of it all for me.

I laughed. I said, ‘Jesus, have a heart. She’s not my partner. I’m only working with her for the day.’

Pretend collapses from relief, all of them fanning themselves: ‘Phew! OhmyGod, we were wondering how you survived, like if you were on
Prozac
.
.
.’

I said, ‘Another few days of this and I will be.’ We laughed harder. ‘That’s one reason I’m out here. I needed a chat and a laugh with people who won’t have my head melted.’

They liked that. Arched like cats, gratified. Orla – she bounced back fast; used to getting hit – she said, ‘We decided you’re a way better detective than her.’

‘Lickarse,’ said Gemma.

‘It’s true, though,’ said Joanne. Eyes on me. ‘Someone should tell your boss that Whatshername being such a B means she can’t actually do her job. She’d get a lot further if she had some basic
manners
. When she asks a question, it’s like, whoa, anyone got a lump of raw meat to throw, and maybe it’ll back off?’

Orla said, ‘We wouldn’t tell her the
time
unless we had to.’

‘When you ask us stuff,’ Joanne said, and twisted her head to one side to smile at me, ‘we
want
to talk to you.’

Last time I talked to her, we hadn’t been best buds, not like this. They wanted something from me, wanted to give me something, I couldn’t tell which. I said, sniffing my way, ‘Glad to hear it. You’ve been a lot of help to me so far; I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you.’

‘We like helping you.’

‘We’d be your spies any day.’

‘Undercover.’

‘We’ve got your phone number. We could text you anything suspicious we see.’

I said, ‘If you seriously want to give me a hand, you know how. You three, I’d say you know everything that happens in this school. Anything that could have to do with Chris, I’d only love to hear it.’

Orla hunching forward, glint of moonlight on her wet mouth: ‘Who’s in the art room?’

A zap of ‘Shhh!’ from Joanne. Orla shrank back.

Gemma, amused: ‘Oops. Too late.’ To me: ‘We weren’t going to just
ask
like that.’

‘But since Genius here did,’ said Joanne. Leaned back, throat arching. Pointed. ‘Who’s that?’

The art room, a flare of chilly white across the heavy slab of the school. Above it the stone balustrade was silhouetted against the sky, a ghost’s walk, black on near-black. In one window the wire school soared. In the next one was Mackey, slouching back, arms folded.

‘That,’ Joanne said.

I said, ‘Another detective.’

‘Ooo.’ Wrist-shake, mocking eyes. ‘I knew you’d got thrown out.’

‘Sometimes we change things up while we’re working. Keep everyone fresh.’

‘Who’re they talking to?’

‘Is it Holly Mackey?’

‘We
told
you they were weird.’

The glow on their faces, all eager and fascinated. Like I could be the one thing they’d been hoping to see. It made you want to be that, everything they were looking for, all at the same time. Chris Harper must have wanted the same thing.

Up in the art room, Conway strolled across the window, all long stride and sharp shoulders. I said, ‘Yeah. It’s Holly.’ Conway would’ve eaten the head off me; fuck Conway.

Hiss of in-breath. Glances circling, but I couldn’t catch them as they zipped past.

Orla breathed, ‘Did she kill Chris?’

‘OhmyGod.’

‘Here was us thinking it was Groundskeeper Willy.’

‘Well, up until today we did.’

‘But once you started asking us and them all those questions—’

‘Obviously we knew it wasn’t
us
—’

‘But we didn’t think—’

‘It was
Holly Mackey
?’

I would’ve only loved to have an answer for them. See their mouths pop open and their eyes go wide, see them overwhelmed by me, The Man, pulling out fountains of answers like a magician. I said, ‘We don’t know who killed Chris. We’re working hard on finding out.’

‘But who do you
think
?’ Joanne wanted to know.

Holly, slouched at that table, all blue eyes and bite and something hidden. Maybe Mackey had been right, not wanting her talking. Maybe he had been right and she would’ve talked to me.

I shook my head. ‘Not my job.’ Sceptical looks. ‘Seriously. I can’t go around with an idea stuck in my head, not till I’ve got evidence.’

‘Ahh.’ She pouted. ‘That’s so not fair. Here you’re asking us to—’

‘OhmyGod!’ Orla, shooting upright, clapping a hand over her mouth. ‘You don’t think it was
Alison
, do you?’

‘Is that where she is?’

‘Is she under
arrest
?’

They were open-mouthed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘She’s just a bit upset. The thing with Chris’s ghost, that got to her.’

‘Well, hello, yeah? It got to
all
of us, actually?’ Joanne, cold: I’d forgotten to put her top of the list. Bad boy.

‘Bet it did,’ I said, good and awed. ‘Did you see him?’

Joanne remembered to shiver. ‘Course I did. Probably he came back to talk to me. He was looking straight at me.’

It hit me then: every girl who had seen Chris’s ghost would’ve sworn the same. He had been looking at her. He had come because he wanted something from her, only her.

‘Like I told you’ – Joanne had her bereaved face on again – ‘if he hadn’t died, we would’ve been together again. I think he wants me to know he still cares.’

‘Ahhh.’ Orla, head to one side.

I asked her, ‘Did you see him?’

Her hand shot to her chest. ‘OhmyGod, yes! I almost had a heart attack. He was literally right there. I swear.’

I said, ‘Gemma?’

Gemma shifted on the grass. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure about ghosts.’

Joanne said, an edge on it, ‘Excuse me, I know what I saw?’

‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying
I
didn’t see him. I saw like a blur in the window, like when you get something sticky in your eye. That’s it.’

‘Well. Some people are more
sensitive
than others. And some people were
closer
to Chris. Excuse me if I don’t think it actually matters what you saw.’

Gemma shrugged. Joanne said, to me, ‘He was there.’

I couldn’t tell whether she meant it. Back in the common room, I would’ve sworn all their terror was real: started as play-acting, maybe, for notice or to blow off steam, but then snowballed into something too big and too true for them to control. But now, the shiver, the face on her, I couldn’t tell; could’ve been just that plastic layer over her, blurring whatever was real underneath; could’ve been plastic straight through. Probably even they didn’t know.

I said, ‘Then that’s another reason why, whatever you know, you need to tell me. Chris would want you to.’

‘How would we know anything?’ Joanne, blank and slick as cellophane. They were giving up nothing till I earned it.

But I knew the answer to that one. After Selena and Chris broke up, Joanne had posted her guard dogs on night watch, to make sure.

I said, ‘Let’s say someone other than Selena was meeting up with Chris at night, the couple of weeks before he died. Who would you say it was?’

Joanne’s face didn’t change. ‘Was there someone?’

‘I’m only saying
if
. Who would you guess?’

Sliding looks at each other, under their lashes. If the fear had ever been real, it had leaked out of them. Something else had risen, forced it out: power.

Joanne said, ‘Tell us if he was meeting someone, and we’ll tell you something good.’

I said I know my shot when I see it. Sometimes you don’t even have to see it. Sometimes you feel it coming, screaming down the sky towards you like a meteor.

I said, ‘He was, yeah. We’ve found texts between them.’

More looks. Gemma said, ‘Texts like what?’

‘Texts arranging meetings.’

‘But there wasn’t any name?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t one of you, was it?’

Joanne said sharply, ‘No. It wasn’t.’ Didn’t say,
Or she’d’ve been in deep shit.
We all heard it.

‘But you’ve got a fair idea who it might’ve been.’

And I waited to hear
Holly Mackey
.

Joanne stretched out on her back, arms behind her head, arching her chest up. Said, ‘Tell us what you think about Rebecca O’Mara.’

Took my ear a second even to hear the question, past the burst of
whatthefuck?
Then I slammed my jaw shut and thought fast – there had to be a right answer. Said, ‘I haven’t thought about her much at all, to tell you the truth.’

Skitter of hooded glances, little smirks. Good answer.

Joanne said, ‘Because she’s sooo totally
harmless
.’

‘Such a
good
girl,’ Orla breathed.

‘So
pure
.’

‘So
shy
.’

‘I bet she acted like she was totally terrified of you, right?’ Joanne dipping her head, doing fake-simpery doe-eyes up at me. ‘Rebecca’d never do anything bold. She’s probably never even had a sip of booze in her life. Never even OMG
looked
at a guy.’

Gemma laughed, low.

I said, ‘That’s not true, no?’ My heart was starting a slow hard pound, jungle drums, carrying a message.

‘Well, I don’t know if she’s ever had booze – I mean, who cares. But she’s looked at a guy, all right.’

Orla sniggered. ‘You should’ve
seen
the way she looked at him. It was pathetic.’

I said, ‘Chris Harper.’

Slowly, Joanne started to smile. She said, ‘Ding. You win the prize.’

Orla said, ‘Rebecca was
gooey
for Chris.’

I said, ‘And you think in the end they got together?’

Joanne’s lip curled. ‘OMG, excuse me while I barf? No
way
. She was on a total loser there. Chris could’ve had anyone he wanted; he wasn’t going to go near some boring stick insect. They could’ve been stuck on a desert
island
and he’d’ve literally found a better-looking
coconut
to shag.’

I said, ‘So that means she wasn’t the one meeting him. Right? Or
.
.
. ?’

The looks strobing again. ‘Well,’ Joanne said. ‘Not for
looove
. And not for you-know-what, either. She probably wouldn’t even know
how
.’

‘For what, then?’

Titters. Orla sucking in her bottom lip. They weren’t going to say it unless I did first.

That meteor, howling closer. All I had to do was get in the right place, hold out my hands.

That morning. Smell of chalk and grass; me tying myself in knots like a balloon animal, trying to make myself into whatever eight different girls and Conway wanted – lot of good that had done me. Joanne, lip pulled up:
I guess you think they’re all such angels, they’d never do drugs. I mean, God, Rebecca, she’s just so innocent
.
.
.

I said, ‘Drugs.’

A change. I felt them tense up, waiting while I fumbled my way into place.

‘Rebecca was on drugs.’