You Again

by Helen MacArthur

  God, the name could still almost knock me out. “What has this go to do with Alfie Harris?”

  “The online searches have flagged… up, flagged… up… unwanted attention.”

  “Unwanted…?”

  “Stop. No more,” she clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “Please, Angie. Just do what I ask you to do. Just this once. No more questions. It’s for your own protection.”

  23

  Lennox: darker

  I now had secrets deeper and darker than anything I could have ever imagined. I’d seen Angie at the hospital and wanted to set these secrets free, bring them out into the light, but it was too much right then. That moment was about Rob. It was all anyone could handle.

  I didn’t want to be there in the morning. She seemed so determined to hate me at sunrise that I backed off. Once Angie set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. I told Rob’s mates to tell me the second there was an update. I hoped for the best. I’d seen enough death to last me a lifetime.

  Mrs Martel, on the other hand, hadn’t. She sent me a message suggesting a session in less than an hour. I don’t think so. I’d been up all night. Then she sent another message hot on the heels of the first one, capital letters this time, shouting out one word: URGENT.

  I hesitated. I didn’t need sleep even though I’d been up all night so there wasn’t much point in heading home. I wasn’t in school uniform but couldn’t care less. Jeans and T-shirt would have to do right now. Take me or leave me, that’s how it had to be.

  I’d been too spaced out after the last session; no surprises there. Mrs Martel had insisted on another look around the crime scene. “The identification and protection of evidence is very important,” she had said at the time.

  I walked through the school, strange looks, more street cred. I managed to avoid unwelcome teacher attention. No one demanded that I return under the cover of a blazer.

  Mrs Martel was expecting me. There were two takeaway cups on her desk. “Coffee or hot chocolate,” she said pointing. “You get first refusal.”

  I reached for the hot chocolate. One swig took the edge off the tiredness; instant sugar rush.

  “Thank you.” I sighed.

  “Rough night?” she enquired.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  She blew on her coffee.

  “Urgent?” I asked, curious.

  “I went over the files again last night,” she said, taking her therapist role above and beyond the call of duty. “The crime scene investigation report appeared straightforward to me. The fingerprint examiner and trace evidence specialist were both on the scene. No one noted the position of each bullet and casing, however, but perhaps these details were thought to be unnecessary; the evidence wouldn’t have needed to be legally accepted by the courts.”

  “There was a triggerman,” I said. “But no evidence that he was there?”

  She shrugged. “No hair or fibres from the scene suggest any person other than the victims and the police.” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing as she asked her next question. “Was the triggerman a policeman?”

  Until now I hadn’t really pictured the police on the scene. I had just assumed they had been there. I had followed the official line: Alfie Harris had shot Jasmine and Davie Anderson. The police had shot Harris when he refused to surrender his gun. It sounded like an open-and-shut case.

  Was the triggerman a policeman? I considered the words. I thought hard and then I could see him staring straight at me. Pointblank vision.

  “He was wearing jeans,” I said, describing the scene, startled by the clarity. “Navy sweatshirt, I think. Collar? Yes, I think he had a shirt underneath.”

  “He wasn’t in police uniform?”

  I shook my head and opened my eyes before I took another bullet.

  I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. I jumped, spilling hot chocolate. “I should take this,” I said. “Someone I know is in hospital.”

  Mrs Martel nodded. She picked up a pencil and scribbled some notes.

  It was Angie.

  “What’s happened?” I asked, cutting to the chase. I didn’t want to hear the worst. “Rob?”

  “No change. The doctors reckon he’ll be in an induced coma for at least another week.”

  I sighed down the phone. It was so good to hear Angie’s voice even though she had strict plans in place to hate me.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m with Mrs Martel… but it’s not as bad as you think,” I hastily added. Then I thought, actually, it’s probably worse. How could I break the news that her parents were drug dealers. I probably couldn’t. Ever. But I could tell her, hand over heart, that Alfie Harris had nothing to do with the killings. Mrs Martel would back me up but we had no evidence that could legally be accepted in a court of law.

  “Have you searched Alfie Harris online?” she asked.

  The question threw me. “What? Well, yes… yes I did,” I confessed, “but I swear I didn’t find out anything other than what I already knew…”

  “Okay… okay,” she interrupted me.

  The silence told me she was thinking.

  “What is it, Angie? Talk to me.”

  “Louise has weirded out on me,” she whispered.

  “Are you at the hospital?”

  “No. I’m at home.”

  “Weirded out how?” I didn’t like the sound of this.

  “She says we need to leave the house…” she hesitated before finishing, “because it’s not safe.”

  I wasn’t following. “Not safe?”

  “She said the internet searches had flagged up unwelcome attention.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I have no idea. She won’t tell me. It’s for my own protection, apparently.”

  “Come to the school now,” I said abruptly. “Bring Louise too. I’ll wait for you here at Mrs Martel’s office.”

  There was a silence.

  “Angie?”

  “I’m here. Louise also said…”

  The pause went on too long so I prompted her. “What?”

  “That you’re not safe either.”

  I shut my eyes. Opened them. Pinched the top of my nose. “Angie,” I said carefully, “hang up the phone right now and get here as fast as you can.” My phone went silent.

  “Tell me what’s going on?” demanded Mrs Martel.

  “It’s Angie,” I said. “She’s upset. She seems worried. There’s something going on. I’ve told her to come here.”

  I thought further explanations would be more coherent when Angie was here in person.

  “While we wait,” said Mrs Martel, “do you mind looking at some photographs?”

  I nodded my head. “What have you got?”

  She reached into the police file and brought out some prints. “I had someone send over some staff headshots from police headquarters. I asked if I could have photographs of everyone who was involved in the Anderson v Harris case.”

  I quickly looked across the table as she held up the first one. I stared at it. He didn’t fit into my flashback. I shook my head.

  “You don’t recognise this face at all? He is the fingerprint expert who worked the crime scene.”

  I didn’t speak, I just waited for her to continue. She carefully held up the next photo. I studied it, another nameless face who meant nothing to me. I shook my head again, she moved on. I stared at the third face. This one stared back at me. Pointblank vision. This time I didn’t scream but I inhaled hard. I wasn’t sure if I was leaning forward or falling back but I knew I was breathing, moving, sliding deeper into the chair. The paper cup hit the floor, splashing, rolling.

  “The triggerman?” asked Mrs Martel quietly.

  It didn’t really need the question. Both of us knew what the answer was.

  I looked at the name underneath the face. It didn’t mean anything to me. Not in another lifetime. Not at first.

  24

  Angie: dang
erous

  Louise and I were in the living room. I wanted her to come to the school with me, as Lennox had asked, but she had gone into severe panic mode. I’d never seen her like this before. She was checking her purse, cards, phone, keys, looking around the place as though she’d never be back again.

  “Listen, drop me off at the school,” I said, adopting a different approach. Once we were in the car, outside the school, I was fairly certain I’d be able to convince her to come inside. First though, I needed to get her out of the house before she went into total meltdown mode.

  Louise was the one who turned towards the door first, like she sensed him. I followed her gaze and inhaled hard. He was just standing there. I’ve no idea how he got through double locks and a security sensor but he looked like the kind of man who would know how to work it out.

  “Well, hello Louise,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

  I swear, I heard Louise’s skeleton crack from the impact of those words, a warning sound that’s triggered when someone steps on thin ice. She knew him?

  “Get out of this house,” she ordered, hardening her composure, stepping forward but not totally obscuring me.

  “Is this our Angie?” He stared at me, moving closer to get a better look.

  I stared back at him, dumbfounded, looked to Louise for clues, then looked back at the uninvited stranger who was standing, hands in his pockets, totally relaxed, in front of us. Our Angie?

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked, surprisingly calm considering the intrusion and Louise’s reaction.

  Louise remained silent.

  “You’ve grown up, baby girl,” he said, looking me up and down.

  When Louise didn’t answer me I knew we had to exit fast, keep moving. “We… we…,” I stuttered, scared now “…we’re leaving. Right now. Louise?”

  Louise looked stricken, cemented in fear, so I grabbed her and started to haul her in the direction of the door. The man blocked us. We could go round him or go through him, either way, it was probably going to hurt.

  “Angie,” whispered Louise, “don’t move.”

  “Listen to your aunt,” he snapped, no more “baby girl” drawl to his voice.

  “I didn’t breathe a word,” babbled Louise. “I swear I haven’t talked to anyone.”

  The man’s hand shot out and caught Louise by the throat, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh above her collar bone, finding a pressure point.

  I screamed.

  He turned and pressed a finger to his lips. “Keep the noise down,” he whispered, “or your aunt may suffer a serious seizure. She has a history of seizures, didn’t you know?”

  I looked wildly at Louise, who had turned a terrible, unhealthy red. I could hear her lips smacking together, a sticky, wet sound, as she desperately attempted to snatch a breath.

  “Let her go,” I pleaded, convinced he was going to choke her to death.

  “I’ll let her go,” he said through clenched teeth, “when she starts telling me what I need to know.”

  Louise was struggling desperately now.

  “We had a deal,” he whispered into Louise’s ear. “You didn’t talk, I disappeared. What part of ‘keep your mouth shut’ did you not understand?”

  He abruptly released his grip and Louise dropped to the floor, on her knees, head buried in the carpet, gasping for air.

  One of those strange bursts of violence that I’d learned to control oh so long ago began to grow inside me and suddenly erupted.

  “GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE,” I screamed hoping it was loud enough to wake the dead or at least alert the neighbours.

  “This is my house,” he replied unfazed by my volume. “My name might not be on the title deeds but, hell, I own it. I own her.” He paused, looked me up and down like before. “I own you.”

  I slowly reached into my pocket for my phone, no sudden movements. “I’m calling the police.”

  He laughed, a harsh sound, a nasty, cruel laugh. “I am the police. How’s this for rapid response time?” He laughed some more at this. I didn’t dial.

  Meanwhile Louise had picked herself up, hand to her throat. “Angie has nothing to do with this, Ronnie. She doesn’t know anything. She just happened to hook up with someone who wanted to know everything about her. You know what kids are like when they think they’re in love, remember?” She softened the last word as though it was a nod to a romantic past but I sure as hell could tell that she didn’t mean it.

  I looked at Louise. I looked at him. “Ronnie?” I questioned. I turned back to Louise again. “Your Ronnie?” Technically, also mine I suppose: Uncle Ronnie.

  As distasteful as Louise found the possessive noun, she nodded. Yes, her Ronnie from a lifetime ago.

  “Irreconcilable differences,” said Ronnie with an indifferent shrug. “You love some, you lose some.”

  “You are over-reacting to a situation that could have been contained,” berated Louise, squaring up to him. “This would have blown over. I could have made it go away.”

  “Shut up, you stupid cow,” he bellowed. Louise and I both shrunk back. “Don’t tell me how to contain a situation,” he continued. “I’ve built a career on containing situations.”

  Louise turned to look at me. The look on her face terrified me. She channelled her fear right through me and it made me realise that we weren’t going to get out of here unless we could fight harder than he could. It was definitely going to hurt.

  Ronnie reached out and stroked the side of Louise’s face. “Someone has accessed confidential police files. Do you still think I’m over-reacting?”

  Louise stared at the floor as though she could see smoke drifting under the door and into the room. The situation had just turned desperate.

  “I have a far reach,” he said, taking the words literally, laughing, stretching out to touch me too. I froze, forgetting how to fight back.

  The moment his hand started raking through my hair, I heard Louise howl, a high-pitched wolfish sound. She threw herself forward, dragging her fingernails down the side of his face, tearing at his eyes, gouging skin and drawing blood.

  “ANGIE, RUN…,” she screamed.

  He roared and shoved Louise off him.

  I was running before the words died on her lips, straight to a locked front door that had been left unlocked because someone was not so great at containing situations after all. Ronnie’s mistake was to my advantage. I wrenched the door open sending it crashing into the wall, raced out, tripped over my skateboard and we both clattered down the steps and onto the pavement. Quick to recover, I was up on my board and off down the street knowing I’d be round the corner and out of sight before Ronnie even made it to the door.

  I didn’t think. I just took the route to school; the one I’d done for four years. I could do it with my eyes closed. I was too scared to call the police, too scared that Ronnie had people in all the right places. Louise was in serious danger and I had to get someone to help. Instinct kicked in. I knew I had to get to Lennox and Mrs Martel before Ronnie got to them. Someone accessing confidential files, it sounded like the kind of audacious move that Mrs Martel might make.

  Then I saw him. He was running towards me, neck strained from the tension and effort. His mouth now a grimace as he pushed his speed up a gear.

  “Lennox,” I half sobbed, almost losing control as I skidded up to him. He put his arms out to slow me down. We collapsed into each other. I looked around, expecting to see Ronnie. “We need to keep moving,” I gasped.

  I boarded harder than I’ve ever done in my life, wheels roaring over the paving stones, drumming in my ears. Lennox kept up but I could hear his breathing, jagged edges. We just had to get to the school. Now sirens sounded somewhere but I just pushed off harder, crouching lower to maintain a better sense of balance.

  We didn’t need to discuss the seriousness of the situation. Just as well as we were both breathing on overdrive and couldn’t speak to save our lives. Judging by Lennox’s reaction, he had obviously worked
that fact out for himself. No doubt the contents of a confidential police file had helped.

  We had two streets still to cross and one shortcut that would lead us to the back of the school. We’d arrive at the kitchen entrance, drop-off point and recycling area. I took the turn hard, almost over-balanced but brought it back in time. Lennox was slowing down. We bombed down the side street where the delivery vans turned and then we headed to the subway pass underneath the main school junction. I’d skateboarded here a million times. I slowed down to let Lennox catch up, catch a breath.

  I didn’t see him until it was too late.

  Ronnie Lowe, plain-clothes presence, stepped into sight, holding a revolver. “You kids need to learn to turn off those damn phones,” he said shaking his head, “if you don’t want to give away your location.” He held up his own phone. “Some hacker owed me, so I had him hook me up to your SIMs. Information is everything.”

  Lennox and I stepped closer to each other. I picked up the skateboard and brought it in to my chest, the best suit of armour I’d known since I was eight years old.

  “Louise better be okay,” I shouted, determined not to show fear. “Did you hurt her?”

  Lennox said nothing. He seemed to be struggling with an overload of emotion and a lack of oxygen. He was also bent over a little, holding his stomach like it had been ripped apart.

  “Who cares about Louise. I’d rather talk about Alfie Harris,” Lowe said, the previous conversational tone hardening to steel. “There’s been a lot of talk about Alfie Harris. I’ve also seen the search history on your phones.”

  “He’s dead,” I said, desperately attempting to shut the conversation down so as not to implicate Lennox.

  “But you know that, don’t you?” said Lennox, inhaling, straightening up, facing Lowe for the first time. “I don’t suppose you ever forget a face, especially not one that took a bullet. Your bullet.”

  Lowe released the catch on his gun. The click sounded very loud as it echoed off the concrete walls of the underpass. “I don’t know your source,” Lowe said carefully, the gun hanging loosely in his hand, “but dangerous talk costs lives.”