by French, Tana
“OK,” Conway said. Rolled her neck, winced. “Say we pull them back in, one by one. Tell them we think Selena did it, we’re getting ready to arrest her. That should shake them loose.”
“You think if one of them’s our girl, she’ll come clean to get Selena off the hook?”
“She might. That age, self-preservation isn’t high on their list. Like we were saying before: nothing matters as much as your friends. Not even your life. You’re practically looking for a good reason to sacrifice it.”
Beat of pain at the base of my throat and in the crooks of my elbows, places where veins run near the surface. I said, “That cuts two ways. If one of them confesses, doesn’t mean she did it.”
“If they all go bloody Spartacus, I swear I’ll take them up on it. Arrest the fucking lot, let the prosecutors sort it out.” Conway pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, like she didn’t want to see the corridor any more. We’d been there long enough that the place was starting to look familiar, in a glitchy way, something you saw in a stuttering DVD or when you were too hammered to see straight. She said, “We’ll go at the three of them as soon as we get those full texts. I want some clue what went down between Chris and Selena—the breakup, and after. See her face, when she looked at those records? The ones for just before the murder?”
I said, “Startled. Looked like the real thing to me.”
“You think everything’s the real thing. How you got this far . . .” She didn’t have the energy. “It did, but. She didn’t expect to see all those texts. She might’ve just flaked out and forgotten them; she’s spacy enough to start with, and she says herself she’s not too clear on those couple of weeks. Or else . . .”
“Or else someone else knew about her phone. Used it to send some of those texts.”
Conway said, “Yeah. Joanne must’ve figured that Selena had a special Chris phone, same as she did. Julia must’ve, too, since she knew about Joanne’s. And did you see Selena clam up when I asked about finding the phone in the wrong position? Someone was at it, all right.”
I said, “We need those texts. Even if they’re not signed—”
“They won’t be.”
“Yeah, probably not. But there might be something that gives us a hint who wrote them.”
“Yeah. And I want to ID the other girls Chris was texting, before he hooked up with Selena. If another one of our eight was in there, things are gonna get interesting—specially if she’s the one he was juggling with Joanne. Bet you anything the special phones were never registered, but we could get lucky, find a name somewhere in the texts—or there could be something in the photos they sent, if we can get them. Any girl with the brains of pet food would’ve cropped out her face, but I’m gonna bet on at least one idiot. And someone might have a mole on her tit, a scar, something identifiable.”
I said, “OK if I leave that part to you?”
Conway still had her hands on her eyes, but I saw the twitch of her mouth, what might have been a grin if she’d been less wrecked. “I’ll look at the girls’ pics, you look at Chris’s. No one needs brain bleach.”
“We hope.”
“Yeah.” The grin was gone. “OK: I’ll go ask McKenna to let that lot outside for a while. Seeing as I promised Selena.” I’d forgotten. “Then we’ll head down to the canteen, see if we can find something to eat while we wait for Sophie’s guy to pull his finger out. I could murder a dirty great burger.”
“Two.”
“Two. And chips.”
We were straightening up, smoothing down, when it came: buzz from Conway’s pocket.
She grabbed for the phone. “The texts.” She was straight-backed and alert as morning, fatigue tossed away like a wet jacket. “Ah, yeah. Here we go. Swear to God, I’d marry Sophie.”
This attachment was even longer than the last one. “Sit down for this,” Conway said. “Over there,” and jerked her chin towards the window alcove at the far end of the corridor, between the two common rooms. The window had gone a clear lit purple, dusk that looked like thunder. Fine clouds shifted, restless.
We pulled ourselves onto the sill and sat shoulder to shoulder. Started at the beginning of the attachment and skimmed fast, trying to pay attention to the early stuff. Kids on Christmas morning, able to think about nothing but the big shiny package we were saving for last. Silence drumming at us, from the doors on both sides.
Lots of flirting. Chris flattering, Saw u down at d court 2day, u were looking gorgeous; the girl coming back coy, OMG cant beleive u saw me looking sooo crap my hair was a total mess lol. Chris straight in there, Wasn’t looking at ur hair, not with the way ur tits looked in that top :-D. You could practically hear the girl squealing. U r so dirty!
Bits of drama: some girl on a high-strung high horse, Don’t listen 2 what ppl r saying abt Fri evening they weren’t there! Ne1 can make up whatever shit they want but there was only the 4 of us there so if u want to know the truth then just ASK ME!!! Lots of making appointments, but all of them were legit, mostly after school at the shopping center or in the park; no one had been sneaking out at night, not back then. One chain text: If you love your mother then text this to 20 people. A girl ignored this and 30 days later her mam died. Sorry I can’t ignore this because I love my mother!
You forget what it was like. You’d swear on your life you never will, but year by year it falls away. How your temperature ran off the mercury, your heart galloped flat-out and never needed to rest, everything was pitched on the edge of shattering glass. How wanting something was like dying of thirst. How your skin was too fine to keep out any of the million things flooding by; every color boiled bright enough to scald you, any second of any day could send you soaring or rip you to bloody shreds.
That was when I really believed it, not as a detective’s solid theory but right in my gut: a teenage girl could have killed Chris Harper. Had killed him.
Conway had caught it, too. “Bloody hell. The energy.”
I said, before I felt it coming out, “Do you ever miss that?”
“Being a teenager?” She glanced over at me, eyebrows pulling together. “Fuck no. All that drama, wrecking your own head over something you won’t even remember in a month? What a waste.”
I said, “It’s got something, but. There’s something beautiful there.”
Conway was still watching me. That morning’s tight hairdo was wearing out, glossy bits coming out of the bun to fall in front of her ear, and the sharp suit had wrinkles. Should’ve made her look softer, girlier, but it didn’t. Made her look like a hunter and a fighter, ragged from a bare-knuckle round. She said, “You like things to be beautiful.”
“I do, yeah.” When she waited: “So?”
“So nothing. Good luck with that.” She went back to the phone.
Bits of low-level smoochy talk, back and forth: Cant wait 2 c u again. Had THE BEST TIME with u yesterday. U r something special u no that?
“Gag,” said Conway. “God rest, and all that shite, but what a sleaze he was.”
I said, “Or he wanted to believe it. Wanted to find someone he felt that way about.”
Conway snorted. “Right. Sensitive soul, our Chris. See these?”
One girl, back in October, had been scraped raw when Chris dumped her. The other one got the message quick enough, sent Chris a fast Fuck you and moved on, but this one: avalanche of texts, begging for answers. Is it bcos of that time in the park??? . . . Is it bcos your friends don’t like me? . . . Was someone spreading rumors abt me? . . . Please please please I’ll leave you alone I just need to know . . .
Chris never got back to her. “Yeah,” Conway said. “Just a poor lonely heart looking for love.”
No name, but the girl would need ID’ing. No names anywhere. OMG did you see Amy fall of the skateboard right on her ass thought I was going to get sick lauhging so hard! That was it.
Conwa
y had been right about the photos: not fluffy kitties.
Chris: Send me a pic :-D
Another girl we needed to find: U already no what I look like lol
Chris: U no what I mean :-D So I have sthing nice to tink about til i see u again
No way!!! + have it go round the whole of Colms?? Hello don’t tink so???
Chris: Hey I would NEVER do that. Thought you knew me better than that. If you think I’m such an arsehole then maybe we should call it quits
OMG I was just messing! So soooo sorry, didn’t mean that at all, I know ur not an arsehole :-(
Chris: OK just thought you of all people would know I’m not like that. Thought you trusted me.
I totally do!! [attachment: .jpg file]
“Go Chris,” Conway said. Wry, but the undercurrent made me look up. “He doesn’t just get his tit pics; he gets an apology out of her for not sending them faster.”
“He was good, all right.”
“Always got what he wanted, Julia said.”
I said, “He could’ve been telling this girl the truth, though. At least about keeping the pics to himself. Any of his mates mention them, last year?”
“Nah. Like they would’ve? In front of Father Whoever? ‘Yeah, Chris was passing around underage tit shots, now please expel me and arrest me for kiddie porn thank you very much—’”
“They might’ve done, if they copped that one of the girls could’ve killed him over it. Chris was their mate. Maybe they wouldn’t say it in front of Father Whoever, but all it would’ve taken was an anonymous text to you, an e-mail, whatever. And you said Finn Carroll was no thicko.”
“He’s not.” Conway sucked her front teeth. “And him and Chris were close enough that if Chris had been sharing the pics, Finn would’ve seen them. Why would Chris keep them to himself?”
I said, “Selena said he was complicated.”
“Yeah, girls always think arseholes are sooo complicated. Surprise, kids: they’re just arseholes.” Conway was flicking at her screen again. “If he didn’t pass the pics around, it wasn’t because deep down he was actually a knight in shining armor. It was because he figured the girls might find out, and his supply of wank material would dry up.” She held the phone between us. “Here we go. Joanne.”
Joanne started the same way as all the others. Chris playing cheeky, seeing how far he could go, Joanne slapping him down and loving it. Lots of meetings. He got pics off her, but she made him work hard for them: Say please. Now say pretty please. Good boy lol now send me a pic of something nice youd like to buy me. Now send me a pic of where youd like to take me on holiday . . . You could see her huddled snickering with her mates, working out the next demand.
“Fuck’s sake,” Conway said, lip curling. “High-maintenance little bint. Why didn’t he give her the heave-ho right there? Plenty more tits in the sea.”
“Maybe he liked a challenge,” I said. “Or maybe Joanne was right, and he was genuinely into her.”
“Right. Chris being sooo complex again. He wasn’t all that into her. Look.”
Pics, more flirting, more meetings, smoochy talk getting smoochier. Then Joanne started hinting hard about going public—Cant wait 4 the xmas dance!! We can ask the DJ to play our song . . . I dont even care if Sister Cornelius throws us off the dance floor lol <3 <3 <3—and Chris was gone.
Joanne: Hey where were you this eve? We were suposd to meet!
Joanne again: Did u get my text?
Hello?? Chris whats going on??
Just 2 let you know I had something special planned for this wkend . . . If your curious text me quick ;-)
If someone said something to you then ask urself WHY . . . Plenty of ppl are mad jel of me . . . didnt think you were stupid enuf to fall for it
Excuse me I dont let guys treat me like this . . . Im not some stupid slut you can treat how ever you want . . . If you dont answer by 9.00 then we are OVER!!
Do you want me to tell everyone your gay?? I’ll do it
Surprise I was about to dump your arse anyway. You cant kiss for sh1t . . . and I dont do it w guys who have tiny dxxxs!!! You make me want to puke I hope you get aids from some slapper
Chris if you dont answer this + apologize to me YOU WILL BE SORRY. I hope your reading carefully because this was a big BIG mistake . . . I dont care how long it takes YOU WILL BE SORRY.
OK you asked for it. Bye.
“Now there’s a beauty of a hissy fit,” Conway said.
Joanne again. Motive, opportunity and now mind-set.
I said, “This was five months before Chris got killed. You think she’d hold a grudge that long?”
“‘I don’t care how long it takes . . .’” Conway shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe. You heard her: still stings now, and it’s been a year and a half.”
I still didn’t see Joanne in a midnight grove with a hoe in her hand. By the look on her face, neither did Conway. I said, “Any chance she got someone else to do the job for her?”
Conway shook her head, regretfully. “I was thinking the same thing. Great minds. I doubt it, but. It’d have to be one of her girls—if she’d shagged a guy into doing it, he’d never have managed to keep his gob shut this long—and who? Alison would’ve fucked it up, so would Orla, and even if somehow they managed to get the job done and not get caught the next day, they would’ve let it slip by now. Gemma could’ve got it done and kept her mouth shut, but Gemma’s got plenty of cop-on and a healthy sense of self-preservation on her. She wouldn’t do it to start with.”
I said, “One of Holly’s lot might.”
Conway’s eyebrows shot up. “Blackmail.”
“Yeah. Joanne had that video. She could’ve got Selena expelled—probably the other three, too.”
“Not without dropping herself in the shite as well.”
“Sure she could. Put the video on a memory stick, post it to McKenna. Or upload it to YouTube some weekend, e-mail the school the link. McKenna might guess who made the video, but she couldn’t prove it.”
Conway was nodding, thinking fast. “OK. So Joanne gets the video, takes it to . . . who? Not Selena. Joanne’s got more sense than to give a job like that to a spacer like her.”
I said, “And Selena wouldn’t’ve done it anyway. She was mad about Chris; she would’ve been grand with getting expelled for his sake.”
“Right. Romeo and Juliet, middle-class version.” Conway was concentrating too hard to get her snide on properly. “If I was Joanne, I wouldn’t go for Rebecca, either.”
“Nah. Too unpredictable; she looks all meek, but I’d say she’d be more likely to lose the head and tell Joanne to fuck herself than to take orders off her. And Joanne’s good at gauging people, or she wouldn’t be the boss bitch. Not Rebecca.”
Silence, while the rest hung waiting in the air. Conway said, when someone had to, “Joanne said she had a chat with Julia, told her to make Selena back off. Maybe that’s not all she told her to do.”
Julia. The eyes of her, watchful. The way she’d jumped to protect Selena. The slam of stillness when she’d seen that postcard.
Conway said, “Julia knew about Joanne’s secret phone. I can’t see any reason why Joanne would let her in on that. Except to show her what to look for.”
The silence came back bigger and stronger. Said it for us: neither of us wanted it to be her.
I said, “Julia’s got better sense. Getting expelled isn’t the end of the world.”
“Wasn’t where we came from, maybe. It is for most of this lot. You should’ve seen the faces on the Colm’s guys when they heard Finn Carroll was out. They looked like he was gone gone, like they’d never see him again; they were practically as upset about him as they were about Chris. You know what they think? Schools like this are the whole civilized world. Outside, it’s wilderness. Teenage mutant skanger smackheads selling your kidneys on the
black market.”
I could see it. Didn’t say it to Conway, but I could see so clearly. Thrown out of here would feel like thrown over a wall into blackened rubble and air made of grime. Everything gone; everything golden and lit, everything silken, everything carved in delicate curlicues to welcome your fingertips, everything made to chime in sweet spacious harmonies: gone, and a flaming sword to bar your way back forever.
Conway leaning back against the wall and watching me at a slant, through those streaks of warrior hair. One dark eye, hooded.
I said, “Let’s see the rest.”
The texts between Chris and Selena started on the twenty-fifth of February, and they were different. No flirting, no sexy talk, no wheedling for pics; none of that feel, speed and fever.
Hi
Hi
That was it, their first conversation. Just feeling the other one there.
Over the next couple of days they started telling each other stories. Chris’s class had made some gadget that beeped at random intervals, stuck it under a desk and watched their Irish teacher lose his mind. Selena’s class had been messing with Houlihan’s head by inching their desks forward, too gradually to spot, till she was practically pinned against the blackboard. Small stories, to make each other laugh.
Then—carefully, step-by-step, like they had all the time in the world—they moved into personal stuff.
Chris: OK so this wknd I get home n my sister’s cut her hair in one of those emo fringes. What do I do??
Selena: Depends, does it look good?
Chris: Actually not bad . . . or wouldn’t be bad if she’d got it done at the hairdresser instead of doing it herself with nail scisors :-0
Selena: LOL! Then take her to the hairdresser + get it done right!
Chris: I might actually do it :-D
Late-night texts, typoed, hurrying in the jacks or texting blind under covers. Chris’s sister loved her pro haircut. He and his friends got locked at someone’s brother’s party, shouted insults at some girl on their way home, Chris felt guilty about it in the morning (Sooo complex, Conway’s eye-roll said, such a sensitive soul). Selena wished her dad and her mum would talk when one of them dropped her off at the other’s place; Chris wished his parents would stop talking, because they always ended up yelling. They were getting close.