When I Wasn't Watching

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When I Wasn't Watching Page 22

by Kelly, Michelle


  On a deeper level, she just felt terribly sad.

  ‘You said you had seen Benjamin before, in passing. You spoke to him,’ Matt stated.

  ‘He’s been through all this,’ Lucy protested. Matt gave a sharp look for her to be quiet, but Lucy wondered if she had misjudged his intentions, because now Ricky just looked confused and weary and that meant he was liable to say something ill-advised. She laid a hand on his knee, grateful when neither police officer nor detective asked her to remove it. Ricky gave her a grateful look and, when he spoke, his voice was stronger.

  ‘Yes. I used to see him playing in the back garden on the way to Tyler’s or my nan’s. He was friendly.’

  Matt nodded.

  ‘The morning you took him, did you plan it?’ Lucy squeezed Ricky’s knee again, in warning, glaring at Matt, who gave her a calm, level look. He seemed to be trying to trip him up now, or perhaps, a voice in her head whispered, making very sure that Ricky knew what not to say or imply.

  ‘No,’ Ricky said, uncertainly at first, looking at Matt almost for reassurance. The detective gave him the barest of nods, an encouragement to continue.

  ‘No,’ he said in a stronger voice, ‘I was on my way to Tyler’s, because I wanted to talk to him about something important.’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be grounded?’

  Ricky looked sullen. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you went away?’

  ‘It was important.’

  ‘Important like asking Tyler why he was stealing your girlfriend?’

  Ricky looked shocked, his face pale, and Lucy looked from one to the other, feeling a sudden rage for the girl she had never met who had been the first to break her son’s heart.

  ‘Yes.’ Ricky looked as though he was about to cry again.

  ‘But you didn’t go to Tyler’s, you took Ben instead. Why was that?’

  ‘I did go! I knocked the door and he didn’t answer.’

  ‘At what time?’

  Ricky shrugged.

  ‘I dunno. About eight. I wanted to get him before school.’

  So he hadn’t been in the house when Danielle had called up to him. That her mother could be so careless with his wellbeing both shocked and angered Lucy, until she remembered her words. That Ricky wouldn’t have been there at all if it wasn’t for Lucy herself. She wondered what her son thought about the relationship between her and Matt now, then doubted Ricky was even considering it right now, with his future now hanging precariously in the balance.

  ‘So you saw Benjamin on your way back?’

  ‘Yes. He came over to talk to me, and I just thought it would be nice to take him to the park. I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.’

  Ricky looked genuinely contrite, but even so his simple admission was too much for Lucy.

  ‘So why did you?’ she burst out. Matt stopped the tape.

  ‘Ms Wyatt,’ he said, the name sounding over-formal on lips that had recently been exploring her body, ‘I must ask you not to interrupt.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, not feeling sorry at all. She just wanted to go home, to take her son and go. Matt restarted the tape and echoed her own question, the one Ricky had no real answer for.

  ‘I don’t know. I was upset. I just didn’t think; about his mum missing him or anything. Besides, I wanted to make sure he was all right.’

  Matt frowned at that.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’

  Ricky stared at the table silently until Matt opened his mouth to repeat the question and Ricky answered before he could finish it.

  ‘I’ve been past there before and heard them arguing, the parents. Once it sounded like he hit her. Jack was just sitting there on the swing not doing anything, but you could tell he was upset.’

  There was a silence in the room then as though its inhabitants had collectively paused for breath. Matt said slowly, his voice loud, as if he wanted to make sure the eventual listeners to this tape would get his point loud and clear.

  ‘You mean Ben don’t you, Ricky? Jack was your little brother, the one who died.’

  Ricky started crying then and Lucy turned to face Matt, furious, half rising out of her chair to launch a tirade, but something in his eyes stopped her. He gave her another of those slight frowns, an almost imperceptible wrinkling of the muscles around his eyes and she understood what he was telling her. I know what I’m doing, Lucy. Or at least, she hoped she did.

  ‘I meant Ben.’ Ricky was wiping his eyes.

  ‘Did you get them mixed up?’

  Ricky’s words came out in a rush then. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I was just worried about him and he looked like Jack and I should have looked after Jack and I didn’t…’ He stopped in mid-sentence, choking on tears again and Lucy looked at her son with wide eyes, tears threatening to spill onto her own cheeks. All this time she had felt the guilt over her son’s death, had let it cripple her, and she had never stopped to consider that her son might be sharing the same burden. How could he? He had been seven when Jack died.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said then, not caring about the tape. Ricky looked at her through watery eyes, the blue of them very bright against the tears. How had she never before noticed how like Jack’s his eyes were?

  ‘I wouldn’t play with him. That’s why he went in the garden.’

  Lucy just stared. How long had he been carrying this around with him? Why had she never realised how badly Jack’s death had affected everyone around her other than herself? For a moment she thought about Ethan.

  Matt cleared his throat just as the lawyer from Children’s Services finally spoke.

  ‘Perhaps we should take a break, my client is obviously distressed.’

  Matt nodded, spoke the time into the tape and turned it off. The FLO got up and offered Lucy and Ricky a drink, her tone sympathetic. Matt also got up, motioning for Lucy to step outside.

  Once in the corridor, standing alone with him again, she felt awkward, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

  ‘Did you need to do that? Hasn’t he been through enough?’

  Matt raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘As much as he put Ben’s parents through? Look,’ he went on, looking quickly around as if to ensure they couldn’t be overheard, ‘I’m trying to do the best I can to make sure Ricky is treated as leniently as possible, okay? That means making sure he comes across as nothing more than a frightened boy who is a bit messed up about recent events and means no harm. Do you understand? Because Mr Armstrong might not be the only one who wonders if there was something more behind it.’

  ‘Do you?’ she accused, knowing that if he gave the wrong answer, she would never be able to be intimate – even friendly – with him again.

  ‘No. I think Ricky is exactly as I said – a messed-up boy. But he’s also a teenage boy with a bad attitude and you don’t want that to come across on tape. With any luck, if you can put up with Children’s Services being on your back for a while and ensure Ricky takes all the support he’s offered, he’ll get no more than a slap on the wrist.’

  Lucy nodded, but wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m just doing my job.’

  ‘No you’re not. You don’t have to help him. You’re doing this for me, even though deep down you must be furious at him for putting everybody through this.’ She kept her tone neutral, but she knew something had changed between them again. A barrier removed, perhaps, as opposed to yet another being erected.

  ‘Honestly?’ He gave her a tired, but genuine smile. ‘I’d like to be angry at him, it was so bloody stupid, but the boy’s been found.’

  ‘Do you think he was telling the truth about the parents?’

  Matt deflected her question.

  ‘Don’t you?’ There was something in his face that made her think he already knew something. Lucy thought about the brief glimpse she had caught of the Armstrong family. The sheer aggression on the father’s face, compared to the beaten-down lo
ok on the woman’s. Natural enough, she supposed, given all that had happened, but even so she got the impression that neither parent had been acting out of character.

  ‘Of course I believe him. Will it help?’

  ‘That he thought the boy was in danger? Possibly. But then why didn’t he report it? Lucy, he mentioned Jack earlier to me, in the car.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Matt was about to answer, to tell her something, she sensed, that she might not want to hear, when the FLO came back down the corridor, a tray of drinks in hand. She smiled at Lucy kindly. Amazing really how nicely she was being treated, like the mother of a victim rather than a culprit. Perhaps that was how they still saw her, eight years later.

  Or maybe it was just because she was sleeping with the boss.

  Lucy followed the two officers back in and took her place beside her son, squeezing his shoulder as she sat down.

  ‘You’re doing great,’ she whispered. Ricky’s eyes were rimmed red, his lip quivering. Remaining angry with him at this point was impossible.

  Matt took him through the day, wanting to know exactly where Ricky had been with Ben, and for how long. Ricky, obviously feeling as tired and drained as Lucy herself, answered in a low monotone, only occasionally making eye contact with Matt or his mother. He had taken Ben to the park, then to buy him some sweets, then they had gone back to the abandoned building. Ben had slept, then they had played hide and seek and read his comic, then finished the sweets, then played hide and seek again. Ben had begun to get grizzly, and had fallen asleep in Ricky’s arms, and Ricky had fallen asleep too. He didn’t know for how long, but it had been dark when he woke up. He knew he had to take Ben home. He would have done it earlier, but he was scared, finally realising the trouble his impulsive actions would have caused. Eventually, in the face of Matt’s gentle but still relentless questioning, he crossed his arms on the table and placed his head in them.

  ‘He’s had enough,’ said the lawyer, speaking for the second time. Matt nodded, and the interview was finally terminated. Lucy slumped in her seat, feeling her last remaining energy leave her body. Her limbs physically ached.

  ‘Can we go?’

  ‘We need to book you out, and give you a date to answer bail, but we’ll be as quick as we can,’ the FLO answered. Even her persistent kindness seemed wearied.

  Finally, they were in Matt’s car, him having rather formally offered to run them home even though there was only the FLO to hear and Lucy doubted she was ignorant of the blossoming relationship between them. The ride home was uncomfortable, with Ricky slumping in the back and Matt tense in the driver’s seat. Now they were out of the station, Lucy had no idea what to say to either of them.

  Ricky spoke, a block away from home, startling them both.

  ‘I don’t mind any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lucy looked in the rear-view mirror at him.

  ‘You two. If you want to be together. I’m sorry I was weird about it.’

  Matt coughed, shifting in his seat a little. Caught off guard, Lucy didn’t know how to respond. Were they even together? After this débâcle she wouldn’t be surprised if Matt washed his hands of them both. She took the easy way out.

  ‘Let’s just get you home. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  When they pulled up outside the house and Ricky darted for the front door Lucy turned to Matt, a question in her eyes.

  ‘Are you coming in?’

  He shook her head.

  ‘Probably best if I don’t, given the situation.’

  She nodded, smiling to hide her feeling of deflation and reached for the handle, before recalling his earlier, unfinished comment and turning back to look at him.

  ‘You were going to tell me something that Ricky had said? About Jack?’

  An expression she couldn’t name passed across Matt’s features, before he said, his voice light, ‘It was nothing really. Just that I thought Ben reminded him of his brother.’

  He had already told her that. So he had either forgotten, or he was lying, but she didn’t want to pursue it now. She turned away and got out of the car and stood for a moment on the path with her back to him. Was this it? She was about to walk off when she heard the car door and then felt him behind her. Turning, she slipped her arms around his neck and just for a brief moment buried her face in the dip between chin and shoulder, taking in the heat of his skin, then she stepped back.

  ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow, after work.’ His eyes were questioning.

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. Ricky too, I think.’

  They looked at each other for a long moment before Lucy turned and walked up the path to her door, breathing in with relief as she entered her home. The home that had felt like a prison lately, hemming her in, now felt like a place of safety. She went upstairs to find Ricky lying on his bed and without speaking she sat next to him and stroked his hair, smoothing the crease between his eyebrows.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she told him, hoping she was speaking the truth. Ricky made no answer, but stretched a hand out, fingers reaching for her, and she took it and entwined them with her own. They sat like that until he was asleep, his face soft and relaxed, like a child’s.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thursday Morning

  Matt looked at the newspaper he had been reading and smiled. His late-night call to Carla had ensured this morning’s news focused on Murray, rather than the unable-to-be-named adolescent who had been found in the process of returning Benjamin home unharmed. Ricky’s status as a minor protected him, for now, a fact for which Matt was grateful. He doubted Lucy could take much more heat from the press. Carla had done a good job.

  A better job, in fact, than he would have given her credit for. She had written, rather than a sensational breaking news article, a scathing opinion piece that would give readers food for thought. Not that Carla’s motives were likely to be completely altruistic, in spite of the partly confessional nature of the piece. Instead of the local Telegraph, it was in a national tabloid. She must have rung them with the copy first thing this morning, offering them an exclusive. He wondered how Jacob would feel about his beloved’s defection.

  How Do We Define Justice?

  Yesterday afternoon, a man was attacked and burned. He died later in Loughborough Hospital of third degree burns to his face and body. His crime? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Giles Murray was what we would term an informer, who received early parole in return for naming and testifying against a major organised crime ring operating in the Midlands. As well as parole, he was given a new identity. A ‘secret’ identity. A ‘safe’ identity. Yet yesterday Giles was attacked in cold blood. Although no one is yet being questioned for this heinous crime, Local CID are working on the assumption that Murray was murdered because of a leaking of his new address and identity.

  Except, someone made a lethal mistake. Because although it was Giles’ address that was leaked, it was believed to be not his new location but rather the location of a more notorious criminal, one who has been hitting the headlines rather frequently of late. Terry Prince, the convicted murderer of three-year-old Jack Randall, was recently released after serving just eight years for the torture and murder of Jack when Terry himself was just fourteen years old. Police believe that whoever attacked Giles Murray thought that they were, in fact, attacking Terry Prince, after his address was posted on a Facebook page claiming to promote ‘Justice for Jack Randall’. The page was – anonymously – set up in protest at the early release of the convicted killer, but instead became a site for vigilantes to post death threats and eventually wrong information that may have led to fatal consequences. Quite how this constitutes any form of ‘justice’ for the Randall family is anyone’s guess.

  What are we to make of this? Certainly it is damning for all concerned. For the Parole Board who failed to keep Giles safe, and for the assumed vigilante who may have carried out the attack. Certainly the – as yet unnamed – person responsibl
e for both the leak and the mix-up should at the very least be struck off. The attacker themselves, one hopes, will be caught and punished accordingly. But what about the wider implications? What does it say about the British law system that this was allowed to happen? That an apparently ‘secret’ identity, which cost the taxpayer upwards of a quarter of a million pounds, could so easily be revealed, and then shared with hundreds via a social media page? Inspiring a possible vigilante attack by a citizen who surely should have known better. As the civil rights activist Gandhi would have told us ‘an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind’. Vigilantism is not and should not be condoned, however it manifests itself, yet when the justice system itself lets down victims and their families by handing out ludicrously short sentences and then using taxpayers’ money to foot the bill of their release, it’s easy to see how an environment of hatred is created. A sense of injustice that can all too easily prompt one unstable person into taking the law into their hands, perhaps even believing they are doing the right thing. Meting out their own justice where none was perceivably given. Perhaps the question should really be, where does the buck stop?

  As a journalist, I cannot ignore my own role and the role of my colleagues in the media. For nearly two weeks the release of Terry Prince has dominated the news. The faces of angry protesters have been regular fixtures in our living rooms. Journalists, including myself, have circled like vultures, waiting for that big story, that headline quote. Of course as part of the media I believe every citizen has a right to know what is happening under their noses, but perhaps we should all be held accountable for the possible effects of a story written to inflame rather than inform.

  Matt finished reading, put the newspaper down and called Carla. She answered on the first ring.

  ‘Nice piece.’

  ‘Matt,’ she sounded annoyed. ‘I’m waiting on a call.’

 

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