by SJI Holliday
‘Defend you? The poor girl’s dead! Murdered, in her own home.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like I didn’t care. Of course I bloody care. Jesus. I know you think it’s wrong, but she was my friend. She really was.’
‘I think we should get the police in here to see you. I mean, they mentioned that there would be some detectives coming in later, but—’
‘No, please. I’m a mess. They’ll think I’m trying to hide something. Please, let me go home. It’s nearly time anyway. I think it’d be better for all of us.’
Polly has a sudden thought. ‘You’re not . . . you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, Lucas?’
‘Christ, no! Look, I’m going to get grilled once the police get hold of this. I’ve no doubt that Brooke will be making me their prime suspect as we speak. Let me go home. I’m probably going to have to go down the station. They might want to keep me there. Please. I need to sort out stuff at home first.’
Jon looks at Polly. Polly shrugs. It’s not right. They both know that. But he’s their colleague and they need to support him as much as they can.
‘OK,’ Jon says. ‘Go home now. Don’t talk to anyone else. When the rest of the police arrive, I’ll give them the gist of it. Make sure they get the right end of the stick before they go round to yours. It’s all I can do. You’ve been stupid, Lucas. We’ll have to discuss this further. But for now, get yourself home. If anyone asks, we’ll say you’ve gone home with a migraine.’
‘Well, that’s not too far from the truth, to be fair. I can already see the aura. It’s best that I drive home before my vision goes.’ Lucas gets up and gives them both a small smile before he disappears out of the room.
Polly rubs at the back of her neck. She’s been tensing it for what seems like hours. The bell will go soon. The kids will go home. The detectives will come to talk to her and the other staff. Tomorrow, she’ll have to talk to the kids – the police will want to question Katie’s friends, and she’ll need to be their responsible adult. Or maybe they’ll want her to talk to the kids? Lead the discussions, as their counsellor. Either way, tomorrow is going to be a shitty day, as if today wasn’t bad enough. Poor Katie. And poor Lucas. He’s got himself mixed up in something that he could never have foreseen.
But that’s not her biggest worry. What she’s heard about Katie’s sister is her main concern. Polly is uneasy about Brooke. Surely she couldn’t have. Surely she wouldn’t have. She hasn’t done anything to hurt her own sister – has she?
19
Louise
Louise needs air. She leaves Mandy, who is comforting Neil in the kitchen; watches as Malkie discreetly takes himself out the back door. Officers have already searched out there, but he’ll be taking the time to have a look round himself. The uniforms on door-to-door will be back soon, and while there’s clearly no chance to speak to either Mandy or Neil, it’s as good a time as any for a break.
She takes her handbag from the back of the chair and walks out the front. They’ve managed to keep the press hounds to the end of the street at the cordon and the residents have been asked to stay inside. There are a few lurking around on the empty street, smoking, casting glances down the road. Louise catches the eye of a man dressed in what looks like pyjamas, with a long, thick coat over the top, and he looks away.
She takes a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her bag. She’s only taken the first drag when Davie appears. He’s been down the side of the house next door. It’s one of those terraces joined by small arched alleys that lead to shared back gardens.
He nods at the cigarette. ‘Didn’t know you smoked, Lou? Thought you were on a health-kick?’
‘I am. I was. Well, I always have a packet in my bag for emergencies. I wasn’t going to have one today, but I figured I’ve already passively smoked a ten deck in the kitchen – what’s the harm in another?’
He reaches out. ‘Give us one, then.’
‘Hang on, since when do you smoke? You’re the proper fitness freak around here. You know they call you the karate kid back at the station.’
‘Aye. Well, they might take the piss, but they’ve asked me to start some self-defence classes up there, you know. For the staff, I mean, not the public.’ He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. Closes his eyes. ‘Christ, it’s been a while. Anyway, yeah – a few of the lads were saying they could benefit from a bit more than the usual mandatory training. The super thinks it’s a goer. If it works, might be something I’ll do elsewhere.’
‘Other stations, you mean?’
‘Yeah. Could be a wee sideline. Or maybe more . . .’ He gives her a look.
‘What? You’re not leaving CID already? You’ve only just got your warrant card reprinted.’
‘Ha! Well, you know. It was all fine when I was doing it to help out. I was never really sure about it being a thing. I mean, it’s things like this today . . . I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.’
Louise takes another drag. ‘I know what you mean, Davie. It’s days like today that make you want to start searching the job ads in Tesco’s. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I love the problem-solving bit, especially – finding the clues, putting them together. But when you see that . . .’ She gestures towards the house. ‘Two people in there, breaking their hearts.’
‘Yep. Although . . .’
‘Although what?’
‘What do you think about Mum?’
‘I think she’s someone who’s struggling to take in the fact that she’s just lost her eldest kid, and she’s realising that she’s no control over the others.’
‘All real though, you think? She’s shaking constantly. Never seems to meet anyone’s eye.’
‘You’re not saying—’
‘I don’t know what I’m saying, Lou. I’m just saying we can’t rule anything out. Most of these things are domestic, you know that. I’d be very surprised if Katie didn’t know her killer.’
Davie takes a final long draw on the cigarette and flicks the butt towards the drain. It bounces once and falls neatly into one of the holes between the metal slats.
‘Still got it,’ Louise says, and immediately feels stupid.
Davie gives her a small smile, but it fades before it reaches his eyes. ‘Look sharp, Lou. We’ve got company.’
Louise follows Davie’s gaze towards the cordon, to where a teenage girl and a younger boy, both in school uniform and thick parkas, are running down the pavement towards them.
Shit.
‘Woah! Woah,’ Davie says, putting his hands out to stop them from barrelling into the house.
‘What’s happened to our Katie?’ the girl says.
‘Is it true?’ says the boy.
They’re like two peas in a pod, Louise thinks. If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d think they were twins, but clearly Brett is just tall for his age and his voice hasn’t broken yet, hence the similarities with his sister. It is a bit unnerving.
‘Come on,’ Louise says. ‘I’ll take you in to your mum.’
20
Neil
Neil hears the sound of raised voices coming through from the hall. He pulls back from Mandy’s embrace. She’d had him in a tight grip, almost smothering him; he can’t recall her ever showing such emotion before, but then it’s not every day that your daughter is found dead, is it? His face is wet, and he’s not sure if they are her tears or his, or both of theirs mixed together.
‘Brooke,’ Mandy says. She moves towards the kitchen door, but before she reaches the handle, it bursts open.
‘Mum! Mum, is it true?’ Brooke is bright red, her breath is coming out in small panting bursts.
Brett stands behind her, his face ashen. At some point, the other policeman – Neil didn’t catch his name – has come in from the back garden. He’s standing next to the kettle, observing. The kitchen is too crowded now, with Gray and the two female police officers in there too, and all the kids. And Mandy. And the grief. The grief is taking up most of the spa
ce, sucking all the air from the room. Neil leans on a chair, worried he might collapse.
‘Oh, Brooke . . .’ Mandy steps forward and embraces her daughter. Grabs out with her free hand, beckoning for Brett too, her son. Neil casts a glance over at the police, who seem to be leaving them all to it. They’re watching, though. Neil knows they’re taking it all in. Despite their kind words and their endless cups of tea, they are watching.
They’re all suspects, aren’t they?
Neil knows he didn’t do it. Well, of course he’s going to say that, if they ask. Which they haven’t. Not yet. But they will. He’s sure that they will. Once they start digging around. Once they find out about . . .
‘Brooke. Brett. I know this is a huge shock. Would you mind just answering a couple of questions for us?’ It’s the policeman who took on the tea duty. Fucking great timing, that one, Neil thinks. Yeah, he’s only doing his job, but the two of them have only just arrived. Let their mum have a few minutes, at least. To be fair, he’s also quite interested in where the two of them have been – but it can wait five minutes, can’t it?
‘You OK, Neil?’ The nice-looking copper has clocked him staring. Fuck. He doesn’t want to attract any attention. Not now. Not with the others here.
‘Sure. Jesus. It’s all just a bit of a shock. I can’t really take it in.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Brooke lifting her head off her mother’s shoulder, just enough so she can see him. And he can see her. He can only see her eyes, and he can’t read them. Brooke’s a cold bitch at the best of times, and even now it’s hard to imagine she’s as upset as she’s making out. He wants to talk to her on her own. Find out if she saw Katie last night. After he did. After their stupid argument. Fuck.
Fuck this shit.
‘Maybe I’ll just get some air.’ He walks past the stares, outside into the cold afternoon. The blonde one follows him, closes the door behind them, almost, not the whole way. Leaves it open a crack. She still wants to hear what’s going on in the kitchen. Good. So does he. He’s no idea what to say to her. Tell her everything, right now? Or wait till he’s asked? Maybe it won’t come up. Maybe he can keep it to himself. Some of it, at least. The worst bit, anyway. He hopes.
Back in the kitchen, someone is crying. Brooke? Brett? Trying to say something but no one can make it out through the sobs. It sounds a lot like ‘sorry’ but maybe that’s just because that’s what Neil wants it to be.
THREEWISEMONKEYSBLOG
Telling It Like It Is
Posted: 1st Nov 2016 by SpeakNoEvil
Status: Draft
Comments: 0
Say, say my enemy.
Come out and fight with me.
And bring your Bulldogs three.
Climb up my sticker tree.
Slide down my lightning.
Into my dungeon door
And we’ll be jolly enemies
Forever evermore.
OK. I get it. We aren’t friends any more. That’s fine. No biggie. I mean, if you’re not prepared to listen to what I have to say about things . . . if you’d rather start spreading rumours – about things you have clearly misunderstood – well, that’s up to you. Nothing I can do, is there? I could plead with you, try to make you understand. But what’s the point?
Things aren’t always cut and dried, black and white. Things aren’t always seedy and sordid just because you want them to be.
Maybe you’re jealous. Is that it? Because you just want things to be about one thing only, and you don’t get the bigger picture. You don’t get that males and females can be just friends. Because that’s not how you see things any more, is it? Boys exist to be your playthings. Is that it? Is that really all you’re about?
I used to imagine us growing old, having families, going on holiday together with our kids. I imagined us both moving away, to bigger and better things. Great jobs, great lives. Away from all this small town crap that we’ve had to grow up with.
It’s sad.
I’m sad. I’m sad that you don’t understand, and I’m sad that there’s nothing I can do to change that.
But you didn’t have to tell her.
Do you know what you’ve done?
Have you got ANY IDEA what you’ve done? As if my life wasn’t difficult enough already. You had to do that. You had to go there. Jesus, if only I’d realised what a vacuous piece of shit you’d turned into, I’d never have opened my fucking mouth.
21
Polly
Polly stands by the window near the front door and watches as the kids file out of the front door. The mood is subdued, sombre. There is none of the usual pushing and name-calling that she’s used to seeing. She wonders how many of them will go home and talk to their parents about it all. Wonders how many will sit in silence, keeping it in, too scared to show emotion in case it leads to something more. Polly dealt with a lot of kids like that back in her old school. The ones with parents who left them to themselves, except when they were shouting at them or demanding something from them. The ones who ridiculed their kids for trying to do well in case they got too big for their boots and – God forbid – made something of their miserable lives. Those parents were prone to extreme reactions – and most of those reactions were not good.
Those are the kinds of parents that would go after Lucas. If they were to hear that he’d got too close, they wouldn’t care about the facts, the details. Things like the truth. Because Polly is sure that Lucas is telling the truth. He’s been naive, sure. But nothing more. She rubs her eyes.
She’s only been back for three days, yet already she’s regretting it. Not the job. Not this – this thing that’s happened – as awful as it is; she wants to help. Feels like she owes it. She’d come here for a new start, and Simon couldn’t even be arsed to send her a quick ‘good luck’ text for her first day at work. She realises now that Simon doesn’t care about anything at all, certainly not her. So, in many ways, it’s just as well that the baby that’s currently growing inside her isn’t his. It’s just as well that she’s left him.
‘Polly, there you are!’ Jon interrupts her. She blinks, realising that the playground is empty now, the last of the bright rucksacks just disappearing out of view outside the gate. ‘The detectives have arrived.’
‘I didn’t see them come in. I’ve been here for ages.’
‘They came round to the side gate. The uniformed officers have gone for now. I didn’t want to upset the children any more. Come on, everyone’s through in the staff room.’
She follows him along the corridor. ‘Jon, I’m starting to think we’ve made a mistake . . .’
‘What do you mean?’ he snaps at her, then frowns. The strain is getting to him. He knows.
‘Letting Lucas go home. Maybe someone should go round there, make sure he’s OK. I mean, we’re telling the police, aren’t we?’
Jon squeezes her upper arm, pulls her back. She stops. ‘Let’s not be too hasty here, Polly. Lucas is a good teacher. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardise things for him. Let’s wait it out a bit.’
‘Jeopardise what? If he’s done nothing wrong, then there’s nothing to be concerned about, is there? The police are going to need to talk to him. I don’t want to lie.’
‘No one’s going to lie. We’re just going to explain that he’s gone home early as he was feeling unwell. He does get those hideous migraines, you know. He’s off at least once a month with the things. I’ve told him to go back to the doctor—’
Before Polly has a chance to respond, a voice cuts in. ‘Who needs to go back to the doctor?’ he says.
Polly recognises the voice straight away. He’s standing just inside the door of the staff room, leaning against the wall. He’s dressed smartly in a well-fitting navy suit with a pale blue shirt. No tie. He smiles at her. His eyes tell her that he’s been waiting for her to make an appearance.
‘Sergeant Gray—’
‘It’s Detective Sergeant Gray now.’ A woman who looks about her age is si
tting on the couch on the other side of the room, next to Marnie Cohen, the head of English, who is sniffing into a shredded hankie; small pieces of white tissue-fluff are dusted across her grey-skirted lap.
The woman stands up. ‘DC Jennings. Louise.’ She offers a hand. ‘You must be Polly?’
Polly glances back at Davie, who gives her a small nod. They’ve been talking about her? Or just noting that she wasn’t there? Everyone else is crammed into the room. Sitting upright on the chairs and the sofas. Leaning against walls. Some are on the hard wooden chairs that are usually kept in the hall outside Jon’s office. Every member of staff who was working today is in this room, including the dinner ladies and their janitor, Mr Hennessy, and his assistant, Pete.
‘Hello, Polly,’ Davie says. Glancing across at Jon, he says, ‘Is that everyone now?’ Jon’s eyes flit to Polly, just for a second. Davie is looking at a list of names on a clipboard in front of him, but DC Jennings is fully alert. She catches Polly’s eye, and Polly looks away.
‘Yes,’ she says, addressing Davie. ‘That’s all of us.’
‘Where’s Lucas?’ Catherine, the school secretary, says. ‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s gone home,’ Jon says. ‘One of his migraines. I thought it was best if he got back and took his medication. I told him I’d get the police to pop in and see him later.’ He pauses, looks at Davie, then Louise. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’
Louise frowns. ‘Would’ve been easier if he’d stayed here. Lucas . . .’