by SJI Holliday
Polly has a horrible feeling in her stomach now. A twisting, turning in her gut. ‘Brett, did you ever take Pete back to your house. To show him Katie’s board? To show him the damselfly?’
Brett takes a biscuit, stuffs the whole thing in his mouth. He won’t look at her. Polly stares at him. Sees that his shoulders are shaking, that he’s trying to make them stop.
‘I’m sorry, Ms McAllister,’ he says. His voice is a cracked whisper. Polly feels a shiver run right through her body. ‘I told him he was only supposed to look at it. He wasn’t to take it away. But she didn’t see. She was fast asleep, I promise. That’s all that happened.’ He’s crying now. There is more to this.
‘Brett, did Pete hurt Katie? You have to tell me the truth now.’
‘No, I swear he didn’t. I swear on my life. I promise. He didn’t. He just took the board. I let him in and we went upstairs to Katie’s room. We tiptoed, but there’s always that one creaky stair . . . Mum was at work and Brooke wasn’t in. I know she wasn’t because her shoes weren’t at the front door. We went in Katie’s room, and I was going to ask if he could see it but she was asleep, proper asleep. So we sneaked in and Pete took the board off the wall, and I grabbed his arm and tried to say no, he couldn’t take it away – I thought he only wanted to look at it . . . and we sort of had a bit of a fight and he dropped it on the radiator and I think a bit of it came off and then he just grabbed it and ran out the door.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I was scared that she would wake up and notice me and shout at me, but she didn’t. It’s like she was—’
‘Why didn’t she wake up, Brett?’
‘I don’t know! I think she had headphones in. She was lying on her front, facing the wall. She couldn’t see or hear us. She was always like that when she slept. Sometimes I’d go into her room in the morning and I’d think that she was dead.’
Polly feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
‘And this time, Brett,’ she says, quietly, ‘was she dead?’
‘No!’ he says. ‘No.’ He starts to cry. ‘Not then . . .’
She thinks she has misheard. The tickle on the back of her neck runs right down her spine. ‘What do you mean, not then?’
He looks up at her, his eyes round and wet. He looks like a kicked puppy. ‘I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, Miss. Do I have to say?’
‘Brett . . . this is serious stuff. You can say it to me now, or I can phone the police and they’ll come and take you down to the station. Which would you rather?’
‘OK,’ he says. He takes a deep breath. ‘But please, don’t tell them it was me who told you. Please?’
Polly nods. ‘I’ll do what I can to help, Brett. Just tell me, OK?’
He looks away, like he can’t tell this right to her face. He doesn’t want to tell her at all, but he’s going to try. She watches him shaking and she wants to go round and give him a big cuddle, but she can’t. She sits back. Waits for him to speak.
‘I was standing on the top landing. Pete had run outside. I was half watching downstairs, to see if he might come back, and I was half watching Katie, to see if she was going to wake up and go mad at me. Nothing happened for a few minutes, so I crept into her room. I took her photo off her dressing table – it’s one of those collage ones with lots of different photos stuck together. Anyway, I hung it on the hook where the insect board was meant to go. I thought then maybe she wouldn’t notice the space on the wall where the bugs were meant to be. She would eventually. Obviously. But I thought I might be able to get it back from Pete before then. Something fell off and went down the back of the radiator, but I couldn’t find it. I was just sneaking back out again when Katie moved a bit, one of her legs was hanging out of the bed, and her arm on the other side was tapping against the bedframe. She was awake, but she was listening to music. She hadn’t heard me, or sensed me. I thought I’d got away with it . . .’ He pauses, looks at her as if to say, ‘Am I doing OK?’
‘Carry on,’ Polly says.
‘I managed to get out of her room without her noticing me. I was on the landing, then the front door banged open and my mum shouted “This bloody door!” – sorry for swearing – that’s what she said. She was always shouting at us for leaving the door open. There’s something wrong with the catch, I think. I tried to fix it one day, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to get in any trouble, so I went into the airing cupboard at the top of the stairs and pulled the door shut. Not all the way, just enough so no one would see me. I was going to wait until she’d gone in the bathroom, then I was going to go to school. I could hear her in the kitchen, banging cupboards and stuff. She was in a bad mood. It was best to stay out of her way when she was in a bad mood—’
‘Was she often in a bad mood, Brett? Did she ever . . . did she ever hurt you when she was angry like that?’ Polly hates to ask, but knowing Mandy it’s not such a big leap. She hoped she’d never taken her rage out on her children, but who really knew what went on behind closed doors?
‘No. No. She just shouts. That’s all she ever does. I don’t think she likes her job very much. I think she wants a boyfriend too. She’s always moaning about not having anyone round to help her. Anyway, she came thumping up the stairs. She was shouting on Katie, asking her where her washing was. She always washes the bed covers on a Monday morning and we all have to strip our beds. Katie was still in her bed. I couldn’t see from the airing cupboard if she’d surfaced yet. Mum stormed past me and when she did she kicked the door of the airing cupboard so that it shut tight. It nearly hit me in the face, but I didn’t cry out. It was dark in there. So dark. I wanted to come out, but I was more scared now.’
He stops talking and Polly can see tears running down his face.
‘I don’t want to remember any more, Miss,’ he says. He wipes angrily at his cheek with his sleeve.
‘You’re doing well, Brett. Nearly done . . . Just one last bit, OK? Did your mum go into Katie’s room? Was she still shouting? I know you couldn’t see anything now that the door was shut, but what did you hear?’
‘Mum was yelling. She was shouting, “Where’s your bloody washing, you lazy cow?” and “What the fuck was that boy doing in this house?”’
‘Boy? Did she mean Pete?’
Brett nods. ‘Yes. Mum was really angry about Pete. I don’t know why, because I didn’t even think she knew who he was.’
45
Louise
Louise takes a deep breath. ‘Davie, can we have a quick chat outside for a minute?’ She looks across at Mandy, who is now sobbing gently. Trying to light yet another cigarette.
Davie gives her a tiny shake of his head. ‘Mandy . . . Mandy, love? Can you tell us what happened? We’re a bit confused. You told us before that when you got back Katie was already dead. That you held her wrist to feel for a pulse, but there was nothing there. Then you called the doctor. Is that not what happened?’
Mandy starts to cough, takes a sip of the water that Davie has left for her in the mug. ‘No,’ she croaks. ‘No, am I in trouble?’
Louise’s mind starts to whirr. They weren’t expecting this. They’d eliminated Lucas, they’d ruled out any involvement from Neil – he might not have behaved like the best boyfriend, but he hadn’t hurt her. Not like this. They already had Pete in custody. He’d all but confessed to pushing Hayley into the river, but he hadn’t told them why yet. Did Mandy have the final piece of the puzzle? Had Pete left Katie for dead and she’d died while her mother was there? Maybe the pulse was very weak. It didn’t make sense.
‘Mandy . . . what do you mean, she was still alive?’ Davie says. ‘Did she have a pulse? Did you try to save her, but you couldn’t? You don’t need to feel bad about that. If you tried, and there was nothing you could do . . . sometimes it happens like that. Was it just that she was still warm, maybe? That she didn’t seem dead to you. I don’t know if you’ve seen a dead body before, Mandy, but it’s not always like it looks on the TV.’
Mandy laughs. A single, hoarse bark. A horrible sound, somewhere from the back of her throat. ‘No, Sergeant Gray. It wasn’t like that at all.’
Davie turns to Louise and gives her a look. She can’t tell what he’s thinking, but she’s scared. She’s scared of what Mandy is going to say next.
‘Mandy . . . Mandy!’ He bangs his fist on the table. The woman seems to have gone into a trance. She’s smiling, but it’s a strange smile. Her eyes are unfocused.
‘I saw that laddie leaving the house,’ she says. She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, they seem clearer. Like she’s woken up. ‘I went upstairs. Katie was still in bed. She had her headphones stuck in her ears. One of her bare legs was hanging out the side. She was tapping her foot on the floor. She was wearing bright blue nail varnish. It’s funny the things that stick out in your mind, isn’t it?’ She pauses to sip the drink. ‘Maybe a coffee would be good. No milk, mind. Would you . . .?’ She offers her mug to Louise, and Louise stands up, walks around the table and checks that there’s water in the kettle before switching it on. ‘I shouted at her because I knew she couldn’t hear me with those things stuck in her ears. She always played her music too loud.’
Louise busies herself making coffee, looking for a clean spoon, rinsing mugs for her and Davie. She can almost sense what is coming, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to be looking at Mandy’s ruined face when she finally says it.
‘I says to her: Katie, what the fuck was that lad doing in here? I saw him with your board. What the hell did you give it to him for?’
‘You mean the board with the insects?’ Davie says.
‘Aye. That thing. I couldn’t work it out. Anyway, I must’ve given her a fright, because she flips up in the bed like it’s a broken sun lounger. The duvet falls off and I see that she’s half naked. No jammies or nightie, just a wee bra top thing. One of the shoulder straps is hanging off . . .’
‘And this was unusual? How do you know that she didn’t wear this in bed every night?’
Mandy sighs. ‘Because she’s always freezing, that one. Every Christmas and birthday, she asks for the same thing. Cotton jammies. And it was a cold night. What would she be half naked for, unless she’d been up to something?’
‘You know that Neil was round on Sunday afternoon. Maybe . . .’
‘I know what you’re saying, officer. Davie. But it just struck me as odd. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Anyway . . .’ She pauses, pulls a rumpled tissue from her sleeve and blows her nose. ‘I’d had a bad night at work. Two of the machines were broken, so we ended up doing half the stuff manually.’
‘You work in the laundry, over at the business park, is that right?’
‘Barrett’s. Aye. Anyway . . . I said, what was that laddie doing in your room? And she looks at me like I’m mad. What laddie? What’re you talking about? He took your board, I said. She jumps out of bed then. Get the fuck out of my room, Mum, she said. This is how she talks to me. Her own mother! I said, I don’t want you hanging around with that boy, he’s no right. He’s dangerous. And Katie goes: what fucking boy? And I shout, Pete. Dopey Pete. I hate to think what he’s been doing to you in here, you make me sick! She looked confused for a minute. Then she looks at the wall where the board’s meant to be and she starts shouting at me: what have you done with it? What fucking half-cocked story are you trying to spin at me now, you mad bitch . . .’ She stops talking. Looks down at the table. Louise can see her shoulders shaking.
‘And then what happened?’ Louise says, quietly.
‘Well, I lost it,’ Mandy says. ‘I just lost it. I was exhausted. I was . . . I was worried what might’ve happened if she’d . . . I slapped her across the face. And the little bitch pushed me! I fell back, knocked my elbow on the door. It bloody hurt. Funny bone, you know? But it wasn’t bloody funny. And then she laughed. And she turned away, and when she turned she went: Fuck off, Mum. And that was it. That was it.’
‘What was it? Why were you so worried about her being with Pete, Mandy? What was it to you if they were friends?’
Mandy snorted. ‘Friends? They weren’t bloody friends . . . I spent my life trying to make sure they never had any reason to be friends. I didn’t want to be associated with that . . . that bastard.’
Louise is confused. ‘Pete? Are we still talking about Pete?’
Mandy shakes her head. ‘No.’ She nods at Davie again. ‘He knows.’ She turns to him. ‘You KNOW, don’t you?’
A shadow passes across Davie’s face. He runs a hand over his chin, and she hears the faint scratch of stubble. ‘Martin,’ he says quietly. ‘Martin Brotherstone is Katie’s dad. No wonder you never told anyone—’
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Mandy mutters.
Louise says, ‘So I take it Katie didn’t know any of this. That Pete was her half-brother?’
‘Give the girl a coconut!’ Mandy says.
‘What did you do, Mandy?’ Davie says. His voice is low, solemn. Louise thinks she knows now. She thinks Davie does too. They need Mandy to say it.
Mandy lights another cigarette. She sits there, that strange smile on her face again. ‘You two work it out, if you’re so fuckin’ clever.’ Her words are harsh, but the bravado is slipping.
‘Quinn worked it out, didn’t he?’ Davie says. ‘You told him something . . .’
‘I told him fuck all. I was drunk. I was upset about Katie—’
‘Mandy, don’t start to backtrack now. It’ll be easier if you just tell us what happened. We don’t want to make assumptions. Get the wrong end of the stick . . . if it was an accident . . .’
Mandy starts to cry. Huge, racking sobs. She rocks in her chair. ‘It WAS an accident,’ she says, her voice thick with phlegm. ‘It was. I never meant to kill her, I swear. She just made me so angry. I was so tired . . . I pushed her back on the bed and I was screaming at her – you filthy little cow – and she was pushing at me and kicking and trying to slap me off, so I sat on top of her, and I pinned her down . . . and when she was wriggling around, I grabbed the pillow from the top of the bed and I put it on her face . . . and I . . . I just lay on her. And I could hear her screaming at me, to get off, get off, and it was all muffled through the pillow . . . and I tried to stop. I tried. But I just froze. I froze. It’s that thing, you know . . . the red mist? I used to get it a lot when I was young, when I was Brooke’s age. I was a proper nasty wee bully at school. I was angry, so angry.’
Davie leans across the table and lays a hand on Mandy’s hand. He mouths silently to Louise: ‘Call it in’. Says to Mandy: ‘And then?’
Mandy sighs. She looks up at them both and her face seems to have collapsed in on itself. ‘She stopped wriggling, eventually. I thought she’d given up. So I climbed off, and I lifted the pillow off her face . . . I knew – I knew right then. I didn’t need to pick up her wrist to check for a pulse. She was gone.’
Louise takes her phone out of her pocket and walks through to the hall to call Malkie. As she closes the door, she hears Davie’s voice, strong, unwavering . . . ‘Mandy Taylor, I am arresting you on suspicion of the unlawful killing of your daughter, Katie Taylor. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law . . .’
Louise opens the front door and walks outside into the freezing air, trying to breathe. Trying to hold back the tears. That poor fucked-up family.
That poor, poor girl.
46
Polly
Polly can’t face going home. She’s heard too many awful things today. The thought of being in that house on her own is too much to bear. She’s glad that the pub doesn’t do food tonight, or else he wouldn’t be at home. She’s hardly seen him since she got back, still hasn’t told him the news. But it’s not the right time. Especially not now, after what she’s just found out. Part of her hopes it’s not true, but the main part of her knows that it is.
She knocks on the door, waits. Clouds of breath float in the air in front of her. The wea
ther has been bleak all week, but at least the snow and the ice are mostly gone now. She’s always terrified that she’s going to slip and fall. She’s never fallen on ice in her life, as far as she can remember, but her safety mechanisms have gone into overdrive now that it’s not just her own body she has to worry about. She’s about to knock again when the door is pulled open.
‘Hello you,’ Quinn says. ‘Sorry, I was having a kip. I wasn’t expecting you.’ His eyes are bloodshot, the lines on his face more prominent than usual. She smells a hint of beer on his breath and feels a momentary rise of panic. He disappears inside and she follows him. From the other side of the closed kitchen door, she can hear scratching and a sorry sounding whine. Polly has only met Drummer, the springiest springer spaniel, a handful of times – but she’s never known him to be shut in the kitchen. He’s normally bouncing around the house, or straining to be let off his lead in the park, tongue hanging out with breathless excitement.
‘Ignore him,’ he says. ‘He’s been doing my head in today, so I’ve shut him in there for a bit.’
‘Not like you. Everything OK?’
‘Hardly—’
‘Sorry, stupid thing to say. Of course it isn’t. I’ve had a hell of a day myself . . .’
‘Come here,’ he says.
He pulls her close and hugs her hard. She lets herself be crushed in his embrace for a moment. She leaches his warmth. Then she pulls away.
‘Beer?’ she says, eyes questioning.
‘Just one. Honest. Listen – I’ve been down at the police station . . . I, ugh. This is hard. I spoke to Mandy last night. She was a mess. A total mess. She said some stuff . . . I don’t even want to think about it being true, but it kind of made sense, you know. I had to go to the police – well, actually, I told Neil first, and he made me go. I felt like shit, but it was the right thing to do. She—’