Follow Me Down

by Tanya Byrne

  ‘Ostley has a CID branch?’

  He turned away from me with a chuckle. ‘Of course not,’ he said, continuing up the road. ‘I’m meeting a friend for a drink and I left my phone in my car. You can’t be too careful around here,’ he said when I’d caught up with him again, ‘what with all the Crofton kids hanging around, hopped up on Earl Grey.’

  I stared at him. I think he was trying to be funny. I didn’t laugh.

  ‘Would you be able to help me, DS Bone? My name is Adamma Okomma and I need to speak to someone, but the police station is closed.’

  ‘Dial nine nine nine.’

  I thought he was joking, but when we got to the pub, he didn’t stop, he just strolled into the beer garden and around the picnic tables towards the door. There was a sudden spill of voices as he opened it and when it snapped shut behind him, I stood there, staring at it. It was like walking into a lamp post. I stepped back, picturing cartoon bluebirds chirping and circling my head. I should have taken the hint, but I’m not very good with no, so, before I could stop myself, I was pin-balling off the picnic tables and charging through the door.

  The Crown is the sort of pub that when you walk in – especially in a Crofton uniform – everyone looks up so it was one of the most stupid things I’ve ever done. If someone had reported me, I would have had a letter sent home to my parents for sure. But I didn’t think, I just looked for him among the people sitting at the small, dark wood tables. The pub is so tiny that I thought I’d see him straight away, but I had to hunt for him. Eventually I found him in the nook between the fruit machines, sitting at a table with a group of men in rugby shirts. He didn’t seem surprised as I approached them, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

  ‘I don’t like being wrong,’ I told him, ignoring his friends as they looked up from their pints. ‘In fact, I think this might be the first time it’s happened. But my friend was raped and she won’t report it because she thinks the police won’t listen.’ I had to stop and suck in a breath. ‘Of all the things to be wrong about, I wish it wasn’t this. Enjoy your drink, DS Bone.’

  The fruit machines chirped – as if in applause – as I stormed back out of the pub, my legs weaker as I wondered what my parents would think of me shouting at a police officer. They’d be mortified.

  I was about to turn and run back to Crofton when I heard someone say, ‘Hey, Buffy the Conversation Slayer.’

  ‘This isn’t funny,’ I hissed, turning to face DS Bone as he ambled towards me.

  ‘Come on. Talk to me.’

  He nodded at one of the picnic tables, but I didn’t move. ‘There’s no point.’ I crossed my arms and I suddenly felt flat, like the sail of a boat, sagging on a calm day.

  ‘Humour me.’

  I shook my head. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

  I didn’t realise I was crying until I saw him put his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a Greggs napkin and held it out to me, but I couldn’t look at him as I took it, mortified that he was seeing me like this. I didn’t even cry at my grandfather’s funeral. Not in front of anyone, anyway.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I explained, turning away to wipe under my eyes.

  He nodded at the picnic table again and I sat down this time.

  ‘I didn’t sleep much last night,’ I said, with another heave and a sob as I dabbed at my eyes again. But when he didn’t say anything, I felt the need to fill the silence. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, I just know I need to do something.’

  He sat next to me, his legs spread. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ He clasped his hands together and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

  ‘I don’t know much.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  I told him everything I knew between sobs. He listened and when I was done, he took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting – it must have been about 4.30 p.m. – and I felt a prickle of panic. I hoped Olivia had covered for me, otherwise Mrs Delaney would be ready to release the hounds.

  ‘So this happened to your friend?’ he said, finally.

  I nodded, circling one of the knots in the wood of the picnic table with my finger, then realised what he was asking. ‘No. This is about my friend. Really.’

  And it was, but as I sat there, under the marmalade-coloured sky, I thought that maybe it was about me, too. Me and my body and how I’m responsible for it now, not my parents. I can drink and smoke and cut my hair and get a tattoo and when I have sex, it should be because I want to, not because I’m wearing a short skirt or I’ve had one too many cocktails and some asshole thinks he can make that decision for me. I guess that’s why I was so upset – so involved – because if what happened to Orla happened to me, I’d want someone to give half a shit.

  ‘And this happened last Saturday?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Did you get a description of the car?’

  ‘No –’ I had to stop myself before I said Chloe’s name – ‘my friend doesn’t remember anything about it. She said it was too dark.’

  ‘Did your other friend see it?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t remember anything, just going to the party then waking up in her room. But it has to be the same guy, right? It’s too much of a coincidence.’

  He looked at his hands. ‘And she’s sure she was raped?’

  ‘She said that when she woke up, she wasn’t wearing underwear anymore.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean she was raped.’

  ‘And that,’ I pointed at him, ‘is why she won’t tell the police.’

  He looked at his feet, then rubbed his face with his hands. He was quiet for a second or two, then he stood up and I thought he was going to go back into the pub, but he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. When he sat back down again, he opened it and handed me two business cards.

  ‘The top one is for my wife, Lisa. She works for the New Swindon Sanctuary.’ I knew it from my research last night. ‘Your friend needs to go for an exam, if she hasn’t already. And she needs to speak to someone. If she won’t speak to the counsellor at Crofton, Lisa can help. The Sanctuary is nothing to do with the police so tell your friend not to worry.’

  I nodded. ‘Thank you.’ I stopped myself adding Sir.

  ‘The second card is mine, for when she’s ready to talk. She doesn’t have to speak to me, she should probably talk to a SOLO—’

  ‘What’s a SOLO?’ I interrupted.

  ‘A Sexual Offences Liaison Officer. I can arrange for her to meet one, or she can talk to me, if she prefers. I don’t care as long as she talks to someone and I hope she does.’ His gaze narrowed in mock disdain. ‘I haven’t known you long, Adamma, but if anyone can persuade her, I think you can.’

  I felt a tickle of hope at that. ‘So you don’t think it’s too late?’

  ‘At the risk of sounding like a poster: it’s never too late.’

  ‘Even though she can’t remember anything?’

  He shrugged. ‘She might.’

  ‘Not if she was drugged. I looked it up.’

  ‘She might not have been. It’s strange that she doesn’t remember anything. Most people usually remember stuff up until they were drugged.’

  ‘So you think she has short-term memory loss?’ I’d read something about that last night, too. ‘That fits, I suppose. It can be triggered by stress.’

  He nodded, but I could tell that he wasn’t convinced.

  ‘What?’

  He scratched the corner of his mouth, then let out a long sigh. ‘Sometimes it’s triggered because the victim doesn’t want to remember.’

  I frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t she want to remember?’

  ‘Because she knows who did it.’

  TWO DAYS AFTER

  MAY


  Ostley Police Station wasn’t what I expected. I think I’ve watched too many cop shows, because I thought it would be chaotic. I thought the phones would be ringing off the hook and there would be police officers pacing up and down, knocking back cups of coffee. I don’t know why, it’s hardly Scotland Yard. I must have passed it a dozen times before I knew what it was. After Scarlett’s house, it’s the second largest building in the village, which isn’t saying much. It’s only fractionally bigger than the pub so, with its pitched roof and leaded windows, it looks like the other houses around it. If it wasn’t for the blue-glass POLICE lantern over the door, I might never have noticed it.

  With a population of just under a thousand, Ostley shouldn’t have a police station. Like the Post Office, its days are numbered, and every now and then there’s a polite protest outside. I’ve seen the pictures in the local newspaper; lots of men and women in wellies waving grammatically correct signs. DOWN WITH THIS SORT OF THING.

  I could see why they wanted to keep it; it was kind of lovely, with its tub of pansies and the posters about missing bicycles and bake sales pinned to the noticeboard by the door, but when I walked into it today, I held my breath. I can’t say that I’d thought too much about what it looked like inside, but I was surprised to find that the reception was white-walled and tidy, like a dentist’s waiting room, just without the dog-eared magazines. There were no surly prostitutes smacking gum, like on television, no crying mothers with crying babies on their hips, no drunk men singing ‘Danny Boy’, just a few plastic chairs and a yucca plant in the corner.

  I don’t know how long we had to wait, but it felt too long, long enough to make me fidget. Mrs Delaney did too, she fussed over her hair and crossed and uncrossed her legs several times before she eventually stood up and wandered around the tiny waiting room. She peered through the window, then took a tissue out of her purse and wiped the dust from the leaves of the yucca plant.

  It made me fidget more. ‘Are you sure it’s nothing serious?’ I asked for the fourteenth time when she sat down again. ‘Did they say what it was about?’

  ‘Don’t worry, dear.’ She patted my knee. ‘You’re not in any trouble. The police just want to ask you some questions about Scarlett.’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear.’

  She didn’t look at me and I felt a shudder of dread. It wasn’t the first time the police had wanted to speak to me about Scarlett running away, but they always spoke to me at Crofton. They’d never asked me to go to the station.

  ‘Don’t we have to tell the Foreign Office?’ I asked when I noticed her fiddling with her wedding ring. I wished she’d let me bring my cellphone. I wanted to call my father, hear him tell me that it was going to be OK.

  ‘I’ve left a message for your father.’ She patted my knee again.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When DS Hanlon called asking you to come in. About an hour ago.’ She checked her watch and arched an eyebrow. ‘Actually, more like two hours ago now.’

  ‘Did you speak to anyone at the embassy?’

  ‘To someone called Chinwe. She told me that it was fine for you to speak to the police as long as you’re not under caution.’

  I knew Chinwe, so that made me feel better, but I still had to close my eyes and take a deep breath as I felt the muscles in my legs begin to twitch. Run, a voice in my head said as I looked across at the door. Run.

  Mrs Delaney sighed and checked her watch again. ‘They’re making us wait an inordinate amount of time given that this is urgent,’ she said, raising her voice for the benefit of the police officer at the reception desk who wasn’t paying attention. She sighed again. ‘We’ve been waiting over half an hour.’

  Finally, the door next to the reception desk swung open and PC Hill looked across the waiting room at me. ‘Adamma Okomma?’ he said, as if we’d never met, as if he wasn’t the person who I spoke to every time Scarlett did this.

  ‘Hello again, PC Hill,’ I said with a pointed smile, standing up. But he didn’t flinch, just gestured at me to follow him.

  Mrs Delaney and I followed him through the door and up a flight of stairs to the first floor. When he led us through a set of double doors into the main office, I was startled. It was more what I had expected – busy. Noisy, even. I don’t know what it looked like before, but it was clear that the room, which wasn’t much bigger than one of the classrooms at Crofton, with two smaller offices on either side, had never seen such chaos. There was a bank of untidy desks in the middle – two worn ones and three newer beech ones – suit jackets hanging on the back of each of the swivel chairs next to them. The phone was ringing and a woman in a creased white shirt, who was standing in the middle of the office, talking into a cellphone, interrupted her conversation to lean down and answer it, ‘CID?’

  I missed a step, then missed another as we passed a whiteboard with green writing all over it. Scarlett’s name was in capital letters at the top and I turned away, stepping on Mrs Delaney’s toe as I did. I apologised and when I stopped to catch my breath, I glanced through the open door to one of the offices and saw Dominic in his Crofton uniform sitting slumped at the desk next to a man in a suit.

  ‘Dominic,’ I gasped.

  He blinked at me a few times, as though I’d just woken him up. ‘Adamma.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Before he could respond, I heard someone bark, ‘Keep them apart,’ and looked up as Bones marched across the office towards us.

  ‘Bones.’ My heart stopped. ‘I thought you were based in Swindon?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked and when his jaw clenched, I wished that I could take it back. I shouldn’t have called him Bones there.

  ‘I called her in,’ the women in the creased white shirt said from across the office as she hung up the phone.

  That seemed to irritate him more. ‘Take them into room two,’ he said, pointing the manila file in his hand at PC Hill, before marching over to the woman.

  I heard them whispering furiously while PC Hill led Mrs Delaney and me to the office on the other side, and, as we sat in the grey plastic chairs he gestured at, I heard her hiss, ‘I got it, Mike,’ a moment before she appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said with a quick smile, nodding at PC Hill as he left, then closing the door and sitting on the other side of the desk. ‘Thanks for coming in to have a chat with me, Adamma. My name is DS Hanlon and I’m one of the officers investigating Scarlett Chiltern’s disappearance.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I breathed, my hands balling into fists in my lap. ‘Is Scarlett OK? Did something happen?’

  ‘No.’ DS Hanlon put the manila folder and legal pad she was holding down on the desk in front of her. ‘I just want to ask you a few questions about Scarlett.’ She looked at me, her green eyes suddenly brighter. ‘Is that OK?’

  I nodded, waiting for my heart to settle. It didn’t.

  ‘I’ve asked your housemistress to join us because you’re seventeen.’ She glanced down and opened the folder. ‘Just.’ She smiled at me. ‘By a month.’

  When she reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a Dictaphone, I felt Mrs Delaney tense. ‘That’s rather formal for a chat, isn’t it, DS Hanlon?’

  ‘I’m sure Adamma understands. You have one of these for when you do interviews for the school newspaper, right?’ She held it up and when I nodded, she smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. If she was trying to put me at ease, it wasn’t working. ‘I don’t know shorthand so I have to record everything.’

  I watched Mrs Delaney sit back in her chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, then turned to look at DS Hanlon again. ‘How can I help?’

  She asked me to confirm a few details – my full name, date of birth, address – and when I did, she asked me when I
had met Scarlett. ‘Last September,’ I told her, trying to control the tremor in my voice, ‘on my first day at Crofton.’

  She wrote that down. ‘Were you close?’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Scarlett?’

  ‘On Saturday night.’

  ‘Where did you see her?’

  ‘At her seventeenth birthday party.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  The tops of my ears burned as I remembered that Mrs Delaney was next to me. I don’t know what was worse, being questioned by a police officer or knowing that I’d just admitted to sneaking out in front of Mrs Delaney. But I couldn’t lie.

  ‘In Savernake Forest.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’

  I started fiddling with my necklace and told myself to stop. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We haven’t spoken in a while.’

  ‘You fell out?’

  I nodded, looking down at the scuffed desk.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We grew apart,’ I lied, and even though I knew the words – I’d said them so many times – they still felt strange, like a pair of jeans that were suddenly too short.

  ‘Grew apart?’

  I nodded.

  ‘When was the last time you spoke properly?’

  ‘Not for a while.’

  She looked up from the notepad. ‘A while?’

  ‘Not since last year, I guess.’

  ‘Since her sister Edith’s wedding?’

  I had to take a breath before I said it and I hoped she didn’t notice. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hear you argued.’

  I nodded again.

  ‘About Dominic Sim?’

  I felt it like a punch in the jaw and was too stunned to speak for a moment. I blinked at her and when she held my gaze as if to say, Go on, I looked at Mrs Delaney. She was so used to Scarlett and our drama that I thought she would give me a withering look, but she reached under the table and squeezed my hand.