False Witness

by Michelle Davies

  ‘What time did you meet?’

  ‘Six. I set my alarm to wake up early.’

  Julia was stunned. How had they not heard it? Poppy’s room was right next to theirs.

  ‘Whose idea was it to get on the wall?’ asked Burton.

  ‘His. I didn’t want to. It was really high.’

  ‘What made you change your mind?’

  ‘Benji started calling me names. He said I was a crybaby. I’m not,’ said Poppy hotly.

  ‘So you got cross with him and decided to prove a point?’ asked Renshaw carefully.

  ‘Not cross, no. I was upset, like, crying, ’cause he kept on at me. In the end I said yes to make him stop.’

  ‘Who went up the ladder first?’

  ‘He did.’

  Poppy began chewing anxiously on her bottom lip. Julia felt so tense it was a struggle to remember to breathe.

  ‘It seems very clear the boy coerced my daughter onto that wall,’ said Ewan firmly.

  Both Renshaw and Burton ignored him.

  ‘When you reached the top of the ladder, then what happened?’ asked Burton.

  Poppy stopped chewing. There were flecks of blood visible on her lip.

  ‘Can I say something?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ said Renshaw.

  ‘It’s not my fault Benji died.’ Her voice splintered with grief. ‘I’m really, really sorry for what happened but it wasn’t my fault. I said it was too high but he wouldn’t listen.’ She rubbed at her eyes, now wet with tears. ‘I wanted to get down but he wouldn’t let me. When his foot slipped I tried to grab hold of him but it happened too fast and I thought I was going to fall too and I was so scared. But it was an accident, I swear.’

  20

  Imogen was confused by Byford’s sudden appointment as another FLO when Maggie called ahead to say he was coming round to meet her. She had tried to explain it would be better for Imogen to have both of them as a point of contact – if one wasn’t available, the other would be – but it raised an awkward question.

  ‘Which one of you is in charge though?’ Imogen asked.

  It was a good point and Maggie decided to raise it with Byford on the drive over, politely expressing her belief that liaison ran more smoothly when one FLO took their cue from the other. It had worked well for her and Belmar on the Rosie Kinnock case with her leading, and as Imogen already trusted her it made sense for her to lead again on this investigation.

  Byford disagreed.

  ‘What, you should be in charge just because you’ve had a twenty-four-hour head start?’ he’d scoffed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘This is your first case as a FLO,’ Maggie shot back. ‘You need to learn to walk before you can run.’

  ‘You make it sound like I’m a total novice when in fact I know I’ve been in CID longer than you have, because I checked.’

  They agreed, after arguing back and forth, that neither of them was the lead officer and they’d work together. Maggie then spent the rest of the journey inwardly cursing Gant for pairing her with someone so evidently competitive. No wonder he hadn’t rung himself to tell her about Byford.

  When they arrived at Imogen’s, Maggie made a point of explaining that neither of them was in charge, so everyone was clear on where they stood. By that point Imogen seemed unbothered by Byford’s presence – as she was waiting for them to arrive she’d turned on the TV for the first time since yesterday morning and it went straight to Benji’s favourite channel and one of his favourite programmes, prompting a fresh tidal wave of sorrow.

  Ed and Grace were doing their best to comfort her but her tears had had a ripple effect and now the three of them were in pieces. Maggie glanced at Byford to gauge his reaction and saw that, thankfully, he wasn’t discomfited by their distress. A good FLO needed to soak up grief like a sponge and not let it show when it got to them. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  A round of tea later, the Tylers had calmed down sufficiently for Maggie to explain that they would like to have a look through Benji’s bedroom, to see if there was anything that might be relevant to the case.

  ‘Such as?’ asked Grace.

  ‘Any indication of what his friendship with Poppy was really like. Did he keep a diary?’ Maggie asked Imogen.

  ‘Not that I’m aware.’

  ‘Did he have access to a computer?’ asked Byford.

  ‘He uses my laptop but under supervision. I’m very strict about screen time.’

  Maggie noted that Imogen was still using the present tense.

  ‘Can we take a look at it?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. It’s in my room, I’ll go and get it.’

  When Imogen left the room, Grace rounded on them.

  ‘My daughter was too accepting of that girl. She’s a horrid, horrid child.’

  Maggie was caught off guard by the venom that dripped from Grace’s every word.

  ‘I take it you aren’t a fan?’

  ‘No, I’m not, and neither was my grandson. She was rude to him, and bossy. I don’t know what possessed Imogen to encourage the friendship.’

  ‘Did you and Benji ever talk about it?’

  Grace nodded. ‘He told me once he was unhappy being paired with Poppy in class. He told me she rode roughshod over his ideas and always wanted her way. Liked being the centre of attention. But I didn’t say anything because I knew Imogen liked them being friends.’

  ‘Any idea why?’ asked Byford.

  Grace shared an uneasy glance with Ed, who quickly looked away.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Grace.

  Maggie’s instincts told her Grace knew exactly why but wasn’t saying.

  ‘Did Benji mention a recent incident at school where Poppy hurt him?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you mean the fight that Imogen was messaged about?’ Grace shook her head. ‘No, he never said anything to me about it. But I’ll tell you something, if my grandson could’ve stayed out of that girl’s way he would’ve.’

  21

  There was an awkward moment when Imogen came back downstairs with the laptop, and Byford airily announced he was off to ‘poke around’ Benji’s room while Maggie asked them some more questions. Maggie shot into the hallway after him and a heated, furiously whispered argument kicked off.

  ‘You need to be more sensitive,’ she snapped. ‘You should’ve asked them first if it was okay to go upstairs.’

  For a second she thought he was about to roll his eyes but he caught himself.

  ‘Fine. I’m sorry. Chalk it up as my first mistake. I’ll know for next time.’

  Bristling with anger, Maggie let him go. Then she took a deep breath and returned to the lounge. Fortunately for her and Byford, the Tylers were too distracted to have noticed anything amiss.

  She sat down on the easy chair opposite the sofa where they were sitting.

  ‘If you feel up to answering, I’d like to talk more about Benji,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, whatever you need to know,’ said Ed, taking his sister’s hand. ‘We want to help.’

  Staying gentle in her approach, Maggie eased Imogen through the history of her and Benji moving back to Mansell and him starting at Rushbrooke.

  ‘The first couple of weeks were tough but he’s settled in well,’ said Imogen. ‘The teacher told me he’s been keeping up in class.’

  ‘Aside from Poppy, who I’ll come back to, had he made friends at school?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘There’s one boy called Imtiaz that he talks about all the time. Really bright child, top of the class, but shy, like Benji. I think that’s why they’ve hit it off. They don’t see each other out of school though. I’ve tried to arrange stuff but his mum’s not very receptive. He’s on the list you asked for, along with a few others,’ she added.

  ‘I know you said this morning that Benji hadn’t mentioned the fight between him and Poppy, but had he talked about any other issues with her?’

  ‘They’re a lot like siblings – one minute they get on, the next they�
�re bickering. He was upset a few weeks ago when she called him “butt breath” in front of the class but I told Ewan and he made her apologize,’ said Imogen. ‘After that they were fine again, or at least I thought they were.’

  ‘Did they have their play dates here? Sorry, I know that’s not what they are when children are eleven, but I can’t think what else to call them.’

  Imogen frowned thoughtfully. ‘Yes, now you come to mention it. But Ewan did say Poppy’s little brother always got in the way when she had friends over, so maybe that’s why she preferred coming here.’

  ‘How often did she come round?’

  ‘Um, I’d say every other week. Usually on a Tuesday because neither of them had activities after school that day.’

  ‘It was always her dad who facilitated the play dates, never her mum?’

  Grace made a scoffing sound.

  ‘Mum, be quiet,’ Imogen hissed.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, just tell her,’ said Grace. ‘It might be relevant. Ed agrees, don’t you, Ed?’

  He nodded, much to Imogen’s annoyance.

  ‘Tell me what?’ asked Maggie.

  When Imogen refused to respond, snatching her hand away from her brother’s and crossing her arms angrily in front of her, Grace spoke instead.

  ‘Poppy’s mum tried to get Imogen expelled when they were at Rushbrooke.’

  Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, oh, indeed,’ said Grace. ‘There was a bit of nastiness in the playground, nothing serious, but it got completely blown out of proportion and Imogen was falsely accused of being the ringleader. I had to go down to the school to sort it out, but fortunately the teachers saw fit to believe that she hadn’t hurt anyone.’ Grace leaned forward. ‘Don’t you think it’s odd my grandson was pushed to his death by the daughter of the classmate who tried to get Imogen expelled?’

  Maggie took a moment before responding, carefully forming the words in her brain before she engaged her mouth.

  ‘Firstly, we don’t know Poppy did push him; we’re still gathering evidence,’ she said firmly. ‘Secondly, Imogen wasn’t aware Julia was Poppy’s mum until yesterday morning, so how can we be sure the children knew about the history between their mums? Thirdly, even if they were aware, why do you think it has any bearing on Benji’s death?’

  ‘I can answer that,’ said Ed quickly. ‘To address your first point, we know Benji wouldn’t have got on that wall without being bullied into it and once he was up there he was so careful he would’ve clung to it for dear life. He wouldn’t have fallen, he’d have had to be pushed to move him off it, and she was the only person with him at the time,’ he said. ‘Secondly, you’re right, Benji probably wasn’t aware of the history because, as you said, Imogen didn’t know Julia was Poppy’s mum. But that’s not to say Poppy didn’t know.’

  ‘Julia accused my daughter of some terrible things,’ said Grace. ‘Didn’t she, darling?’

  ‘To be honest, it’s a bit hazy,’ said Imogen, her cheeks colouring. ‘I mean, I remember she was in my class, but I’d forgotten all about getting into trouble until Mum brought it up. I doubt Julia remembers it either, it was so long ago.’

  ‘Unless she’s held a grudge all this time,’ Grace crowed. ‘She could have been biding her time, waiting for revenge because you showed her up to be a liar all those years ago. Then Benji started in her daughter’s class and the opportunity was suddenly in front of her.’

  ‘You think Julia manipulated Poppy into harming Benji to get back at Imogen for something that did or didn’t happen years ago?’ Maggie asked, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

  ‘It’s not implausible,’ said Grace huffily. ‘People do terrible things in the name of revenge; history is full of examples. Take Queen Boudicca—’

  Ed mercifully interrupted.

  ‘Mum loves history programmes,’ he said wryly.

  Beside him, Imogen shifted awkwardly in her seat.

  ‘Do you think it’s plausible?’ Maggie asked her.

  Imogen wrung her hands, obviously agitated. ‘I guess . . . I mean, it sounds ridiculous, and on the one hand I think it’s total nonsense . . .’

  ‘But on the other?’ Maggie prompted.

  ‘I’m scared it might be true.’

  22

  The Wheatsheaf was set back from one of the main arterial roads that ran through Mansell. The front entrance was reached down a flight of steep, narrow stairs and Alan’s hand skimmed the metal handrail as he made his way down them.

  It was far earlier in the day than he’d normally start drinking, but the phone calls with Gayle and Gus had left him feeling rattled and he needed a pint to take the edge off his nerves. He wasn’t expecting the pub to be busy at two in the afternoon – most of the regulars who drank there arrived at the end of the working day, just as he usually did.

  He’d come across The Wheatsheaf on his first weekend in Mansell, on a walk to familiarize himself with his new neighbourhood. It was one of only a few town pubs that hadn’t been converted into a mini supermarket or knocked down to make way for flats and as a consequence did a healthy trade amongst locals. Soon it had become a daily habit for him to take a detour home from the school to duck through its shabby doorway.

  The front entrance led into a lounge bar conspicuous for its sparse furnishings: a few tables circled by some uncomfortable-looking hard-backed chairs. This was where infrequent customers tended to drink, away from the locals who noisily dominated the snug bar next door that was rammed with overstuffed easy chairs, small round tables and stools that wobbled precariously when sat upon.

  Alan had kept to the lounge the first few times he’d visited, until he felt brave enough to venture through.

  The landlord, Doug, didn’t question why he was drinking so early – he simply set a pint of Adnams on the bar and batted away the £10 note Alan proffered.

  ‘On the house,’ he said. ‘I bet you need it after what’s been going on at the school. Gus was in here last night talking about it.’

  The colour drained from Alan’s face and his hand shook as he picked up the glass. Beer sloshed over the side, depositing a puddle on the bar that dripped onto the carpet next to his feet.

  ‘Watch where you’re slinging that about, that’s good beer you’re wasting,’ said Doug with a chuckle.

  ‘Sorry, if you give me a cloth I’ll wipe it up,’ said Alan.

  Doug leaned over the pumps and mopped up the spillage himself.

  ‘Must’ve been a shock for you, seeing the kid hit the deck like that.’

  Alan couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘What did Gus say about it?’

  ‘He said you told the police it was an accident.’

  ‘That’s what it looked like,’ said Alan uncomfortably. He didn’t want to discuss it, certainly not in the pub.

  ‘He said it was nasty, the way the kid fell.’

  Alan wondered if Doug knew about Gus’s set-up in the Pavilion. It wasn’t a long shot to assume he did: the landlord was no fool and his vantage point behind the bar made it easy for him to notice huddled conversations and money passing hands. He was unlikely to be a customer though: Doug was gay and Gus had only female escorts on his books.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t pry,’ said Doug. ‘I can see you’re upset.’

  Alan gulped down another mouthful of beer. ‘Yeah, can we talk about something else?’

  They spent the next few minutes discussing football and whether United or City would win the Manchester derby that weekend. Then, just as Alan had begun to relax and savour his pint, Doug leaned over the bar and beckoned him closer.

  ‘I want to give you a word of advice,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘If the police find out what’s been going on at the school, Gus will throw you under the bus, no question about it. So you get yourself some insurance, Alan. Something you can use against him.’

  So Doug did know. Alan stared at him, suddenly afraid.

  ‘Insurance?’

  ‘Something
that proves the Pavilion wasn’t your idea.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Alan desperately. ‘By the time I realized what he was up to, it was too late to back out.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘He’s chairman of the fucking governors.’

  ‘I know he is, that’s what’s so sickening. I’d tip off the police myself if it wasn’t for the fact that Gus would see to it I’d lose all my custom and I can’t afford the risk. I also don’t want to drop you in it, Alan. You’re a good bloke. So do yourself a favour and get that insurance sorted, because I can bet you Gus has his get-out-of-jail-free card all nice and ready.’

  Alan felt sick, because he knew Doug was right. But what could he do? He’d wiped the incriminating CCTV footage from ‘Corridor 8’ and, besides, Gus could easily explain away any of his appearances on it, what with him being the school’s leading governor.

  Then it dawned on him. If he couldn’t force Gus and the girls from the Pavilion, he’d have to take the Pavilion from them.

  23

  ‘When I was at primary school it wasn’t called bullying,’ said Imogen, sinking back against the sofa cushions. She looked spent, as though every syllable was an effort to pronounce. ‘It was playground bickering, kids being mean to each other. None of us gave any thought to how the person on the receiving end must’ve felt, mostly because the next week it would be our turn to be picked on. It was cyclical for everyone.’

  Maggie was trying to listen, but Grace kept muttering over the top of her daughter and interrupting. If she wanted Imogen to speak freely, she needed to get rid of her.

  ‘Would you mind giving me a minute alone with Imogen?’ she asked as pleasantly as she could manage. ‘It’s a bit difficult to concentrate and the quicker I get through these questions the better, because we don’t want to be late for seeing Benji.’

  The pathologist had agreed to delay the post-mortem to allow Imogen to see her son after Maggie’s earlier phone call. They needed to leave in an hour to get there.

  ‘I’ll put some coffee on,’ said Ed, heading for the kitchen. ‘Come on, Mum.’ Grace did as she was asked but sounded her annoyance in the huffing noises she made as she went.