21
Damien couldn’t stop shaking. We took the photos away and brought him a fresh cup of tea, offered to find him an extra sweater or to heat up the leftover pizza for him, but he shook his head without looking at us. To me the whole scene felt wildly unreal. I couldn’t take my eyes off Damien. I had razed half my mind in search of memories, I had gone into Knocknaree wood, I had risked my career and I was losing my partner; because of this boy.
Cassie went through the rights sheet with him—slowly and tenderly, as if he had been in a bad accident—and I held my breath in the background, but he didn’t want a lawyer: “What’s the point? I did it, you guys knew anyway, everyone’s gonna know, there’s nothing a lawyer can…I’m going to jail, right? Am I going to jail?” His teeth were chattering; he needed something a lot stronger than tea.
“Don’t worry about that right now, OK?” Cassie said soothingly. This sounded like a pretty ludicrous suggestion to me, in the circumstances, but it seemed to calm Damien down a little; he even nodded. “Just keep helping us, and we’ll do our best to help you.”
“I didn’t—like you said, I never wanted to hurt anyone, I swear to God.” His eyes were locked on Cassie’s as if his very life depended on her believing him. “Can you tell them that, can you tell the judge? I’m not, I’m not some, like, psycho or serial killer or…I’m not like that. I didn’t want to hurt her, I swear on, on, on…”
“Shhh. I know.” She had her hand on his again, her thumb rubbing the back of his wrist in a soothing rhythm. “Shhh, Damien. It’s going to be OK. The worst part’s over. Now all you need to do is tell us what happened, in your own words. Can you do that for me?”
After a few deep breaths, he nodded, bravely. “Well done,” said Cassie. She stopped short of patting him on the head and giving him a biscuit.
“We’ll need the whole story, Damien,” I said, pulling my chair closer, “step by step. Where did it start?”
“Huh?” he said, after a moment. He looked stunned. “I…what?”
“You said you never wanted to hurt her. So how did this end up happening?”
“I don’t…I mean, I’m not sure. I don’t remember. Can’t I just tell you about, like, that night?”
Cassie and I exchanged glances. “OK,” I said. “Sure. Start when you left work on the Monday evening. What did you do?” There was something there, obviously there was, his memory hadn’t conveniently deserted him; but if we pushed him now, he might clam up altogether or change his mind about that lawyer.
“OK…” Damien took another deep breath and sat up straighter, hands clasped tightly between his knees, like a schoolboy at an oral exam. “I took the bus home. I had dinner with my mother, and then we played Scrabble for a while; she likes Scrabble. My mother—she’s sort of sick, she has this heart condition?—she went to bed at ten, she always does. I, um, I went to my room and I just hung out there till she was asleep—she snores, so I could…I tried to read and stuff, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t concentrate, I was so…” His teeth were chattering again.
“Shhh,” Cassie said gently. “It’s over now. You’re doing the right thing.”
He caught a jagged little breath, nodded. “What time did you leave the house?” I asked.
“Um, eleven. I walked back to the dig—see, it’s only really like a few miles from my house, it just takes ages on the bus ’cause you have to go all the way into town and then out again. I went round by the back lanes, so I wouldn’t have to go past the estate. I had to go past the cottage instead, but the dog knows me, so when he got up I said, ‘Good dog, Laddie,’ and he shut up. It was dark, but I had a torch. I went in the tools shed and got a pair of, of gloves, and I put them on, and I picked up a…” He swallowed hard. “I picked up a big rock. From the ground, at the edge of the dig. Then I went into the finds shed.”
“What time was this?” I said.
“Like midnight.”
“And when did Katy get there?”
“It was supposed to be…” A blink, a duck of the head. “It was supposed to be one o’clock, but she was early, maybe quarter to one? When she knocked on the door I almost had a heart attack.”
He had been frightened of her. I wanted to punch him. “So you let her in.”
“Yeah. She had these chocolate biscuits in her hand, I guess she took them on her way out of the house; she gave me one, but I couldn’t—I mean, I couldn’t eat. I just put it in my pocket. She ate hers and she told me about that ballet school and stuff for a couple of minutes. And then I said…I said, ‘Look on that shelf,’ and she turned round. And I, um, I hit her. With the rock, on the back of her head. I hit her.”
There was a high note of pure disbelief in his voice. His pupils were dilated so widely that his eyes looked black.
“How many times?” I asked.
“I don’t—I—God…Do I have to do this? I mean, I told you I did it, can’t you just…just…” He was gripping the edge of the table, nails digging in.
“Damien,” Cassie said, softly but very firmly, “we need to know the details.”
“OK. OK.” He rubbed a hand clumsily across his mouth. “I hit her, just one time, but I guess I must’ve not done it hard enough, ’cause she sort of tripped forwards and fell down, but she was still like—she turned round and she opened her mouth like she was gonna scream, so I—I grabbed her. I mean, I was scared, I was really scared, if she screamed…” He was practically gibbering. “I got my hand over her mouth and I tried to hit her again, but she got her hands in the way and she was scratching me and kicking and everything—we were on the floor, see, and I couldn’t even see what was going on ’cause there was just my torch on the table, I hadn’t turned on the light—I tried to hold her down but she was trying to get to the door, she kept twisting, and she was strong—I hadn’t expected her to be strong, when she was…”
His voice trailed off and he stared down at the table. He was breathing through his nose, fast and shallow and hard.
“When she was so little,” I said, tonelessly.
Damien’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He had turned a nasty greenish-white, freckles standing out in high relief.
“We can take a break if you need one,” Cassie said. “But sooner or later you’re going to have to tell us the rest of the story.”
He shook his head violently. “No. No break. I just want to…I’m OK.”
“Good,” I said. “Then let’s keep going. You had a hand over her mouth, and she was fighting.” Cassie moved, a tiny half-suppressed twitch.
“Yeah. OK.” Damien hugged himself, hands dug deep into the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Then she twisted over onto her stomach and she was kind of crawling towards the door, and I—I hit her again. With the rock, on the side of her head. I guess I did it harder this time—adrenaline or something—’cause she collapsed. She was unconscious. But she was still breathing, really loud, sort of moaning, so I knew I had to…I couldn’t hit her again, I just couldn’t. I didn’t…” He was close to hyperventilating. “I didn’t…want to…hurt her….”
“So what did you do?”
“There’s these, these plastic bags on the shelf. For finds. So I got one of them, and I…I put it over her head and kept it twisted till…”
“Till what?” I said.
“Till she stopped breathing,” Damien said at last, very softly.