‘Because everyone liked him. The whole school fancied him – some people said they didn’t, but that was just because they wanted to look special, or because they knew they didn’t have a chance of getting him anyway. And all of Colm’s wanted to hang out with him. That’s why I said it had to be a randomer who did it. No one would’ve gone after Chris on purpose.’
I said, ‘You fancied Chris?’
Shrug. ‘Like I said: everyone did. It wasn’t a big deal. I fancy a lot of guys.’ Small hooded smile, intimate.
I matched it. ‘Ever go out with him? Hook up with him?’
‘No.’ Instant, definite.
‘Why not? If you fancied him . . .’ Little lean on the you. Any guy you want, bet you get.
‘No reason. Me and Chris just never happened. End of.’
Gemma was shutting down again. Something there, too.
Conway didn’t push, I didn’t push. Here’s my card, if you think of anything, all the rest of it. Conway told Houlihan to bring us Alison Muldoon. I gave Gemma a grin that was one step from a wink, as she swayed out of the door and glanced back to make sure I was watching.
Let out my breath, wiped my mouth to scrape that grin off. ‘Not our girl,’ I said.
Conway said, ‘What’s all this with one thing about Chris?’
She had had a year to get to know him. I’d had a few hours. Anything I could get was good.
No reason why I should get to know Chris. Not my case, not my vic. I was just here to bat my eyelashes, come up with the right smiles, get girls talking.
I said, ‘What’s all this about boyfriends?’
Conway came off the table, into my face, fast. ‘You questioning me?’
‘I’m asking.’
‘I ask you. Not the other way round. You go to the jacks, I get to ask whether you washed your hands if I want. You got that?’
That almost-laugh was well gone. I said, ‘I need to know how they felt about Chris. No point me talking up how lovely he was and how a guy like that deserves justice, if I’m talking to someone who hated his guts.’
Conway stared me out of it for another minute. I kept steady, thought about six girls left and how far Conway would get without me. Hoped to God she was thinking the same thing.
She eased back onto the table.
‘Alison,’ she said. ‘Alison’s petrified of bleeding everything. Me included. I’m gonna be keeping my mouth well shut, unless you fuck up. Don’t fuck up.’
Alison was like looking at Gemma shrunk. Short little thing, scrawny, shoulders curled in. Fidgety fingers, twisting at her skirt. Hard-work straight blond hair, fake tan, skinny eyebrows. No glance at the Secret Place.
This one recognised Conway, anyway. Conway got out of the way fast as Alison came through the door, tried to disappear, but Alison did a body-swerve away from her all the same. ‘Alison,’ I said, quick and smooth, to distract her. ‘I’m Stephen Moran. Thanks for coming in.’ Smile. Reassuring, this time. ‘Have a seat.’
No smile back. Alison perched the edge of her backside on the edge of the chair and stared at me. Pinched little features, gerbil, white mouse. I wanted to hold out my fingers, do tongue-clicky noises.
Instead, I said gently, ‘Just a few routine questions; it’ll only take a few minutes. Can you tell me about yesterday evening? Starting with your first study period?’
‘We were in here. But we didn’t do anything. If anything got, like, stolen or broken or whatever, it wasn’t me. I swear.’
Pinched little voice to match, rising towards a whine. Conway was right, Alison was scared: scared that she was screwing up, that everything she said and did and thought was wrong. She wanted me to reassure her that she was doing things right. Seen it in school, seen it in a million witnesses, patted it on the head and said all the right words.
I said, soothing, ‘Ah, I know that. Nothing’s gone missing, nothing like that. No one’s done anything wrong.’ Smile. ‘We’re just checking something out. All I need you to do is run through your evening. That’s it. Could you do that for me, yeah?’
Nod. ‘OK.’
‘Beautiful. It’ll be like a test where you know all the answers and you can’t get anything wrong. How’s that?’
Tiny smile back. Tiny step towards relaxing.
I needed Alison relaxed, before I whipped out that photo. That was what had got me my answers from Orla and from Gemma: the ease I had made for them, and the fast shove out of it.
Alison gave me the same story again, but in chips and snippets that I had to coax out of her, like playing pick-up sticks. Telling it made her tense up even more. No way to know if there was a good reason, a bad reason or none.
She backed Orla on who had left the art room when – Gemma, Orla, her, Joanne – and she sounded a lot more sure than Orla had. ‘You’re very observant,’ I said. Approving. ‘That’s what we like to see. I came in here praying we’d get someone exactly like you, you know that?’
Another scrawny smile. Another step.
I said, ‘Can you make my day? Tell me you had a look at the Secret Place, somewhere along the way.’
‘Yeah. When I went out to the . . . On my way back, I had a look.’ Quick glance at Houlihan. ‘I mean, only for a second. Then I came straight back in to do the project.’
‘Ah, lovely. That’s what I was hoping to hear. Spot any new cards up there?’
‘Yeah. There was one with this dog that was, like, so adorbs. And someone put up one of . . .’ Nervous smirk, duck. ‘You know.’
I waited. Alison twisted.
‘Just a . . . a lady’s, like, her chest. In a top, I mean! Not . . .’ High painful giggle. ‘And it said, “I’m saving up so the day I turn eighteen I can buy ones like this!”’
Observant, again. It went with the fear. Prey animal, watching everything for a threat. ‘That’s it? Nothing else new?’
Alison shook her head. ‘Those were it.’
If she was telling the truth, that backed what we thought already: Orla and Gemma were out. ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That’s perfect. Tell us: have you ever put up any cards?’
Eyes skittering. I said, ‘Nothing wrong with it if you did. Sure, that’s what the board’s for; it’d be a waste if no one used it.’