I said, ‘That phone that my partner’s got, that was yours till you sold it to Alison. And we’ve got records of a million texts back and forth between that number and Chris’s secret phone.’
Joanne sighed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘All right.’
She rearranged herself on the edge of the bed. Hands folded, ankles crossed, eyes down. She was getting into character: bereaved girlfriend. ‘Chris and I were together. For a couple of months, the autumn before last.’
It practically exploded out of her. She’d been only dying to tell, for a year now. Held it in because it might get her suspected, because she didn’t want to admit she’d been dumped, because we were adults and the enemy, who knew. Finally, we’d given her the excuse to talk.
‘But he never said anything about, like, having an enemy or anything. And he would’ve told me. Like you said, we were really close.’
‘Is that what you used that key for?’ I asked. ‘Going out at night to meet Chris, yeah?’
Joanne shook her head. ‘I only got the key after we split up. And anyway, he couldn’t get out at night either. I mean, obviously he found some way later, because he was meeting that fat cow, but he couldn’t when we were together.’
‘And he had a secret phone specially for texting you, as well?’
‘Yeah. He said the guys at Colm’s went through each other’s phones all the time, looking for sexts or photos – you know, photos? From girls?’ Meaningful stare. I nodded. ‘Chris said the priests did it too – some of them are such perverts, it’s just eww. I was like, “Hello, if you think you’re getting pictures of my la-la, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to work a little harder than that?” But it wasn’t like that; Chris just wasn’t going to have anyone reading my texts. Anything I said meant too much to him to have some D-head leching over them.’
I caught a glance off Conway. Chris had been good, all right. ‘What kind of phone was it?’ I asked. ‘Did you ever see it?’
Misty smile, reminiscent. ‘Exactly like my one, only red. “A matching pair,” that’s what Chris said. “Like us.”’
Conway’s eye said Puke. ‘How come all the secrecy?’ I asked. ‘Why not just tell everyone you were together?’
That made Joanne move, a defensive jerk: the secret hadn’t been her idea. She took a breath and got back in character. ‘I mean, this wasn’t just some stupid shallow teenage thing. We had something special, me and Chris. It was so intense, it was like, ohmyGod, something out of a song? People wouldn’t have understood; they literally wouldn’t have been able to get it. I mean, obviously we were going to tell them anyway, in a while. Just not yet.’
Coming out too pat and brittle, learned off by heart. The lines Chris had given her, that she’d told herself over and over to make it feel OK.
I asked, ‘It wasn’t because there was someone specific who Chris didn’t want finding out? A jealous ex, something like that?’
‘No. I mean . . .’ Joanne thought about that, liked it. ‘There could’ve been. I mean, lots of people would’ve been so jel if they’d known. But he never mentioned anyone.’
‘How’d you manage to meet up in secret, if you couldn’t get out at night?’
‘At the weekends, mostly. Sometimes in the afternoons, between classes and study period, but it was hard finding a place where we wouldn’t get spotted. This one time, you know the little park down past the Court? It was November, so it was dark early and the park was closed, but me and Chris climbed over the railings. There’s this little roundabout, for kids; we sat on that and . . .’
Joanne was half-smiling, unconsciously, remembering. ‘I was there, “OhmyGod, I can’t believe I’m doing this, climbing around in the dark like some skanger; you’d better buy me something nice after this,” but I was just joking. It was actually . . . fun. We were laughing so hard. We had fun, that day.’
A wisp of a laugh. A frail thing, lost, drifting between the slick posters and the makeup-smeared tissues. Not a laugh she’d learned off some reality star and practised; just her, missing that day.
Here was why she had needed to see Selena and Chris through a dirty snicker and a gagging noise. That was the only way she could stand to look.
I said, ‘So what happened? You were together a couple of months, you said. Why’d you split up?’
That slammed Joanne shut again. Fake stare clanging into place, vein of hurt vanished behind it. ‘I broke up with him. I feel sooo terrible about it now—’
‘Ah-ah,’ Conway said, waving the bag again. ‘That’s not what this says.’
‘You kept texting him and ringing him after he stopped answering,’ I explained. Joanne’s mouth thinned. ‘What happened?’
She got on top of that one faster than I expected. With another sigh: ‘Well. Chris got frightened of his feelings. I mean, like I already told you, what we had was totally special? Like really intense?’ Wide earnest eyes, parted lips, voice pitched high. She was being someone off the telly; I hadn’t a clue who, don’t watch the right stuff. ‘And a lot of guys can’t cope with that. I think Chris was just kind of immature. If he was alive, then probably by now we’d be . . .’ Another sigh. Gaze drifting off, at a picturesque angle, into the might-have-beens.
‘You must’ve been well annoyed with him,’ I said.
Joanne flicked hair. With an edge to her voice: ‘Um, I so didn’t care?’
I went puzzled. ‘Seriously? I wouldn’t’ve thought you were used to being dumped. You are, yeah?’
More edge. The wide-eyed thing was wearing off fast. ‘No, I’m not. Nobody’s ever dumped me.’
‘Except Chris.’
‘Well, I was about to dump him anyway. That’s why I said—’
‘How come? I thought the relationship was great, he just got overloaded ’cause he was immature. But you’re not immature, are you?’
‘No. I just—’ Joanne was thinking fast. Hand going to her heart: ‘I knew it was more than he could handle. I was going to set him free. “If you love something—”’
‘Then why’d you keep texting him after he stopped texting you?’
‘I was just telling him. That I understood, you know, how it was too intense? That, I mean, I wasn’t going to wait for him or anything, but I hoped we could be friends. Stuff like that. I can’t remember.’
‘Not giving out to him, no? Because we’ve got someone pulling the actual texts. We’ll be able to read them any minute.’
‘I don’t remember. I guess I could’ve been a teeny bit startled, but I wasn’t angry or anything.’
Conway shifted her back against the wall. Warning me: if I pushed this any harder, we were over that line and into inadmissible.
‘I understand,’ I said. Leaned in, hands clasped. ‘Joanne. Listen to me.’ I put that epic ring back into my voice: a speech to inspire the brave young heroine. ‘You had the key. You believed your relationship with Chris wasn’t over. You kept an eye on Chris when he came into the grounds at night. Do you see where I’m going with this?’
That flat stare turned wary. Joanne shrugged.
‘I think you were out there the night he died, and I think you saw something. No’ – I raised a hand, masterful – ‘let me finish. Maybe you’re protecting someone. Maybe you’re afraid. Maybe you don’t want to believe what you saw. I’m sure you’ve got a good reason for saying you weren’t there.’
Conway, in the corner of my eye, giving me a sliver of a nod. We were back on safe ground. If Joanne repeated that speech to her counsel someday, it said witness, loud and clear. But if it worked, if she admitted to being at the scene, she crossed over the line to suspect, no leeway left.
‘But I’m also sure, Joanne, I’m just as sure that you saw something, or heard something. You know who killed Chris Harper.’ I let my voice rise. ‘Time to stop hiding it. You heard what Detective Conway said, earlier. It’s time to tell us – before we find out on our own, or someone else does. Now.’
Joanne wailed, ‘But I don’t! Honest to God, I swear, I didn’t go out that night! I hadn’t been out in weeks.’
‘You’re trying to tell me you didn’t have anyone to meet? Almost six months after Chris dumped you, you were still single?’
‘Not still – I went out with Oisín O’Donovan for a while, you can ask anyone, but I dumped him weeks before Chris happened! Ask him. I wasn’t out that night. I don’t know anything. I swear!’
Huge-eyed, hand-wringing, all the trimmings: the way she’d learnt that innocent looked, off the telly or wherever. Truth or lie, it would look exactly the same.
Another minute and she’d be scrunching up her face, trying to cry. Conway’s eye said Kill it.
I eased back, on the soft intimate squash of Gemma’s bed. Joanne drew a long shaky breath, snatched a sideways glance at me to make sure I’d caught it.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘OK, Joanne. Thank you.’