Mackey didn’t wait for me. I watched him take the stairs a flight ahead of me, all the way down those long curves, watched him cross the hall. That dimness, that angle, he looked sinister, someone I didn’t know and shouldn’t be following, not that fast.
When I got to the door, he was leaning back against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t bothered to light a smoke.
He said, ‘I’m bored of playing games. You and Conway didn’t get me out here because of professional courtesy. You got me out here because you need an appropriate adult. Because Holly’s a suspect in the murder of Christopher Harper.’
I said, ‘If you’d rather go back to HQ, get all this on video, we can do that.’
‘If I wanted to be somewhere else, we would be. What I want is for you to quit bullshitting me.’
I said, ‘We think it’s possible that Holly was involved in some capacity.’
Mackey squinted past me, at the treeline ringing that sweep of grass. He said, ‘I’m a little surprised I need to point this out to you, sunshine, but what the hell, let’s play. You’re describing someone who’s too thick to get her shoes on the right feet. Holly may be a lot of things, but she’s not stupid.’
‘I know she’s not.’
‘Yeah? Then let’s just make sure I’ve got the theory straight. According to you, Holly’s committed murder and got clean away with it. The Murder lads have done their little dance, got nowhere and buggered off. And now – a year later, when everyone’s given up and moved on – Holly brings you that card. She deliberately drags the Murder boys back in. Deliberately puts herself in the spotlight. Deliberately points them towards a witness who can lock her up.’ Mackey hadn’t moved from the wall, but he was looking at me now, all right. Those blue eyes, hot enough to brand you. ‘Talk to me, Detective. Tell me how that works, unless she’s the level of moron that would make the baby Jesus swear. Am I missing something here? Are you just fucking with my head to prove you’re a big boy now and I’m not the boss of you any more? Or are you honest to God standing there with a straight face and trying to tell me that makes one fucking iota of sense?’
I said, ‘I don’t think for a second that Holly’s thick. I think she’s using us to do her dirty work.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘She found that card and she needs to know who made it. She’s narrowed it down, the same way we did, but that’s where she’s stuck. So she pulls us in to stir things up a bit, see who pops to the surface.’
Mackey pretended to think that over. ‘I like it. Not a lot, but I like it. She’s got no problem with the idea of us actually finding the witness and getting the goods, no? Landing in jail would just be a minor annoyance?’
‘She doesn’t think she’ll land in jail. That means she knows the card girl won’t rat her out. Either she knows it’s one of her own, and Joanne Heffernan’s bunch got mixed in along the way – by accident, or because Holly figured she might as well find out if they had any info while she was at it, since they were getting out at night as well, or because she just liked the idea of giving them a scare. Or else she’s got some hold over Heffernan’s lot.’
Mackey’s eyebrow was up. ‘I said she’s not thick, kid. I didn’t say she was Professor fucking Moriarty.’
I said, ‘Tell me that doesn’t sound like something you would do.’
‘I might well. I’m a pro. I’m not a na?ve teenage kid whose entire experience of criminal behaviour is one unfortunate encounter seven years back. I’m flattered that you think I’ve raised some kind of evil genius, but you might want to save a little of that imagination for your online warcrafting time.’
I said, ‘So is Holly a pro. So are all of them. If I’ve learned one thing today, it’s that teenage girls make Moriarty look like a babe in the woods.’
Mackey gave me that with a tilt of his chin. Thought. ‘So,’ he said. ‘In this pretty little story, Holly knows the card girl won’t dob her in, but she’s still willing to take major risks to find out who it is. Why?’
‘If that was you,’ I said. ‘Starting to think about leaving school. Starting to realise that you and your friends are going to be heading out into the big wide world; this, what you’ve got now, it’s not going to last forever, you’re not always going to be bestest mates who’d die sooner than dob each other in. Would you want to leave a witness out there?’
I expected a punch, maybe. Got a startled snort of laughter that even sounded real. ‘Jesus, kid! Now she’s a serial killer? You want to check her alibi on the OJ case, too?’
I didn’t know how to say it, what I’d seen in Holly. Things turning solid, the world widening in front of her eyes. Dreams shifting to real, and the other way round, like a drawing sliding from charcoal to oil in front of your eyes. Words changing shape, meanings slipping.
I said, ‘Not a serial killer. Just someone who didn’t realise what she was starting.’
‘She’s not the only one. You’ve already got a bit of a name for – how do they put it? – not being a team player. Personally, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, but not everyone agrees with me. You go another step down that road, and plenty of people won’t want to know you. And believe me, pal: arresting a cop’s kid does not count as being a team player. You do that, you can wave bye-bye to your shot at Murder or Undercover. For good.’
He wasn’t bothering to be subtle about it. I said, ‘Only if I’m wrong.’
‘You think?’
‘Yeah. I do. We solve this, and I’m at the top of the queue for Murder. Everyone might hate my guts, but I’ll get my shot.’
‘At working there, maybe. For a little while. Not at being one of them.’
Mackey watching me. He’s good, Mackey; he’s the finest. Finger straight on the bruise, pressing just hard enough.
I said, ‘I’ll settle for working there. I’ve got enough buddies to last me.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well,’ Mackey said. He shot his cuff, checked his watch. ‘Better not keep Detective Conway waiting any longer. She’s not too happy about you coming out for private chats with me.’
‘She’s grand.’
‘Come here,’ Mackey said. Beckoned. Waited.
In the end I moved in.
He cupped a hand round the back of my neck. Gentle. Intent blue eyes, inches from mine. ‘If you’re right,’ he said – no threat there, not scaring me, just telling me – ‘I’m going to kill you.’
He gave the back of my head a double pat. Smiled. Moved off, into the high-arched dark of the hall.
That was when I realised: Mackey thought all of this was his fault. He thought he had put today in Holly’s blood. Mackey thought I was right.
Chapter 22
Monday morning, early, the bus grinding through traffic in stops and starts. Chris Harper has three weeks and less than four days left to live.
Julia is at the back of the half-empty top deck, with her ankles bent around her holdall at uncomfortable angles and her science homework on her lap. She spent the weekend banging her head against what to do about Chris and Selena. Her main instinct is to grab hold of Selena, probably literally, and ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing; but some other instinct, further back and twisting restlessly, tells her that the moment she says this out loud – to Selena, or to Holly or Becca – nothing will ever be the same again. She can smell the poison smoke as everything they’ve got roars into flame. So she ended up getting nowhere with that and nowhere with homework, and this week is starting off to be a total peach all round. Rain streaks down the bus windows, the driver has turned the heat up to a million and everything is covered in a clammy film of condensation.
Julia is scribbling fast, something about photosynthesis, with one eye on her textbook and one on her barely-reworded page, when she feels someone standing in the aisle looking down at her. It’s Gemma Harding.
Gemma lives like four houses from the bus stop, but Daddy always drops her to school on Monday morning, in his black Porsche that takes half an hour to turn in the narrow school drive. Everything factors into the pecking order: Porsche beats most cars, any car beats bus. If Gemma’s on OMG public transport, there’s a reason.
Julia rolls her eyes. ‘Selena hasn’t been anywhere near Chris. ’Kthanksbye.’ She sticks her head back in her textbook.
Gemma dumps her weekend bag on the next seat and slides in next to Julia. She’s wet, raindrops sparkling on her coat. ‘This bus stinks,’ she says, wrinkling her nose.
It does: sweat-marinated raincoats, steaming. ‘So get off and call Daddy to come save you. Please.’
Gemma ignores that. She says, ‘Did you know Joanne used to be going out with Chris?’
Julia gives her the eyebrow. ‘Yeah. As if.’
‘She was. For like two months. Back before Christmas.’
‘If she’d managed to get Chris Harper, she’d have had it tattooed across her face.’
‘He didn’t want them to tell anyone. Which should’ve tipped Joanne off – like, hello? But Chris kept giving her loads about how he was scared because he’d never felt this way about anyone before, and his feelings were so strong—’
Julia snorts.
‘I know, right? I don’t know what kind of TV he watches, but, like, barf? I said it to Joanne: the only reason a guy doesn’t want to tell people is either because you’re a swamp-monster and he’s ashamed of you, which Joanne completely isn’t, or else because he’s keeping his options open.’