The Secret Place (14 page)

I flipped the photo back and forth against my finger. ‘On your way here, you passed the Secret Place. You passed it again on your way to the toilet and back. And again when you left at the end of the evening. Right?’

Orla nodded. ‘Yeah.’ Hardly a glance at the photo. Not making any connection.

‘Did you stop for a look, any of those times?’

‘Yeah. When I was coming back from the toilet. Just to see if there was anything new. I didn’t touch anything.’

‘And was there? Anything new?’

‘Uh-uh. Nothing.’

Labrador and boob job, according to the PE teacher. If Orla had missed them, she could have missed one more.

‘What about you? Have you ever put up cards on the board?’

Orla did a coy squirm. ‘Maybe.’

I grinned along with her. ‘I know they’re private. I’m not asking for the details. Just tell me: when was the last one?’

‘Like a month ago?’

‘So this isn’t yours.’

I had the photo in Orla’s hand, face up, before she realised it was coming.

Prayed it wasn’t hers.

I needed to show Conway what I could do. Five minutes and an easy answer would get me nothing, except maybe a lift back to Cold Cases. I needed a fight.

And, somewhere in a locked back corner, detectives think old ways. You take down a predator, whatever bleeds out of it flows into you. Spear a leopard, grow braver and faster. All that St Kilda’s gloss, that walk through old oak doors like you belong, effortless: I wanted that. I wanted to lick it off my banged-up fists along with my enemy’s blood.

This fool, smelling of body spray and cheap gossip: not what I’d had in mind. This would be like taking down some kid’s fat hamster.

Orla stared, while the photo sank in. Then squealed. High flat wail, like air squeezed out of a squeaky toy.

‘Orla,’ I said. Sharp, before she could work herself up. ‘Did you put that up on the Secret Place?’

‘No! OhmyGod, I swear to God,
no
! I don’t know anything about what happened to Chris. Swear to
God
.’

I believed her. The photo at arm’s length, like it could hurt her; the bug-eyed stare zipping from me to Conway to Houlihan, looking for help. Not our girl. Just the detective gods throwing me an easy one, to start me off.

I said, ‘Then one of your friends did. Who was it?’

‘I don’t
know
! I don’t know anything about this. I totally
swear
.’

‘Any of them ever mention any ideas about Chris?’

‘No way. I mean, we all think it was that groundskeeper guy – he used to smile at us all the time, he was totally creepy, and you guys arrested him for having drugs, right? But we don’t
know
anything. Or anyway I don’t. And if any of the others do, they never told me. Ask them.’

‘We will,’ I said. Nice and soothing. Smile. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.’

Orla was calming down. Gawping at the photo, starting to like having it in her hand. I wanted to whip it off her. I let her hang on to it, have her fun.

Reminded myself: the ones you don’t like are a bonus. They can’t fool you as easy as the ones you do.

Twenty watts went on over Orla’s head. ‘Probably it wasn’t even any of us. Julia Harte and all them were in here right after us. Probably they did it.’

‘You figure they know what happened to Chris?’

‘Not even. I mean, maybe, but no? Like, they could’ve just made it up.’

‘Why would they?’

‘Because. They’re, ohmyGod,
so
weird
.’

‘Yeah?’ Me leaning forward, hands clasped, all confidential and ready for a gossip. ‘Seriously?’

‘Well, they used to be OK, like
ages
ago. Now we’re just like, “What
ever
,” you know?’ Orla’s hands flapping upwards.

‘What kind of weird are they?’

Too much to ask. Short-circuited stare, like I was looking for calculus. ‘Just like weird.’

I waited.

‘Like they think they’re so special.’ The first zip of something, bringing Orla’s face alive. Malice. ‘Like they think they can do whatever they want.’

I gave it intrigued. Waited more.

‘I mean, just for example, right? You should have
seen
them at the Valentine’s dance. They looked totes insane. Like Rebecca had on
jeans
, and Selena was wearing I don’t even know
what
it was, it looked like she was in a
play
!’ That high sharp giggle shot out again, jabbed me in the ear. ‘Everyone was like, hello, what are you
like
? I mean, there were
guys
there. The whole of
Colm’s
was there. They were all staring. And Julia and all of them acted like that didn’t even
matter
.’ Jaw-dropped face. ‘That was when we realised, um, hello,
weirdos
?’

I gave her the crinkly grin again. ‘And that was February?’

‘Last February. Last year.’ Before Chris. ‘And I swear to God they’ve got worse and
worse
. This year Rebecca didn’t even
come
to the Valentine’s dance. They don’t wear makeup – I mean, we’re not allowed to in school’ – virtuous glance at Houlihan – ‘but sometimes they don’t even wear it to hang out at the Court – the shopping centre. And this one time, like just a few weeks ago, there’s a load of us down there? And Julia says she’s going back to school? And one of the guys is there, “How come?” And Julia says, she says her stomach is killing her because
.
.
.’

Orla shot me a look. Sucked in her bottom lip, did a cringe like she was trying to disappear into her shoulders.

Conway said, ‘She had period cramps.’

Orla collapsed in giggles, scarlet and snorting like goodo. We waited. She got it together.

‘But, I mean, she just
said
it. Straight out. All the guys were like, “OMG,
ew
! Way TMI!” And Julia just waved and left. See what I mean? They act like they can say anything they want. None of them have boyfriends – duh, surprise? – and they act like that’s not even a big deal.’ Orla was hitting her stride. Face lit up, lip curling. ‘And did you
see
Selena’s
hair
? OhmyGod. You know when she cut it off? Like, right after Chris got killed. How much of a show-off can you actually
be
?’

I was getting the head-spins again. ‘Hang on. Her haircut is showing off, yeah? About what?’

Orla’s chin vanished into where her neck should have been. New look on her, sly, careful. ‘About how she was going out with Chris. Like she’s in
mourning
or something. We’re all, “Hello, who cares?”’

‘What makes you think she was going out with Chris?’

Slyer. More careful. ‘We just do.’

‘Yeah? Did you see them kissing? Holding hands?’

‘Um,
no
? They wouldn’t exactly have been that
obvious
about it.’

‘Why not?’

Flash of something: fear. Orla had slipped up, or thought she had. ‘I don’t know. I just mean, if they’d been OK with everyone seeing they were going out, they wouldn’t have kept it a secret. I mean, that’s all I mean.’

‘But if they kept it so secret that they never actually acted like they were together, how come you think they were together to begin with?’

That blown-fuse gawp again. ‘What?’

Jesus. Head-desk territory. I rewound. Nice and slow: ‘Why do you think Chris and Selena were going out together?’

Empty stare. Shrug. Orla wasn’t taking any more risks.

‘Why would they keep it a secret if they were?’

Empty stare. Shrug.

‘What about you?’ Conway asked. ‘You got a boyfriend?’

Orla sucked in her bottom lip, let out a breathy titter through it.

‘Do you?’

Squirm. ‘Sort of. It’s, ohmyGod, complicated?’

‘Who?’

Titter.

‘I asked you a question.’

‘Just this guy from Colm’s. He’s called Graham, Graham Quinn. But we’re not exactly going
out
out – I mean, ohmyGod, don’t go to him and say he’s my
boyfriend
! Like, he sort of is, but—’

‘I get it,’ Conway said, final enough to get through even to Orla, who shut up. ‘Thanks.’

I said, ‘If you could pick just one thing to tell me about Chris Harper. What would it be?’

The stare. I was less and less in the humour for the stare. ‘Like what?’

‘Like anything. Whatever you think is most important.’

‘Um, he was gorgeous?’

Giggle.

I took the photo away from her. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That helps.’

I left a second. Orla said nothing. Conway said nothing. She was sitting back on the table, writing or doodling, I couldn’t tell which out of the corner of my eye. I wasn’t going to look at her, like I was looking for a hand.

Houlihan cleared her throat, a compromise between asking and keeping schtum. I’d forgotten her.

Conway shut her notebook.

I said, ‘Thanks, Orla. We might need to talk to you again. Meanwhile, if you think of anything that might help us, anything at all, here’s my card. Ring me any time. Yeah?’

Orla gave the card a look like I’d asked her to jump into my white van. Conway said, ‘Thanks. We’ll talk soon.’ To Houlihan, who jumped: ‘Gemma Harding next.’

I gave Orla more smiles. Got the two of them out of the door.

Conway said, ‘Like, totes OMG?’

I said, ‘Like, OMG, WTF?’

We almost looked at each other. Almost laughed.

Conway said, ‘Not our girl.’

‘Nah.’

I waited. Didn’t ask, wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, but I needed to know.

She said, ‘That went all right.’

I almost caught a huge breath, crushed it back in time. Stuck the photo away in my pocket, ready for the next go-round. ‘Anything you figure I should know about Gemma?’

Conway grinned. ‘Thinks she’s a sex bomb, kept leaning over to show Costello her cleavage. Poor bastard didn’t know where to look.’ The grin went. ‘But this one’s not thick. Not by a long way.’

Gemma was like looking at Orla stretched. Tall, slim – trying hard for thin, only she didn’t have the build for it. Pretty, top end of pretty, but that jaw was going to give her manface before she was thirty. Hard-work straight blond hair, fake tan, skinny eyebrows. No glance at the Secret Place, but then Conway had said she wasn’t stupid.

She took the walk to the chair like a catwalk. Sat down and crossed one long leg over the other, slow flourish. Arched her throat.

Even after what Conway had said, it took me a second to see it, through the school uniform and the sixteen. Gemma wanted me to fancy her. Not because she fancied me; that hadn’t even crossed her mind. Just because I was there.

I went to school with dozens like that, too. I didn’t play their game.

Conway’s eye like a hot pin burning through the back of my jacket, into my shoulder blade.

I told myself again. Nothing special means nothing you can’t handle.

I offered Gemma a slow grin, lazy. Appreciative. ‘Gemma, right? I’m Detective Stephen Moran. It’s
very
nice to meet you.’

She soaked it up. Tiny smile tucked in the corners of her mouth, almost hidden, not quite.

‘We’ve just got a few routine questions for you.’

‘No problem. Anything you want.’

A little too much weight on
Anything
. The smile swelled. That easy.

Gemma had the same story as Orla, in the same bad-actor American accent. Drawled off, bored, too cool for school. Foot swinging. Checking me out to make sure I kept checking her out. If talking about last night spiked her adrenaline, it didn’t show.

Conway said, ‘You made a phone call while you were up here.’

‘Yeah. I rang my boyfriend.’ Gemma licked the last word. Threw Houlihan a glance – phone calls during study period obviously weren’t allowed – to see if she was shocked.

Conway asked, ‘What’s his name?’

‘Phil McDowell. He’s at Colm’s.’

Course he was. Conway sat back.