What You Left Behind (28 page)

Lana wondered if he’d even heard what Gil had said. Her mum let out a choked sob.

“There is nothing we left out when investigating the Watts case,” he continued.

Lana watched as Lorraine whispered something in Adam’s ear. Adam nodded. Poor Gil was still rocking and jiggling in his chair like a schoolkid with something urgent to say.

“DI Burnley, will you comment on Monday night’s alleged suicide?” Lorraine said. “You know as well as I do that there was evidence to suggest—”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Burnley replied.

The dogs tugged on their leads, dragging Lana closer to the door, to freedom.

Gil stuck his hand in the air. “But Dean was riding on the motorbike with his girlfriend and they had a crash and his girlfriend ran
away afterward and I saw it and I have done a drawing of it.” He was almost in tears.

Burnley sighed and glanced at his watch. “It’s natural to seek a rational explanation. Especially those with a tendency toward …” He hesitated. “Let’s just say, I understand that your family will be more sensitive than most.”

“I’m interested to hear what Gil has to say,” Lorraine said, folding her arms.

“Let’s not forget that the detective’s here to find Freddie,” Jo said weakly from the corner.

“Shall I tell the policeman everything?” Gil said to Tony.

Lana watched her dad’s mouth drop open, as if he didn’t quite know what to say. The dogs tugged at the leads again, pulling her closer to the door.

“Yes, you should do that,” Lorraine said kindly, before Tony could reply.

“I was going for a walk in case I met a nice girlfriend and then I heard the motorbike and then I saw it crash into the tree. But Dean didn’t kill himself because his girlfriend was driving it but she wasn’t any good because she fell off and I saw it. I watched them. I watch everyone but that’s OK because they don’t know I’m there. I like to watch people, but if I had a girlfriend I wouldn’t watch her in the shower because that would be—”

“Witness statements of people using the road put the time of death somewhere between twelve-thirty and one a.m. That’s a very odd time for a walk.” The detective shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His partner remained silent.

“Yes it is,” Gil said earnestly.

Lana bowed her head. She clenched the tight weave of the dogs’ leads in her sweating palms.

“How do you know the other person was his girlfriend?”

“Because they kissed.” Gil made a throaty, embarrassed sound.
“And I saw her hand. It had Dean’s ring on it.” Gil beamed at everyone. “When you love someone you give them your ring.”

“Is that the skull ring in the picture you drew, Gil?” Lorraine asked.

Gil nodded. “I will give my girlfriend a ring.” He held out the knuckles of his right hand and flashed a signet ring. “I will give her this one.”

“Did you see Dean’s girlfriend’s face?” Lorraine asked.

Lana squirmed and glanced at her parents.
I’m sorry, Mum, I’m so sorry …

Tony stepped in. “What you have to understand about Gil, Detective, is that his mind doesn’t work quite like ours,” he said reasonably. “He is severely autistic. He doesn’t filter things the same way we would. Think of him as a collector of information, a hoarder of such minuscule detail that you or I wouldn’t even notice, let alone file away to draw upon later. He can’t help it. He also puts way more value on brief acquaintances than is appropriate.”

“Dean was my best friend,” Gil said, staring at Burnley earnestly.

“My point exactly,” Tony said. “He’d only met Dean a couple of times but is still grieving as if he’s lost a brother. Fabrications help him come to terms with that.”

Lana drew a deep breath in readiness.

“Do you remember what you did when the milkman passed away, Gil?” Tony went on.

“Don’t tell them Tony. Please don’t tell them about that.” Gil rocked fervently.

Tony shrugged at the detective.

“But Dean’s girlfriend ran away from the crash,” Gil continued, suddenly reanimated. He looked at Lana, but she turned away. “She didn’t help Dean.”

“And that’s when you found the visor, Gil?” Lorraine asked.

“Yes. I thought I could mend it. I’m good at mending things.”

“But you couldn’t identify Dean’s girlfriend?” Burnley asked. His impatience was palpable.

Gil didn’t reply.

“Even though you were able to see her ring.”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain more?”

“Dean was my friend. He didn’t kill himself—”

“Don’t explain from the beginning again, for Christ’s sake,” Burnley interrupted. “How come you were close enough to see the ring yet not the girl’s face?”

Gil’s breath rasped in his chest. He was agitated. “She was wearing the helmet but—”

“Stop!” Lana yelled.

Everyone stared at her as she stood by the door, dogs to heel, the leads yanked tight as she clamped her arms across her chest.

“It was me,” she stated calmly. “I was the other person on the motorbike.”

25

Lana looked dejected and empty, her eyes huge in her white face.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she’d said to Lorraine as they followed Detective Inspector Burnley through the building. They ended up in a small interview room.

“Just tell us the truth, love” was Lorraine’s reply.

They’d gone to the Justice Center in separate cars, Burnley agreeing that Lorraine could accompany Lana. It was an informal interview, but that could change without notice, he’d warned with a sour expression.

“So,” he said, squeezing into the small space between the table and the wall, half standing again to adjust his trousers and jolting the table. “Tell me everything, then.”

Lorraine was sitting beside Lana. The interview wasn’t being recorded but there was another officer present taking notes.

Lana glanced up at the mirrored glass set into the wall. “Is there anyone behind there?” she asked.

Lorraine shook her head. “Even if there was, it doesn’t matter. We’re on your side, love. We just want to know what happened. Start with the night you claim you were on the motorbike. Tell us about that.” She smiled, wanting to reach out and squeeze her hand, but knew it would set Burnley off.

“Claim?” Lana said softly. She tipped her head sideways and squinted at Lorraine. “It’s not a
claim
, it’s the truth.”

“From the beginning,” Burnley said coldly. He leaned forward on short, folded arms.

“Dean and I, you know, we liked each other. It was his idea, the bike. I think he wanted to show off. He wanted to …” Lana paused and drew in a big breath. “He wanted to show me a good time.” It came out as a sigh.

“Can you remember what you were wearing?” Lorraine asked.

Burnley stared across at her as if she were mad, then stretched back his head and rubbed his neck.

Lana shrugged. “Not really. It was a warm night. I usually live in my denim shorts, a T-shirt, and my Converses in the holidays.” She looked down at her current attire. “Maybe something like this?” It came out as a question.

“So Dean stole the motorbike,” Burnley said.

Lana nodded. “It was so easy.” She tucked back her hair. “I was scared, but he said we’d bring it back later so I thought that would be OK.”

“Where did you steal it from?” Burnley asked.

“A pub somewhere, I think. I can’t remember much. I hit my head.”

Lorraine wanted to keep moving forward. “So you got on the bike …”

“Yeah, and we, like, went off. He knew how to ride it. Said he’d been messing with bikes since he was a kid.”

“Did you have a helmet?” Lorraine asked.

Lana suddenly looked panic-stricken. “Helmet?” she said, frowning. “I was wearing one.” She paused. “Yeah, Dean insisted I wear it. There was only one, you see.”

Burnley pushed back in his chair until his shoulders hit the wall. “Tell me about the motorbike. Can you remember what make or color it was?”

“It was dark,” Lana said slowly. “I don’t really know. It was just a bike. It was quite big, maybe blue. I don’t know. And I don’t know what color the helmet was either. Dean put it on me before I saw it.”

“Who was driving the bike when you stole it?” Burnley asked.

“Dean.”

“Had you ever been on a motorbike before this?”

Lana shook her head. “Not unless a quad bike counts. We have one at home. Dad uses it to get about the land. I’ve driven that before.”

Burnley nodded. “Where did you go first?”

Lana frowned again. “Just around. I was a bit scared. He was going fast. He took us down the lanes, through some villages.”

“And what happened next?” Lorraine asked, watching her intently.

“I can’t recall very well.” Lana touched the side of her head. “We were at Devil’s Mile, going really fast, and then …” Her hand went over her eyes. “And then I just remember waking up. Everything hurt. Then I saw Dean and he was really badly injured. I panicked and didn’t know what to do …”

She gave a loud sob. Lorraine noticed there were no tears.

“So you ran away,” Lorraine said.

“It was stupid and cowardly, I know, but I was so scared. I ran back home and pretended it had never happened.”

“D
O YOU BELIEVE
her?” Lorraine asked Burnley later, with the familiar sounds of a busy department going on around them—a cacophony of ringing phones, layers of chatter, people sliding past each other in the narrow walkways between the rows of desks. Someone had brought in a tray of cakes—a birthday perhaps.

“No, I don’t,” Burnley replied.

Lorraine reckoned it was the first time she’d ever heard him sound genuine.

She agreed with him, but kept it to herself.

“She was clueless,” Burnley continued, blowing ripples across the top of his coffee. “Covering up for someone, or something.”

“And Freddie? You believe her about that?”

That had come right at the end of the interview and was the most important revelation as far as Lorraine was concerned. She hadn’t phoned Jo yet, but it gave her hope that they would find him soon. She hadn’t known whether to hug or shake Lana when she’d confessed that she’d discovered Freddie sleeping at New Hope that morning.

Burnley was leaning across his desk. He looked like a bulldog, Lorraine thought. All neck and bad breath.

“You know what? I think I do believe her about that.” He grinned. “I’ve already got some officers working on the town’s CCTV but six of the cameras are down currently. Have been for months.”

“I reckon he’s still local. This shouldn’t be difficult.”

Lorraine was conscious that Lana was waiting for her downstairs. She’d been left in the care of a female officer, who’d taken her to get a drink.

“What’s the stupid lad playing at, Fisher?” Burnley sounded almost compassionate. “You know him better than me. Everything OK at home?”

Lorraine sighed. “His mum’s just split up with his stepdad. Freddie was very close to him.” She paused, reluctant to reveal personal information about Jo, but it had to be done. “And when I spoke to Lana early this morning she told me Freddie’s been having a hard time with some local kids. Online bullying, trouble at school.”

Burnley yawned, erasing any notion of compassion. “Interesting,” he remarked.

“One more thing …” She was probably pushing her luck, but since she’d seen the CCTV footage of the bike leaving the pub and heard Lana’s confession, she couldn’t let it go. “The Dean Watts file. I noticed there was no report about the suicide note that was found.”

“Correct,” Burnley said.

“You didn’t think it was worth a handwriting analyst taking a look?”

“Nope.”

A young constable ducked into the office bearing a tray and Burnley grabbed a cube of yellow sponge cake. Lorraine shook her head at him politely.

“Then you won’t mind if I do?” she said.

Burnley stared at her, his mouth full. He’d stopped chewing, as if thinking took up all his brain’s capacity. “I thought you were on holiday. Do you have a hard time relaxing?”

“I do when I see incomplete investigations prematurely closed. And I do when new evidence is made available and ignored. Believe me, I would love nothing more than to get out of here and be with my family but, if you remember, I spent seven months of my life chained to your cock-ups, so it would seem remiss of me now not to make certain you are keeping your new house in order.”