Peter Robinson - Innocent Graves

Megan took a deep breath and went on. “That’s all,” she said. “We said goodbye. Debs was running backwards, just showing off, like, then she disappeared into the fog.” She frowned.

“Was there something else?” Banks asked. “Did you notice anyone else around?”

“Well, like I said, it was so foggy you couldn’t really see more than a few feet, but I saw a shape behind her. I remember thinking at the time there was something odd about it, but I put it down to the way Debs had been scaring me with her stories of ghosts taking shape from the fog.”

“You mean you thought you were imagining it?”

“Yes. Seeing things. But I know I wasn’t, if that makes any sense.”

“You’re doing fine, Megan. What kind of shape was it?”

“It was a man’s shape. A tall man.”

“What was he doing?”

“Nothing. He was just standing on the bridge looking down the river towards the town.” She paused and her eyes lit up. “That’s it. That’s what was strange. He was looking over the bridge towards the town, but he couldn’t possibly see anything, could he, because of the fog. So why was he standing there?”

“Did you think that at the time?”

“No. It just came to me.”

“Did you see what he looked like?”

“Not really, because of the fog. I mean, he was like a silhouette, a dark figure. His features weren’t clear, and he was in profile. He did have a bit of a big nose, though.”

“Could you see what he was wearing?”

“An anorak, I think. A bright color. Orange or red, maybe.”

“Did you see him approach Deborah?”

“No. He was just behind her. I don’t think she’d seen him because she was still running backwards and waving goodbye. I remember thinking if she wasn’t careful she’d bump into him and that would give her a shock, but I really didn’t think much of it. I mean, it wasn’t the only person we’d seen.”

“Who else did you see?”

“Just ordinary people, you know, crossing the road and such. I mean, life goes on, doesn’t it? Just because it’s foggy you can’t stop doing everything, can you?”

“That’s true,” said Banks. “Can you remember anything else?”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut. “I think he had dark hair,” she said. “Then I turned away and went home. I never thought anything of it. Until…until this morning, when I heard…I should have known something was going to happen, shouldn’t I?”

“How could you?”

“I just should. Poor Debs. It could have been me. It should have been me.”

“Don’t be silly, Megan.”

“But it’s true! Debs was so good, so wonderful and pretty and talented. And just look at me. I’m nothing. I’m not pretty. She should have lived. I’m the one who should have died. It’s not fair. Why does God always take the best?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” Banks replied softly. “But I do know that every life is important, every life has its value, and nobody has the right to decide who lives and who dies.”

“Only God.”

“Only God,” Banks repeated, and blew his nose in the ensuing silence.

Megan took a tissue from the box on the table beside her and wiped her eyes. “I must look a sight,” she said.

Banks smiled. “Just like me first thing in the morning,” he said. “Now, when we found Deborah, she had about six pounds in her purse. Did she ever have a lot of money to flash around?”

“Money? No. None of us ever carried more than a few pounds.”

“Do you know if she kept anything valuable in her satchel?”

Megan frowned. “No. Just the usual stuff. Exercise books, textbooks, that sort of thing.”

“Did she say if she was intending to meet anyone after the chess club or go anywhere else before she went home?”

“No. As far as I know, she was going straight home.”

“Can you tell us anything else about her?”

“Like what?”

“You were her best friend, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever fall out?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Nothing, really. Maybe Debs would tease me about a lad she thought I liked, or something, or about not being good at arithmetic, and I’d get mad. But it wouldn’t last long.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. She can be quite a tease, can Debs. She gets her little needle in where she knows it hurts and just keeps pushing.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound as bad as it did, honest I didn’t. All I mean is that she had an eye for a weakness and she could be a bit nasty about it. It was never anything serious.”

“Do you know if anything had been bothering her lately?”

“I don’t think so. She’d been a bit moody, that’s all.”

“Since when?”

“The beginning of term.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. We have a lot on our minds. A lot of work. And she’s been moody before.”

“She didn’t mention any problems, anything that might have been worrying her?”

“No.”

“Did she have any enemies, anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”

“No. Everyone loved Debs. It must have been a stranger.”

“Did she ever mention Mr. Jelačić, the sexton at St. Mary’s?”

“The man who got fired?”

“That’s the one.”

“She said he was gross, always sticking his tongue out and licking his lips when she went past.”

“Did he ever bother you?”

“I never went in the churchyard. I live this side of the river, over Kendal Road. It was a short cut for Debs.”

“Are you sure Deborah didn’t have any other problems, any worries? Maybe at home?”

“No. She didn’t complain about anything in particular. Only the usual stuff. Too much homework. That sort of thing.”

Banks realized that Deborah Harrison would probably have fewer practical causes for concern than his own daughter, Tracy, who, at one time anyway, had been constantly moaning about some new style of jacket or jeans she just had to have because everyone else was wearing it, and the Doc Martens that were just essential these days.

Banks had been like that himself, and he gave Tracy the same answer his mother and father gave him when they bought him a pair of heavy workboots for school instead of the thin-soled winkle-pickers he had asked for. “We can’t afford it. You’ll just have to make do. These will last a lot longer.”

But Deborah Harrison had wanted for nothing, at least nothing that had a monetary value.

“What about boyfriends?” Banks asked.

Megan blushed. “We don’t have time, not in the lower sixth. And Debs was always involved in some school event: equestrian, sports or quizzes or whatever.”

“So she didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m not saying she never had one.”

“When was the last one?”

“In the summer.”

“What was his name?”

“She told me his name was John, that’s all. They didn’t go out together for long. She said he was really cool but too thick, so she chucked him.”

“Did she tell you anything else about him?”

Megan blushed. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That’s all I know. His name was John and he was a thickie.”

“Where did she meet him?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. I was away in America all summer with my parents, so I didn’t see her until school started. By then she’d already chucked him.”

“Was he her first boyfriend?”

“I don’t think so, but there was never anyone serious.”

“How do you know?”

“She would have told me.”

“Does she tell you everything?”

Megan considered the question seriously for a moment or so, then said, “No, I don’t think so. She can be secretive, can Debs. But she’d tell me if she had a boyfriend. Or I’d just know.”