Tana French - The Secret Place

‘I will, of course. But you’re my observer. I’d love to hear what you remember most.’

The smile was automatic this time, a reflex spasm with nothing behind it. Alison said, ‘People noticed him. Not just me; everyone noticed him.’

‘How come?’

‘He was… I mean, he was so good-looking. And he was good at everything – rugby, and basketball; and talking to people, making everyone laugh. And I heard him sing once, he was really good, everyone was telling him he should do the X Factor auditions… But it wasn’t just that. It was… He was just more than everyone else. More there . You could walk into a room with like fifty people in it, and the only one you’d see would be Chris.’

A wistful something in her voice, in the droop of her eyelids. Gemma was right: everyone had fancied Chris.

‘What do you think happened to him?’

That made Alison shrink. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I know you don’t. That’s OK. I’m only asking for guesses. You’re my observant one, remember?’

A thin ghost of the smile. ‘Everyone said it was the groundskeeper.’

No thoughts of her own, or else a dodge. ‘Is that what you think?’

Shrug. Not looking at me. ‘I guess.’

I let the silence grow. So did she. That was all I was getting.

Card, speech, smile. Alison dived out of the door like the room was on fire. Houlihan flapped after her.

Conway said, ‘That one’s still in the running.’

Watching the door, not me. I couldn’t read her. Couldn’t tell if that meant You fucked up.

I said, ‘Pushing any harder wouldn’t have done any good. I’ve set up the beginnings of rapport; if I talk to her again, I can move it on, maybe get an answer.’

Conway’s eye sliding sideways to me. She said, ‘If you talk to her again.’

That sardonic corner of a grin, like my obviousness brightened her day. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘If.’

Conway flipped to a clean page in her notebook. ‘Joanne Heffernan,’ she said. ‘Joanne’s a bitch. Enjoy.’

Joanne was like looking at all the other three averaged out. I’d been expecting something impressive, all the hype. Medium height. Medium thin. Medium looks. Hard-work straight blond hair, fake tan, skinny eyebrows. No glance at the Secret Place.

Only the way she stood – hip cocked, chin tucked, eyebrows up – said Impress me. Said The Boss .

Joanne wanted me to think she was important. No: admit she was important.

‘Joanne,’ I said. Stood up for her. ‘I’m Stephen Moran. Thanks for coming in.’

My accent. Whirr, went Joanne’s filing system. Spat me out in the bottom drawer. Eyelid-flutter of disdain.

‘I didn’t exactly get a choice? And just by the way, I actually had things to do for the last hour . I didn’t need to spend it sitting outside the office getting bored to death and not even allowed to talk .’

‘I’m really sorry about that. We didn’t mean to keep you waiting. If I’d known the other interviews were going to take this long…’ I rearranged the chair for her. ‘Have a seat.’

Curl of her lip at Conway, on her way: You.

‘Now,’ I said, when we’d sat down. ‘We’ve just got a few routine questions. We’ll be asking a lot of people the same things, but I’d really appreciate hearing your thoughts. It could make a big difference.’

Respectful. Hands clasped together. Like she was the Princess of the Universe, doing us a favour.

Joanne examined me. Flat pale-blue eyes, just a little too wide. Not enough blinks.

Finally she nodded. Gracious, honouring me.

‘Thanks,’ I said. Big smile, humble servant. Conway moved in the corner of my eye, a sharp jerk; trying not to puke, probably. ‘If you don’t mind, could we start with yesterday evening? Could you just run through it for me, from the beginning of first study period?’

Joanne told the same story over again. Slow and clear, small words, for the plebs. To Conway, scribbling away: ‘Are you getting this? Or do I have to slow down?’

Conway gave her a great big grin. ‘If I need you to do anything, you’ll know. Believe me.’

I said, ‘Thanks, Joanne. That’s very considerate of you. Tell me: while you were up here, did you look at the Secret Place?’

‘I had a little lookie when I went to the loo. Just to see if there was anything good.’

‘Was there?’

Joanne shrugged. ‘Same old stuff. Boring.’

No Labradors, no boobs. I said, ‘Any of those cards yours?’

Glance flicked at Houlihan. ‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Um, yes ?’

‘Just asking because one of your friends mentioned that you’d made up a few, early on.’

Joanne’s eyes chilled over. ‘Who said that?’

Spread my hands, humble. ‘I can’t give out that information. Sorry.’

Joanne was biting at the inside of her mouth, squashed her face up sideways. The others were all going to pay. ‘If she said it was just me, she’s such a liar. It was all of us. And we took them down again. I mean, come on . You make it sound like some massive big deal. We were just having a laugh.’

Conway had been right: lies on that board, as well as secrets. McKenna had put it up for her purposes; the girls used it for theirs.

I said, ‘How about this one?’ Photo into her hand.

Joanne’s jaw dropped. She recoiled in the chair. Squealed, ‘OhmyGod!’ Clapped a hand over her mouth.

Fake as fuck.

It meant nothing. Some people are like that: everything comes out like a lie. Not that they’re brilliant liars, just that they’re useless at telling the truth. You get left with no way to tell what’s the real fake and what’s the fake one.

We waited for her to finish up. Caught her fast glance at us, between squealy noises, to check if we were impressed.

I said, ‘Did you put that up on the Secret Place?’

‘Um, hello, no ? I mean, can’t you see I’m literally in shock ?’

The hand was pressed to her chest. She did a bit of gaspy breathing. Conway and I watched with interest.

Houlihan hovered, half out of her chair. Twittered.

Conway said, without looking, ‘You can sit down. She’s grand.’

Joanne shot Conway a poison look. Quit gasping.

I said, ‘Not for a laugh, no? There’s nothing wrong with that; it’s not like you’re under oath to stick to real secrets. We just need to know.’

‘I told you. No. OK?’

Backing off meant goodbye to my shot at ruling out all but one, hearing that lock click open.

Joanne was giving me the shit-on-my-shoe stare. An inch from throwing me away in the same bin as Conway.

‘Absolutely,’ I said. Took the photo back, tucked it away, all gone. ‘Just making sure. So which of your friends do you think it was?’

Something catching and flaring in Joanne’s eye; something real. Outrage; fury. Then it died.

‘Uh-uh.’ One finger wagging. Little smile. ‘No way any of them put this up.’

A hundred per cent positive. They wouldn’t dare.

‘Then who did?’

‘Um, how is that my problem?’

‘It’s not. But you’ve obviously got your finger on the pulse of everything that happens in this school. If anyone’s guess is worth hearing, it’s yours.’

Satisfied smile, Joanne accepting her due. I had her back. ‘If it’s someone who was in the school yesterday evening, then it’s the people who were in here after us. Julia and Holly and Selena and Whatshername.’

‘Yeah? You figure they know something about what happened to Chris?’

Shrug. ‘Maybe.’

‘Interesting,’ I said. Nodded away, grave. ‘Anything special making you think that?’