Tana French - The Secret Place

I said, ‘And you all keep each other’s secrets. You’d never rat the others out.’

‘No. None of us would. Ever.’

‘So,’ I said, ‘this isn’t yours?’ Photo into Rebecca’s hand.

Breath and a high whimper came out of her. Her mouth was open.

‘Someone put that on the Secret Place yesterday evening. Was it you?’

All of her was sucked into the photo. It took a moment for the question to sink in enough that she said, ‘No.’

Not lying: not enough of her attention was left for it. Another one down.

‘Do you know who did?’

Rebecca hauled herself out of the photo. She said, ‘It wasn’t any of us. Me and my friends.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because none of us know who killed Chris.’

And she put the photo back into my hand. End of story. She was pulled up straight-backed and head high, looking me in the eye, no blink.

I said, ‘Let’s say you had to guess. Had to, no way out. What would you say?’

‘Guess what? Who did the card, or… Chris?’

‘Both.’

Rebecca gave me the blank teenage shrug that sends parents apeshit.

I said, ‘The way you talk about your friends, it sounds like they mean a lot to you. Am I right?’

‘Yeah. They do.’

‘People are going to know the four of you could have had something to do with this card. Fact. No way round that. If I had friends I cared about, I’d do whatever it took to make sure there wasn’t a killer out there thinking they had info on him. Even if it meant answering questions I didn’t like.’

Rebecca thought about that. Carefully.

She moved her chin at the photo. ‘I think someone just made that up.’

‘You say it wasn’t any of your mates. Which means it had to be Joanne Heffernan or one of her friends. They’re the only other people who were in the building at the right time.’

‘You said it was them. I didn’t. I don’t have a clue.’

‘Would they? Make it up?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Why?’

Shrug. ‘Maybe they were bored. They wanted something to happen. And now here you are.’

Flare to her nostril: They. Rebecca didn’t think much of Joanne’s lot. Meek little thing, to look at. Not so meek inside.

‘And Chris,’ I said. ‘Who do you think did that?’

Rebecca said – no pause – ‘Guys from Colm’s. I think a bunch of them sneaked in here – maybe they were planning some kind of joke, like stealing something or painting something; a few years ago some of them came in one night with spray cans and sprayed a picture all across our playing field.’ Tinge of red running up her cheeks. She wasn’t going to tell us what the picture had been. ‘I think they came in for something like that, but then they had a fight. And…’

Her hands spreading. Setting the image loose, to float away on the air.

I said, ‘Was Chris the kind of guy who would do that? Sneak out of his school, come in here on a prank?’

Some picture unfolded inside Rebecca’s mind, taking her away from us. She watched it. Said, ‘Yeah. He was.’

Something lying across her voice, a long shadow. Rebecca had had feelings about Chris Harper. Good or bad, I couldn’t tell, but strong.

I said, ‘If you could tell me just one thing about him, what would it be?’

Rebecca said, unexpectedly: ‘He was kind.’

‘Kind? How?’

‘This one time, we were hanging around outside the shopping centre and my phone was doing something weird; it looked like I’d lost all my photos. A couple of the other guys were being total morons – like, “Ooo, what did you have on there, were there photos of… ”’ The tinge of red again. ‘Just stupid stuff. But Chris went, “Here, give me a look,” and he took the phone off me and started trying to fix it. The idiots thought that was hilarious , but Chris didn’t care. He just fixed the phone and gave it back to me.’

A small sigh. The picture in her mind folded away, slid into its drawer. She was looking at us again.

‘When I think about Chris, that’s what I think about. That day.’

A girl like Rebecca, that day could have meant a lot. Could have rooted and grown, inside her mind.

Conway moved. Said, ‘You got a boyfriend?’

‘No.’

Instant. Almost scornful, like it was a stupid question: You got a rocket ship?

‘Why not?’

‘Do I have to?’

‘A lot of people do.’

Rebecca said flatly, ‘I don’t.’

She didn’t give a fuck what either of us thought of that. Not Alison, not Orla. The opposite.

Conway said, ‘We’ll see you around.’

Rebecca left stuffing my card in her pocket, forgetting it already. Conway said, ‘Not our girl.’

‘Nah.’

She didn’t say it. I had to. ‘Took me a while to get off the ground.’

Conway nodded. ‘Yeah. Not your fault. I steered you wrong.’

She’d gone absent, eyes narrowed on something.

I said, ‘I think I got it right in the end. No harm done, that I could see.’

‘Maybe not,’ Conway said. ‘This fucking place. Trips you up every time you turn around. Whatever you do, turns out it was the wrong call.’

Julia Harte. Conway didn’t brief me on her, not after how Rebecca had gone, but I knew as soon as Julia walked in the door she was the boss of that outfit. Short, with dark curly hair fighting a ponytail. A bit more weight on her than the rest, a few more curves, a walk that showed them. Not pretty – roundy face, bump on her nose – but a good chin, small chin with plenty of stubborn, and good eyes: hazel, long-lashed, direct and smart as hell. No glance at the Secret Place, but there wouldn’t have been either way, not with this one.

‘Detective Conway,’ she said. Nice voice, deeper than most girls’, more controlled. Made her sound older. ‘Did you miss us that much?’

A smart-arse. That can work for us, work nicely. Smart-arses talk when they shouldn’t, say anything as long as it’ll come out good and snappy.

Conway pointed at the chair. Julia sat down, crossed her knees. Looked me up, looked me down.

I said, ‘I’m Stephen Moran. Julia Harte, right?’

‘At your service. What can I do for you?’

Smart-arses want a chance to be smart. ‘You tell me. Anything you think I should know?’

‘About what?’

‘You pick.’ And I grinned at her, like we were old sparring partners who’d missed each other.

Julia grinned back. ‘Don’t eat the yellow snow. Never play leapfrog with a unicorn.’

Ten seconds in, and it was a conversation, not an interview. The boy was back in town. I felt Conway ease back on the table; felt the whoosh of relief go through me.

‘I’ll make a note of that,’ I said. ‘Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me what you did yesterday evening? Start with first study period.’

Julia sighed. ‘Here I was hoping we could talk about something interesting. Any reason why we’re going for, like, the most boring thing in the world?’

I said, ‘You’ll get your info once I’ve got mine. Maybe. Till then, no fishing.’

Twitch of her mouth, appreciative. ‘Deal. Here you go: boring storytime.’

The same story as Rebecca’s: the art project, the key, the forgotten picture and the toilet breaks and the chalk, the too busy to look at the board. No mismatches. It was true, or they were good.

I brought out the photo. Did the fingertip flip. ‘Have you put up any cards in the Secret Place?’

Julia snorted. ‘Jesus, no. Not my thing.’

‘No?’

Her eye on the photo. ‘Truly, madly, deeply no.’

‘So you didn’t put up this one.’

‘Um, since I didn’t put up any of them, I’m going to go with no?’

I held out the photo. Julia took it. Blank-faced, all set up to give away nothing.