Gilly MacMillan - What She Knew

John stood up and handed him the book and DI Bennett’s big hand seemed to dwarf it. He had a neck that sat in rolls on his collar, narrow wide-set eyes, and the shiny crown of his head took on the glow of the ceiling lights.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do you want to show me what’s worrying you?’

I showed him the pages that haunted me, and he pored over them, brow hunched.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said, and then, ‘He’s a good artist your lad, isn’t he?’

‘Will you show it to DI Clemo, or DCI Fraser?’

‘Of course I will. I’ll do that right away.’

‘Should we stay, in case you have questions?’

‘Honestly, the best place for you right now is at home. We know where to find you, and we’ll be in touch with any questions or any information we have, I promise you. And if you phone us with any concerns, at any point, we will always send somebody to talk to you at home about it, there’s no need for you to come here.’

‘I tried to phone DC Zhang,’ I said.

‘Ah well, she’s a bit busy in a meeting right now.’

‘We wanted to get it to you quickly.’

‘We appreciate that, Ms Jenner, we really do, and we’ll deal with it immediately. I’m going to personally hand-deliver this to DCI Fraser as soon as I leave you.’

‘Thank you,’ John said.

Bennett tucked the book under his arm. ‘I suggest you both go home and get some rest now. The more you rest, the better you’ll cope. Thank you for bringing it in.’

He offered each of us his hand again and then disappeared through a set of double doors that swung dully on their hinges in his wake.

In spite of his politeness, and of the care he took looking at the book, he left me overwhelmed by my own impotence, feeling it in great shuddering waves. John looked at me with fright, as if he was terrified of another scene that he didn’t have the resources to handle, and it was the receptionist who came to my rescue. She emerged from the desk and came to me, and sat beside me on the sofa, and put her arms around me. She smelled of perfume and hairspray and she had liver-spotted hands.

‘I know,’ she said over and over again. ‘I know.’

And that act of kindness surprised me, and then upset me more, and finally calmed me down, until I was ready for John to take me home.

In the incident room the blinds on the windows of Fraser’s office were drawn but I could glimpse her silhouette and Emma’s through the slats. Nobody else might have noticed it, but to me their body language spoke volumes: Emma had come clean.

I thought I’d feel relieved but instead it was the final straw, and I couldn’t stand to witness it.

I took myself down to the canteen, tucked myself in a corner to try to write up a report on the morning’s raid with a cup of coffee that would have made British Rail ashamed, but I just got wound up, thinking about it all, and it was hard to concentrate with every nosy parker who walked past my table asking me how the case was going.

I went to the men’s room, locked myself in a stall, and tried to get control of myself.

I sat in there on the closed lid of the toilet bowl, my head resting against the partition wall, eyes shut, breathing through my mouth and trying to pull myself together. I don’t know how long I stayed, but at some point somebody else came in and the shame of it made me get to my feet.

It was Mark Bennett, undoing his fly at the urinals. He was hyped up; his cheeks flushed red with excitement.

‘The proverbial’s hit the fan,’ he said, not caring that his piss was going everywhere. ‘Something’s going on. Benedict Finch’s parents came into reception and his mum made a massive scene and brought in one of Ben’s school books they want us to look at. They asked for you and Zhang, but we couldn’t find you and Zhang was holed up with Fraser “not to be disturbed”. Where the fuck have you been? Got the runs or something?’

I started to answer but he said, ‘So I went and got the book myself, calmed the mother down, but that’s not the fucking end of it. I took the books straight into Fraser’s office, potential new evidence, thought that was worth disturbing them for, only now she’s got Internal Affairs in there with her and Zhang. I gave her the book, but got my head bitten off for interrupting. Something massive is going on, definitely.’

I washed my hands for show, and he joined me at the sink and then stayed on my heels like a pesky younger sibling as we went back to the incident room, full of ignorant speculation that made my jaw clench.

As we entered the incident room, the door of Fraser’s office swung open at the other end and Emma walked out, flanked by two men. Fraser was hovering behind, but shut the door before I could read her face. I recognised one of the men: Bryan Doughty, the biggest cheese in Internal Affairs. Bennett and I stood aside as they approached.

‘Clemo,’ he said, as he passed me.

‘Sir,’ I replied. He was a shark of a man, intellectually and physically well equipped to take a bite of you. Perfect for the job. He didn’t slow his pace. Emma’s gaze was fixed front and forward.

Even though it was Saturday, about fifteen faces watched them walk the length of the incident room, Emma’s small frame dwarfed by the men beside her. When they exited and disappeared from sight, I realised I’d been biting the inside of my cheek so hard I’d drawn blood.

‘I think she’s been a naughty girl,’ said Bennett. ‘Tut, tut, tut. And Doughty’s not going to be happy about being called in on a weekend either.’ He was buoyant: the sight of someone else’s career ending in a car crash was actually bolstering his self-esteem.

‘Do me a favour and keep your fucking opinion to yourself,’ I said.

‘What’s the matter with you? Anybody would think you wanted to get into her knickers.’ Brave words, but as he said them he was wiping my spittle off his face with an injured expression.

I walked away. I don’t know what I would have done to him otherwise. I knocked on the door of Fraser’s office.

‘What’s going on?’ I said. I tried to keep my face steady, put my hands in my pockets so the shake didn’t show.

Her expression was grim, her eyes were bloodshot and she had that pallor you get after days on a case, when your skin’s sagging and you can’t remember what it felt like not to have your shoulders in tight knots.

‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘We found our leak.’

‘Emma?’

‘Yes, I’m very sorry to say.’

‘Fuck me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have her down as a Judas.’

My head felt tight around the lie. I hoped my voice wasn’t giving me away.

Fraser looked at me hard. ‘My sentiments exactly,’ she said. ‘And I expect this to be especially hard for you because I know you two were working closely together.’ She let her words hang there for a moment, between us, before she went on. ‘Emma’s confessed to leaking confidential information to the blog. Personal motivations. That’s all I can say at this time. Apart from the bleeding obvious which is that she’s thrown a promising career down the pan and the press will have all of our guts for garters if they get hold of it.’

‘I feel responsible,’ I said. ‘I recommended Emma for the role. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m a big girl. I don’t do things just because one of my DIs has a bright idea. You’ve no need to take this all on yourself.’

She looked at me intently and I still couldn’t work out what the subtext was, whether she knew about Emma and me or not.

She said, ‘You don’t seem too shocked.’

‘I’m shocked, boss, trust me. I just… don’t really know what to say. I feel like we can’t let this hold us back.’