Gilly MacMillan - What She Knew

‘It’s you,’ I said. ‘It’s definitely you.’

I searched the list of phrases for something else to say, something that would tell Ben who I was, that it was me communicating with him. He must suspect it, I thought, because who else would use his other avatar? He had to know it was me.

But I was too slow. Before I selected a phrase Owlie689 had gone, just disappeared. My avatar was alone on-screen.

I reached for my phone.

Fraser and I were huddled in the meeting room we used for briefings. Lists and interview notes littered the table between us. We were planning.

Woodley put his head around the door. ‘Rachel Jenner’s just phoned, she says she’s seen Ben playing an online game.’

‘What game?’ Fraser asked.

‘Furry Football. She says he’s logged on as one of his avatars.’

‘What in God’s name does that mean?’

‘You have characters that you become when you play the game. Ben has two. She logged on as one of them and met the other in the game. She thinks that means that Ben was logged on.’

‘And does it? You’re the IT expert.’

‘It could do, obviously, if he has access to the internet, which would seem unlikely. Equally, anybody who had access to his login details could have done it.’

‘How likely do you think that is?’

‘It’s impossible to say, but people often know their friends’ passwords etc., it could be one of his mates or anybody who knew him.’

‘Does Rachel Jenner have a view on that?’

‘She doesn’t know. It’s hard to get sense out of her to be honest, boss. She’s pretty hysterical.’

‘We need to find out who might have known. Can you contact that man who was in the woods, the father of Ben’s best friend? Ask him if he knows about this stuff, and ask him if we can interview his boy in the morning. He might know.’

‘Will do.’

Once he’d gone, Fraser turned back to me. ‘What’s your feeling, Jim?’

‘Could be something, could be nothing. Just like the schoolbooks.’

‘I’ll get the IT folks onto it. Now, Lucas Grantham versus Nicola Forbes. I want a plan of action tonight, so that we don’t waste a minute tomorrow morning. Not one second. What’s your feeling about resource allocation?’

I took my time before answering. We had a very strong suspect in custody, and I knew he looked good for it, but there was something about Nicky Forbes that I just couldn’t let go.

‘In my view, Nicky Forbes is very intelligent and potentially very manipulative,’ I said to Fraser. ‘Chris was certainly very clear that the sort of trauma Nicky’s suffered could cause all kinds of psychosis or delusions. If her own husband is coming in to warn us about her, I think we need to take it very seriously.’

‘You favour her for it?’

‘If I have to stick my neck out, I do.’

And, as I said it out loud, I felt my conviction build. I said, ‘I think there’s a danger that Lucas Grantham might be another Edward Fount. Looks good for it because he’s a lying little git who lives with his mother, but he could be telling the truth about why he went to the woods.’

‘Telling the truth about his lie?’

‘Yes.’

‘If that’s the case I’m going to have him on wasting police time.’

‘Agreed.’

Fraser sighed, massaged her forehead. She looked old suddenly. ‘But I’m not sure it is, and part of me wants you here to run the investigation into Grantham. Clock’s ticking.’

I knew that. I kept quiet, let her think, and watched her massage her forehead as she did so. I knew there was no point pushing her. She came to a decision quickly.

‘Right. I’m going to let you go and interview her, Jim, tomorrow morning, not tonight. It’s far too late.’

I felt a surge of adrenalin, as if I’d had a shot of it into my arm.

‘Thank you, boss.’ I stood up. ‘I’m going to get familiar with everything in her file.’

I wanted to know every detail off by heart; I wanted to pull off the interview of my life. Nicky Forbes had got to me right from the start.

‘Now listen to me, Jim. You do no such thing. You go home and you sleep. You look like shit.’ She paused, let me absorb the insult, and then she asked, ‘How are you feeling about Emma?’

That blindsided me. Totally. It took me a moment to pull together a reply.

‘Disappointed, of course. But I’m focused on moving forward, boss.’

‘Don’t fuck about with me; you know what I’m asking. I’m not blind.’

‘Honest truth, boss, I am focused on moving forward, but I’m gutted too. Of course I am.’

‘I’m only going to ask you this once, do you think it’s affecting your judgement?’

‘Not at all. Not one bit.’

She leaned back in her chair, her mind working it through, before she replied. ‘OK. So you go first thing to interview Nicky Forbes, because I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. Get back here as quickly as you can afterwards. We couldn’t be more stretched for resources so I shouldn’t really be letting my deputy go.’

‘Boss-’

‘I’m indulging you here, Jim, so don’t push it. I’ve got a list of interviews as long as my arm that relate to Lucas Grantham.’

‘I just wanted to know if I would go alone or not.’

‘I can’t send anybody else. I need every body I can get.’

She took off her glasses, which made her look suddenly vulnerable, and she rubbed her eyes, which were reddened around the rims. As it was late, and her guard seemed to be down just a little, I asked her something: ‘Boss, do you think he’s still alive?’

‘You know the statistics as well I do. We just have to do what we can.’

Back at my flat, I looked through the case files, poring over every detail, memorising the events that took place when Nicky Forbes was a girl, rereading all the notes I took after Simon Forbes came in.

It was a jubilant phone call to Fraser that I made at midnight.

‘I found a hole in Nicola Forbes’s alibi. Last Sunday she said she was attending a food festival. She was definitely there in the morning, but nobody can confirm that they saw her between 13.30 and 22.00 when her husband maintains that she Skyped him from the cottage.’

‘I thought we’d confirmed her alibi?’

‘People said they thought they’d seen her, but it’s a really big event. Tons of stalls selling produce, cookery demonstrations, that kind of thing, hundreds of folks attending and although she’s quite well known nobody can actually guarantee that they saw her during the afternoon. They all say she was definitely there that day, and a friend says that they had lunch together, but after 13.30 none of it’s reliable.’

‘Good work, Jim,’ she said. ‘Take Woodley with you in the morning.’

‘I thought you couldn’t spare anybody.’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

I didn’t have the energy to go to my bed. I lay on my sofa, the window cracked open even though it was freezing outside, and I smoked and tried to fight away the memories of Emma that could upset the perfect balance I felt: the poised moment when a case is about to come together one way or another, and when you’re right in it.

I checked my phone. Woodley and I had been texting and mailing, finalising directions and details for the morning.

What I didn’t expect to find in my inbox was an email from Emma. Its title: ‘Sorry’.

Email

To: Jim Clemo ‹jimclemo1@gmail.com›

From: Emma Zhang ‹emzhang21@hotmail.co.uk›

28 October 2012 at 23.39

Dear Jim

I hope you read this because I owe you an explanation. If you are reading it: thank you.

I should never have done what I did. It was unforgivable. I should never have contributed to the blog and I should never have expected you to help me. It was a terrible position to put you in.