Susan Lewis - Home Truths

‘Leo Johnson.’ A young, red-haired man with boyish freckles and a skewed sky-blue tie introduced himself with a friendly smile.

Angie started to get up, but Johnson insisted she stay seated. ‘Has someone offered you tea or coffee?’ he asked, taking a chair opposite her at the table.

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she told him hoarsely. ‘I’d just like to know what this is about.’

‘Of course.’ He glanced at his watch and seemed relieved when the door opened again and a middle-aged woman with a pale complexion and deep frown lines between her close-set eyes came in. ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ she said to Angie, seeming to mean it. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Anthea Ellis. Please call me Anthea, and may I call you Angela?’

‘Angie. Everyone calls me Angie.’ Why were they being so friendly? The only reason she could think of was that they were about to break bad news.

Anthea Ellis smiled, her plain features softening into a less stressed expression that did little to put Angie at ease. ‘Thanks very much for coming,’ the detective said. ‘I’m sorry to drag you in here on a Sunday, but we’ve been contacted by our Avon and Somerset colleagues who are investigating a murder that took place in Bristol the day before yesterday.’

Angie’s heart stopped beating. She could feel her breath shortening, her mind racing with the horror of what this could mean. They think it’s him. It’s why they want his DNA. He’s dead and they’re trying to identify him. Oh God, oh God, oh God, how was she going to handle this?

Anthea Ellis was saying, ‘… the girl’s body was found beside a canal. She’s been identified as …’

‘What?’ Angie interrupted, not understanding. ‘A girl … Who …? Why are you …?’

Leo Johnson said, ‘We’re told that the main suspects in the case are individuals who might be known to your son. Have you heard from him at all lately?’

Still trying to get a handle on things, Angie said, ‘No. Not since his father …’ She stopped; they’d know what she meant.

With an understanding expression Anthea Ellis said, ‘Do you have any idea where he might be?’

Angie shook her head. ‘I’ve tried to find him, but I’ve never got anywhere. Who are these people, the ones they think killed the girl?’

‘I guess we can assume,’ Ellis replied, ‘that they’re members of the gang Liam was – or still is – involved with. As you know, only five members are behind bars.’

Angie searched around for what she wanted to say, or needed to know. It was like trying to catch something invisible and turn it into something real. ‘Where – where did they find the girl?’ she finally managed. ‘You said a canal …’

‘It’s in the Lawrence Hill area of Bristol,’ Johnson told her. ‘Is that anywhere you know? Somewhere your son might have visited?’

Angie shook her head. ‘I’ve never been there, but I’m not sure about Liam. Please tell me you don’t think he did this. You know he’s not like other boys his age; he has difficulties … If he did do it they’ll have put him up to it.’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ Ellis said kindly.

‘But why else would they want his DNA?’

Johnson said, ‘They’re checking on everyone known to have had some involvement with this particular gang, either directly or indirectly.’

Wild-eyed now, Angie’s voice shook as she said, ‘You know what those thugs do to people who turn them in, don’t you? I’ve seen a programme about it, they call them snitches and if they’re found they’re stabbed to death. So you have to stop looking for Liam. Please. Because even if he doesn’t tell you anything, if someone’s arrested they’ll think he talked and blame him.’

Quietly, almost regretfully, Ellis said, ‘Did you bring something of his with you?’

Angie stiffened and would have denied it if she could. She reached into her bag and handed over the ludicrous toothbrush.

As Johnson took it he regarded it with something that seemed like sadness.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Anthea Ellis said again. As she got up to leave, Angie suddenly cried, ‘Is that it? Aren’t you at least going to say that you’ll let me know when you find out that this has nothing to do with my son?’

‘Of course,’ Ellis assured her. ‘We have your number. As soon as there’s any news, one way or the other, DC Johnson will be in touch.’

Getting to her feet, Angie said angrily, ‘So now he’s a suspect in a murder case you’ll go out of your way to find him. You didn’t want to know when I came in here almost two years ago. Maybe if you’d listened to me then that girl would still be …’ She stopped abruptly, horrified by what she’d been about to say.

‘I made it sound as though I think he’s as guilty as they do,’ she ranted to Emma when she got back. ‘How could I have said that? What the hell is the matter with me? I know he didn’t do it …’ She choked on a sob. ‘He’d never kill anyone. He just wouldn’t – unless someone put him up to it. They might have forced him to do it.’

‘They don’t know yet if it was him,’ Emma reminded her softly.

Angie nodded, seizing the doubt to try and still herself. ‘So does this mean he’s in Bristol?’ she asked. ‘I know there are connections between the gangs here and there.’

Once again Emma said, ‘They don’t know yet if it’s him.’

Angie turned to look out of the kitchen window, seeing shadowy figures over a girl next to a canal, knives, fists, blood … She couldn’t make out any faces, but surely none belonged to Liam.

Her hand tightened around a mug of tea as she focused on Zac in the garden with Emma’s boys, Harry aged almost seven and Jack aged nine. They were crawling over the climbing ropes Steve had hung between the shed and an end post for the washing line. Once they reached the top they tumbled over on to the trampoline below, roaring like warriors, fearless and mighty. Liam had loved to play on those ropes when he was small, shouting out for his dad to watch as he threw himself on to the deadly enemy below.

‘How many have you slain so far?’ Steve would cry out, waving his plastic sword with a madman’s intent.

‘Millions,’ Liam would reply. ‘Look out! There’s one behind you.’

Steve whipped round, saw off an invisible attacker and shouted, ‘Thanks Liam, you saved me there.’

‘That’s all right Dad. You’re safe now.’

Grace came into the kitchen, her laptop held open in both hands. ‘Nightmare,’ she declared. ‘I’ve found some stories about the murdered girl and they’re not good.’

There had been no point trying to hide anything from her daughter when she’d come back from the station; Grace had been there and had known right away that something was wrong. Lying, or trying to skirt the issue was never the way to go with Grace. She’d somehow get to the truth in the end, and would be hurt and disappointed in her mother for not trusting her.

As she put the computer down in front of Emma, Angie saw how pale she was, and wondered whether she already believed her brother was a killer, or if she was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. What was it going to mean to her future if it turned out he’d killed that girl? She’d always be the sister of a murderer, the daughter of a man who’d been beaten to death in a frenzy of gang violence; someone whose family wasn’t like other families, whose bad luck might be contagious. That was how the world viewed people who’d had dealings with the very worst elements of society, even through no fault of their own; the stigma, the shame, rubbed off on the innocent.

‘She’s called Khrystyna Kolisnyk,’ Grace was saying. ‘She was twenty-four and came from Ukraine, but she’d been in the St Paul’s area of Bristol flat-sharing with other girls for the past couple of years. No one reported her missing. The police only knew about her when a jogger nearly fell over her body while he was out for a morning run. Apparently the police want to speak to her boyfriend, Darren Milligan, and others.’ She looked up. ‘The main thing is there’s no mention of Liam.’