The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(117)

McKenna was shouting something, but none of them heard her. Shrieks launched off them like birds, battering against the walls. I caught words, here and there, I see him oh my God oh God I see him it’s Chris Chris Chris—

It was the high sash window they were fixed on, the one where Holly and her mates had been sitting an hour or two earlier. Empty now, blank evening sky. Heads back, arms open to that rectangle, they were screaming like it was a joy, a physical one. Like it was the one thing they’d been dying to do, for years and years, and the time had come.

It’s him it’s him look oh God look— Conway’s ghost story had paid off.

Conway dived in. Aiming for Holly and her lot, pressed together in a far corner. They weren’t screaming, weren’t gone, but they were huge-eyed, Holly’s teeth sunk into her forearm, Rebecca crouched in an armchair gasping, hands pressed over her ears. Get them now, we might get them talking.

I stayed put. To guard the door, I told myself. In case anyone made a break for it; the state those girls were in, one of them could do something stupid, down the stairwell before you know it and then we’d be in trouble—

Load of shite. I was afraid. Cold Cases takes you to bad motherf*ckers, these were just little girls, but these were the ones that stopped me dead. These were the ones that would smell me stepping over their threshold and turn, hands rising, come for me in a rush of streaming hair and silence and rip me into a thousand bloody gobbets, one for each reason they had.

Oh God oh God oh—

The overhead bulb exploded. Sudden rush of dimness and slips of glass firing like golden arrows through the light of the standing lamps, a fresh burst of screams; a girl clapping her hand to her face, blood black in the shadows. The window burned pale, lit their upturned faces like worshippers’.

Alison was on her feet on the seat of a sofa, spindly and rocking. One skinny arm stretched out, finger pointing. Not at the window. At Holly’s four: Rebecca head back and white-eyed, Holly and Julia grabbing at her arms, Selena glazed and swaying. Alison was screaming on and on, screams huge enough to rise up over all the rest: ‘Her it was her I saw her I saw her I saw her—’

Conway’s head came round. She clocked Alison, scanned frantically for me. Caught my eye and gestured over the whirl of heads, yelled something I couldn’t hear, but I saw it: Fucking come on!

I took a breath and I dived in.

Hair slicing across my cheek, an elbow ramming my ribs, a hand clawing at my sleeve and I wrenched away. My skin leaped at every touch, nails or for a second I thought teeth raked the back of my neck, but I was moving fast and nothing dug in. Then Conway’s shoulder was against mine like protection.

We got Alison under the arms, lifted her off the sofa – her arms were rigid, brittle, sticks of chalk, she didn’t struggle – had her back through the boiling mess and out of the door before McKenna could do anything but see us go. Conway slammed the door behind us with her foot.

The sudden quiet and brightness almost turned me light-headed. We got Alison down the corridor so fast her feet barely touched the ground, dumped her on the landing at the far end. She collapsed, heap of arms and legs, still screaming.

Faces in the white stairwell, craning over the circling banister-rails above and below us, open-mouthed. I called out, deep official voice, ‘Attention, please. Everyone go back to your common rooms. No one’s been hurt; everything’s fine. Go back to your common rooms immediately.’ Kept going till the faces pulled back, slowly, and were gone. Behind us McKenna was still shouting; the noise level was slowly going down, shrieks starting to crumble to sobs.

Conway was on her knees, up in Alison’s face. Sharp as a slap: ‘Alison. You look at me.’ Snapping her fingers, over and over, in front of Alison’s eyes: ‘Hey. Right here. Nowhere else.’

‘He’s there don’t let him please nononoooo—’

‘Alison. Focus. When I say, “Go,” you’re gonna hold your breath while I count to ten. Ready. Go.’

Alison cut herself off in mid-scream, with a sound like a burp. Almost made me start laughing. That was when I realised if I started, I might not stop. The scrapes down the back of my neck throbbed.

‘One. Two. Three. Four.’ Conway kept the beat ruthlessly steady, ignored the noise still bubbling down the corridor. Alison stared at her, lips clamped shut. ‘Five. Six—’ A swell of squealing in the common room, Alison’s eyes zigzagged— ‘Hey. Over here. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Now breathe. Slowly.’

Alison’s mouth fell open. Her breath came shallow and loud, like she was half hypnotised, but the screaming was gone.

‘Nice,’ Conway said, easily. ‘Well done.’ Her eyes slid up over Alison’s shoulder, to me.

I did a double-take out of a cartoon. Me?

Flare of her eyes. Get a move on.

I was the one who’d made it work with Alison earlier. I had the best chance. The biggest interview of the case, or it could be if I didn’t f*ck up.

‘Hey,’ I said, sliding down to sit cross-legged on the tiles. Glad of the excuse: my knees were still shaking. Conway slipped away sideways, into a corner behind Alison, tall and black and raggedy against the smooth white wall. ‘Feeling better?’

Alison nodded. She was red-eyed, more white-mousey than ever. Her legs stuck out at mad angles, like someone had dropped her from a height.