The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(45)

‘Did you stop for a look, any of those times?’

‘No.’

I gave it the scepticals.

‘We were in a hurry. At first we were working on the project, and then I had to get the key back on time. We weren’t thinking about the Secret Place. Why?’ One hand coming out from under her leg, uncurling towards the photo; long thin fingers, she was going to be tall. ‘Is that—’

‘The secrets on there. Any of them yours?’

‘No.’

No beat beforehand, no split-second decision. No lie.

‘Why not? You don’t have secrets? Or you keep them to yourself?’

Rebecca said, ‘I’ve got friends. I tell them my secrets. I don’t need to go around telling the whole school. Even anonymously.’

Her head had gone up; her voice had filled out all of a sudden, rang through the sunlight to the corners of the room. She was proud.

I said, ‘Do you figure your friends tell you all their secrets, too?’

A beat there; quarter of a second when her lips opened and nothing came out. Then she said, ‘I know everything about them.’

Still that ring in her voice, like joy. A lift to her mouth that was almost a smile.

I felt it change my breathing. Right there, a flash like a signal: the something else I’d been looking for. Burning hotter, throwing off sparks in strange colours.

Not the same thing, Conway had said; not the same as Joanne’s lot. No shit.

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.’