The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(48)

Selena stood in the doorway, swinging the door back and forth like a little kid. Gazing at us.

Behind her Houlihan murmured, trying to nudge Selena forward. Selena didn’t notice. She said, to Conway, ‘I remember you.’

‘Same here,’ said Conway. Her glance at me, as she headed back to her chair, said Selena hadn’t clocked the Secret Place. Zero out of seven. Our card girl had self-control. ‘Why don’t you have a seat.’

Selena moved forward. Sat down, obedient and incurious. Examined me like I was a new painting on one of the easels.

I said, ‘I’m Detective Stephen Moran. Selena Wynne, am I right?’

She nodded. Still that gaze, lips parted. No questions, no what’s-this-about, no wariness.

And no point in trying to bond with this one. I could burst my bollix trying, get the same answers as if I’d sent a list of questions by e-mail. Selena wanted nothing from me. She barely knew I was real.

Slow, I thought. Slow or sick or hurt, or whatever this year’s approved words are. The first snip of why Joanne’s lot thought these were freaks.

I said, ‘Can you tell me what you did yesterday evening?’

Same story as the other three, or bits of it. She wasn’t sure who’d asked for permission, who’d left the art room; looked vague at me when I asked if she’d gone to the toilet. Agreed that she might’ve done, but agreed like she was saying it to make me happy, being kind because it didn’t matter to her either way.

She hadn’t looked at the Secret Place, any time during the evening. I asked, ‘Have you put up any cards there?’

Selena shook her head.

‘No? Never?’

‘I don’t really get the Secret Place. I don’t even like reading it.’

‘Why not? You don’t like secrets? Or you figure they should stay secret?’

She wove her fingers together, watched them fascinated, the way babies do. Soft eyebrows pulling together, just a touch. ‘I just don’t like it. It bothers me.’

I said, ‘So this isn’t yours.’ Slapped the photo into her hands.

Her fingers were so loose, the photo fell right through them, spun to the ground. She just watched it fall. I had to pick it up for her.

It got us nothing, this time. Selena held it and gazed at it for so long, not a budge in that sweet peaceful face, I started wondering had she copped what it meant.

‘Chris,’ she said, in the end. I felt Conway twitch, No shit Sherlock.

I said, ‘Someone put that up in the Secret Place. Was it you?’

Selena shook her head.

‘Selena. If it was, you’re not in any trouble. We’re only delighted to have it. But we need to know.’

Another head-shake.

She was mist-smooth, your hand went right through her without touching. No cracks to jimmy, no loose threads to pull. No way in.

I asked, ‘Then who do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know.’ Puzzled look, like I was a weirdo to ask.

‘If you had to guess.’

Selena did her best to come up with something; trying to make me happy again. ‘Maybe it was a joke?’

‘Would any of your friends play a joke like that?’

‘Julia and Holly and Becca? No.’

‘What about Joanne Heffernan and her friends? Would they?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t understand most of what they do.’ The mention of them slid a faint frown across Selena’s forehead, but a second later it had faded.

I said, ‘Who do you think killed Chris Harper?’

Selena thought about that for a long time. Sometimes her lips moved, like she was about to start a sentence but then it fell out of her mind. Conway at my shoulder, sizzling with impatience.

In the end Selena said, ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever going to know.’

Her voice had turned clear, strong. For the first time, she was looking at us like she saw us.

Conway said, ‘Why not?’

‘There are things like that. Where no one ever knows what happened.’

Conway said, ‘Don’t you underestimate us. We’re planning on finding out exactly what happened.’

Selena gazed at her. ‘OK,’ she said, mildly. Passed the photo back to me.

I said, ‘If you had to pick one thing to tell me about Chris, what would it be?’

Selena turned back to vague. Drifted off into the sunlight like the dust-motes, lips parted. I waited.

What felt like a long time later, she said, ‘Sometimes I see him.’

She sounded sad. Not scared, not trying to scare us, impress us, nothing. Just so sad.

Twitch from Houlihan. Sound of Conway clamping back a snort.

I said, ‘Yeah? Where?’

‘Different places. On the second-floor landing, once, sitting on the windowsill texting someone. Running laps around the Colm’s playing field, during a match. Once on the grass outside our window, late at night, throwing a ball up in the air. He’s always doing something. It’s like he’s trying to get all the things done that he’ll never have a chance to do, get them done as fast as he can. Or like he’s still trying to be like the rest of us, like maybe he doesn’t realise . . .’

A sudden catch of breath that lifted Selena’s chest. ‘Oh,’ she said quietly, on the sigh out. ‘Poor Chris.’