The Secret Place (Dublin Murder Squad, #5)(52)

Her voice was good. Straight, clipped, intent. Adult to adult: she’d been paying attention to what worked for me. ‘You’re in danger. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every second, right up until you tell us what you know. Once you’ve done that, the killer’s got no reason to go after you. But up until then . . .’

A shiver again, a ripple. Joanne’s lot swapping those covert sideways checks. Julia scraping something off a knuckle, eyes down.

Conway pacing faster. ‘If you made up this card for the laugh, you’re in just as much danger. The killer doesn’t know you were mucking about. He, or she, can’t afford to take risks. And as far as she’s concerned, you’re a risk.’

She snapped the photo again. ‘If this card is bogus, probably you’re worried about coming clean in case you get in hassle, with us or with the school. Forget that. Yeah, me and Detective Moran, we’ll give you a lecture about wasting police time. Yeah, you’ll probably end up in detention. That’s a lot better than ending up dead.’

Joanne leaned sideways to Gemma, whispered something in her ear, not even trying to hide it. Smirked.

Conway stopped. Stared.

Joanne still smirking. Gemma fish-faced, trying to work out whether to smile or not; work out who she was more afraid of.

It needed to be Conway.

Conway moved fast, right up to Joanne’s chair, leaning in. She looked ready to head-butt.

‘Am I talking to you?’

Joanne staring back, slack-lipped with disdain. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Answer the question.’

The other girls’ eyes had come up. The arena eyes you get in classrooms when trouble starts, waiting to see who bleeds.

Joanne’s eyebrows lifting. ‘Um, I have literally no clue what it even means?’

‘I’m only talking to one person here. If that’s you, then you need to shut up and listen. If it’s not, then you need to shut up because no one’s talking to you.’

Round Conway’s patch of rough and mine, someone disses you, you punch hard and fast and straight to the face, before they see weakness and sink their teeth into it. If they back off, you’re a winner. Out in the rest of the world, people back off from that punch, too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve won. It means they’ve filed you under Scumbag, under Animal, under Stay Far From.

Conway had to know that, or she’d never have got this far. Something – this girl, this school, this case – had thrown her. She was f*cking up.

Not my problem. I swore it the day I got my acceptance to cop college: that kind of rough wasn’t my problem any more, never again, not that way. Mine to handcuff and throw in the back seat of my car; not mine to give a damn about, not mine like we had anything in common. Conway wanted to f*ck up, let her.

Joanne was still wearing that open-mouthed sneer. The others were leaning in, waiting for the kill. The sun felt like a hot iron pressed against the back of my jacket.

I moved, on the windowsill. Conway swung round, midway through taking a breath to reef Joanne out of it. Caught my eye.

Tiny tilt of my chin, just a fraction. Warning.

Conway’s eyes narrowed. She turned back to Joanne, slower. Shoulders easing.

Smile. Steady sticky voice, like talking to a stupid toddler.

‘Joanne. I know it’s hard for you, not being the centre of attention. I know you’re only dying to throw a tantrum and scream, “Everybody look at me!” But I bet if you try your very best, you can hang on for just a few more minutes. And when we’re done here, your friends can explain to you why this was important. OK?’

Joanne’s face was pure poison. She looked forty.

‘Can you manage that for me?’

Joanne thumped back in her chair, rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever.’

‘Good girl.’

The circle of arena eyes, appreciative: we had a winner. Julia and Holly were both grinning. Alison looked terrified and over the moon.

‘Now,’ Conway said, turning back to the rest of them – Joanne was dismissed, done. ‘You; whoever you are. I know you enjoyed that, but fact is, you’ve got the same problem. You’re not taking the killer seriously. Maybe because you don’t actually know who it is, so he or she doesn’t feel real. Maybe because you do know who it is, and he or she doesn’t look all that dangerous.’

Joanne was staring at the wall, arms twisted into a knot of sulk. The rest of the girls were all Conway’s. She had done it: come up to the mark for them.

She held up the photo in a slash of sun, Chris laughing and radiant. ‘Probably Chris thought the same thing. I’ve seen a lot of people who didn’t take killers seriously. Mostly I saw them at their post-mortems.’

Her voice was steady and grave again. When she stopped, no one breathed. The breeze through the open window rattled the blinds.

‘Me and Detective Moran, we’re going to get some lunch. After that, we’ll be in the boarders’ wing for an hour or two.’ That got a reaction. Elbows shifting on desks, spines snapping straight. ‘Then we’ve got other places to be. What I’m telling you is, you’ve got maybe three hours left where you’re safe. The killer’s not gonna come after you while we’re on the grounds. Once we leave . . .’

Silence. Orla’s mouth was hanging open.

‘If you’ve got something to tell us, you can come find us any time this afternoon. Or if you’re worried someone’ll notice you going, you can ring us, even text us. You’ve all got our cards.’