Dying Truth

by Angela Marsons

  Bryant scooted closer to read with her.

  Dear Mummy and Daddy,

  I can’t find the words to explain how I feel. Every day my mind is like a tropical jungle overgrown with foliage, dense plantation. A mist rises every now and again and blocks out the sunlight. I try to wade through it. I try to reach you but the jungle gets in my way.

  I try so hard to meet expectation but I drop through the cracks of reality because I also want to be me. I don’t know who that is yet. I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this foggy existence waiting to see what I become. It’s too hard. I can’t bear it any more. I have to make it stop.

  Kim went back to the top of the letter and read it again.

  She felt Bryant sigh beside her.

  It was tough to read the muddled, sincere, lost thoughts of a thirteen-year-old girl that was now lying in the morgue. However she had spent her last days or hours, she had not been happy or at peace. Especially with herself.

  Kim raised her gaze to find that Laurence had moved to stand behind his wife. His hands rested on her shoulders. Hannah had turned her face into her husband’s forearm as though the truth was just too much to bear.

  ‘And how do you see this letter, Mr Winters?’ Kim asked, gently.

  He swallowed back the tears.

  ‘I think this letter leaves no doubt whatsoever that our daughter wanted to end her life.’

  Kim felt torn between revealing the nature of Sadie’s injuries and waiting until they had something more substantial to share. The word ‘murder’ had been shouted from the rooftops by Tracy Frost, but this couple were choosing not to hear it.

  She stood. ‘Thank you for sharing this letter with us, Mr Winters. I’m sure it will help us with our enquiries.’

  Laurence nodded and walked them to the door.

  Kim promised they’d be in touch soon.

  For a minute she stood against the car.

  ‘The answer is no before you even think about it,’ Bryant said, opening the car door.

  ‘You don’t even know what I’m thinking,’ she countered.

  ‘Oh yes I do,’ he said as she got in beside him. ‘Clearly the Winters have friends in high places. Now, those friends have already prompted a call from the top of the food chain. For whatever reason they’re determined to believe their daughter killed herself. If you go back in there and try to force them to believe she was murdered, what then? You don’t think we’re being watched closely enough as it is? Their well-placed friends are gonna want this thing wrapped up within the hour, and right now we have nothing.’

  ‘So, you’re saying we should just continue to allow them to believe a lie?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m saying we take the opportunity to find out who killed her so we can give them some real answers.’

  ‘Damn it, Bryant. I know you’re right, but I know I’m right too,’ she said, exasperated.

  He started the car and turned it towards the drive.

  ‘Great, I can’t even have one right on my own.’

  She sighed as they crunched across the gravel. ‘Bryant, you think Sadie would have written a letter to Mummy and Daddy?’

  ‘Not a bloody chance,’ he said, reaching the road.

  No, strangely enough, neither did she.

  Twenty-Six

  Dawson checked his watch as he approached the recreation area; at his school it had been called the playground. The area was the size of a small housing estate and appeared to be shared by the whole school.

  He heard a bell in the distance before the sound of voices and chatter filled his ears. Kids streamed from the doorways as though a tap had been turned on. Immediately the groups formed: girl groups, boy groups, a few mixed but the majority were gender-specific. A group of eight lads headed for the centre of the space and threw down their jumpers to be used as goalposts.

  Some things were universal, Dawson thought, regardless of the school you attended. And young boys playing football between classes was one of them.

  He searched the crowd for Geoffrey, and when he couldn’t see him, he took a second to recall his own experience. Where does the fat kid go when they’re forced outside for fresh air in between lessons but doesn’t really want to be noticed?

  He started walking the periphery of the recreation area. A few benches hid beneath a row of elm trees, shielded from the emerging sun. Most had groups sitting on the bench, on the wooden arms and on the backrest with their feet on the seats. All except one.

  On the bench at the furthest point away from the school building, barely noticeable behind hanging branches of elm, was a kid chomping on a packet of crisps.

  Oh how he understood the cycle. He’d been a bit weighty, been picked on, made miserable, eaten, been picked on, made miserable… Well just stop eating crisps and cakes onlookers might think. And if only it was as easy as that.

  ‘Hey,’ Geoffrey said, looking at Dawson and then guiltily at his packet of crisps.

  Dawson understood. He too had felt the shame every time he was seen eating anything that wasn’t an apple or stick of carrot. Average-sized kids could eat whatever they wanted without judgement or attention. The fat kid received stares and head shakes as though they were doing something wrong.

  ‘Mmm… chicken flavour, my favourite,’ Dawson said.

  Geoffrey proffered the packet, and Dawson took one.

  Geoffrey left the packet hanging between them.

  ‘Got a minute for a chat?’ Dawson asked.

  He nodded towards the group playing football.

  ‘Best be quick. They’ll be wanting me back any minute.’

  Dawson saw the ironic look on his face and laughed out loud.

  Geoffrey smiled in response. Apparently pleased that he had made someone laugh.

  ‘You mentioned something about the Queen of Hearts, yesterday. What’s that all about?’ Dawson asked, taking another crisp. He’d forgotten just how tasty they were.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he said, looking around.

  ‘Why not?’ Dawson asked, looking around too, even though no one was anywhere near them.

  Geoffrey lowered his voice. ‘We’re not supposed to talk about them. They’re a secret.’

  ‘From who?’ Dawson asked, feeling slightly ridiculous.

  ‘Principal Thorpe. He doesn’t like them. They’re banned.’

  Dawson couldn’t help being intrigued. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise,’ he said, leaning in closer.

  Geoffrey seemed reassured.

  ‘Okay, there are four clubs here at Heathcrest, strictly by invitation only. Two boys’ clubs and two girls’ clubs. The girls are Hearts and Diamonds and the boys are Clubs and Spades.’

  ‘Like those fraternities they have in America?’ Dawson asked.

  Geoffrey thought. ‘I suppose so, but they don’t live together or hang out or anything. They’re all different ages. There are eleven members in each club.’

  ‘Why only eleven?’ Dawson asked.

  ‘The girls have no King and the boys have no Queen.’

  Dawson frowned, trying to get it straight, as he took another crisp.

  Geoffrey looked down at the packet and handed it to him, wiping his own hands on his trousers.

  ‘So, there’s a hierarchy in the clubs?’ Dawson asked.

  Oh, how he detested exclusive clubs and groups. Just another way of making the average kid feel inadequate.

  ‘Oh yeah, it rises in number. Newest member is the Ace and then it rises to the King or Queen of the suit of that club. Each suit is run by a Joker – an adult, could be a teacher or an ex-card.’

  ‘And how does one get into these exclusive groups?’

  ‘Chosen by the other members, I think,’ he said.

  ‘And you move up over time?’

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘If a person leaves—’

  ‘Leaves the club?’

  Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No, leaves the school, then everyone automatically moves up a place leaving s
pace for a new Ace to join.’

  The bell suddenly sounded the end of break. Geoffrey looked longingly at his sandwich box before returning it to his backpack.

  ‘So, is it all good-natured fun, the interaction between these four clubs?’ he asked, as Geoffrey hauled his pack onto his shoulder.

  ‘The girls are not so bad,’ he said. ‘But the Spades and Clubs hate each other’s guts.’

  Twenty-Seven

  Thorpe was not surprised at the knock on the door. He’d been waiting for over half an hour for Graham Steele.

  ‘What took you?’ he asked, sharply. He’d asked Nancy to make the call to the counsellor half an hour earlier, and he’d been waiting for the oaf ever since.

  ‘My aunt is fine, thank you for asking,’ Graham said, tightly. ‘And if you must know I’m late because I’m still prioritising the order of callbacks for the students.’

  ‘“Callbacks”?’

  ‘I’ve had forty-three requests for counselling since Sadie died. Obviously, the kids are concerned.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Thorpe said, trying to hide the fact that he should have realised. They were all concerned. Not least because every phone call he’d taken had been from a parent threatening to take their child out of the school, especially since the disastrous press conference.

  ‘Just how troubled was Sadie Winters?’ he asked.

  ‘You didn’t know her well?’ Graham asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ he snapped, sensing rather than hearing the accusation in the tone of his colleague. There were far too many students in the school for him to know them all personally, but he hated that in just a few words this man could make it sound like a catastrophic failing on his part. ‘Just answer the question. Was Sadie in need of specialist care?’

  Graham thought for a full two minutes before answering. ‘I feel that Sadie has been quietly withdrawing for quite a while now. I think that her lack of social interaction and academic application began to wane as the star of her sister, Saffron, began to—’

  ‘Will you please answer the question?’ Thorpe pushed. He was not interested in the counsellor’s extensive theories on the history of the girl’s mental state. One of his biggest concerns right now was duty of care.

  Graham’s face grew dark. ‘I will if you ask it.’

  Did he really have to spell out everything? ‘Should we have known?’ he asked, through gritted teeth.

  Again the counsellor seemed to weigh his response carefully, and Thorpe realised that was one of the reasons he found conversation with the man so infuriating. Every single word was dissected and measured before it left his mouth.

  ‘There was no indication of suicidal thoughts or I would have spoken to you about—’

  ‘That is not what I wanted to hear,’ Thorpe said. That admission was only going to add fuel to the detective’s suspicions.

  ‘Brendan, she barely spoke,’ Graham exploded, using his first name uncharacteristically. ‘During the three sessions we had she hardly said good morning or goodbye. Despite my constant questioning she sat in front of me and picked at her fingernails, so how the hell do you expect me to deduce suicidal thoughts from that?’

  The air sizzled between them.

  Thorpe understood that for Graham to admit that Sadie had been suicidal would be to bring his own ability and performance into question. But the detectives would never go away if they perceived any doubt that the girl had ended her own life.

  ‘You’ll be meeting with the police later today?’

  ‘I would imagine so. I haven’t yet had chance to speak with them. Why?’

  Thorpe met his gaze and held it. ‘I want to make sure we’re in agreement,’ he said.

  Graham looked at him blankly.

  ‘I want you to give the police officers everything they need.’

  Graham frowned at him. ‘Why would you suspect I’d give them anything less than—’

  ‘I mean everything they need,’ he said meaningfully.

  ‘Are you asking me to lie to the police to speed up their investigation?’ he asked.

  ‘For God’s sake, Graham, catch up, will you? Jesus, you’ve always been a bit…’ he stopped himself from saying any more. He wanted this boor of a man on his side and revealing what he thought about him, had always thought about him, would not help him achieve his goal.

  ‘Why stop what you were going to say? You think I don’t know how you viewed me when I came to this school?’ he asked, shrewdly.

  Thorpe could feel the heat entering his cheeks. Yes, he had tried and failed in his capacity as deputy principal to sway the principal and to reject him for the vacancy. Had he been in his current position when Graham applied he would have refused the man an interview. He didn’t fit at Heathcrest. But right now he needed him onside.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’d earned your degree and studied—’

  ‘The first time,’ Graham clarified.

  Thorpe coughed into his hand. ‘I don’t recall…’ he sidestepped, even though the memory of Graham’s first day was clear in his mind for many reasons. Although not sporting the beard at the age of thirteen, Graham’s reedy appearance and unruly red hair had not helped matters for the new boy at all.

  ‘There were two of us, if I recall.’

  Thorpe shook his head. ‘I really don’t remember the girl, Graham. It was so long ago.’

  Graham narrowed his eyes. ‘Her name was Lorraine. We were both scholarship students chosen for our sporting—’

  ‘As is still the practice, today,’ Thorpe said, shifting uncomfortably. Graham had been chosen for his ability to jump a long way into a sandpit. He’d been close to championship distances before hitting his teens, but an injury to his right heel had failed to mend properly, ending his athletic career at the ripe old age of fifteen.

  Graham caught his gaze and held it. ‘Not easy being a scholarship kid in a place like this.’

  ‘You seemed to manage okay,’ Thorpe snapped. The fact that Graham had been a member of the Spades instead of him still didn’t sit easy with Thorpe. Even after twenty-five years. Graham’s father had been an assembly line worker at the Range Rover plant in Longbridge. Thorpe’s father had been a respected novelist and his mother a judge. He should have been offered the Ace of Spades instead of this buffoon.

  But he was in charge now.

  ‘What I’m asking you to do, Graham, is help the police officers reach the natural conclusion that Sadie’s death was suicide in a timely manner. Basically I want you to get them out of my school.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Kim could still feel the weight of Sadie’s letter against her breast as they walked into Heathcrest.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said, striding through the grand hall to the corridor that ran behind the rooms that looked on to the front of the building.

  She stopped at the third one along and tapped lightly. By her reckoning they had around fifteen minutes until lunchtime was over.

  Kim pushed the door open and was not surprised to see Joanna Wade sitting at her desk with a half-eaten tub of homemade salad beside the book she was reading.

  ‘No staff room?’ she asked.

  Joanna smiled in response. ‘I’m fine here, thanks.’

  Again, Kim wondered what had prompted the move for this woman. Something about her didn’t fit in this environment.

  ‘Joanna, do you have any of Sadie’s writings that we can take a look at?’ she asked, unsure when it had become comfortable to call this woman by her first name. She wanted to compare something Sadie had written to the note in her pocket.

  ‘You don’t have enough?’ she frowned.

  Kim shrugged. Even Joanna assumed her personal possessions would be stuffed with poems and musings.

  She turned and opened a sliding door.

  ‘Guv,’ Bryant said, ‘I’m just gonna round up some coffee from somewhere.’

  She smiled at him gratefully. Her coffee reserves had not been replenished since leaving the station.


  Joanna took down a lever arch file and opened it. Kim pulled up a seat beside her as she began to leaf through the contents.

  ‘There was a poem she wrote just a few days ago that stuck in my mind.’ She continued to turn over single pieces of paper with different names in the top right-hand corner.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Kim asked, suddenly, surprising herself.

  The Joanna Wade she’d met a couple of years ago had seemed more vibrant, more animated. There was something missing. It was like she’d been through the washer a couple of times and had faded just a little bit.

  Joanna’s hand stilled for a second as she picked up the next sheet.

  ‘One game of darts and I might tell you,’ she said.

  Kim laughed at the comment which was both opportunistic and distracting.

  ‘Ah, here’s one she wrote just last week,’ she said taking a sheet from the box and placing it before Kim. ‘Not the one I’m after but this’ll give you some idea of her talent.’

  The poem filled the whole page but with only one word on each line.

  Kim read it twice and shook her head.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ she said, honestly.

  ‘The theme was isolation,’ Joanna said. ‘Now take another look.’

  Kim read it again. ‘Okay, so every word is linked to loneliness, which could have been done from any thesaurus.’

  Joanna rolled her eyes despairingly. ‘Look beyond the words, Inspector. See the whole thing.’

  Kim looked again and ignored the words.

  ‘Single words on a line, surrounded by space. Other words are around but not close by,’ Kim said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Joanna replied. ‘She captured the theme in much more than the words. She made the actual page stark to paint the picture of loneliness. Not bad for a thirteen-year-old girl, eh?’

  Kim nodded her agreement as Joanna frowned.

  ‘Ah, I remember now, I gave that other poem to her counsellor. I’ll get it back so you can take a look.’

  Kim took Sadie’s letter from her pocket.