“That hardly makes him special in Heron Hill,” said Clifton. “And you’re asking a lot of questions, but you still haven’t told me why you turned up on my doorstep this morning, unless it was just my turn to be fed scones by the taxpayer.”
Hynes decided to take the baton from Gackowska at this next stage of their little relay.
“What can you tell us about Ryan’s friends?”
“Any friend in particular? Come on, out with it.”
“Karl Holmby.”
“I don’t think Ryan and Karl see much of each other anymore.”
Hynes got the impression that she considered this a positive development.
“But they used to?”
“Yes, when they were at school together.”
“Even though Ryan was a year behind Karl?”
“He wasn’t always. Ryan got held back two years ago, but he and Karl are the same age. Born in the same month, as it happens. They’ve known each other all their lives.”
“So what changed between them?”
“University, for a start. Karl has a new set of friends, while Ryan is still hanging around with a lot of the same people from school. But…”
She paused. Hynes and Gackowska gave her time.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” said Clifton.
“Because you don’t know us,” said Gackowska. “It’s not like we’re teachers, or other parents at the school.”
“You’re police. I know that much.”
“We’re not trying to make life any harder for your son than it already is. It’s Karl Holmby we’re curious about.”
“So why aren’t you talking to his mum?”
“We may well do that.”
“Or Karl himself?”
They didn’t answer, and her face changed as she saw the light. Tina Clifton, thought Hynes, was about as far from stupid as you could get. He hadn’t met her husband, so could only assume it was his genes that were dominant in their son. “Oh, I get it now. You came to pick up Ryan so he couldn’t warn Karl, and right now mirror images of you two are looking for Karl, or already have him.”
“Not quite mirror images,” said Hynes. “I’m better-looking than the other bloke.”
“God help him,” said Clifton.
Hynes looked hurt. “I bought you a scone.”
“It’ll take more than that to turn me blind. And what’s Karl done to make you lot interested in him?”
“We’d rather not say for now,” said Gackowska. She had decided that Hynes appeared recently to have contracted some form of flirtation virus. If necessary, she’d forcibly inoculate him by banging his head against a wall. “It may be nothing at all.”
“Or maybe it’s Romana Moon,” said Clifton.
See, Hynes wanted to pronounce, smart as a shiny new button, this one. He took a moment to check the surrounding tables, just in case someone might be paying attention to them, but the nearest was unoccupied, and he doubted their voices would carry any farther.
“Why would you say that?” Gackowska asked.
“Because why else would four coppers be tracking two kids from Larkin-Brook?”
“And suppose it was about Romana Moon?” said Hynes softly. “What would you say then?”
“I’d say that my boy, for all his faults, would never hurt a woman, and if you’re trying to suggest otherwise, then maybe I should phone a lawyer.”
“We’ve no reason to believe that Ryan had anything to do with the murder of Romana Moon,” said Gackowska.
“And Karl Holmby?”
Neither of the two officers replied. It was deliberate on their part, just like Gackowska’s use of the word “murder.” Let Tina Clifton think what she wanted. What was important was that she understood the seriousness of the crime under investigation.
“Fucking hell,” said Clifton.
“Did Ryan and Karl have some kind of falling-out?” said Gackowska.
It took a while for Clifton to answer. Hynes knew what she was doing: replaying the lives of her son and his friend, wondering if she might have failed to spot something foul in Karl Holmby—and perhaps, despite any protestations to the contrary, in her own son.
“No, or if they did, it was before what happened to that poor woman. Karl just moved on, leaving Ryan behind, but he was always going to do that. Ryan couldn’t see it, but I could. Karl’s brighter than Ryan, more ambitious, but it’s also just the kind of person he is. He uses people, and when they’ve served their purpose, he throws them away. He can be charming, but I never really trusted him. He wasn’t just clever: he was too clever.”
“Did Karl or Ryan ever mention Romana Moon to you?” said Gac-
kowska.
“She taught both of them, so her name would come up on occasion. Ryan certainly spoke about her. I don’t remember Karl doing it—well, except one time, in our kitchen, when he and Ryan were laughing together about something that happened in the schoolyard involving her, and Karl made a remark I didn’t much like.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
“Not exactly. It was some smutty innuendo. Miss Moon often rode a bike into school, if the weather was nice, and Karl started talking about riding her, or her riding him, and cocks instead of saddles. I told him to keep his mouth shut, and not to speak about any woman that way. I doubt it did much good in the long run, but it kept both of them quiet for a while.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, probably at the start of Karl’s final year in school.”
“And that’s the only time you heard them speak about her?”
Clifton’s expression altered, and they watched as she tried to pin down a memory.
“No, there was another incident, now that you come to mention it. I suppose I put it down to Karl becoming more mature, or the influence of university life on him. It was one of the last times he and Ryan were together at the house, so it would have been, oh, just before last Christmas. They were in the living room, and I was in the hall. Can’t remember what I was doing. Tidying, probably. I spend my life cleaning up after Ryan and his dad. Ryan and Karl were watching a film on TV, and Ryan must have been commenting on one of the actresses, because he said her tits—his word—were nearly as good as Miss Moon’s. I was too tired to say anything about it, at least not then, but Karl did it for me. He told Ryan to keep his fucking mouth shut, and watch what he said in future. I think he gave Ryan a thump for good measure, because I heard Ryan cry out. At the time I just thought, you know, good on Karl, but I don’t think I really registered how angry he sounded.”
She regarded the two listening officers.
“Was there something going on between Romana and Karl?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” said Hynes.
“But you think there might have been.”
“If there was, would Karl have discussed it with Ryan?”
“Maybe, but Ryan wouldn’t have joked about her breasts if he’d known. He’d have more sense than to do that.”
Elspeth Calley suspected that the affair between Karl Holmby and Romana Moon, if it was a reality, had begun after Holmby had left Larkin-Brook. The change in Holmby’s attitude toward Moon, noted by Tina Clifton, seemed to support this.
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might be helpful?” Gac-
kowska asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Did you ever meet Romana Moon?”
“Of course: at parent-teacher meetings, and once when Ryan was in trouble for fighting in class, or after class, or before class. Ryan’s always in hot water over this or that. Sometimes I think he always will be.”
“I spoke to him, you know,” said Hynes.
“Did you? When?”
“Yesterday, at the school. I told him to mind my car.”
“And did he?”
“It was still there when I got back, complete with wheels, so he must have done. If you wanted me to, I could have a word with him again. I could
take him for a coffee, maybe buy him a scone.”
“Ha! Do you really think that would work with my Ryan?”
“I don’t know. It worked with his mum.”
He could see the words “Fuck off” forming on her lips again, but they didn’t come. Instead she said, “Let me think about it.”
Hynes scribbled his number on a page from his notebook, and handed it to her.
“Don’t go sharing that with all your single friends,” he said.
This time, she did tell him to fuck off.
And she was definitely smiling.
CHAPTER LVI
Like Hynes, Nabih Uddin was currently out of pocket, although only for three cups of tea. He had already decided that he didn’t like Karl Holmby enough to buy him anything more substantial, and he thought Priestman might be similarly unenthused, mainly because she was being unusually friendly. In Uddin’s experience, the apparent pleasantness of Priestman’s manner was frequently inversely proportional to the depth of her dislike, and she was currently all smiles.
Holmby had recovered his composure pretty quickly. In Uddin’s view, what they’d seen had amounted only to a simulacrum of the act of crying, since it hadn’t been accompanied by actual tears.
“Because of what happened to Miss Moon,” he said, when they asked him why he’d become so upset.
He sipped his tea, cradling the cup as though for warmth. Uddin noticed that he slurped as he drank, which was another reason to dislike him, Uddin being very particular about manners. The world, in his view, didn’t need any more unnecessary noise.
“Were you expecting us to contact you?” said Priestman.
“Not me personally, but I assume you’re speaking to everyone who knew her.”
“We’re not, as it happens. Our list is still quite short, for now.”
Holmby looked puzzled. “So why me?”
“How well did you know Romana Moon?”
Priestman was still radiating goodwill, but Uddin could see that Holmby was beginning to doubt her sincerity. He wondered how long it would take for him to start putting up the shutters. Not very long at all, as it turned out.
“Uh, maybe I should call someone,” he said.
“Such as?”
“A solicitor.”
“Why would you want to do that? Have you done something wrong?”
“No.”
“Well, then. You’re not under arrest: we just want to talk to you. If you prefer, we can take you to a police station, and you can be formally questioned there. I have to warn you, though, that if you request legal advice, it can take up to thirty-six hours before it’s made available. In the meantime, you’ll have to sit in a cell. We’ll inform your mum as a courtesy, of course, even though you’re no longer a minor, but you might be happier not to have her involved. I would be, if I were you.”
Uddin didn’t know if Holmby’s degree studies in forensics touched on his legal rights. He hoped they didn’t. The police had nothing with which to charge him, and no reason to hold him for questioning. If he got up and walked away, they’d just have to finish their tea alone.
But Holmby didn’t walk away. He was a sharp boy, yet the operative word here wasn’t “sharp” but “boy.” He was just a teenager, and as such had all of a teenager’s arrogance and insecurity, which was like building a house on shifting sands. Uddin could see that he was curious, and perhaps Holmby thought he was clever enough to joust with them without giving too much away. On the other hand, if he had been having an affair with Romana Moon, he must already have guessed the reason for their interest in him, especially after being informed by Priestman that they weren’t simply working their way alphabetically through a list of past and present pupils at Larkin-Brook. This puzzled Uddin, because—unless Holmby was practiced at dissimulation, even to a sociopathic degree, which admittedly wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility given what had been done to Romana Moon—he appeared genuinely confused.
“Okay,” said Holmby at last. “I’ll talk to you.”
“Thank you,” said Priestman. “We’ll try to be as quick as we can. How well did you know Romana Moon?”
“Well enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“She helped me with my studies. I needed three A levels to get into the course here: two Bs and a C, but that was the minimum. She taught biology, and I got my B thanks to her, but she also tutored me in mathematics, because Mr. Bowen had cancer and couldn’t do it. I don’t think he’d have offered anyway, even if he’d been well. He’s not that kind.”
“Did Miss Moon give similar help to any other pupils?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Which is it: no, she didn’t, or you don’t think she did?”
Uddin caught the anger in Holmby’s eyes; a fleeting glimpse of what lay beneath, but quickly veiled. Holmby didn’t like being challenged in this way, particularly by a woman, didn’t like it one bit. Uddin glanced at Priestman, and suspected her smile was a bit more genuine. She’d seen it, too.
Come out, come out, wherever you are…
“No, she didn’t,” said Holmby, with some force.
“You were special, were you?”
“Have you been to Larkin-Brook?” said Holmby.
“No, but my colleagues have paid a visit.”
“Pity they didn’t tell you what it’s like.”
“And what is it like?”
“It’s a shithole. I was the only one in our year going for a course that required three good A levels. So, yeah: in answer to your question, maybe I was special. I wanted to get into university. I wanted to study forensics. Most of all, I wanted a qualification that would eventually get me out of Middlesbrough. Happy?”
“Happy for you. Why did you want to study forensics?”
“I’ve always been keen on it, ever since I started watching CSI and Bones with my mum. Those shows are bullshit—there’s better stuff on Netflix, real stuff—but the science behind them is the thing. I wanted to know more.”
“So you were a bit of an expert before you even started studying the subject?”
It seemed to Uddin that Holmby almost physically recoiled from the trap.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Sorry, it just appeared that was what you were saying.”
Holmby pushed his cup away, still half full. The gloves were off now.
“Do you think I hurt Miss Moon?”
“She wasn’t hurt. She was butchered.”
“I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do something like that to anyone, but especially not to her.”
“Because you liked her?”
“Yes.”
“And she helped you with your studies?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all?”
“What do you mean? Isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know. Would you have said that you and Miss Moon were friends?”
“Yeah, we were friendly.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
Uddin had to give Holmby credit: he wasn’t easily rattled, and even when he took a knock, he recovered his poise with ease. He had something of the boxer about him, dancing, dodging blows.
“Not in my experience,” said Priestman. “I find that people sometimes confuse my being friendly with wanting to be their friend.”
Holmby thought about this. “I suppose that’s true.”
“So, which one were you and Miss Moon: friendly, or friends?”
“I think we were friends.”
“Anything more than that?”
Holmby eyed them both carefully before fixing his attention on Uddin.
“Doesn’t say much, does he?”
“He’s the watchful type. He spots all kinds of things, like when someone doesn’t want to answer a question. That makes him anxious.”
Uddin’s face remained entirely neutral.
“How can you tell?” said Holmby.
�
�I’ll admit the change is subtle. Back to Miss Moon. Were you two anything more than friends?”
“What does that mean?”
Priestman stopped writing. Uddin noticed that Holmby had started out trying to read her notes upside down, but gave up when he couldn’t interpret Priestman’s shorthand. She could touch-type as well, spoke three languages, and had a near-photographic memory. Privately, Nabih Uddin regarded Priestman’s combined abilities as tantamount to sorcery.
“Karl,” she said, “I’m now wondering if you actually really want to see the inside of a holding cell after all. You’re studying forensics at university, so I find it hard to believe you’re stupid. But just in case you somehow lucked your way in here, and are too frightened to admit you don’t understand all the long words, I’ll clarify my question. I’m asking if the relationship between you and Miss Moon ever went further than friendship—and be careful how you answer.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
Uddin couldn’t tell if Holmby was stunned, or just pretending to be. On reflection, he thought it might be a little of both.
“Have I offended your delicate sensibilities?” said Priestman.
“She was my teacher.”
“Have you ever read a tabloid newspaper? If you haven’t, you’d be surprised at what goes on in the world.”
“We were friends. She helped me. She—”
“Yes, we got all that first time ’round. Spare us the echo. What interests me are rumors of a relationship between you and Romana Moon.”
Holmby was goggling like a fish, but Uddin could also see him calculating his response.
“I think he’s about to lie,” said Uddin.
“Really?” Priestman didn’t take her eyes from Holmby.
“Yes, although he may also have been lying already. I get that vibe from him.”
“See?” said Priestman to Holmby. “Told you he was watchful.”
“Anyway, I’m bored with him now,” Uddin continued, “and I don’t want any more tea. Let’s take him in.”
“Wait!” said Holmby. “I haven’t had a chance to answer yet.”
“It’s hardly worth hearing if you’re just going to tell lies,” said Priestman.
A Book of Bones Page 29
