The Pinocchio Brief

by Silver Abi

  First, I will focus on the following self-effacing muscles: the superior and inferior oblique, those names have a wonderful ring to them. They work to rotate the eye. Then, there are the superior and inferior rectus; hmm, not equal in name to the obliques, but these are clever little chaps, and invaluable too. They move the eye up and down. And last, but certainly not least, the medial and lateral rectus; they move each eye inwards towards the nose and outwards again. And the amazing thing about these exercises is I can do them day or night, sitting or lying down, anywhere I want.

  Brandon, the youngest of the staff here, is twitchy today; Charlene must have made him sleep on the sofa again last night. “What the fuck are you doing with your eyes?” he asked me earlier but I didn’t reply. He is marginally more perceptive than I had anticipated. I must be more careful next time. He couldn’t comprehend what I was doing in any event. I decided to stop for a few minutes – it doesn’t pay to taunt the afflicted – until he had deposited the mush they call “lunch” and shuffled out, his fingers reaching twice towards his back pocket as he minced his way around my room.

  Second, I will focus on the mouth. Mine is a rather lean one. Perhaps I’ll plump it up with fillers when I’m older. Ha! That was a joke. Lips can be so expressive. But I am not interested in the obvious; narrowing, widening, pouting, moistening. I need to master the obscure; minute pinching of the corners, tiny tweaks at the centre, minuscule nips along the bottom lip and the pièce de résistance, draining the colour away to achieve a vampire-like hue. That will take some time and require complete control.

  Orbicularis oris; wow, that muscle has an exceptional name. In fact, did you know that it’s not simply one muscle but a series of muscle fibres which surround the mouth? They work together to close the mouth or pucker the lips. Without them, you wouldn’t be able to play the trumpet.

  Quadratus labii superioris; I couldn’t believe it could get any better! This little beauty connects the nose and upper lip; it must be responsible for the sneer. I don’t usually bother with sneers as they are so obvious, and blatancy is not my style. However, in these circumstances, I will need to master that one too, to whip all these new-found friends into submission. By the time I have finished, they will all have surrendered to me.

  10

  WHEN JUDITH and Constance re-entered their impromptu interview room they found a young man seated at the table, leaning back in his chair, his legs extended before him. He had red-brown hair, a round, open face and large expressive eyes which he turned on them as they advanced.

  Judith removed her jacket and flung it aside dramatically, together with her briefcase. She settled herself directly opposite the boy and poured two glasses of water, one for herself and a second which she pushed towards him. Constance sat next to her, not too close, leaving one free seat between them.

  “Hello Jamie. I’m Judith and this is Constance. Thank you for coming to see us,” she said.

  “That’s OK,” he mumbled. “How’s Ray? Can I see him?”

  Judith looked to Constance this time, to provide a response.

  “He’s fine, Jamie. A bit tired but he’s bearing up. I don’t think you should see him till after the trial, though.” Constance was upbeat but firm.

  “Why not? I’m not going to help him escape or anything.” The large eyes glistened as the boy railed against the two women.

  “No. We know that,” Constance replied. “No one thinks that. It’s because you’re probably going to be a witness at the trial. We can’t have witnesses discussing their evidence.”

  “Well, aren’t Mrs Taylor and Mr Glover going to be witnesses?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Well they talk to each other, all the time. They’re probably doing it now.”

  “Yes, although they have been told not to discuss the case – Mr Davis’ murder, that is.”

  “Well, you trust them not to do it, but you don’t trust me and Ray, what, because we’re not 18 yet?”

  Judith motioned towards Constance that she would take over and Jamie transferred his bitter pout to her.

  “Jamie,” Judith said quietly.

  “It’s James,” he snapped angrily.

  “James,” Judith repeated at precisely the same pitch and volume as before. “Do you want to help Raymond?”

  “What kind of a stupid question is that? He doesn’t like being anywhere new. It scares him. If I was there I could help him, reassure him.”

  “Don’t worry. There are people looking after him, good people, people trained in these things. And if you want to help him, you will tell us what you know. We don’t want to do anything which will allow other people to say that you and Raymond have colluded in any way. If you don’t see him, there’s no chance of that. Do you understand?”

  Jamie nodded and his shoulders lowered from their defensive stance.

  “I should like to begin now, if that’s all right?” Judith continued.

  Jamie nodded again and a casual “yeah” escaped from his lips.

  “How long have you and Raymond shared a room?”

  Jamie tapped the table twice with the fingers of his right hand. Then he drank down the water Judith had poured, replacing the glass on the table with a controlled but audible thud.

  “Three years. Well, this is the third year.”

  “You know him quite well then?”

  “Better than anyone else but Ray doesn’t talk much, well, unless it’s about maths or other stuff he is into, that is. He isn’t easy to get to know, is what I mean.”

  “Do you like maths?”

  “That’s why they put us together. Not many other people would put up with Ray.”

  “Why?”

  “He has some strange habits.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, like I said. He doesn’t ever chat, ask you how are you, that sort of thing. But there are some things he likes to talk about endlessly, like maths or other stuff he’s interested in, getting up in the middle of the night to read stuff and have chats with other mathematicians all over the world. One of them is in China and he is learning Chinese so they can talk more, that sort of thing.”

  “I see. Any other examples, of Ray’s habits that is?”

  Jamie shrugged, tapped the table again and crossed one foot over the other.

  “OK, so he likes to test things out. You know, he reads things, finds out about them, tests whether they really work. Last year we learned about Leonardo da Vinci’s theories and he made a huge model of his flying machine from matchsticks and bits of sheet. Matron was fairly cross about that one. And he got into trouble when he filled the corridor with ammonia and turned off all the heating. That time he was trying to prove something about the atmosphere on Jupiter. And...”

  “I think we get the picture now, thank you. And you don’t mind them, these...habits?”

  “No. I learn from him and I like to learn. And Ray and me, I think we’re alike.” Jamie almost smiled and Judith thought how very different this boy was from the description Constance had provided of Raymond.

  “Did Raymond like Mr Davis?”

  “I’m not sure Ray likes anyone. You have to know him to understand. He sort of tolerates you, that kind of thing. It’s just his way.”

  “So the corollary to that is that he also did not really harbour any strong dislikes for anyone?”

  “That’s right, when you turn it that way around. I suppose I’d call Ray ‘neutral’ where people are concerned, if I had to sum him up.”

  “Where people are concerned? What else is there?”

  “Well, facts, numbers, the way things work, experiments, drawing conclusions, proving theories. Anything and everything to do with that. That’s his passion, although he doesn’t say it is. You can just see it from how his face changes when he meets something new. He loves any kind of challenge. His mum took him to Brighton last summer and he got thrown out of the amusement arcade because he emptied all the slot machines in less than an hour. He wouldn’t say
how he did it.”

  “Did Raymond tell you that Mr Davis had annoyed him for any reason?”

  “Oh yes, all the time since the beginning of Year 10 when we got him for GCSE. Well, he didn’t really say it but I could tell. But that was Raymond. We all annoyed him, especially when he could see things, you know work them out, and we couldn’t. I was the closest to him at maths so we would work through things together, problem solving, but he always got there first.”

  “Did he ever say he was going to hurt Mr Davis?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “On the day Mr Davis was killed, do you know why Raymond stayed behind when the rest of you went to the match?”

  “He never said, but he doesn’t like rugby. He probably didn’t want to get me into trouble; he is thoughtful like that, even though people don’t always realise. He doesn’t make a big show of doing something for you, he just does it quietly so sometimes you don’t even realise he’s done it. I remember he was downstairs when we all lined up and they took the register and then he somehow slipped away. I only noticed because I saved him a seat and then when he didn’t appear I moved up so no one would see.”

  “Why did he go to see Mr Davis that day?”

  “I don’t know. It could have been about the maths tournament. He had loads of ideas for questions. Mr Davis had been a bit offhand with him at the end of the last lesson when he started spouting them all and he was determined to convince him he had good ideas.”

  Jamie ran his fingers lightly through his hair.

  “Offhand?” Judith let the question hang.

  “Hm,” Jamie mumbled, knowing that was not really a fair summary of the exchange he recalled between Davis and Ray. He had used that term himself to cheer Ray up afterwards. That was why it had come into his head. “Don’t worry old man,” he had chirped to Ray at the time, as companionably as he could muster. “It’s not you. He’s offhand with everyone. He prefers things he’s thought of himself.”

  “Did he note his ideas down anywhere? Like on a notepad?” Judith was staring at Jamie keenly, leaning forward on to the table, and he returned his hands to his lap, shifting his weight around on his chair. Then he laughed aloud.

  “You mean write them down? Ray would never lift a pen if he could help it. No one could read his handwriting anyway. No, if he made notes, and I didn’t see any, they would be on his iPhone.”

  “Thank you. Constance, please make sure to ask the police about the contents of Ray’s iPhone, which they confiscated.” Constance nodded obediently, typing steadily, watching Jamie over the top of her tablet. Judith paused, closed her eyes tightly for two or three seconds and then opened them again. She took a deep breath.

  “Did you ever see Raymond get angry?”

  “Yes, the police asked me that one too. I didn’t want to tell them but I do understand how important it is to tell the truth.” He gave a hard stare at Constance, who lifted one eyebrow in response to his admonishment and returned her focus to her screen. “I saw him get angry just once, but it was pretty extreme. Simpson, our games teacher, had made him play hockey. He really hates hockey. I hate it too, but not like Ray. He kept asking if he could be excused but Simpson made him play and then two of the boys, Partram and Jones, the biggest in the year, one of them tripped him up. He hit the ground so hard, his retainer flew out of his mouth and Jones trod on it – sort of drilled it into the pitch. He pretended it was an accident but it wasn’t. And when Ray tried to get it back, all twisted and bent, Partram kicked him really hard between the legs.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Well Ray got up from the ground and he was obviously hurt. He didn’t cry or anything but he made this big fist, you know it reminded me of that old movie Back to the Future when Marty’s dad, who is really skinny, finally hits the big guy, just like that and he ran after Jones. I grabbed hold of him with Mr Simpson and it needed both of us to hold him back. I couldn’t believe how strong he was.”

  “And what did Mr Simpson say about all this?”

  “He just told Ray to go and get changed.”

  “And what did he say to Partram and Jones?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How was Ray afterwards?”

  Jamie’s top lip twitched and he craned his neck through 90 degrees to look out of the window. How could he sum up those tortured hours he had shared with Ray in the aftermath of the hockey incident? All the reassuring things he had said to try to make it better. Suggestions he had made. Even advocating confiding in Mr Davis, although he hadn’t really believed that would help. And he knew Ray liked plans, so he had tried to offer him a selection of alternatives, in the hope something would provide Ray with comfort and hope. But Ray had just sat there on his bed, his knees drawn up tight, still wearing his filthy kit, with his mangled retainer clenched in his fist, inconsolable for the entire night.

  Jamie’s gaze returned to the room.

  “He was just sad,” he replied. “Look, he got bullied all the time in Year 8. Each year it got less. He was just waiting for the time it would stop.”

  “Sounds like you know how he felt.”

  “It happens to me too. Just not as much. And my dad is on the board of governors so the teachers look out for me. Ray’s dad is dead.” He swallowed once and his eyes filled with tears. Judith respectfully looked away and Jamie wiped his hand once across his face.

  “Thank you, James, you have been most candid. Just to finish now, do you know any other boys who disliked Mr Davis enough to want to hurt him?”

  “Well, that’s easy. Loads.”

  “Really, why?”

  “Didn’t Mr Glover say? Mr Davis lived his life as if it was a maths equation; you know, arrive on time plus uniform tidy plus sit down in silence plus answer this question equals an A star. I mean he was young but he was a bit like something from years ago. You should’ve seen how he dressed; shoes so shiny you could see your face in them, shirts ironed perfectly and spotless. Once Ince’s pen had left some ink on the desk and Davis put his hand on it. He stared at his hand as if it was covered in acid or something. He raced to the bathroom and didn’t come back till his hand was scrubbed clean.”

  Jamie could see Roger Davis now, before him, turning every which way, his body in spasm, his expression accusing them, each and every one, of deliberately tainting him in this base manner before bolting from the room. They had laughed nervously amongst themselves during his absence, fearing his return.

  “I see. Presumably that is what Mr Glover meant by ‘rigid’,” Judith muttered to herself.

  “And he was impatient,” Jamie continued. “And he hated it when anyone was late, especially if it was because of sport. We joked that perhaps his sports teacher at school had done something to him and he wanted revenge. Well, I can’t really say in your company, but you can get my drift.”

  ***

  “WHAT A remarkable young man,” Judith observed as she and Constance crossed the rugby pitch to seek out Mr Bailey, the groundsman, in his lodgings, shortly after their interview with Jamie concluded.

  “Yes, very bright.”

  “But not just bright, Constance, so articulate and emotionally savvy.”

  Constance eyed Judith carefully. She had found the boy intelligent but had not been quite so captivated as Judith.

  “If only he were our accused,” Judith added ruefully.

  “Will he be a good witness for us, then?”

  “I’m not sure we should call him. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Why not? At least he likes Raymond.” Constance was aroused again, although this time her challenge was less confrontational.

  “For precisely the reason I have just identified,” Judith said. “You put him on the stand, bright, communicative, polished and the judge and jury love him and then on comes Raymond. From what you’ve told me he’ll look like some freak after Benson.”

  “Just because someone is unsophisticated doesn’t make them a murderer.” Constance had stopped wal
king and Judith was forced to halt to continue their debate.

  Judith frowned. “I know that,” she countered. “It’s just that I can foresee how it will play out. Trust me. They will ask him about the hockey incident and it won’t look good. And if we probe more with Benson he will tell us about other eccentricities of Raymond’s, there must be loads; perhaps, given his age and the fact that this is a boys’ school, sexual ones which the newspapers will use for their front page. I would much rather the jury doesn’t hear about them.”

  Constance sighed heavily. At this rate, they would have no defence witnesses whatsoever and the boy would well and truly be on his own.

  ***

  MR BAILEY, the groundsman, greeted them outside his modest lodgings, sporting a blue short-sleeved shirt, despite the nip in the air, and marshalled them into his kitchen. He was a widower approaching retirement and had been working at the school for almost 20 years. According to Mrs Taylor, it was his deceased wife’s love for the school which had kept him loyal for so long, even after her death five years previously.

  “Would you like a cup of tea? I just made some,” he asked, as they seated themselves around a tiny Formica-topped folding table with a cactus as its centrepiece. The room was chilly and dingy and Judith’s chair was wedged up against the only radiator, which was stone-cold and damp against her back.

  “Actually,” Judith announced regally, “that is a tremendous idea. I am parched. I don’t suppose you have any biscuits, do you? We managed to skip lunch.”

  Mr Bailey opened and closed various cupboards more than once before locating some satisfactory mugs which he placed on the draining board. Then he lifted the lid of his earthenware teapot, added another tea bag and some more boiling water and prodded away heartily with a large tablespoon. He filled the three mugs with dark brown tea, added a dash of milk and carried them to the table, returning for a packet of chocolate digestives which he tipped energetically onto a plate. Judith devoured one in two bites.

  “That’s so much better. Mm! You are a lifesaver, Mr Bailey. Constance and I need to ask you a few questions about the death of Mr Davis. We shouldn’t keep you too long.”