He Knows Your Secrets

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘I think she might know something about it. I don’t think she beat a boy to the point where he’s fighting for his life — not for a moment — but, from what I can tell, your daughter was the last person to be seen with him last night. It really is critical that I speak with her.’

  ‘She doesn’t even have a boyfriend. She would have told me. We would have talked about it. She told me she was staying at a friend’s house, a female friend from school — her father is on the council. Have you checked with them? Asked them if she was there?’

  ‘No. I was really hoping to just cut all that out and ask Libby — sorry, Elizabeth direct. We need to start making progress. Whoever inflicted those injuries on that poor boy could be using every minute to get further away.’

  ‘She said no.’

  ‘So you said, and through her bedroom door. How about you let me try?’ Rhiannon stepped forward, applying a little more pressure. It seemed to do the job. Wendy finally stepped back and Rhiannon was in. The woman sighed a gesture at the stairs. Rhiannon accepted the invitation.

  ‘Do you mind . . .’ Rhiannon spoke to her uniform colleague. His stance and uniform was oppressive and that was the last thing she wanted. PC Hills didn’t argue. He nodded and stepped to one side, his hands held tightly behind his back, seemingly happy that Rhiannon would not come to any harm. That was the reason for his presence too — to look after her. She had been injured recently at work. Though there hadn’t been much her colleagues could have done about it, some of them had overreacted a little and now she couldn’t step out of the station without a babysitter of some sort. She should be grateful perhaps; the gesture came from the right place even if it was starting to get a little tiresome.

  The stair carpet was thick underfoot and her approach was in near silence. At the top were three doors facing her: straight in front was a bathroom; to the right, a room that looked to be in use by a young boy; to the left was the only door that was closed. She turned to where Wendy had followed her up.

  ‘Maybe you could give us a moment? Sometimes I find that people can be a little more comfortable away from their parents.’ Rhiannon tried to look reassuring. She had also raised her voice in the hope that Libby had heard the request, like now they were on the same team.

  Wendy hesitated, but then did step backwards.

  ‘Well, I’ll just be right . . . I’ll be in the kitchen. Tea?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you.’ Rhiannon waited until she was out of sight then faced the closed door. Rhiannon knocked gently. She left it a full minute before she knocked again. There was no response.

  ‘I know you’re in there, Libby. Don’t blame your mum, okay? I don’t think she’s had much practice at fibbing to the police!’ This time an answer came.

  ‘Go away.’ Instantly it was clear it was the voice of someone upset.

  ‘I can. You don’t have to talk to me now but you will have to talk to me sometime. Or my colleagues in their uniform — maybe at your school.’

  ‘Just leave me alone, please.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know how he is?’ Silence. But Rhiannon wasn’t leaving until she had spoken to Libby. She considered her options. Libby was the last person known to have seen this boy prior to his being seriously assaulted. Technically that made her a suspect. Her refusal to talk to the police added more grist to the mill; Rhiannon could arrest her. She shook her head. That would need to be a last resort, talking to someone under arrest presented more obstacles even than talking to a teenager through a closed door. She tapped the door again.

  ‘It’s just me. I’ve sent your mum away. I’m not much older than you actually, Libby. Just a few years, really. So I remember exactly what it’s like when you’re sixteen, when you have a boyfriend and maybe you tell a lie to get some time together. I don’t care about any of that. I just want to know what went on?’ She paused for a reaction. This time there was none. ‘And I want to know why James Miller might die in hospital, as he can’t tell me himself.’

  The door scraped, then pulled open. A slip of a girl peered out, her eyes wide and puffed with moisture. They were red too.

  ‘He might die?’

  ‘A fractured skull, Libby — that’s serious stuff. The skull is what protects a lot of the really important bits. He’s young and he’s strong so he has a good chance but he is certainly not out of the woods just yet.’

  The girl stepped back. Her leg gave and she stumbled. Rhiannon was quick to react; she reached in and grabbed her flailing arm for support. The girl steadied herself then threw Rhiannon’s arm off.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she hissed. She moved backwards. There was a large bed against the far wall. She jumped up onto it and sat in the middle, pulling her legs up to her chest. She was wearing a nightie that was more like a long t-shirt. She pulled it tight over her legs.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m not the one with a fractured skull, am I?’ the girl snapped.

  Rhiannon took a moment to look around the room, giving the girl time to calm down a little. It was a big room. The blinds were shut but there was still enough light to make out a few details, like the clump of clothes heaped under the window. She could just make out a lacy edge to the black material of an evening dress. It looked to have been thrown to the furthest point from where she sat. Otherwise the room was neat and tidy; nothing else seemed out of its place. Rhiannon studied the girl closer. She was still hugging her legs and had her head down to avoid eye contact. She wore a sulky pout that Rhiannon guessed to be well practised for use on her mother downstairs. Her hair was long. She was wearing it down and it looked to be unruly, like how it might be if it had been left to dry on its own. She couldn’t think of a situation where a pretty girl of her age might wash her hair and not instantly dry it — and straighten it, too, even when she was just sitting in her own bedroom. She was pretty, too: high cheekbones that shaped a pleasing face with big, brown eyes and full lips.

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’m only worried about him. I’m worried about you, too. So, are you okay?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What happened, Libby?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘You know when.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Last night . . . what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  ‘How did you get that bruise?’

  Libby looked over at her. Rhiannon made sure she kept eye contact until Libby broke away to the fresh-looking bruise on her right upper arm. She snatched her gaze back up. ‘What bruise?’

  ‘Did James do that?’

  ‘He would never hurt me!’

  ‘Okay then. Did someone else? Did he try and protect you and he was set upon? I know you’re scared, I can see that, but I can help you. We will keep you safe.’

  ‘You have no idea.’ This last sentence was so quiet Rhiannon almost missed it. She stepped forward to ask her to repeat it.

  ‘Say again?’

  The girl suddenly swept to her feet. She paced across the room, her eyes dropping momentarily to the clump of clothes before she gave them a wide berth.

  ‘I don’t know anything. We got a taxi. He dropped me here and then he left. He was supposed to be going straight home. I don’t know what happened to him after that.’

  ‘Did he text you after you left? Or have any contact?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you text him?’

  ‘No.’ She spun from where she had been inspecting the blinds, running them through her fingertips.

  ‘A couple of sixteen-year-olds after a night out together who don’t even send a goodnight? Did you argue? Fall out?’

  ‘He’s seventeen.’

  ‘So you did argue?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Convince me. Tell me why you’re different to every other couple.’

  ‘We might have done.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d been drinking.’

  ‘Can you check you
r phone?’

  ‘I have, okay? No. There were no messages. I must have just got in and collapsed. I thought he had done the same.’

  ‘Where were you drinking?’

  ‘Langthorne.’

  ‘Where did you end up?’

  ‘The Party Bar. It’s the only place that stays open late.’ Her anger was starting to slip. Rhiannon could see her eyes were filling again, and glazing over, too, her emotion brought on by being forced to remember.

  ‘Who were you out with?’

  ‘A couple of his mates for most of the night but the last hour or so it was just us. We were drinking and dancing. I like dancing.’ She flickered a smile. The upward curling of her lip was met by an errant tear. Rhiannon waited for her to continue. ‘The lights in the club came up. I didn’t know it was so late. We walked outside. It was busy — people everywhere. I managed to blag a taxi, I think it was for someone else but he didn’t seem to mind.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘The driver.’

  ‘So you didn’t call a taxi?’

  ‘No. They just line up right outside. It was kicking-out time.’

  ‘Do you remember what firm it was?’

  ‘No. I don’t remember much after that. The air you know, it always hits me!’ She held the smile a little longer this time but Rhiannon could see it was empty.

  ‘Did you come straight home?’

  ‘He dropped me here.’

  ‘Straight here?’

  ‘I told you I don’t remember much after I left the club, but yeah, that was what happened.’

  ‘And he was going straight back home?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Nothing was open at that time of night.’

  ‘And he lives in Dover, right?’

  ‘Elms Vale, yeah.’

  ‘Has James got any issues with anyone at the moment, is there any reason that someone might want to hurt him?’

  ‘No.’ Libby wiped away another tear.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me? Why would I want to hurt him?’

  ‘I meant is there anyone that would want to hurt you? The bruise . . . your hair . . . your room here . . . it looks like you got in after a bad night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That looks like an expensive dress you’ve thrown down over there. I assume that was the one you were wearing? And then you showered, too. I’ve been on many a night out where I’ve come back worse for wear — a shower was the last thing on my mind.’

  ‘I was drunk! So what if I left my dress on the floor? And who said I showered last night? I might have this morning.’

  ‘You didn’t though, did you? That bathroom is bone dry in there. And your hair was still wet when you went to sleep last night.’

  ‘Well, aren’t we the detective. You got me! I got in from a night out and had a shower. Well done!’ The anger was back and it was now the overriding emotion. Rhiannon assumed it was because she was challenging her in the right areas. Wendy Battle had lied to her at the front door and now Libby Battle was lying to her in her bedroom.

  ‘If you know more than you’re telling me—’

  ‘I’ve told you everything. Now I want you to go!’

  ‘I’m not here to upset you, Libby. I just want to be sure you’re not in any danger — and I want to catch the people who did that to James.’

  ‘Then go do that.’

  ‘Everything okay in here?’ The door pushed open, the thud suggesting Wendy had used her foot.

  Libby moved immediately back to her bed, her legs pulled back up for her to hide behind. ‘Fine. We’re done.’

  ‘All sorted?’ Wendy put a cup down on the bedside table. ‘Did you find out what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know anything!’ Libby squealed. ‘Can you both just leave me alone? I haven’t done anything wrong, okay? That’s it! That’s all I have to say. I didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. Now get OUT!’

  Rhiannon held her ground. She knew her next question was pointless but she didn’t want to leave without asking. ‘Libby, can you give me consent to download your phone? It might help me—’

  Libby swept open her drawer. She grabbed a black handset and threw it at Rhiannon’s feet. Rhiannon looked at it in surprise. She hadn’t expected that.

  ‘Keep it for all I care! Now, leave me alone.’

  Rhiannon bent to pick up the phone. She met Wendy’s questioning look. ‘I should be able to bring it back out tomorrow, maybe. It doesn’t take long. It’s quicker with a PIN, though?’ She turned back into the room.

  ‘Two-five-eight-zero. There, you have everything you need. You’ll see I was telling you everything.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. Can you just tell me his name? Your boyfriend, I mean.’

  Libby looked up at her, her expression confused. ‘You know his name? You said it like a hundred times!’

  ‘I did. You’re right. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it once. This is your last chance, Libby, if you know something, something that can help?’

  ‘Just get out.’ Her voice was lower, her tone resigned.

  ‘Thanks for your time. You know where I am, if you want to talk about anything.’ Rhiannon didn’t get a reply. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  Chapter 13

  Maddie didn’t like these places. She had been to vehicle recovery yards just a handful of times in her career but each time she had felt a real sense of trepidation. They were places of misery, of crashed and broken cars; a waiting room for the crusher.

  From the parking area out at the front, she was able to glimpse through the high fence to what awaited. She was led through, hanging back behind Harry, hoping he wouldn’t notice her hesitancy.

  ‘You okay?’ His voice made her jump. It snatched her away from staring at an SUV with a bonnet that was bent back, its surface arching away from the point of impact, exposing the grill and engine bay as if it was trapped in a silent scream. She should know better; Harry didn’t miss a thing.

  ‘I’m good, yeah, I just hate these places.’ She gave a tense chuckle.

  ‘Me too.’ Harry’s smile was warm, but he was quick to move on. Maddie was suddenly very aware of the sensitivity with Harry and car accidents. She hadn’t considered that this was a far worse experience for him. He had quickened his pace across the yard, catching up with the overweight employee who was leading the way. He had a pair of filthy overalls tied off round his waist while the cuffs dragged on the dusty floor. Maddie was left with her mouth flapping where no words seemed right. She got her head down and followed.

  ‘Well, good afternoon! I do apologise if you were promised a car to look at. All I can really offer you is a sort of flat, metal box. Is that gonna be okay?’ Charley Mace had given the cheery greeting. She was Maddie’s favourite CSI officer, not least because she liked to wind up Harry where no one else seemed to dare. She stood in front of them in a forensic suit. She turned to Harry and her smile dropped away, although the sparkle remained in her eye. ‘And I assume you are the reason I am dressed in all this get-up?’ Her blue gloves flashed a gesture down her front.

  ‘Not my job, actually,’ Harry said. ‘DS Ives here is the one who isn’t happy with the circs.’

  Charley turned her playful eyes to Maddie. ‘Meaning you’re the reason I’m sweating out in this?’

  ‘I guess so!’ Maddie’s mood lifted now her focus was on the CSI officer in front of her rather than the metal corpses that had them surrounded.

  ‘I hear this is a case of a bit of adult liaison gone wrong?’ Charley said.

  ‘It could be,’ Maddie conceded.

  ‘Well I for one hope it isn’t. If you’ve got me going to all this effort, I hope it’s for something!’

  ‘It’s always for something, Charley. And you know I appreciate your efforts. How are we getting on?’

  Charley turned back to her workspace. Maddie looked beyond her to the white Skoda. It was pretty much as Charley had described: a
flat, white slither of metal. She could see where the supports holding up the roof had buckled on one side and snapped completely on the other. The gap where the windscreen would have been had almost closed up completely. The driver’s side was closest to her and both doors on this side were pointing outwards. The passenger door had seemed to be in better shape when Maddie had leaned through it at the scene. The car in a worse shape than she remembered but, now it was the right way up and sat on buckled wheels in front of her, she could get more of an appreciation of how a steel-framed box had been crushed in an instant, like a blown egg. It was hard to imagine the forces at work.

  ‘I’m almost done, there’s not actually that much to do. I got your brief and I didn’t see any need to deviate. No forensic work on the exterior of the car, and on the interior only if there are any tell-tale or suspicious stains. It being a taxi, I was a bit worried about that one! And forensic capture of any items of personal property only.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Maddie said. ‘What about our victims?’

  ‘I was able to process them both at the scene. We talked about keeping the girl in the car and doing it elsewhere, but it’s always my preference to get the work done on victims where they are found. It wasn’t one of my more pleasant jobs. I got swabs from all the places that might back up the theory of a sex act with an unhappy ending. I’m sure you don’t want me to explain what that means and you definitely don’t want me to describe how I did it.’

  ‘You’re right about that. Again, thanks. That can’t have been pleasant.’

  Charley waved her away. ‘You can’t sign up for CSI work without understanding that someday you may have to rub a dead man’s penis with a cotton bud at the bottom of a cliff. It’s not all glamour, you know.’

  Maddie laughed, and the rest of her tension went with it. ‘And the girl?’ she said, eventually.

  ‘It took a while to get her out. Our driver was thrown clear, as you know, so he was quite easy. The girl was still strapped in her seat, holding tight to her rucksack. I’m just sorting the contents of that now.’ She pointed down to where she had laid a white sheet out on the floor. Maddie hadn’t noticed it until now. She stepped forward. The rucksack was lying in the top left corner of the sheet with a yellow plastic sign stood next to it displaying the number 14. Smaller exhibits ran from left to right, Maddie assumed in the order they had come out of the bag. Nothing jumped out at her as being particularly significant. A jumble of handwritten letters, a scrap of paper with a web address noted down. A couple of photographs, one of a black-framed door with a glass panel at the top, taken at close enough range for her to see a mesh running through the glass to reinforce it — albeit blurred. The other picture was of the interior of what looked like a sparse flat, where she could only make out a bed as furniture. Neither looked to have been taken with any care. The shot of the door looked rushed overall while the interior of the room was at an angle, almost as if it had been taken by accident. They were both printed on A4 paper that had started curling at the edges as if it had been in the bag for a while.