Knife Edge

by Malorie Blackman

  But Meggie needed me.

  'Sephy, I wouldn't ask but—' She didn't finish the sentence; she didn't need to.

  'Of course I'll come with you,' I said. 'But what about Rose? I don't want to take her all the way to Baylinn.'

  'I'm sure Mrs Straczynski next door won't mind looking after Rose for an hour or two,' said Meggie.

  The thought of leaving Rose with someone she didn't know very well didn't appeal – even if Mrs Straczynski was one of the few around here who smiled at me and said hello whenever she saw us.

  'Well, if you go and ask her, I'll get Rose's things together,' I sighed.

  'Oh thank you, Sephy.' Meggie smiled gratefully. 'I really appreciate it.'

  She was already heading out the door to go and talk to our neighbour, so she didn't see that I couldn't smile back.

  forty-seven. Jude

  'Do you understand your rights as they have been explained to you?' asked Detective Georgiou.

  Three. Four. One.

  'Yes,' I replied.

  I was in a police interview room, with two dagger detectives sitting across the table from me. Detective Georgiou, the woman, was doing all of the talking. The other cop, Detective Zork, hadn't said a word so far. The interview room was bigger than my cell, but not by much. There was a rectangular table with two chairs on either side of it. One of the shorter sides of the table was fixed to the wall – impossible to overturn, I guess. Set into the wall were a series of buttons for recording interviews. And there was a CCTV camera self-consciously adorning one corner of the room just above the door. The walls were painted an over-cooked porridge colour. There were no posters, no pictures, no photos, no prints. Nothing to divert the attention. The floor was lined with a thin, ultra-hardwearing carpet which would probably last longer than the building. I looked straight up at the CCTV camera, which was trained on my position. Did that mean I was safe from having a confession beaten out of me? Somehow, I doubted it. Where there's a will, there's a way. I dragged my right foot slowly back and forth across the carpet beneath the table. Forward for four counts, back for four counts. It was something we'd been taught in the Liberation Militia. A way of focusing the mind and concentrating on answering only the questions you wanted to answer.

  Forward for four counts.

  Back for four counts.

  Nice and simple. Focus on counting. Answer each question on the one count only to give yourself a chance to think. Keep it simple. Short and sweet answers. I can't say the training was all coming back to me, because it'd never left.

  Forward for four counts.

  Back for four counts.

  'Is your name Jude Alexander McGregor?'

  Two. Three. Four. One.

  'Yes.'

  'Do you wish to have a solicitor present?'

  One.

  'No.'

  'The suspect was offered a solicitor and declined,' Detective Georgiou said into the interview microphone.

  The interview was being separately videotaped and recorded. That must've been quite a new thing. But I guess too many convictions had been overturned recently due to proven false confessions and substantiated evidence of police brutality.

  'When did you first meet Cara Imega?' asked Detective Georgiou.

  I didn't answer.

  'How long have you known her?' The detective rephrased the question like I didn't understand her the first time.

  I didn't answer.

  The questions came flying at me, faster and faster.

  'We found your fingerprints in Cara Imega's house. Why don't you do yourself a favour and confess?'

  Likely!

  'Where did you meet her?'

  'We know you killed her. Just tell us why.'

  'Were you burgling her house and she disturbed you? Is that what happened?'

  We were at it for over an hour – and after confirming my name and turning down the offer of a solicitor, I hadn't said a word.

  Something else my L.M. training had taught me.

  'We know it was you,' Detective Zork piped up at last. 'And your impersonation of a clam isn't going to stop us from getting you convicted of Cara Imega's murder and hanged.'

  I sat back in my chair. It was entertaining watching the two dagger officers get more and more exasperated. Not very professional of them, but amusing nonetheless. Whilst they asked me more questions, I thought of my mum. I'd reluctantly phoned her but now I was beginning to wish that I hadn't. It wasn't fair to her or to me to expect her to drag herself all the way over here.

  'Interview terminated at—' Detective Georgiou glanced down at her watch and gave the time.

  Detective Zork pressed a series of buttons. The tiny red LED at the top of the CCTV went off. A faint click came from the wall and the tape was no longer recording. The detectives stood up. So did I.

  'Back to your cell, McGregor,' said Detective Zork.

  I smiled triumphantly at him. 'Is your name really Zork? That's rather unfortunate, isn't it?'

  I got a punch in my stomach which had me doubled over and coughing.

  'Still think my name is funny?' asked the dagger, his fists still clenched.

  I straightened up slowly.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Served me right for saying more than I should've. But I'd got smug at their obvious frustration. It wouldn't happen again.

  'Are you going to stand there and let him beat me up?' I asked Georgiou.

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' she replied coldly. 'You tripped over and landed on the back of chair.'

  'And if he chucked me out of window?' I asked with sarcasm.

  'You tripped or tried to get away in a suicide attempt,' Detective Georgiou told me. 'Who knows what goes on in the mind of an ice-cold murderer?'

  'I'd love you to make a break for it right now,' said Zork. 'Go on. Make my day.'

  We all stood in silence, the two of them daring me to so much as twitch. But Mrs McGregor didn't raise any stupid children.

  'Back to your cell, McGregor,' Zork said at last.

  And I replied, 'Yes, sir.'

  forty-eight. Sephy

  'Can I help you?' The police officer behind the desk gave me a friendly smile.

  'Yes, er, we're here to see Jude McGregor. Please.'

  His smile fizzled out like a candle doused in water. 'And you are?'

  I didn't want to give my name. What the hell was I doing here anyway? 'I'm Sephy. And this is Jude's mother, Meggie McGregor.'

  'I see. Sephy who?' The officer was trying to pin me to the far wall with the expression on his face. 'I need your full name for our visitors record.'

  'Persephone Mira Hadley,' I replied, raising my chin.

  Meggie moved to stand before me. 'Can we see my son, please?'

  'Take a seat and I'll see what I can do,' said the officer.

  The officer made a great show of writing our names down as we sat down on one of the two hard benches in the reception area and waited. After writing, the police officer behind the reception desk didn't move for a good thirty minutes. Then he disappeared for less than two minutes before coming back to the desk. Meggie and I watched as he dealt with other people's problems and complaints and queries. And we waited. And we waited. After two hours of waiting, I was ready to tear someone's head off. I'd had to go through the same crap when Callum was in prison. They'd tell me to cool my heels for hours at a time on the off-chance that I might get to see him, before sending me home after a fruitless day's waiting at the gate. I marched up to the reception desk.

  'Are you going to let us see Jude McGregor or not?' I asked.

  'We have procedures to follow,' the officer told me.

  Meggie came up behind me and put a warning hand on my arm.

  'It's OK, Meggie. You have a sit down. I just want to ask a couple of questions.' I smiled at Meggie.

  She went to sit back down on the hard-as-nails bench.

  'We'd like to see Jude McGregor and we'd like to see him now. I think you've kept us waiting long enough,'
I said quietly.

  'Jude McGregor is pond slime,' the officer told me, adding sotto voce, 'but any Cross paying him a social visit is worse.'

  'Now you listen here, Sergeant . . .' I scrutinized the numbers on his shoulder epaulettes and made sure he knew I was doing so. 'Sergeant 2985 . . .'

  'Sergeant Duvon, ma'am. D-U-V-O-N,' he supplied.

  'If you don't let us see Jude McGregor right now, I promise I'll have your job — and I've got the family connections to do it. So stop pissing us about and let us in.'

  Sergeant Duvon drew himself up, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin as he studied me. But I didn't flinch. If he thought I was bluffing he was in for a shock.

  'Follow me, please,' he said, his voice hard and cracked like falling icicles.

  'Meggie, we can see Jude now.' I forced a smile onto my face before turning round to her.

  Meggie came over to me and briefly placed a hand on my shoulder. Sergeant Duvon opened the security door to let us in before leading us down the corridor.

  'Wait in there, please,' he told us, indicating an interview room.

  My eyes narrowed.

  'Jude McGregor is in a cell,' said Duvon. 'He'll have to be escorted up here and an officer will have to stay in this room at all times.'

  'That's fine,' Meggie said sombrely before I could argue.

  When Sergeant Duvon left, I said, 'Meggie, I'll wait for you out in the reception area — OK?'

  Meggie nodded. I walked out of the room and headed back the way we'd come. Outside I was walking. Inside I was running. My hands were actually shaking. It surprised me how afraid I was of seeing Jude again.

  Surprised and, worse still, frightened.

  forty-nine. Jude

  'Hello, Jude.'

  When they told me I had a visitor, I half hoped it'd be Mum. But whilst part of me was glad to see her, another stronger part of me really wished she hadn't come. By visiting me, her card would be marked. From now on, if anything happened within a two-hundred-kilometre-odd radius which had even the slightest sniff of the L.M., the cops would go knocking on Mum's door. I'd warned her of that when I phoned her but she said it didn't matter.

  Maybe she didn't understand? Or maybe she just didn't care? I looked around the interview room, more to delay the moment of looking directly at my mum than for any other reason. This was my second interview room today. I studied all four corners of the room until there was nothing left to study. Until I had no choice but to turn and face my mum. I could handle most things, but not the pain in Mum's eyes as she looked at me. Pain and that look of déjà vu. How many times had she been in this position before?

  'How are you? They treating you OK?'

  'Fine, Mum. I'm fine.'

  I glanced round. Detective Zork stood by the door, ear-wigging every word. Nosy git!

  'Can I bring you anything?'

  'No, Mum.'

  'Can I do anything for you?'

  'No, Mum.'

  'What about a lawyer? Have you got one yet?'

  'I'm going to get one,' I told her with a forced smile.

  Mum glanced down at the table between us. When she looked up again, there was a sheen to her eyes. I looked away from her tears. They couldn't save me now.

  'That girl . . . Cara Imega . . . did you know her?'

  I shrugged before lowering my voice. 'Yes, Mum. I knew her.'

  'Did you do the things they're saying you did?'

  How to answer that?

  What things are they saying I did?

  Why 'things' – plural?

  What are they saying?

  Who are 'they'?

  'Mum, I didn't kill anyone.' I looked Mum straight in the eyes as I said that. Here was the one and only person in the world who kept a corner of her mind open to the fact that I might actually be innocent. At least she'd asked me. No one else had done that. So how could I snuff out the last bit of hope she had? 'I didn't do it, Mum.'

  I turned to look at the copper by the door. He regarded me with a mocking half-smile. The look on his face said he'd heard it all before. If there'd been just the two of us in the room, I wouldn't've looked away first. But I had more important things on my mind. Mum sighed wearily as I turned back to her. She tried to smile at me but all it did was twist her mouth as she tried not to cry.

  'It's OK, Mum.'

  'I don't know what to do.' Mum's voice wavered as she spoke. 'I have to get you out of here.'

  'Mum, you don't have to worry. I've got it covered,' I lied. 'A friend of mine is going to get me a lawyer. They'll never be able to convict me 'cause I didn't do it.'

  'Well, why do they think you did?'

  'I don't know.' I shook my head. 'They won't tell me anything, Mum. They keep saying they've got a mountain of evidence against me but they won't say what it is.'

  Mum leaned forward to take both of my hands in hers. Her palm were cool and dry and rough all at the same time. I closed my hands around hers.

  'No touching,' said Zork immediately. He moved forward to examine both of our hands, to make sure Mum hadn't slipped something to me or vice versa. I glared at him as he backed off to lean against the wall by the door.

  'I'll find out exactly what they think they have against you,' said Mum.

  'How?'

  'Never you mind. I'll do it though. D'you trust me?'

  'Yes, I do.' I smiled.

  'Time's up,' Zork piped up. 'Back to your cell now, McGregor.'

  Wasn't he fed up with saying that?

  I stood up. 'Don't worry, Mum. I won't go down for this. I didn't do it.'

  Mum burst into tears. She quickly wiped her eyes and tried to stop herself from sobbing but it did no good. I tried to get back to her, to comfort her in some way but Zork took my arm and dragged at me, trying to dislocate my shoulder by the feel of it. I tried for one last smile at Mum before I turned and allowed myself to be pulled out of the room. Only then did my smile disappear as if it'd never been.

  Sorry, Mum.

  But what else could I say? What else could I do? I need you and your belief in the good in me. Sometimes, I dream of that night and it's almost like I'm watching another person in that room with Cara. Like I'm standing back, frozen silent, frozen still, and all I can do is stare. At first I watch Cara, cowering. Afraid. And I tell myself not to look at her. It takes every gram of strength I have to look away. But my gaze always moves to the person hitting her. That person is always me. And then it's like I'm not watching any more, but I've snapped back into my own body. And I'm no longer an observer, I'm the perpetrator. Try as I might, I can't stop hitting out. Lashing out. Smashing out. But the person I'm hammering is no longer Cara. It's me.

  Mum, it's funny, but I can't stop thinking of one of the stories you told me and Lynette and Callum many lifetimes ago. A story about a man who goes to hell and who's told by the Devil that there's only one way out. One chance. Just one. Well, Mum, you're my one and only chance. You see, I'll never get out of hell if there's not even you left to pray for me.

  fifty. Sephy

  I sat down on the hard bench in the reception area of the police station, ignoring the contemptuous looks being thrown in my direction by the desk sergeant. Asking to see Jude was enough to condemn me in his eyes. Guilt by association. I looked down at the carpet, I studied the posters on the wall, I watched a spider scurry across the ceiling until it reached its web in one corner of the room. My gaze went everywhere – except towards the desk sergeant. I watched the people coming in and out of the station. A woman came in crying, holding her young son's hand as she wiped the tears away before approaching the sergeant. A man came in holding a bloody hankie to a gash on his forehead. An elderly Nought woman strode in and went straight up to the sergeant, banging her hand down before she'd even said a word to make sure she had the sergeant's full attention. And all the time I sat and watched but my thoughts were elsewhere. What was Jude saying to Meggie in there? Was he confessing all? Chance would be a fine thing. I had no doubt that Jude
would say anything, do anything, be anything in his efforts to satisfy his insatiable hunger for revenge against all Crosses. Could he have killed Cara Imega? I didn't doubt that he was capable of it for a second. He'd shot my sister and he was more than happy to try and kill me.

  And maybe if I'd let Minerva tell the police who'd really shot her, Cara Imega would be alive today. Maybe. I didn't like the direction my thoughts were taking me, so I forced myself to let them go and think of something else. I so wanted to get home and hold my daughter.

  At last Meggie came out. I stood up with a smile, which faded at the expression on Meggie's face.

  'Sephy, I need your help,' she began with obvious trepidation.

  'Why? What's the matter?'

  'I need to find out what evidence they think they have against Jude.'

  I began to shake my head. 'The police are hardly likely to tell me . . .'

  'But you know people. Couldn't you find out? I'm sorry to do this but I don't know who else to ask,' said Meggie.

  'But why? Does Jude reckon he's being framed?'

  Meggie shook her head. 'It's not so much that. Jude says he didn't do it.'

  'And you believe him?' I asked.

  'I believe in him,' said Meggie.

  Which didn't answer my question. We left the police station and headed along the road to the bus stop in silence. Jude was vicious and vindictive, but Meggie couldn't or wouldn't see that.

  'D'you think Jude killed Cara Imega?' I tried again.

  'He swears he didn't do it. . .'

  'And you believe him?' I couldn't help asking.

  Meggie shook her head, looking me straight in the eye. 'He wouldn't lie to me.'

  I said nothing.

  'Will you help me? Please,' Meggie asked.