‘Where the hell are you going?’ Ewan shouted.
‘I need air.’ She flung open the door and stumbled into the corridor. The two detectives were right outside.
‘Are you okay, Mrs Hepworth?’ asked Renshaw.
Julia clawed at her throat as she tried to catch her breath.
‘Can’t . . . breathe . . . too hot.’
‘I think she’s having a panic attack,’ said Renshaw to her colleague.
They took her to the Welfare Room and, after rooting around the First Aid cupboard, found a paper sick-bag for her to breathe into. When Julia had calmed down, her heartbeat no longer thundering in her chest, DC Thomas pressed a small plastic cup of ice-cold water into her hand. She gratefully took a gulp.
‘Better?’ asked Renshaw.
Julia nodded.
‘Good.’ Renshaw folded her arms. ‘I’ve decided it’s best if you take Poppy home now, as we’re not getting anywhere. But you’ll have to bring her down to the police station first thing tomorrow so we can continue questioning her.’
‘She told us it was an accident, just now, after you left the room,’ said Julia eagerly. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’
‘Really? Let’s go back in and see if she’ll repeat that for us.’
But Poppy clammed up again the minute Renshaw spoke to her. The detective escorted Julia back outside with DC Thomas while Ewan stayed with their daughter.
‘I cannot stress enough how important it is Poppy tells us what happened this morning,’ said Renshaw. ‘She needs to understand how serious this is.’
‘I know. I promise we’ll talk to her, make her understand. But can you not come to our house?’ Julia implored. ‘The police station will be scary for her.’
‘It’ll be fine – we have an interview suite specially for minors.’
That alarmed Julia even more. ‘But she’ll be more relaxed at home.’
‘No, it has to be at the station,’ said Renshaw firmly. ‘A formal setting should convince her how much trouble she could be in if she doesn’t tell us the truth.’
‘In trouble?’ Julia gasped. ‘But it was an accident, she said so.’
‘Mrs Hepworth, a boy has died in suspicious circumstances and Poppy was there when it happened. If she won’t talk to us, what are we meant to think? Really, I should take her in to the station now, but I can see she’s in shock so I’m prepared to wait. Hopefully she’ll be more talkative tomorrow after some rest.’
Julia wanted to cry. This was like a bad dream, beyond her control, with Imogen centre stage as her own personal bogeyman.
She’d been trying to ignore the emotions that had been churning inside her since she’d clapped eyes on Imogen in the corridor, pushing them to the pit of her stomach because Poppy needed her to stay focused on her. Now they were bubbling to the surface again: hate and anger, hand in hand.
Yet fear wasn’t far behind them, fear of what Imogen might do and the trouble she could cause. Julia hesitated. Should she tell the police what went on between them all those years ago? Would it make any difference to Poppy’s situation if she did?
Before she could utter a word, Ewan walked out of the head’s office with Poppy in tow. Julia was startled by his expression – he looked shell-shocked.
‘I want to take my daughter home,’ he said.
Renshaw nodded. ‘Your wife can explain what will happen tomorrow. But if Poppy wants to talk before then, call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.’
She handed Ewan a business card, which he pocketed.
Julia waited until the three of them were alone in the car park, by her husband’s car, before she spoke.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Maybe you should’ve shown more concern inside,’ he answered tersely. ‘I can’t believe you just walked out on Poppy.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said lamely. ‘I didn’t feel well and—’
Ewan silenced her with a look.
‘Let’s get home.’
She waited by the driver’s door until Poppy was strapped into the back seat, then, as Ewan went to open it, blocked his path.
‘Did Poppy say anything else to you when I left the room?’ she asked.
His answer came too quickly to be convincing.
‘No, not a word.’
Julia stared at her husband as he yanked open the door and settled himself behind the wheel. After fifteen years of marriage she could say with confidence that she knew Ewan pretty much inside out. The qualities, beliefs, passions and foibles that stacked up to make him the person he was were an indelible part of her too, matrimonially etched on her psyche for better or worse.
Yes, she knew her husband exceptionally well – and she knew when he was lying to her.
10
Shortly after noon the officer who’d allowed Alan fetch his inhaler sought him out in the main hall. Not sure what he should be doing, what with the school being closed, Alan was busying himself buffing the parquet floor with the industrial polisher. It was so noisy he didn’t hear the officer until he was right by his side, gesturing at him to turn it off.
‘You can go home if you want, but CID wants you down at the station at two thirty to make a formal statement,’ the copper said. ‘Ask for DS Renshaw when you get there.’
Alan managed to hide his trepidation long enough to confirm that he’d keep the appointment. He’d been hoping for at least a day’s grace to get his thoughts straight and fathom a way out of this mess, but now he had two and a bit hours to come up with a plan to divert the police’s attention away from Rushbrooke and, more importantly, the Pavilion.
He decided to wait in his office until it was time to leave; it would at least give him respite from all the commotion above ground, with police vehicles coming and going and people in overalls and masks traipsing all over the place. But as he reached the stairwell to his basement workplace Mrs Pullman stopped him.
‘I understand the police want to interview you,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go home first? You’ve had a terrible shock.’ She looked him up and down, taking in his bottle-green combat trousers and sweat-stained grey T-shirt, and pulled a face. ‘It probably wouldn’t hurt to smarten up a little as well.’
Alan managed his first smile of the day. He and the head got on well, always had, and he was not in the slightest bit offended by the remark because she was right, he looked a state.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind nipping home to change, if you’re sure.’
She nodded sadly. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do here at the moment.’
Alan’s house was two streets away from the school and came with the job. It was a decent size and the rent was reasonable enough for him to not mind the six-monthly poke-around by the council – in its guise as the local education authority and therefore his employer – to make sure he wasn’t trashing the place.
If anything the inspectors were always taken aback by how staid it was, its interior more reflective of a pensioner’s home than a man of forty-seven. The house was filled with decrepit dark wood furniture and fussy ornaments that Alan had taken possession of when his dad went into the nursing home and the front room was pretty much a replica of the one he’d grown up in. But as he’d taken nothing from the house he had shared with his now ex-wife and their three children, he couldn’t afford to be picky and he certainly couldn’t afford new furnishings on top of paying maintenance for the kids.
After a quick shower, Alan changed into the one smart shirt he owned and a pair of old suit trousers that he struggled to fasten because a few years had passed and a couple of stone been added on since he’d last worn them.
The shirt was soaked with sweat within five minutes of him leaving the house, even though he was keeping to the shadiest side of the road. The back way into town, along alleyways and down side streets, would’ve been cooler but Alan wasn’t confident enough of the route, even though he’d been living in Mansell for almost three years now. He didn’t venture into town much – a
part from a nightly pint in his local and shopping at the nearby Co-op, he spent all his time at Rushbrooke.
He was halfway to the police station when his phone rang. He wasn’t surprised by who was calling, just that it had taken him this long. Alan had half expected to see him up at the school but knew exactly why he’d stayed away.
The Pavilion.
‘Alan?’
‘Hi, Gus.’
‘How are you doing?’
He sounded genuinely concerned and Alan was taken aback. He’d been expecting Gus to be angry with him, as though it was his fault the police were crawling all over the school.
‘I’m okay.’
‘Horrible business with the kid.’
‘Yeah, it is.’ An image flashed before Alan’s eyes and he shuddered. He’d never seen so much blood before.
‘I’ve got to say I’m concerned though, with the police involved. Alan, I need you to sort it out for us.’
‘What?’
‘Well, I can’t do it, can I? No one’s going to listen to what I say because I wasn’t there. But you, you witnessed it. You’re on the inside.’
‘But it’s the police,’ said Alan, cupping his hand over his mouth and phone to buffer the sound of traffic rumbling past.
‘You need to make this thing go away, Alan,’ Gus implored. ‘Make them go away.’
‘I can’t tell the police what to do,’ said Alan fearfully.
The tone of Gus’s voice changed abruptly.
‘The Pavilion would never have happened without you,’ he said ominously. ‘You’re up to your neck in this as much as the rest of us. Figure it out but do it quick. We’re all counting on you, mate.’
The line went dead.
Half an hour later, when Alan was sitting in the witness interview suite watching an irritated DS Renshaw and her colleague fiddle with the recording equipment to get it to start, the answer hit him. It was so blindingly obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
He exhaled heavily. Could he really do this? It could get him in serious trouble . . . but then the alternative didn’t bear thinking about either. Another image of the boy popped into his head but he forced it away. If he let himself dwell on it . . . And he had to do this . . . The Pavilion had to stay a secret.
Recording equipment running, Renshaw asked Alan to describe what he’d seen take place on the wall.
‘We want as much detail as you can remember,’ she said.
He swallowed hard.
‘There’s not much to tell. I could see kids mucking around and I told them to get down. At first they wouldn’t, so I moved the ladder nearer to them. They were about to climb down when the boy lost his footing and fell.’
The two officers exchanged glances.
‘You’re sure about that?’ said DS Renshaw sternly. ‘He just slipped?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Mr Donnelly, that’s not what you told PC Talbot, one of the officers first to arrive at the scene. He said you told him you saw Poppy push Benji off the wall and that it wasn’t an accident.’
Alan shook his head vehemently.
‘I never said that.’
‘PC Talbot is certain you did.’
‘Well, I’m telling you I didn’t.’
‘You must’ve been extremely distressed by what happened. Maybe that’s confusing your recollection,’ said Renshaw pointedly.
‘Of course I was upset: it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, the way he landed –’ Alan suddenly pictured the boy lying on the ground, blood everywhere, and felt genuine anguish. He took another deep breath to steady himself. ‘But he definitely wasn’t pushed.’
Renshaw leaned forward on her elbows and stared at him.
‘Mr Donnelly, are you absolutely certain you didn’t see Poppy Hepworth push Benji Tyler off that wall to his death?’
Alan hid his trembling hands beneath the table. He never was a good liar.
‘I am. She didn’t lay a finger on him.’
11
Imogen’s brother, Ed, arrived from Somerset as the afternoon ebbed into early evening. He had gone directly to the mortuary to make a formal identification of his nephew, then collected their mother, Grace, from her home on the outskirts of Mansell on his way to Imogen’s house. Maggie had wondered why Grace didn’t make the trip earlier on her own when she lived only two miles away but didn’t question it. Some people were brought closer together by a death in the family, in others it widened the cracks already showing. Only time would tell which camp the Tylers would fall into.
The presence of Ed and Grace allowed Imogen to fully succumb to her grief. With them she didn’t have to pretend to be strong, to try to hold it together, and she cried with abandon in her brother’s arms. Maggie knew it was time for her to withdraw and leave them to mourn alone for a while. She left her number and told Imogen she could call her at any point during the evening, no matter how late. Then she’d be back in the morning.
Driving back to the station Maggie mulled over what Imogen had said about Benji and Poppy not being the friends she thought they were. Before leaving, she’d asked her to elaborate on what she meant and Imogen explained that Poppy knew Benji was a cautious boy who shied away from anything too adventurous so it must’ve been her who persuaded him to climb the wall, and a friend wouldn’t have done that.
‘He’s so timid he wouldn’t try going down the smallest water slide on holiday and he turned down an invitation to a party at a climbing centre because he was scared. It’s my fault – I tend to be overprotective and I should encourage him more to take risks. But that’s also why I know it can’t have been an accident – Benji’s so careful he’d never willingly put himself in danger.’
Maggie had promised she would share what she’d told her with Renshaw and the rest of the team. In the meantime Imogen was going to compile a list of the other friends Benji had made at Rushbrooke, as they would need to talk to them all.
The traffic crawled to a halt as she neared the town centre so Maggie called Umpire on her hands-free. He sounded frazzled.
‘Sorry, I meant to call earlier but I’m swamped. I’ll be working late, so it’s probably not worth you coming over,’ he said.
‘That’s fine. My day’s not been great either.’
She told him about Benji. ‘I’m FLO to his mum now.’
Umpire was blunt in his response.
‘Is that a good idea?’
Maggie’s skin prickled. ‘Meaning?’
‘You know exactly why.’
Usually she liked that he could second-guess her so easily. Now wasn’t one of those times.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘How can you be so sure? You still get emotional whenever you talk about Lou and the children, you haven’t slept properly since they moved away and there isn’t a day that goes by that you don’t miss them.’
He was saying nothing that she hadn’t thought herself but his inference irritated her.
‘You think I’m so unprofessional that I’d let it get in the way?’ she snapped back.
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I just think you might not be in the right frame of mind for this particular case because it involves a child dying who was the same age as Scotty, and at the same school. You have a duty to his mother and your colleagues to make sure you are.’
‘Actually, it was because of those things that I’m now the FLO.’
‘Have you told them about your family circumstances then?’
Maggie lost her temper.
‘Instead of lecturing me like an SIO, how about you talk to me like my boyfriend?’ she sniped.
‘That’s what I am doing,’ said Umpire quietly. ‘I’m worried, that’s all.’
‘Don’t be. Look, I have to go, I’m at the station now.’
She wasn’t, she was still five minutes away, but she wanted to end the call.
‘Fine. I’m sorry if you’re upset but you do need to be rational about this.’
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‘I am being.’
But as she said the words out loud, she wasn’t sure she believed them any more than Umpire did.
12
CID was on the top floor of Mansell police station and still buzzing with the sound of hard graft despite the late hour. Almost every desk in the open-plan office was occupied as Maggie weaved through it to reach her own. Up ahead she could see Renshaw talking to Detective Superintendent Andreotti. Whatever was being discussed, Renshaw appeared happy with the outcome and she grinned at Maggie as she returned to her own desk across the walkway.
‘I’m staying as SIO on the Rushbrooke case. Boss says he still hasn’t had the go-ahead to bring in anyone more senior.’
Nathan groaned in protest but Maggie knew he didn’t mean it. He and Renshaw were close and worked well together, so it suited him having her in charge. Maggie was mildly surprised to find she was happy about it too – Renshaw must be growing on her more than she realized.
‘Another DC will be on board by tomorrow morning’s briefing, though. Boss says we can have Incident Room Five.’
This time Nathan’s groan was genuine. Incident Room 5 was barely bigger than a horsebox and it was a running joke in the station that it was the place where investigations were sent to die.
‘Let’s make the best of it,’ said Renshaw briskly.
Maggie and Nathan followed her into Room 5, which was eleven metres square, the same size as the average double bedroom. Desks were pushed up against the walls so everyone would be working with their backs to each other.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Renshaw, catching the looks on their faces. ‘Once we get the board up it’ll feel like we’re getting somewhere. Then I’ll brief everyone on what the CPS said.’
Maggie frowned. Renshaw had a tendency while in charge to keep back the best intel until briefings, so she could deliver it with a theatrical ‘ta-da!’ rather than sharing it as and when it came in, which would be more helpful to the team slogging away under her.
‘Just tell us now,’ said Maggie wearily.
‘Okay, they’ve said that because the caretaker’s account has changed we need to find cast-iron evidence of Poppy pushing Benji before we can even think about charging her,’ said Renshaw darkly. ‘And right now we’ve got sod all in that department.’
False Witness Page 5
