Silent Playgrounds Page 12

  Lynman put his hand over his mouth. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ he said.

  McCarthy nodded to Corvin who went to the water cooler outside the office door. ‘Just take deep breaths,’ McCarthy advised as Corvin offered the paper cup. Lynman looked at both of them, took the cup and sipped at the water. He was crouched down in his chair, looking hunted. McCarthy looked through the glass walls of the office, and saw the manager at the other side of the room, standing over someone’s desk, peering across. The light was bright, flat, fluorescent. There was no way of knowing that it was a clear sunny day outside.

  McCarthy reversed a chair and sat down opposite the young man. ‘Paul,’ he said. Time to establish relative status. ‘You told her. What did you tell her?’ Lynman’s eyes wavered away from McCarthy’s. He didn’t answer. ‘You didn’t know Emma was dead …’ Lynman shook his head in quick affirmation. ‘But you weren’t too surprised. Now, we can do this the quick way, or we can do this the slow way, but you’re going to tell me everything you know about Emma. I need to know about Sophie as well – we can’t find her. She isn’t where she’s supposed to be. You can talk to me here, or you can come back to Sheffield and help us with our inquiries There.’ The familiar phrase made Lynman’s head jerk up as he looked at McCarthy. McCarthy waited. He was aware of Corvin settling himself into an authoritative stance behind him. Thug mode. Good.

  Lynman ran his tongue across his lips. ‘Christ. I can’t … Em. It’s …’ He looked at McCarthy in indignant protest. ‘It’s doing my head in.’ McCarthy waited. ‘I don’t know anything about it,’ Lynman said in sudden alarm.

  ‘But you know something about the drugs, don’t you, Paul?’ McCarthy smiled blandly at him.

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ He looked scared. ‘I did … Look, it was Emma. She’s OK, Emma, she’s fine. Was fine. She just – she was short of cash, man, we all are.’

  ‘What did she do, Paul?’ McCarthy’s voice was bland, avuncular.

  ‘It wasn’t anything …’ He looked at the two men in panic. Whatever had been worrying him when they first arrived seemed to have coalesced with his current panic. His eyes travelled between McCarthy and Corvin.

  Corvin shifted slightly. ‘This is a waste of time. Let’s take him back to Sheffield,’ he suggested.

  ‘No!’ Lynman didn’t want that. ‘Look, I just don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’ McCarthy translated that into Lynman’s not wanting to get himself into trouble. He began to talk. Emma had got herself a lucrative sideline. She’d got access to good pills. ‘Real E,’ Lynman enthused, forgetting himself for a moment. ‘The stuff you get now is mostly shit.’ And good speed, paste. ‘It was cheap, too.’ He brooded for a moment. ‘She wasn’t dealing,’ he said. ‘She was just selling to students, you know? McCarthy couldn’t see the distinction, personally, but he nodded, waiting. Lynman went on to describe an efficient and profitable operation. Emma sold to other students and to her friends. She sold to her friends at prices that were lower than street prices, sold to others for a bit more. ‘But everyone knew it was good stuff. You went to Em for good stuff. She wasn’t a dealer, see.’

  McCarthy thought about it. ‘And Sophie … ?’

  ‘Well, Sophie used pills sometimes. We all did.’ He rubbed his hand nervously over his face. ‘Sophe thought Em was getting in a bit heavy just lately.’ McCarthy caught Corvin’s eye. If Emma was running a lucrative pills operation, why was she so eager to earn peanuts childminding for Jane Fielding? He needed to think about that. ‘And then something happened,’ Lynman said. ‘Emma had a row with her mum and walked out, and next thing I know, Emma’s in the house and Sophie’s packing up her course and going home. She said she didn’t want her parents to know she’d dropped out, not until she’d got a job. She said Emma could join her, once she got settled in. That was why we let Em stay at Carleton Road, see. We needed someone to help with the rent, and Sophe wanted to be able to get in touch.’

  ‘And where’s Sophie now?’ McCarthy knew they needed to talk to Sophie Dutton urgently.

  Lynman shook his head. ‘She went home.’ He shrugged, looking at the two men.

  McCarthy looked at Corvin. ‘You’ll have to come back to Sheffield with us,’ he said to Lynman. ‘We need a full statement from you, and we need to know all of Emma’s contacts, who she sold to, who she bought from.’ Lynman started to protest, caught McCarthy’s eye, and slumped in defeat.

  Suzanne dumped her bag as she came through the door and crossed the yard to Jane’s. Apart from her brief time with Steve McCarthy, and that didn’t count, she hadn’t talked to another person all day. She was tired of books. She wanted conversation.

  Lucy’s voice responded to her knock, so she went in, just as Joel came through from the middle room to answer the door. She thought he’d gone back to Leeds. Lucy was sitting at the table drawing, and looked up at her. ‘Hello, Suzanne,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m doing drawing,’ she added politely.

  ‘Hello, Lucy.’ Suzanne wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay. She didn’t want to talk to Joel. He was watching her and when she looked at him, he gave her that slow smile.

  ‘Hi, Suzie. Take a seat.’ He settled himself on the settee and ran his eyes over her. His smile broadened at some private joke.

  ‘Is Jane around?’ She decided she wouldn’t wait if Jane was out. Her last encounter with Joel was still in her mind.

  ‘She’s working.’ Joel yawned and stretched, as if the thought made him feel tired. He was like a cat, Suzanne thought, with that same quality of relaxed watchfulness, that ability to look as though he belonged wherever he settled. ‘She needs to get some stuff in the post tonight. She’ll be finished soon. I’m babysitting.’

  Lucy looked at the two adults. ‘I’m not a baby,’ she said.

  Joel looked across at her. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You’re a brat.’

  Lucy’s face expressed disapproval as she thought about this, then relaxed into a brief, self-contained smile.

  Joel winked at Suzanne who quickly turned her attention to Lucy. ‘What are you drawing, Lucy?’ It looked as though it was the monsters again, but Lucy covered the paper with her arm.

  ‘It’s a secret,’ she said, looking at Suzanne coldly.

  Joel laughed. Lucy compressed her lips and went on colouring behind her shielding arm. Suzanne felt she didn’t really have a choice, and sat on the edge of the low armchair, rather than beside Joel on the settee. She saw him register this as he gave her another amused smile. Lucy clattered her hand through her box of pencils and huddled over her drawing.

  ‘So what’s been happening in your life?’ he said, taking in her jeans that were dusty from the stacks, the ink stains on her T-shirt where she’d absent-mindedly wiped her hand. He leant back in the chair, not saying anything, just looking at her. She found it hard to sit naturally, suddenly conscious of her face, her hands, her body.

  She racked her brains for something to say, a way of getting back the initiative. She wished she’d left as soon as she’d seen Joel, but if she went now, she would look stupid. ‘How come you’re still here?’ she managed after a moment. It came out bluntly, and she realized that it sounded like a criticism. He would certainly construe it as such. Joel hated to be criticized. Just for a moment, his eyes narrowed, then his face settled back into its usual ironic smile. He was as good at hiding his emotions as DI McCarthy, except that McCarthy didn’t go to the trouble of looking pleasant. What you see is what you get.

  ‘Just giving my daughter some support. Keeping the police off her back, if her mother can’t do her job properly.’ He crossed his ankle over his knee.

  She felt a spurt of anger. ‘It’s all done, though, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘They said they didn’t need to talk to Lucy again.’ She kept her voice low, aware of the child at the table.

  ‘So Jane says. I’m just keeping an eye on things.’ He looked across at Suzanne. ‘Just being around,’ he said, with slow emphasis. �
�For Lucy.’

  Like you’re not for Michael ‘You should know all about being around for your children,’ she snapped.

  Something flickered in his eyes. ‘Always best to be consistent with them, isn’t it, Suzie? No telling how they might turn out otherwise.’ He was watching her steadily now. ‘They get out of control, into trouble, and next thing … Well, who knows?’

  Listen to me, Suzanne! She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She wasn’t going to react, wasn’t going to fight back, not in front of Lucy. It had been a mistake even to start. ‘Isn’t that right?’ he said. Lucy looked up.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Suzanne said. ‘Look, Jane’s busy. I’ll come back later.’

  She stood up, and he got up as well, carefully polite, to see her to the door. As he passed the table, and Lucy curled her arm protectively over her picture, he snatched it from her and held it up. The corner of the paper had torn where Lucy had clutched at it. ‘Look, Suzie,’ he said. ‘Our Lucy’s drawn some people.’ Two figures, in skirts, one with fair hair, the other not coloured yet.

  Lucy’s face screwed up, then she jumped down from her chair. ‘You spoilt it now,’ she shouted. ‘It’s all spoilt.’

  Suzanne’s hands were clenched into fists and she wanted to hit him. He was looking at her over Lucy’s drawing. His eyes were bright. You wouldn’t play the game but I made you! She heard feet on the stairs and Jane came into the room looking triumphant. ‘Done,’ she said, waving a large envelope in the air. ‘All finished, packaged, ready for delivery. I must get to the post office.’ She took in the scene, Joel and Suzanne staring at each other, Lucy fighting back tears. Lucy never cried. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said. She knelt down in front of Lucy. ‘What’s wrong, love?’

  Joel was suddenly there, all contrition, with his arms round them both. ‘Suzie wanted to see Lucy’s drawing. It was a secret. I didn’t realize. And now she’s all upset.’ He tickled Lucy under the chin and smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy-lu. I didn’t mean it.’

  Lucy looked at him, and then at her mother and Suzanne. She took the drawing back that her father was holding out to her. She looked puzzled, sullen. Jane stroked her hair, flashing a reproachful look at the two adults. ‘Maybe you could draw another one,’ she suggested.

  ‘It’s spoilt,’ Lucy said with finality. Then she looked at her mother with some calculation. ‘Can I have ice cream for tea?’ she said.

  Joel burst out laughing. ‘Her father’s daughter. Of course you can,’ he said, ruffling her hair.

  Jane frowned slightly, assessing Lucy. ‘I need to get to the post office,’ she said. ‘This has to be there tomorrow. I’ll only be fifteen minutes.’ She was talking to Joel who was pulling on his jacket as she spoke.

  Suzanne said quickly, ‘I’ll stay here,’ she said. ‘I was waiting for you anyway.’ She looked at Joel, trying not to put any challenge in her eyes. ‘You get off if you’ve got to go.’ She wasn’t leaving him with Lucy.

  He paused, his eyes narrowed, then he said, ‘OK.’ His smile was cool and satisfied as he followed Jane out of the door. Suzanne let her breath out. She turned to Lucy, who had gone into the kitchen.

  ‘Have you finished drawing?’ she said.

  Lucy nodded. ‘Now I want a drink. I can get it myself,’ she added, severely, as Suzanne stood up. Suzanne stood in the kitchen door, watching as Lucy pulled a small red stool across to the worktop and stood on it to reach the tap. She climbed down with the glass of water held carefully in both hands. ‘You made Daddy cross,’ she said, her voice hovering between accusation and question.

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Suzanne said.

  Lucy looked at her assessingly. ‘It’s my sisters,’ she said after a moment. She sounded quite proud. ‘But it’s a secret.’

  ‘Your sisters?’ Suzanne realized that Lucy was talking about her picture. She wondered, as she often wondered about Michael, if only children were always lonely.

  ‘I’ve got sisters,’ Lucy went on looking dreamy, ‘and brothers and sisters and I’m going to have lots and lots of sisters, and Michael can have lots of sisters,’ she added generously, ‘but I’m going to have more.’ Her voice moved.’ into a sing song. ‘And Tamby’s going to have …’ Her voice faded to a murmur as she went across to the shelves and pulled down her roller boots. ‘I’m going to skate,’ she said.

  Polly Andrews was Paul Lynman’s girlfriend. Though she had never been an official resident of 14, Carleton Road, she had spent a lot of time there, and knew Emma Allan and Sophie Dutton. ‘It was more comfortable than my flat,’ she confided to Barraclough and Corvin. ‘I wish I’d managed to get the room when that creepy guy moved out.’ She twisted herself round at the interview desk, and looked behind her. ‘Bit of a dump,’ was her verdict. She wore a pair of shabby jeans, a skimpy black top that left her shoulders bare and stopped short of the pierced navel. She had a tattoo on her right shoulder, a knife and something that looked like devil’s horns. ‘OK if I smoke?’ She stretched her legs out, the heavy boots looking incongruous against her small-boned fragility. Her face was pale, but with the creamy pallor of health. There were freckles across her nose. She was twenty-one, a university student. She looked about twelve. Barraclough thought she did a good job of projecting the sexy schoolgirl image. Corvin certainly looked uncharacteristically benign.

  Polly lit a cigarette, and then leant forward on the desk looking directly at them, waiting. Corvin was letting Barraclough lead on the interview, and she started with the easy questions: Emma’s friends, contacts, routines. Polly was co-operative, chatty, but she had nothing to add that they didn’t already know. Emma was well known at 14, Carleton Road as Sophie’s friend, and when she found herself homeless, the other tenants had raised no objections to her sharing Sophie’s room. ‘Well, they couldn’t really,’ she said. ‘Not Paul, anyway, because I was always there.’

  ‘It must have been very crowded,’ Barraclough observed. She’d seen the rooms at Carleton Road. ‘Sophie had the attic room, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. Emma dossed on one of those exercise mats with a sleeping bag. She rolled them up and shoved them in the roof space during the day,’ Polly said cheerfully, smiling at Corvin, who smiled back. ‘They pack us in like sardines.’

  She could shed no light on Sophie Dutton’s whereabouts. Her eyes opened in surprise when Barraclough asked her. ‘She’s with her parents. Didn’t you know that? She was going home until she could find a job. Maybe she got something and didn’t want to tell her parents, you know, that lap dancing, strippagrams …’ She looked at Corvin and smiled again. ‘You can make a fortune,’ she confided. She shrugged to indicate that she couldn’t understand why Sophie wouldn’t have told her.

  ‘What kind of work was Sophie looking for?’ Barraclough asked. If she was prepared to do lap dancing …

  Polly couldn’t help there. ‘Oh, anything. She wants to be a writer, so it’s all, you know, material.’

  Barraclough went back to Emma. ‘What about boyfriends? Did Emma have any boyfriends?’ If Emma had been going to a rendezvous, they hadn’t been able to find the name of any possible candidates, though Paul Lynman’s evidence opened up some new possibilities.

  For the first time, Polly looked – Barraclough tried to put a name to the expression on her face: evasive? Puzzled? ‘She didn’t really talk to me about things,’ Polly said after a moment. ‘She was Sophie’s friend.’ Barraclough took a leaf out of McCarthy’s book, and waited Polly’s silence out. ‘She was seeing someone. She talked about someone called Ash …’ Barraclough was aware of Corvin’s sudden interest. Ash. The Ash Man. Ashley Reid. ‘But he never came to Carleton Road.’ She shook her head at the name Reid. ‘It might have been,’ she said. ‘I don’t know; Em never told me.’

  ‘What about “Ash Man”, “the Ash Man”?’ Barraclough tried.

  For a moment, she thought she saw recognition in Polly’s eyes, but the girl shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. She paused, looking uncertain. ‘I
saw her after she’d left Carleton Road,’ she said. ‘It was … I think it was about ten days ago, a Wednesday or a Thursday.’ Eight or nine days before Emma’s death. ‘She’d been shopping, she had all these bags from those shops on Devonshire Street, you know?’ Barraclough knew the shops well – designer wear, avant-garde, way beyond her pocket. ‘She said she’d met someone.’ She bit her lip, thinking. ‘Emma asked me not to tell anyone.’

  ‘It’s a bit different now, though, isn’t it, Polly?’ Barraclough wasn’t too convinced by the display of reluctance, but she still got the feeling that Polly was puzzled by something. ‘She’d met someone. A new boyfriend, do you mean?’

  ‘He was older,’ Polly said. ‘Emma said he’d got some work for her. I don’t know if he was her boyfriend or not.’ Barraclough assumed that ‘boyfriend’ was synonymous with ‘sexual partner’. ‘She had all this money …’

  Barraclough asked her about the drugs. After distancing herself from the whole thing, she told more or less the same story that Paul Lynman had told McCarthy and Corvin, except she made the operation sound a lot less organized. ‘Emma knew someone who could get good stuff,’ she said. ‘So she’d get some for everyone.’ It was no big deal, she insisted. Barraclough asked her about heroin, and she appeared genuinely shocked. ‘No. Never. Nothing like that. Emma was on … ?’ Her eyes slid away from them, but she didn’t add anything else.

  Suzanne didn’t go back home. She needed to think, and the park was the place she came to get her mind in focus. Now it looked open, spacious, the sky high and blue with distant wisps of cloud, the grass green and the trees heavy in full leaf. She walked through the main gate at Hunters Bar and followed the path past the small playground and the field where teams played football on Sundays, the school had its sports day, the travelling fair pitched every summer. She went on past the café, crossed the stone bridge to the first dam, and watched the ducks for a few minutes. She didn’t think about anything in particular. She followed the path on to the next dam, where the iridescent blue of a kingfisher caught her eye, and she watched it as it flashed between the two islands where the water-birds nested, then vanished down the river.