Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [63]
‘’S OK,’ said the tallest boy. ‘We won’t be staying.’
Zoë closed the door. Then she sat on the desk and regarded them all carefully. She had to stop herself staring directly at Millie, though she monitored her out of the corner of her eye. Was it her imagination or did Millie look more like her, Zoë, and less like Sally? ‘What can I do for you all?’
‘We need some help,’ said the tall boy. He was blond and good-looking. You could tell from the body language of the rest of the group that he was the alpha male. That he threw his weight around and generally got what he wanted. ‘It’s about Lorne Wood.’
‘Right.’ Zoë glanced cautiously from face to face. ‘OK. And I take it from the way we’re all standing here, the way that you approached me, that you want, for the time being, to have a private chat?’
‘For the time being.’
‘That’s fair enough. But before we start I’d like to get your names. I give you my word it won’t go any further. Here.’ She pulled out a spiral-bound jotter and handed the bigger boy a pen. He studied it for a moment, unsure. Zoë nodded. ‘You have my word,’ she repeated. ‘You really do.’
Reluctantly he took it, bent over the desk and wrote Peter Cyrus. He handed the pen to Millie, who glanced at Zoë, looked about to say something, but instead bent over and wrote Millie Benedict. Benedict, Zoë noticed, not Cassidy. So it was true what she’d heard: Sally really had divorced Julian. And here was Millie – using Sally’s name instead of her father’s. What did that say about the separation?
The other teenagers lined up and took turns to write on the pad.
Nial Sweetman, Sophie Sweetman, Ralph Hernandez.
Ralph Hernandez.
Zoë stared at the name, moving her jaw from side to side. She put on a calm smile and raised her head to him. She hadn’t taken much notice of him until now. He was slight, medium height, with wiry dark hair and olive skin. Apart from his tie, which was knotted the way they all seemed to these days, puffed up and wide, like some seventies TV cop’s, he was dressed more conventionally than the others, in that at least his trousers appeared to almost fit him and the spikes in his hair weren’t totally outlandish. His fierce brown eyes were bloodshot.
‘So.’ She forced her voice to sound casual. ‘What can I do for you all?’
There was a moment’s silence. Then the one called Nial nudged the one called Peter. Sophie and Millie kept still, their eyes on the floor. Ralph rubbed the back of his sleeve nervously across his forehead.
‘It’s like this,’ said Peter. ‘Ralph’s scared.’
‘Concerned,’ Ralph corrected. ‘A little concerned. That’s all.’
‘I see. And why are you concerned?’
‘I was …’ He scratched his arms. ‘I was …’
‘He was with Lorne,’ Peter said, ‘the night she was killed.’
Zoë cupped her chin with her fingers. Gave the teenagers a ruminative look. In her chest her heart was knocking like a tomtom. Here was Debbie and Ben’s ‘killer’. All five foot ten of him. And meanwhile, if she was right about that message on Lorne, the real killer was out there somewhere. Maybe thinking about number two. ‘OK,’ she said calmly. ‘And obviously there was a reason you didn’t mention this before.’
‘I’ve never told my parents I’d got a girlfriend. And Lorne never told anyone about me either. It was supposed to be a secret.’
‘His parents are Catholic. They find that sort of thing a bit – you know.’
‘Can you help him?’ Nial asked. ‘He doesn’t know what to do.’
‘Help? I’m not sure about help. This is serious. I know you know that – you’re not stupid. But we’ll take this slowly. Ralph, Lorne was your girlfriend. How long had you been seeing her?’
‘Only a couple of weeks. But I loved her. I mean that. She was the one for me.’ There was something tight in his voice that said he wasn’t lying. ‘Please,’ he said, and for a moment he sounded like a little kid. A kid left out in the rain and begging to come inside. ‘Please, I just don’t know what to do.’ He straightened