Child's Play (24 page)

17

Sukie
’s room had been sealed shut since the day before and when McKenna pushed the door, stifling, foetid air belched in his face. As he opened the window, he nudged a parched spider plant on the ledge and almost sent it crashing down on to the forecourt.

There
was one chair in the room and he placed it so that he caught the breeze through the window. He sat down, the chair wobbling under his weight, and contemplated the sparse, shoddy furnishings, the disarray of clothes on bed and floor, the soiled jodhpurs slung over the radiator, the dusty riding boots, the untidy piles of magazines and schoolwork, and the threadbare teddy with a frayed blue ribbon round its neck which was tucked up in the bed. Sunlight falling on the counter that ran the length of the wall showed up a layer of gritty dust and talc, sticky rings left by innumerable mugs and cups, and even fingerprints on the silver photograph frames that vied for space with a china beaker crammed with pencils and ball pens, used bottles of pink, silver and glittery blue nail varnish, tubs of talcum powder, sticks of lip colour, a box of tissues, an empty letter rack painted with lotus flowers and dipping swallows, a stationery casket to match, a slender gold wristwatch, which had stopped at ten twenty some unknown morning or night, and a tangle of fine gold chains beaded with oval pearls.

Scenes
of crimes personnel had ransacked this room yesterday, but had come upon only the superficial residues of a young girl’s life. There were no letters, diaries, scrapbooks, notebooks, personal organiser, or mobile telephone, or even a calendar. Crammed higgledy-piggledy on the shelves over the counter were various school books, a clutch of popular novels, well-thumbed catalogues for tack, riding wear, stable equipment and horse feed, several
Vogue
magazines, a score or more horse magazines, a clutch of teen publications and the ubiquitous
Hello!.
When he checked under the mattress, there was none of the pornography Avril O’Connor had once found. The school-work files harboured no cryptic jottings that might yield insights, and the doodles defacing almost every sheet of paper were composed of stirrups, naïve depictions of a horse’s head and the meandering scrawls of boredom.

He
reached for the gold chains and, idly shaking out the tangles, imagined how their delicacy would have suited her. Then he picked up the watch, turning it in his fingers. The back of the case was hallmarked and it should have been put into safekeeping. The wallet and purse found in the bedside cabinet were already in the police station safe, along with ninety-seven pounds in cash and four platinum credit cards on the Melvilles’ accounts.

One
by one he lifted the photographs, taken unawares by the weight in the frames. A haughty grey-haired woman in country tweeds, whom he took to be a grandparent, stared at him unsmilingly, as did Freya, surrounded by her current sixth formers. The pictures of Purdey showed her with Tonto in the pasture, displaying her pretty head in a portrait and, with Sukie in the saddle, posing before a Victorian Gothic mansion that featured in its own right in another picture, its unprepossessing architecture softened by evening sunlight and the shadows of nearby trees in full leaf. The two remaining photographs faced each other in a double frame. In one Sukie and Imogen, arm in arm and laughing, screwed up their eyes against some blistering foreign sun. They were still laughing in the other picture and, wearing coloured sun tops and cotton shorts, were both on bicycles, their legs splayed out as they zoomed down a hill towards whoever held the camera. He stared at them for a long time, feeling almost as his own the terrible sense of loss.

Rapping
gently on the partly open door, Janet broke his reverie. ‘I’ve finished with Charlotte Swann, sir. Who shall I see next?’

‘
Alice Derringer, when she gets back from the optician. In the meantime, perhaps you’d list and pack Sukie’s belongings. We’ll need to get the Melvilles to check if anything is missing.’ He left his seat to stand by the window and lit a cigarette. ‘How did you fare with the Princess Diana lookalike?’

‘
Don’t ask!’ She picked up the topmost garment from the heap, a dress fashioned from two layers of gauzy grey chiffon suspended from shoe-string straps. ‘The claws were out the moment you turned your back.’ The rolled-up garment was put on the end of the bed. ‘She was expecting you to interview her.’

‘
I know. Dr Scott said she’d spent half the morning making sure she looked her best.’ He dropped ash out of the window, where it disintegrated in a sudden gust of wind. ‘That aside, did she tell you anything useful?’

‘
Depends on your definition of useful.’ Holding a skimpy sweater by its hem, she lined up the side seams. ‘She gave me no end of “useful” tips on how the right make-up, hairstyle and clothes could do wonders for me, and even snare me a rich boyfriend if I went where the beautiful people hang out, which is, I hasten to add, a very long way from north Wales.’

‘
I’m sure you’d rather stay where you are and as you are,’ he said. ‘Charlotte’s like a blown egg covered in jewels and enamel. She’s no family to speak of and no inner resources, and she’s besotted with the superficial. I almost feel sorry for her.’

‘
You wouldn’t if you’d actually spoken to her,’ Janet said waspishly. ‘She’s shallow and spiteful, and talks a load of incontinent drivel.’ Absently placing the folded sweater on top of the dress, she took hold of a jacket. ‘I think she could be really dangerous. She’s got no moral sense whatsoever and, given the wrong sort of company, could incite others to do the most outrageous things.’

‘
Come on,’ he chided. ‘That’s a very harsh judgement on the briefest of acquaintances.’

Janet
shook her head. ‘No, sir, it isn’t.’ Looking then at what was in her hands, she laid the jacket on the bed to fasten the buttons. ‘She said it would have been better for everyone if Imogen had died in the accident, because not only have her injuries made her repulsive, but her ugliness is incredibly embarrassing and very difficult for people. Charlotte was sick the first time she saw Imogen without her leg and even now, she says, her gorge rises every time she sets eyes on her.’

‘
Perhaps she’s only voicing what others think but are too inhibited to say.’

‘
Or too sensitive,’ she added. ‘Charlotte’s very cruel and even if that’s not her fault, it doesn’t make her any the less dangerous.’

‘
I suppose not.’ At the small sink set into the far end of the counter, he doused his cigarette under the tap, then filled a toothpaste-smeared glass with water. As he dribbled the water around the spider plant it pooled on the dried-out soil and popped with air bubbles before being absorbed. ‘I’m going to see Imogen,’ he told her. ‘She should know if Sukie kept a diary of any description. When you’ve finished here, ask Matron for Sukie’s luggage. There’ll probably be a trunk stored somewhere.’

The
spiky leaves of the spider plant tickled his chin as he waited for Imogen to open her door. Bedsprings creaked in the room beyond, then there was silence. He knocked again, heard the bedsprings again, then a thump and imagined her stick hitting the floor. As another thump was followed by a dragging noise, he could almost see her hauling her maimed body towards him. A key rattled in the lock and the door was inched open, Imogen’s fingers like claws round the edge. Her face was grey and lined with pain. ‘That’s Sukie’s plant,’ she whispered.

‘I
know.’ He smiled. ‘I wondered if you’d mind looking after it for now. It was dry as a bone.’

She
hopped backwards a few feet then stood in the middle of the room, leaning heavily on the silver-topped stick, her body twisted, the stump of leg hanging uselessly. Her eyes were like huge black holes.

As
he put the plant on the counter, he accepted that however Sukie had parted with her life, it had not been at this girl’s hands, for her balance and equilibrium were totally destroyed. If I push her, he thought, she’ll simply topple. She backed further and collapsed on the bed, leaving him the chair. The artificial leg lay on the floor on a heap of discarded clothes.

Lifting
herself on her hands, she wriggled across the bed until she was leaning against the wall. The single foot in a fluffy pink mule, barely twelve inches from his knees, was disturbing. While his reason told him the quest was futile, his instinct was to search for its companion. She watched him, her face reflecting his own confusion.

‘
I’ve been looking through Sukie’s things,’ he said eventually, ‘but there was very little of a personal nature. Would you know if she kept a diary?’

‘
I — She —’ Words seemed to stick in her throat. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘She sort of did, a long time ago. She wasn’t very good at keeping it up to date.’

‘
Was she not inclined to commit her thoughts to paper?’

Imogen
shook her head. ‘Not really. She preferred to talk.’ She wrapped her arms round her waist and hunched her shoulders, staring at her foot.

What
could you do with only one leg? McKenna considered all the new impossibilities forced on this girl, beyond the obvious, and began to hurt for her. ‘Has Dr Scott spoken to you about me?’ he asked.

‘
No.’ Another head shake.

‘
I thought she would have done by now.’

‘
Why?’

‘
Because, as I said last night, I must interview all of you.’ He waited for her to respond and when she continued to sit in silence added, ‘She impressed upon me that I must be sensitive to your feelings.’

A
noise between a snort and a sob escaped her lips. ‘
She
isn’t!’

‘
You know, Imogen,’ he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands, ‘I’m getting very mixed messages.’

The
corners of her mouth turned up, then down. ‘So you can’t tell whether you’re coming or going? Join the club.’

People
had been dangerously soured by lesser misfortunes than hers, he told himself. It was unfair to condemn her, yet her air of angry self-pity was so intense he could scarce believe she had not shared her anguish with someone in the school, who then, convinced Sukie was to blame, had settled the score by killing her.

‘
Have you had lunch?’ he asked.

‘
Vivienne brought me a sandwich.’

‘
I noticed she helped you from the refectory earlier. Are you particularly friendly?’ Vivienne, with the ethical structure of her personality undermined by drugs, might well have dispatched Sukie, he thought.

‘
No,’ Imogen replied. ‘Our paths hardly ever cross.’

She
could be lying, he decided. He gazed at her speculatively, but before he could speak, she added, ‘I was surprised myself.’ She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘It was probably because Torrance isn’t here. She sort of looks after me.’ She shuddered, just once, but with frightening violence.

‘
Torrance wasn’t badly hurt,’ he said quickly.

‘
I know. Vivienne told me.’ The pink-clad foot began to wave from side to side. ‘Will she be staying in hospital?’

‘F
or a while. And she’s under twenty-four-hour guard.’

‘
Good.’ Imogen nodded, as if to herself, then said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not being a very good hostess. You can smoke if you like. There’s a tin on the shelf you can use for an ashtray.’ Apologising again, she added, ‘And I’m sorry I can’t offer you a drink, but you can make yourself one in the common room.’

‘
Thanks, but I don’t want one. Do you?’ When she shook her head, he went on, ‘I expected your rooms to have better facilities. A kettle, at least.’

‘
Dr Scott thinks we’d be less inclined to mix if we were too comfortable. I expect you’ve noticed how her ideas invade every corner.’ She glanced about her. ‘Even in these poky little cells.’

His
eyes on the enormous old key hanging from the door lock, he said, ‘Matron told me these rooms housed the most violent patients in the old days.’

‘
That’s why the locks were on the outside. Sean had to turn my door and cut a new keeper. He’s good with things like that.’

‘
D’you have much contact with him?’

‘
Not as much as some would like, but a lot more than Dr Scott knows about!’ She smiled spontaneously and it was as if a light had come on behind her eyes, returning her fleetingly to the girl she should have been. ‘Don’t misunderstand. He doesn’t mess with us. He’s too nice to take advantage and anyway, he’s engaged.’

‘
Nonetheless, he must get plenty of offers. He’s the only young man in the vicinity. Ken Randall at the lodge is in his sixties and so is Sean’s boss, and the guards and the caretakers are determinedly middle-aged.’

‘
That’s no accident. It’s all part of Dr Scott’s grand design.’

‘
And where do you fit into that?’ His voice was quiet. ‘What’s she got in mind for you?’