‘They stole my sports bag,’ Lucy explains softly. ‘And then emptied it.’
‘That must have been upsetting.’
Lucy nods, pulls at her bottom lip.
‘And did you manage to recover all of your items?’
Lucy looks ashen for a moment, the trauma of remembering, then her expression clears. ‘Yes, eventually.’
‘I explained to DI Finnemore that Ms Munroe was dealing with the bullying,’ I say. ‘She asked me to go in after school on Friday, and when I left that meeting, I was confident that it was the beginning of the end. We both were, weren’t we, Lucy?’ I look at my daughter, willing her to agree with me, but she just stares back blankly.
‘Lucy, do you have a phone?’ DC Bzowski asks. Lucy gives her a small nod. ‘Would you mind telling me your number?’
I lean forward in my chair. Why is she asking this? Is she allowed to? Lucy looks at me but I’m no help. I stare back mutely, then give her a small nod. It’s fine; you’ve done nothing wrong. That now familiar trope.
I listen to Lucy whisper the eleven-digit number and watch as the detective checks it against a printout. I can see that she’s trying to keep her expression neutral, but a slight softening of her features gives her away. ‘Thank you, Lucy,’ she says, looking up at her. She waits a moment, then opens the file in front of her. ‘I have Amber’s phone records for Friday night here,’ she says. ‘They show that Amber sent you a text message at—’ she checks the printout ‘—7.22 p.m. And that you responded a couple of minutes later.’
Lucy blinks. My ribcage expands as I hold my breath. A text conversation? With the girl who was making her life a misery?
‘We are hoping that Amber’s sister will be able to give us the code to unlock Amber’s phone when she’s ready to talk to us, so that we can check the content of those messages, but in the interests of time, could you tell me what they said?’
Lucy catches my eye, silently begs for my help. But I don’t know what to say. I was primed to defend a threatening blog, not an exchange of text messages. I want to believe that Lucy just told Amber to leave her alone, but this is the second time she’s kept something from me, and I’m starting to question my grip on the situation. Eventually Lucy turns back to the detective.
‘She asked to meet me,’ she admits in a whisper.
‘Okay. And what did you say?’
‘Um.’ Lucy looks at me, the overhead light flickering against her blue irises. ‘I said no.’
The detective nods, like she believes Lucy. I hope she does, but I’m not sure I do anymore. ‘According to the records,’ she continues gently, ‘there are a further three text messages between you in quick succession, followed by an incoming phone call from your number. What else did you and Amber talk about?’
‘I don’t remember.’
The detective crinkles her brow, an exaggerated gesture, clearly for effect. ‘Really?’ she asks. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’
‘Um …’ Lucy’s eyes skitter as she tries to find a coherent response. ‘I just told her to stop texting me,’ she finally offers.
‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to block her instead?’
‘I didn’t think …’
DC Bzowski suddenly flashes another one of her lipstick-framed smiles. ‘Okay. So to clarify, you didn’t go out to meet Amber on Friday night?’
I try to make eye contact with my daughter, but Lucy’s avoiding my gaze altogether now. I’m not sure whether that’s because she’s angry with me for not shielding her from DC Bzowski’s questions, or because she’s about to lie. Again. ‘No, I didn’t meet her,’ she says. ‘I called to say I was blocking her,’ she clarifies. ‘And to leave me alone.’
The detective leans back in her chair. She’s quiet for a moment, as though deciding what to say next. ‘Did you go out at all on Friday night?’ she finally asks. ‘I understand there was a big party in the village.’
Lucy’s eyes flit towards me again. I wish she didn’t look so guilty. ‘I didn’t go to the party,’ she says. ‘It was my sister’s best friend’s eighteenth, so it was mainly the Year Thirteens.’
‘So you stayed at home?’ the detective prompts. Her eyes have narrowed with focus and a burst of realisation explodes inside me. She knows Lucy went out. There must be CCTV or something, proof that she was roaming the streets – the village shops might have cameras, and some people have those video doorbells that pick up passers-by.
‘I went out for a bit,’ Lucy mumbles. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk around the village.’
‘What time was this?’ the detective asks. I try to blink at Lucy, as though she might be able to decipher the acronym CCTV from my frantic eyelids.
‘Around quarter to eleven.’ My chest shrivels. The lie is out, and I have no idea whether DC Bzowski can prove it or not.
‘On your own?’
‘At first, yes. Then Mum came and we walked home together. About half an hour later.’
‘And you definitely didn’t see Amber?’
‘No, sorry.’
Lucy’s voice is wobbling. I need to do something. ‘DC Bzowski, Lucy’s already told you she didn’t see Amber,’ I say. ‘Can we move on?’
The detective looks at me, her expression hard to read. ‘We’ve been checking CCTV from the post office, and a girl who looks a lot like Lucy passes by, but it was earlier than ten forty-five, before ten in fact.’
Lucy throws me a petrified look. ‘That’s strange,’ I ad-lib while my mind clatters through what to say next. The post office is on Keens Lane, around the corner from the parade of shops. Lucy wouldn’t come into view on the route to the church unless the camera has a very wide-angled perspective. ‘How clear are the images?’
‘Not hugely,’ the detective admits. ‘But we’re keen to work out who the girl is.’
‘Why her specifically?’ I ask. ‘I guess there were plenty of people walking past during the evening?’
‘There were, you’re right,’ DC Bzowski says. ‘But there are reasons why this person is of particular interest.’ She smiles again. I fight an urge to launch myself across the table, grab her shirt collar and demand a fuller explanation.
‘Lucy, have you ever smoked marijuana?’ the detective asks.
‘What? No.’
‘Taken ecstasy?’
Lucy shakes her head. ‘I’ve never done any drugs, ever.’
‘Do you drink alcohol then?’
‘Not really,’ Lucy murmurs, her confidence waning again. ‘I’ve tried wine a few times.’
‘Have you ever drunk vodka?’
I tense. Remember the bottle Lucy stole, the shards of glass hanging from its broken neck in the churchyard. ‘Why are you asking that?’ I say, wishing I didn’t sound so defensive.
DC Bzowski hesitates for a moment then apparently decides she wants us to know. ‘Preliminary reports on Amber’s clothing suggest that there were significant traces of vodka on both her top and jeans. The girl in the CCTV image was carrying a plastic bag with something heavy inside. We wondered if it might be a bottle of vodka.’
Email from DI Finnemore (SIO) to Det Supt Bishop
