Muncowie?’
No reaction. Hirsch didn’t know if the woman was taking it in or not. Maybe she had never taken an interest in her daughter’s movements. ‘Mrs Donovan? Does she know anyone up there? Did she mention a party she was going to, for example?’
No response, then, ‘Nathan’s all I’ve got now.’
‘Did Melia have a boyfriend, Mrs Donovan? Could she have been with him on Saturday night?’
‘Maybe.’
Hirsch felt his insides stir. ‘Can you give me his name? I’ll need to speak to him.’
She shook her head, her eyes weepy but alertness returning to them. ‘It was a secret. She didn’t want to jinx it, you know.’
‘You didn’t meet him.’
‘No.’
Speak to her friends, Hirsch thought. Better still, speak to her enemies. If the boyfriend was an older man, married or single, or a farmhand, or from a town outside the district, he’d not be easy to find.
In a choked voice Leanne Donovan said, ‘It was a hit-and-run?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Would she of felt...Did she...’
‘It was instantaneous, Mrs Donovan,’ Hirsch said, reaching out to touch her wrist before he could stop himself. He saw her shrink away and knew she was watching a nasty movie in her head.
The voice rose. ‘She shouldn’t of had to hitch home. Someone should of given her a lift.’
‘Yes,’ Hirsch said, understanding why Gemma Pitcher had left town. ‘We’re still not sure of her movements after the pub in Redruth.’
‘She likes a good time, why shouldn’t she?’
‘Think back: did she say anything about her movements, anything at all? Did she mention anyone’s name, for example?’
‘Not to me,’ Leanne muttered, looking mad and incomplete.
‘Did Gemma usually pick her up when they went out together?’
Leanne just looked at him, helpless.
‘They were together in the early part of the evening but later separated. Mrs Donovan, I’d dearly love to know who she might have hooked up with. Have a think about it, will you, please? Ask around? Get Nathan to ask his mates?’
‘They wouldn’t know anything.’
‘I found her bag, but no mobile phone. Did she leave it at home?’
Leanne scoffed. ‘Her and mobiles! She loses them and I can’t afford to buy her new ones all the time, plus she run up a huge bill last time.’
‘So she doesn’t have one at present, she’s not on a plan?’
‘Not unless she paid for it herself.’
Hirsch looked across at the computer. ‘What about Facebook? E-mail?’
‘What about it?’
‘Did she use the computer in this room, or have one of her own?’
Leanne shook her head. ‘We all use that one.’ Looking oddly shamefaced, she said, ‘Bob and Yvonne gave it to us when Melia started high school. It’s their old one.’
The sadness and poverty dragged at Hirsch. The Donovans lived on the margins, and a kid like Melia would want what others seemed to have. ‘Would it be all right if I borrowed it for a couple of days? I’ll give you a receipt.’
He didn’t tell her that he’d found a list of passwords in Melia’s wallet, not that it would do him any good, for the befuddlement faded from Leanne Donovan’s eyes. He could see the cogs turning: she saw dirty tricks, saw a greater darkness attending her daughter’s death, quotation marks around the word ‘accident’.
She shook her head adamantly. ‘We need it.’
‘Everything in confidence, Mrs Donovan.’
‘Don’t you need a whatchamacallit, warrant?’
I certainly do, Hirsch thought. ‘How about if I had a quick look at her Facebook page and recent e-mails? You can sit with me, watch I don’t accidentally stray into anything private to you and Nathan.’
‘It doesn’t feel right. I can’t think straight and I don’t think you should come here poking your nose in.’
‘Yes, all right, Mrs Donovan. Insensitive of
No reaction. Hirsch didn’t know if the woman was taking it in or not. Maybe she had never taken an interest in her daughter’s movements. ‘Mrs Donovan? Does she know anyone up there? Did she mention a party she was going to, for example?’
No response, then, ‘Nathan’s all I’ve got now.’
‘Did Melia have a boyfriend, Mrs Donovan? Could she have been with him on Saturday night?’
‘Maybe.’
Hirsch felt his insides stir. ‘Can you give me his name? I’ll need to speak to him.’
She shook her head, her eyes weepy but alertness returning to them. ‘It was a secret. She didn’t want to jinx it, you know.’
‘You didn’t meet him.’
‘No.’
Speak to her friends, Hirsch thought. Better still, speak to her enemies. If the boyfriend was an older man, married or single, or a farmhand, or from a town outside the district, he’d not be easy to find.
In a choked voice Leanne Donovan said, ‘It was a hit-and-run?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Would she of felt...Did she...’
‘It was instantaneous, Mrs Donovan,’ Hirsch said, reaching out to touch her wrist before he could stop himself. He saw her shrink away and knew she was watching a nasty movie in her head.
The voice rose. ‘She shouldn’t of had to hitch home. Someone should of given her a lift.’
‘Yes,’ Hirsch said, understanding why Gemma Pitcher had left town. ‘We’re still not sure of her movements after the pub in Redruth.’
‘She likes a good time, why shouldn’t she?’
‘Think back: did she say anything about her movements, anything at all? Did she mention anyone’s name, for example?’
‘Not to me,’ Leanne muttered, looking mad and incomplete.
‘Did Gemma usually pick her up when they went out together?’
Leanne just looked at him, helpless.
‘They were together in the early part of the evening but later separated. Mrs Donovan, I’d dearly love to know who she might have hooked up with. Have a think about it, will you, please? Ask around? Get Nathan to ask his mates?’
‘They wouldn’t know anything.’
‘I found her bag, but no mobile phone. Did she leave it at home?’
Leanne scoffed. ‘Her and mobiles! She loses them and I can’t afford to buy her new ones all the time, plus she run up a huge bill last time.’
‘So she doesn’t have one at present, she’s not on a plan?’
‘Not unless she paid for it herself.’
Hirsch looked across at the computer. ‘What about Facebook? E-mail?’
‘What about it?’
‘Did she use the computer in this room, or have one of her own?’
Leanne shook her head. ‘We all use that one.’ Looking oddly shamefaced, she said, ‘Bob and Yvonne gave it to us when Melia started high school. It’s their old one.’
The sadness and poverty dragged at Hirsch. The Donovans lived on the margins, and a kid like Melia would want what others seemed to have. ‘Would it be all right if I borrowed it for a couple of days? I’ll give you a receipt.’
He didn’t tell her that he’d found a list of passwords in Melia’s wallet, not that it would do him any good, for the befuddlement faded from Leanne Donovan’s eyes. He could see the cogs turning: she saw dirty tricks, saw a greater darkness attending her daughter’s death, quotation marks around the word ‘accident’.
She shook her head adamantly. ‘We need it.’
‘Everything in confidence, Mrs Donovan.’
‘Don’t you need a whatchamacallit, warrant?’
I certainly do, Hirsch thought. ‘How about if I had a quick look at her Facebook page and recent e-mails? You can sit with me, watch I don’t accidentally stray into anything private to you and Nathan.’
‘It doesn’t feel right. I can’t think straight and I don’t think you should come here poking your nose in.’
‘Yes, all right, Mrs Donovan. Insensitive of
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