fewer of its citizens, the private stamping ground of the super-rich, or corporations. Good news in this particular case; she was looking for someone who had access to the showroom flats at Battersea Power Station, and the list wouldn’t be long – she’d have it in her hands by the end of the day – but she mistrusted the illusion of control. She didn’t control the crime scene any more than she controlled the city. No one did. Unless it was the killer, with his rhetoric of terror. What had Noah called it? A normal reaction to social living. Marnie turned from the window to look at May’s bed.
Clean sheets, a faint scent of fabric softener. Katrina had made the bed on the morning May went missing, before she discovered her daughter wasn’t coming home. She’d put clean underwear in the drawers of the dressing table where May’s hairbrush was gathering dust. Even before the discovery of May’s body, this room had looked odd to Marnie. Everything neat and untouched under a sticky topcoat of dust. Books, CDs, toys – nothing had been moved recently, picked up and put down, used. May had been gone less than twenty-four hours when Marnie first came here, but the room had looked unlived in. ‘She didn’t spend a lot of time in here,’ Sean had said. ‘Preferred the kitchen or the sitting room, sometimes Loz’s room.’ The posters on the walls belonged to a much younger girl. ‘She put those up years ago,’ he said. ‘Never took them down.’
May hadn’t lived in this room for a long time, not in the way most teenagers lived. Messily, chaotically, joyfully, grumpily. Impossible to imagine her lying on the bed listening to music or chatting on the phone to her friends. No ghost of her was in the room, then or now. Where had she gone to do her living? To the place where she was killed? CCTV put her less than a mile from here on the night before she died. So close to safety, but she chose to stay away. Assuming she’d had a choice.
‘She hated it in here.’
Marnie turned to see Loz standing in the doorway to her sister’s room. In the school uniform that swamped her, black hair brambly, eyes big with unshed tears.
‘I love my room, love to be sent to it. Go to your room, Laura! as if it’s not the best place in the house anyway. But May hated it. She liked the garden, digging, planting stuff. She’d come into my room sometimes. I liked it when she did that, but I could never get her to stay. She was always moving around. Like … a kite.’ Her voice caught.
‘Where’s your dad? Your mum went for a lie-down, I think.’
‘They both did.’ Loz put her eyes around the room. ‘I suppose this’s how it’ll stay now. That’s what parents of dead kids do, isn’t it? Keep their rooms exactly as they were. Except there’s no point with May’s. Not like she was ever here . Not really. Not in ages.’
Marnie recognised the spikes Loz was putting out to keep the world at bay, each one as sharp and shiny as a needle. It was frightening how much of herself she saw in Loz’s anger, and her grief. She’d wanted to leave this task to Noah, believing him better equipped to communicate with Loz. She hadn’t wanted to be the one asking the questions or seeing at close quarters this girl’s pain. It was never easy being face to face with a grieving relative, but Marnie made the effort because it was important. This was different, not any less important just …
Harder. Because Loz reminded her so much of the girl she’d been.
‘Who’s looking after you? Is there someone here apart from your mum and dad?’
‘Just them.’ Her face was small inside the storm cloud of hair. ‘Where’s Noah?’
‘He got sick. I took him home.’
‘Sick from seeing May?’
‘No, he had a migraine. He gets them sometimes.’
‘Mum felt sick after the mortuary. I told her it was probably adrenalin.’ Loz put her thumb between her teeth. ‘Do you think she knew who did it?’
‘Your mum?’
‘May. Most
Clean sheets, a faint scent of fabric softener. Katrina had made the bed on the morning May went missing, before she discovered her daughter wasn’t coming home. She’d put clean underwear in the drawers of the dressing table where May’s hairbrush was gathering dust. Even before the discovery of May’s body, this room had looked odd to Marnie. Everything neat and untouched under a sticky topcoat of dust. Books, CDs, toys – nothing had been moved recently, picked up and put down, used. May had been gone less than twenty-four hours when Marnie first came here, but the room had looked unlived in. ‘She didn’t spend a lot of time in here,’ Sean had said. ‘Preferred the kitchen or the sitting room, sometimes Loz’s room.’ The posters on the walls belonged to a much younger girl. ‘She put those up years ago,’ he said. ‘Never took them down.’
May hadn’t lived in this room for a long time, not in the way most teenagers lived. Messily, chaotically, joyfully, grumpily. Impossible to imagine her lying on the bed listening to music or chatting on the phone to her friends. No ghost of her was in the room, then or now. Where had she gone to do her living? To the place where she was killed? CCTV put her less than a mile from here on the night before she died. So close to safety, but she chose to stay away. Assuming she’d had a choice.
‘She hated it in here.’
Marnie turned to see Loz standing in the doorway to her sister’s room. In the school uniform that swamped her, black hair brambly, eyes big with unshed tears.
‘I love my room, love to be sent to it. Go to your room, Laura! as if it’s not the best place in the house anyway. But May hated it. She liked the garden, digging, planting stuff. She’d come into my room sometimes. I liked it when she did that, but I could never get her to stay. She was always moving around. Like … a kite.’ Her voice caught.
‘Where’s your dad? Your mum went for a lie-down, I think.’
‘They both did.’ Loz put her eyes around the room. ‘I suppose this’s how it’ll stay now. That’s what parents of dead kids do, isn’t it? Keep their rooms exactly as they were. Except there’s no point with May’s. Not like she was ever here . Not really. Not in ages.’
Marnie recognised the spikes Loz was putting out to keep the world at bay, each one as sharp and shiny as a needle. It was frightening how much of herself she saw in Loz’s anger, and her grief. She’d wanted to leave this task to Noah, believing him better equipped to communicate with Loz. She hadn’t wanted to be the one asking the questions or seeing at close quarters this girl’s pain. It was never easy being face to face with a grieving relative, but Marnie made the effort because it was important. This was different, not any less important just …
Harder. Because Loz reminded her so much of the girl she’d been.
‘Who’s looking after you? Is there someone here apart from your mum and dad?’
‘Just them.’ Her face was small inside the storm cloud of hair. ‘Where’s Noah?’
‘He got sick. I took him home.’
‘Sick from seeing May?’
‘No, he had a migraine. He gets them sometimes.’
‘Mum felt sick after the mortuary. I told her it was probably adrenalin.’ Loz put her thumb between her teeth. ‘Do you think she knew who did it?’
‘Your mum?’
‘May. Most
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