Guilty One Page 3

  Daniel put it back in his pocket but she had seen it. He smiled. He liked the look on her face. It was wobbly with concern. Her lips were tight and she was standing at the foot of the bed, frowning at him.

  ‘That doesn’t belong to you.’

  He looked up at her. Strange that she did not flinch with the knife but would lose it over a stupid porcelain butterfly. Her voice was so quiet he had to sit up a little on the bed to hear her. He had to try not to breathe.

  ‘Daniel, I know we don’t know each other very well. I know you’ve had a hard time and I’ll do what I can to make things easier for you. I expect a certain amount of trouble. I wouldn’t be in this game otherwise. But there are some things that you have to respect. It is the only way that this will work. The ornament’s not yours for taking. It’s important to me. When you brush your teeth, I want you to put it back on the shelf.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I want to keep it. I like it.’

  ‘Well, I can understand that. If you’re careful, you can look after it for a couple of days, but then I would like you to return it to the shelf in the bathroom, where we can both appreciate it. Mind you, that is two days only, a special treat for you because this is your new home and I want you to settle in. But in two days I will ask for it back, if you have not yet returned it.’

  Daniel had not been spoken to in this way before. He was not sure if she was angry, or indulging him. His elbows were hurting a little from the strain of sitting up.

  She pulled her cardigan around her, and left the room. The scent of lemon juice followed her.

  3

  Daniel got up at half past five in the morning and ran a ten-mile circuit of Victoria Park and South Hackney. Normally he wouldn’t do a long run like this during the week, but today he needed it. The run used to take him an hour and twelve, but now he could do it in an hour and five if he pushed himself. He strove to get at least a minute faster every year. There was something death-defying in that achievement.

  Running came more naturally to Daniel than most other things; flight often seemed the most logical course.

  He had not slept, but he pushed himself to keep to time. As he ran, he concentrated on different muscles. He tightened his torso and felt it twist from side to side. As he ran uphill, he concentrated on his thighs and the push in them as he maintained the pace. He had lived in this area of the East End for nearly eight years and now knew every inch of the park, which he could see from his bedroom window. He knew every tree root that prised bumps in the paths, like fingers awaking from the dead. He knew the places that would be cool in summer and the parts that could be icy in winter. He knew the areas which flooded when the rains came.

  Every now and again thoughts came to him. When he brushed them aside Daniel realised that they had slowed him down.

  Now, as he turned towards home, his thoughts returned to the letter. He couldn’t believe that she was really dead.

  Dead. His foot caught a rock and he lunged forward. Unable to catch himself, he fell his full length, scraping the skin off his knee and grazing his forearm and the heel of his hand, drawing blood.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said out loud, picking himself up.

  An old man, with an overweight Labrador, tipped his cap at him. ‘You all right, son? You fell hard. The light’s always funny at this time.’

  He was breathing too hard to reply, but he tried to smile at the man and held up one hand to let him know that he was fine. He tried to continue with the run, but blood from his hand was running down his arm. Reluctantly, he jogged along Old Ford Road and up the cream stone steps in front of his flat.

  Daniel showered and bandaged his hand, then dressed in a pink shirt with white collar and cuffs. The wound on his hand throbbed when he fastened his cufflinks. He took a deep breath. Since meeting the boy and receiving the letter, the hours had been assaulting him. Looking at himself in the mirror, he pulled his shoulders back in an attempt to clear his mind. He didn’t want to think about the letter today. He felt the way he had when he was a child: confused, forgetful, not sure how it had all started or why it had fallen apart.

  Daniel had arranged to meet Charlotte at the Croll family home and take her to the police station. It seemed strange that she had slept through her young son being picked up by the police and he wanted to take this opportunity to speak to her.

  Richmond Crescent was resplendent in the August sunshine: smart sash windows gleaming above stark white ledges. Daniel climbed the steps to their door and loosened his tie. The bell was embedded in porcelain, decorated with painted flowers. Daniel pressed once, and cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at an antique Bentley parked on the kerb. He was about to press again when the door opened to reveal an older woman in an overall, holding a duster.

  ‘Please come in,’ she said with an accent that could have been Polish. She dipped her head and moved towards the living room, pointing with her duster to the stairs. ‘Mrs Croll in kitchen.’

  Alone in the hall, Daniel took in the fresh flag irises, the Chinese vases and silks, the dark antique furniture. He put one hand in his pocket, not sure where the kitchen was. He followed the smell of toast down a staircase covered in thick cream carpet, worrying that his shoes would mark it.

  Charlotte was wearing sunglasses. She was slumped over a coffee and the paper. Sun streamed into the basement kitchen and reflected off its white surfaces.

  ‘Daniel,’ exclaimed Charlotte, turning round. ‘Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be ready in a minute. Forgive me, I have a headache and it’s just so bloody bright in here even at this God-awful hour!’

  ‘It’s gonna be a hot one today,’ Daniel nodded, standing in the middle of the kitchen and holding his briefcase in both hands.

  ‘Sit down, have a coffee.’

  ‘Thanks. I just had one.’

  ‘My husband called at the crack of dawn. It was two in the afternoon in Hong Kong.’ She put two fingers to her temples as she sipped her orange juice. ‘He was asking me if Sebastian had actually been arrested or not? He got terribly annoyed with me. I told him I didn’t think so. Is that correct? I mean … it’s just because Sebastian knew Ben … but then they do seem to be terribly serious …’

  ‘He has been arrested, but he’s not been charged. He’s been formally cautioned, and he’s being questioned for murder, and this might go on for a few days. Better prepare yourself. At this stage, I think you’re right to be helpful. We’ll see how today goes.’

  Charlotte’s face froze for a second. In the bright sunlight, Daniel noticed the heavy make-up clogged in the wrinkles around her mouth.

  ‘We just have to help him deal with this in the right way. We don’t want him to incriminate himself, but we want to make sure he answers the questions as fully as he can. If he doesn’t say something now that’s relevant later, it can go against him in court,’ Daniel said.

  ‘God, how utterly ridiculous … the poor child being put through all this. The case won’t go to court, will it?’

  ‘Only if the police have enough evidence to charge him. He’s a suspect at the moment, nothing else. They don’t have any evidence, really, but the forensic evidence is key. We might get that report back today, and hopefully that will discount him.’ Daniel cleared his throat. He wanted to believe his own comforting words.

  ‘Sebastian’s never been in any trouble like this before?’ he asked.

  ‘No, of course not. This is all just a terrible mistake.’

  ‘And he gets on fine at school – no problems with the other kids, or … academic issues?’

  ‘Well, I mean, he doesn’t adore school. My husband says it’s because he’s too bright. They don’t challenge him enough, you know.’

  ‘So he does have problems, then?’ said Daniel, raising one eyebrow at Charlotte and noticing the strain on her throat as she defended her son.

  ‘He gets frustrated. He really is quite brilliant. He takes after his father, or so Ken keeps telling me. They just don’t know how to deal
with him at school, how to … release his potential.

  ‘Do you …’ Charlotte paused, removing her sunglasses. Daniel saw that her eyes were suddenly bright with expectation. ‘Shall I show you some of the work he’s done? He really is quite an exceptional child. I really don’t know how I produced him.’

  Charlotte wiped her palms on her trousers and skipped up the stairs. Daniel followed. He made an effort to keep up with her, up to the ground floor and then up again to Sebastian’s bedroom.

  On the first floor, Charlotte turned the brass handle and opened Sebastian’s bedroom door. Daniel felt wary about entering, but Charlotte beckoned him inside.

  The room was small. Daniel took in the Spider-Man bedspread and the powder-blue walls. It seemed quieter than the kitchen and was darker, the window facing north. It was a private space disturbed, and Daniel felt as if he were intruding.

  ‘Look at that picture,’ said Charlotte, pointing to a charcoal drawing pinned to the wall. Daniel saw an old woman, with a hooked nose. The charcoal had smudged in places, and the woman’s eyes seemed full of warning. ‘Possibly you can tell that it’s me. He did that for me at Christmas. One of our artist friends says it displays a quite precocious talent. I don’t think there’s much of a likeness, but apparently it conveys a sense of character …’

  Daniel nodded. There were stuffed toys lined up on the bed. Charlotte bent and picked up Sebastian’s school bag, pulling jotters from the satchel and leafing through the pages where the boy had been commended before thrusting them at Daniel. He glanced at the pages before putting the jotters down on the chest of drawers.

  Charlotte stooped, then, to pick up some colouring pens that were scattered on the floor. As Daniel watched her he noticed the neat position of Sebastian’s slippers by his bedside, and the way that his books were stacked with the largest on the bottom and the smallest on the top.

  ‘He’s an exceptional boy,’ said Charlotte. ‘In maths, he almost never gets anything wrong, and he plays the piano already very well. It is just that his fingers are too small.’

  Daniel took a breath, remembering his own childhood and being shown how to play the piano. He remembered the almost painful stretch of his small, young hands to find the chords.

  In the hall, getting ready to leave, Charlotte took time to tie a silk scarf around her neck. Again, Daniel was aware of how fragile she was. He watched the beads of her spine appear as she bent to pick up her bag.

  He thought of Sebastian waiting in the cell for Charlotte. Again, he was reminded of his own mother: he remembered waiting for her in social work offices and police stations, wondering when she would appear. Only as an adult had he managed any bitterness about those years. As a child he had been grateful that she came at all.

  They walked to Islington Police Station, on the opposite side of the road from Barnard Park. It was an exposed stretch of park, with paths and a football field. The only place to hide violence was the adventure playground that ran alongside Copenhagen Street, rimmed by bushes and trees. Daniel knew that the police had already obtained CCTV footage from Islington Borough Council. He wondered what that would reveal. The corner of Copenhagen Street, just past the incident van, was strewn with flower tributes to Ben. Daniel had stopped to read some of the messages on his way to the Crolls’ house.

  The warmth and brightness of the morning was forbidden in the interview room. Sebastian sat at the top of the table, with Daniel and his mother facing the police officers. Sergeant Turner was accompanied this time by PC Hudson, a thin expectant man whose knees banged against the desk when he moved. Daniel knew that there was another roomful of police officers listening to the conversation. The interview was being video recorded and watched from another room.

  ‘OK, Sebastian,’ said Sergeant Turner, ‘what time do you think it was when you saw Ben out playing on his bike?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you remember if it was before your lunch or after?’

  ‘It was after lunch.’

  ‘It was definitely after lunch,’ Charlotte commented. ‘I made him lunch before he went out.’

  The police officer frowned at Charlotte’s interruption and made notes.

  ‘Whose idea was it to go to the park?’

  Sebastian put four fingers into his mouth. He turned his mint eyes up to the ceiling and rolled them back and forth. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Surely you can remember whose idea it was. He was on his bike and you didn’t have a bike. Was it your idea?’

  ‘I just said I don’t remember.’

  Daniel watched the smallest spasm of rage flame in the boy’s lips. He wondered if it was this which he understood when he looked at Sebastian. Anger was what Daniel remembered most from his childhood: anger and fear. Daniel had never owned Sebastian’s confidence, but there was still something about the boy which made Daniel remember himself as a child.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’ Sebastian asked Daniel suddenly.

  At first Daniel wondered if the boy was seeking refuge from the police officer’s questioning. Daniel shot a look at the police sergeant, then answered, ‘I fell … running.’

  ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘OK, Seb, so to get back to your story,’ said Sergeant Turner, ‘one of you decided to go to the park, then what happened?’

  Sebastian slumped down in his chair, chin into his chest.

  Charlotte began to stroke Sebastian’s leg. ‘He’s very sorry, Sergeant, he’s just tired. This is all so intense, isn’t it, darling? I think it’s just the detail that’s a bit wearing …’

  ‘Forgive me, Mrs Croll, but detail is my job. Can I ask you to be quiet and try not to answer for him?’

  Mrs Croll nodded.

  ‘So how did you get into the park, Seb?’

  ‘From the top gate …’

  ‘I see. Did you start having an argument with Ben when you were inside the park?’

  Sebastian shook his head violently, as if to shake away a fly.

  ‘You’re shaking your head, but there was a witness who said he saw two boys of your age fighting at the top of the park. Did anyone speak to you when you were with Ben – tell you to stop fighting?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sergeant,’ said Charlotte. ‘He just said that he and Ben didn’t have a falling-out. Seb’s just not the type for fighting, are you?’

  The sergeant took a deep breath then asked Sebastian if he wanted a break and a drink of juice. When the boy left to go to the bathroom, accompanied by PC Hudson, the sergeant folded his arms on the table. Daniel noticed the fleshy softness of the man’s hands.

  ‘I know it’s hard, Mrs Croll, but if you could try not to answer for him?’

  ‘I know, I will – I can, I suppose it’s just second nature. I can see he’s not being as articulate as he could be and I just want to help clear things up.’

  ‘That’s what we all want – to clear things up. Do you think you might step out for a little bit – have a cup of coffee maybe, just while I go through the rest of the questions?’

  Charlotte sat up in her seat and looked at Daniel.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ said Daniel. ‘Or you could agree to stay, but remain silent. You’re entitled to be here.’

  ‘You’ll make sure he’s OK?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  When Sebastian was brought back in, without his mother, he chose to sit closer to Daniel. He seemed fidgety and Daniel felt the occasional brush of the boy’s arm against his; a foot against his trouser leg.

  ‘So, you say there was no argument between you and Ben?’

  ‘No, we were play-fighting for a little bit. We were playing hide-and-seek and chasing each other then when he caught up with me we were rolling in the grass and play-fighting.’

  ‘Sometimes play-fighting can get out of hand. Is that what happened? Did you take it too far?’

  Again, Sebastian’s cheeks coloured with anger. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn�
��t, but Ben hit me a couple of times and it hurt – maybe he didn’t mean to – and so I shoved him off me.’

  ‘I see. You shoved Ben. What were you doing when the man with the dog called on you to stop? Were you hitting him?’

  ‘No.’ Sebastian was beginning to look pained.

  ‘Sergeant, this is getting very repetitive,’ said Daniel. ‘I think you’ll find he’s answered these questions already. Can we move on?’

  Sebastian sighed deeply and Daniel caught his eye and winked at him. The boy smiled broadly and then tried to wink back, scrunching up both his eyes.

  ‘I can’t do that, look,’ he said, his eyes tightly shut. ‘I need to practise.’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ said the sergeant. ‘After your fight, did you go to the adventure playground?’

  Sebastian was grinning with his eyes tight shut and the sergeant gave Daniel a look of exasperation. Daniel cleared his throat and then gently touched Sebastian’s arm.

  ‘I know it’s hard, but just a little longer, OK, Seb?’

  ‘Is your hand sore?’

  ‘Not any more, thanks, it’s getting better.’

  ‘Was it bleeding?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Was it gushing with blood?’ Again the mint eyes were wide.

  Daniel was surprised to feel his heart beating faster. He shook his head once – straightening his shoulders – and watched the police officers wetting their lips as they studied the boy.

  ‘What happened once you were at the adventure playground?’

  ‘We climbed up high and played on the tyres, then I said I wanted to go home ’cause I was hungry.’

  ‘I’ve got a picture here of the playground. Where were you climbing?’

  ‘I want to see my mum,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘Just a little longer, Sebastian. We’ve asked your mum to wait outside and you can see her as soon as you’re able to tell us what happened,’ said the sergeant.

  Daniel understood being a boy Sebastian’s age and being denied his mother – the desperation he’d felt at the forced distance between them. He imagined that Sebastian too felt this.