‘What time did you leave home to go to Abbasi’s?’
‘Six. I always get my paper at six.’
‘And what time did you leave Abbasi’s?’
Mathew shrugged. ‘Probably about twenty-past six.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘Sat on a bench at the corner of Croft Road.’
‘For how long?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘You need to tell the detective about Jim Bentley,’ Gareth said. ‘It’s important.’
Palmer raised an eyebrow. ‘Mathew?’
‘He was in the shop. Calling me names. Then he came and sat next to me on the bench.’
‘Did he speak to you?’
‘Yes. He asked me how come I was a retard when Gareth was normal. His eyes were all red and weird like he was drunk or on drugs. I tried to ignore him. Gareth says Bentley’s a loser, and Gareth’s right. A loser with a tiny brain and a big mouth.’
‘So, what happened next?’
‘The little girl walked by, and Bentley asked her if she would make him a cup of tea.’
‘Why would he say something like that?’
‘Because she was carrying a carton of milk.’
‘Did Jodie speak to him?’
‘No. She just ignored him and carried on walking. Then he got up and followed her.’
‘And that was the last you saw of her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go home then?’
Mathew’s fingers picked at a knot in the table.
‘I already told you,’ Sonia interrupted. ‘He went for a walk down the river.’
Palmer nodded. ‘Is that right, Mathew?’
Scraping back his chair with enough force to tip it over, Mathew said, ‘I don’t want to talk about it no more. I said someone was going to die, but no one would listen. And now she’s dead.’
He stomped through the kitchen, opened the back door, and went into the garden. He didn’t want to talk to the detective anymore. Not until he’d asked Tortilla what to do.
Even though DS Palmer appeared to be a reasonable man, Mathew knew the police were good at saying things to trap people. He’d watched enough programmes on TV to know that sometimes the police put the wrong people in jail.
Chapter Ten
Tortilla was in his customary position in the corner of the shed. He didn’t acknowledge Mathew as he walked inside and closed the door behind him. He also seemed uninterested in a wasp buzzing around the window as if trying to cut a hole in the glass to let himself out.
The barometer on the shed wall informed Mathew it was thirty-three degrees. Hot enough to fry eggs on the pavement if you didn’t care about hygiene like DS Palmer. He sat on the floor by Tortilla and laid a hand on the shell. He thought it was really clever how tortoises were born with their own ready-made homes. Somewhere they could hide when they didn’t want to be disturbed by detectives looking for dead little girls.
‘I’m in trouble.’
Why?
‘Because of the lie I told about going to the river.’
Oh, that.
‘Yes, that.’
I told you to tell your mum the truth.
‘I chickened out.’
Why?
‘Because I’m as dumb as everyone says.’
True.
‘Thanks!’
Don’t mention it.
‘There’s a detective in the house.’
What does he want?
‘He’s trying to find out what happened to Jodie.’
Jodie?
‘The kid who went missing.’
So, how come you’re in the shed talking to me?
‘I don’t want to speak to him anymore. I’m scared in case he thinks I killed her.’
But you didn’t. The police need evidence to solve crimes. They can’t just lock you up for no good reason.
Mathew wasn’t sure if that was true. He tried to remember all the cases he’d watched on TV, but his mind refused to think of anything other than the girl with the startled eyes and the carton of milk.
The shed door opened. Gareth leaned around the corner. ‘What you doing out here, Mattie?’
Mathew tapped Tortilla’s leopard-print shell. ‘Nothing.’
‘You can’t be doing “nothing”. Everyone’s doing “something”.’
‘I don’t want to talk to the detective.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘Does it matter? He’s only doing his job.’
Mathew tried to think of a reasonable response. Instead, he begged Gareth to go back inside and tell the DS he was too tired to answer any more questions.
‘I can’t do that, Mattie.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s gonna get suspicious.’
Mathew’s hand tapped harder against the shell. His feet jerked back and forth on the wooden floor. ‘But I don’t like the way he keeps looking at me as if he knows something I don’t.’
‘Don’t worry about that. The police are always like that. They’re suspicious by nature.’
‘But I don’t know what happened to her. All I know is she walked past us on the bench and then Jim Bentley followed her.’
‘Then that’s all you need to say.’
‘But I told Mum I went to the river when I didn’t.’
‘Just tell the truth, Mattie. You know what they say about being honest?’
‘What?’
‘The truth can’t lie.’
Mathew wasn’t sure what Gareth meant by that, but it was probably true because Gareth was clever and he didn’t tell lies. At least, not to him. ‘Do you promise?’
Gareth saluted. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘I’m tired.’
Gareth held out a hand. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over and done with. Then I’ll treat you to a pizza.’
‘I’ve got sandwiches.’
Gareth hauled his brother up. ‘They’ll be stale by now.’
As they walked back into the dining room, DS Palmer smiled. Mathew wasn’t fooled. The detective was only trying to make him feel comfortable and put him at ease so he could trick him with his questions.
Gareth gestured for Mathew to sit at the table, then took his own seat next to Palmer. ‘Mathew’s sorry he ran out. He’s just feeling tired. We all are in this heat.’
‘Okay. That’s understandable. I promise this won’t take long.’
Mathew fiddled with his plate of uneaten sandwiches. ‘But I’ve already told you everything. Jodie walked past us on the bench, then Jim Bentley followed her.’
Palmer opened his notebook and sat with a pencil poised. ‘Along St John’s Road?’
‘Yes.’
‘How far did you watch them go?’
‘As far as the bend near the Brooklands Estate.’
‘And you didn’t follow them?’
‘No.’
‘Then what did you do?’
‘I sat on the bench for a while, then I went for a walk.’
‘Where did you go?’
Mathew gawped at his mother, lower lip trembling. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t go to the river. I went along the Bunky Line.’