Any One of Us, page 25
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Kendall said. “I saw them glowing through the fog. The lights hanging from the eaves of the music block.”
Ruby turned to that building – she could just make out the shape of a teacher sitting at a piano, the top of a double bass at his side.
“Christmas lights?”
“Yeah,” Kendall said. “The big golden lanterns they used to put up. And, it’s weird, because all the windows would have been shut, right? It was winter. Cold.”
“Sure?”
“But I could hear the singing,” Kendall said. “I can still hear the choir now. They were rehearsing. Funny, it completely ruined that carol for me. Shame. It’s such a beautiful song.”
Frozen solid again. A statue on the wall, Ruby just waited. She didn’t want to test fate, no leading questions. This, if nothing else, was the one thing he remembered about that day. So, she just stood there, and she waited.
And then, his voice small and distant in her ear, like the voice of an angel, Kendall said the title with such commitment, such unwavering, glorious certainty. “‘O Holy Night.’” He sighed. “The stars are brightly shining.”
And goosebumps ran across every inch of Ruby’s skin as her eyes fell closed all by themselves. A thrill of hope, she thought, the weary world rejoices.
Chapter Sixteen
Ruby was running. Back across the playground, taking the concrete steps two at a time, grabbing the rail to swing around the corner, down past the main building, then turning to arrive in the car park. She got to Will’s car, opened the door, climbed in. Out of breath, she called Jay and listened to the rings as she started the engine.
“Answer,” she mumbled to herself. “Pick up the—”
“Ruby,” he said, as she reversed out of the space, phone on her shoulder, clumsily switching to the other ear, good hand on the wheel now.
“Listen,” she looked left, checked the mirror, drove, “I need—”
“I’ve been trying to call you all day – we need to talk.”
“Jay—”
“I’ve had your boss on the phone.”
“Can you please—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Alfie’s place? Why on earth—”
“Would you shut the fuck up and listen.” Ruby came to a hard stop at the car park gates.
Silence. He was listening. She put the phone on the passenger seat, then pressed her earbuds in.
“I am sorry,” she added, now speaking hands-free. “I know what’s going on.” She drove through the gates, down the ramp and onto the road as she explained. Then said, “I need you to look at Scott’s file. Around November 1997, he attacked Kendall Robson, at school. There were no charges, but check the notes.”
He sighed. “Hang on, I’ll need to log in remotely.”
He was at home. Ruby remembered the date, that ambitious timeline – fourteen days had passed. The old station building was closed. Doors shut for good.
At some traffic lights, glowing red above the car, Ruby looked through the window. It was getting dark. She turned the headlights on and waited.
“Here we go,” Jay said. “It’s the very first entry. Officers attended the scene along with an ambulance. Seems . . .” He paused, reading. “Huh, OK. So, an officer – an unnamed officer – wanted to pursue GBH. They interviewed Scott Hopkins but . . .” More reading. “He maintained he was defending himself.”
“Bullshit.”
Green lights. Ruby pulled away, coming up the high street as Jay added, “This is just what it says. There was a statement provided some weeks later. From a student.”
“Who?”
“Anonymous. Just a letter. Typed, it says.”
“Is it there?” She waited at a zebra crossing.
“No.”
Ruby groaned. “Anything else?”
An elderly man shuffled through her headlights, in front of the car. Infuriatingly slow.
“That’s it on the file. Headline is, no real evidence. Nothing concrete from witnesses. Statement was useless without a name. One kid’s word against another. Schoolyard tussle that got out of control. These things happen . . .” A couple of clicks. “But . . . wait a second.”
The road cleared and Ruby accelerated, driving fast again, indicating at the upcoming corner, palm flat on the wheel as she turned and changed gear and revved up onto Bayhill Street.
“Right . . .” Click, click in her ear. “Scott’s statement. Kendall started the fight. Blah, blah, blah, he was acting in . . .” Jay’s voice changed, stern now, reading verbatim. “Suspect refused to provide names, but suggested if officers wished to corroborate his version of events, they should interview the eyewitnesses present. Mr Hopkins believed, in addition to himself and Kendall Robson, there were six eyewitnesses. One of whom was a member of staff.”
“Alfie?”
“Could be. Maybe he broke it up. Doesn’t say.”
“Six,” Ruby said. “So, add Scott to the list, that’s seven in total.”
“Seven, yes.”
“Two left, then,” Ruby said. “This is it. They’re killing the witnesses. Anyone who saw.”
“And Kendall?”
“He’s the victim. I’m sure he isn’t on the list.”
Ruby went over the single-lane railway bridge, slowing to pass a van.
“That’s not what I was getting at. Do you trust him?”
She thought about small, shy, intelligent Kendall. Sitting next to her in maths. Both at the front. Top of the class. He was too wise for a grudge. Besides, he couldn’t walk.
“I do. He doesn’t even know who was there. And he wouldn’t . . . Plus, Kendall’s stepsister is married to . . . Elizabeth was his sister in-law. They’re technically family.”
Now it was a straight line, the residential lanes narrow, the engine loud, booming off the close walls, front doors zipping past.
“We’re still looking at someone who knew the witnesses, then?”
“Yes.”
“Male.”
The notebook thief. “Yes.”
“Someone dangerous, disturbed . . .”
Ruby knew what he was suggesting. “I agree, getting Frank Enfield in cuffs is still a priority.” She indicated at the junction – click, clunk, click, clunk. “But this is something. Let’s keep a clear—”
“And there’s the small matter of the guns.”
“What guns?”
“Scott’s is unaccounted for, we know that. But I’ve just been told another registered pistol is also missing from his locker. I’m guessing Frank went back for it. Just be careful. Two guns.”
Three if you count the sawn-off in the boot, Ruby thought. But she stayed silent, stomached the shame. Then again, if there were three guns in play, Ruby was relieved she had one of them.
“Two names left on the list,” she said. “We need to figure out who they are.”
“Perhaps Kendall might be of some assistance?”
“Agreed.” Ruby arrived on his street. “I’m with him right now. Thank you.”
Ruby hung up. She parked the car on double yellow lines, climbed out and jogged the final ten metres to his tall terraced house. Knocking, she thumbed the bell. Checked her watch, body twitching impatiently.
There was some commotion behind Kendall’s door. And then, with an awkward judder, it began to open. He had to retreat in his wheelchair to allow her inside.
Having assisted, she closed the door and followed him into the living room, sitting immediately as he straightened himself up at her side – his wheelchair spokes clicking, a final bead falling into place when he stopped.
She’d already explained her theory on the phone, now, “There are seven names on the list,” Ruby said. “Someone is killing people who witnessed the attack. People who saw Scott push you.”
“God.”
Ruby leant forwards, elbows on her knees. “I think Mary, Scott, Elizabeth and Adam were there. And Alfie Rogers, the old photography teacher, he would have been looking down from his office window.”
“And he’s dead?” Kendall whispered, his eyes full of shock.
“He is.”
“But why . . . why do you think . . . ?”
Wincing, she explained that, “We heard the suspect on Adam’s 999 call. As they . . . after he’d killed him, he hummed a tune. And he whistled . . .” Instead of saying the title, Ruby just quietly sang, “Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices.”
Kendall looked down at his lap and nodded through a long silence, Ruby staring at him the whole time. She didn’t need to say anything. He was smart enough to know what she was thinking. But he didn’t speak. He wanted her to ask.
“I just told a colleague that you are not personally involved,” she said. “Am I being naïve?”
He smiled, eyebrows lifted. “We’re back to the elephant in the room.” Kendall waved his hand. “If Scott was the only one, this would make a lot of sense. But the others? And why would I care? They didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly. They didn’t do anything. They just stood by.”
“Fine.” He hesitated. “So, devil’s advocate. There is a moral argument that Scott deserved to die. But I just can’t stretch further than that. So, to answer your question, no. You’re not being naïve. I promise, Ruby, really, I promise I have nothing to do with this.”
She believed him. “We need to think. Together. We need to work out who else might have been there.” She got her phone out, opened the full-year picture and passed it over.
Kendall seemed momentarily overwhelmed as he looked down at more than a hundred and sixty faces, all their classmates lined up, smart in their uniforms.
“Haven’t seen this for years,” he said, fascination and nostalgia calming the room.
Behind him, through a doorway blocked off by a loose curtain, Ruby could hear the radio in the kitchen. Whispering country music. An American woman singing a sad song, just her faint voice and her slow acoustic guitar. Ruby couldn’t make out any lyrics, but knew it was about something tragic – an overwhelming pain reaching up from the past.
And she looked at the scar on Kendall’s jawline, lit by the antique lamp in the corner – its bulb warm and red, the tassel rim of its old shade throwing laddered shadows across the wall.
Kendall inspected the photo, then looked up at her. “And two more?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he shook his head as though Ruby had missed something obvious, “Frankenfield?”
She nodded. “Maybe, sure.”
“He and Scott were best friends. Or more. I mean, they had a bit of a weird relationship.”
Laughing, Ruby tilted her head. “You could say that.”
“And Frank’s alive.” Kendall pointed at the small TV in the corner, next to the lamp. “They said on the news he was wanted.”
“That’s right, he is.”
“Isn’t that suspicious, though? He’s been missing for all this time and now he’s back?”
“It’s . . .”
“Then again, even if he is as mad as he used to be, why would he kill his best friend?” Kendall seemed to be thinking hard, eyes fixed on nothing, just hovering around the centre of the room. “Do you know where he’s been?” he asked, turning to Ruby.
Of course, how could Kendall have known that Frank Enfield never even left town? He’d been sitting in a room for a decade. Scott’s prisoner, kept there by coercion alone. No locks. Just blind, dogged loyalty that didn’t make sense to any rational mind.
Ruby knew she should tread carefully when sharing information about an active investigation. She’d probably said too much already. But here was that conflict, the divide between professional and personal bridged once again. Kendall was a friend; she trusted him and needed his help.
“It’s,” she began, resisting the urge to tell him everything, “it’s complicated.” There was so much doubt here. Frank remained an extremely prominent question mark. But Ruby felt her instincts filling in the gaps. “I don’t think he’s responsible. It does appear that he was,” she thought about the best way to phrase this, “elsewhere at all the relevant times.” Plus, she’d seen the culprit from behind. Only a glimpse, but he wasn’t six and a half feet tall. Frank was unmistakable.
Kendall took a big breath, puffing air out with a shrug. “If you’re asking me to speculate about who else might have witnessed it, Frank would be at the top of the list.”
“Good. OK, who else?”
For the next hour or so, she and Kendall brainstormed some names, producing a shortlist of nine people. Frank felt secure at the top, but those below seemed flimsy. Guesswork. Friendship groups, flings, any vague connection that might put those former students on the playing field at that exact moment. It was too early to send uniformed officers to any homes. She’d need to narrow them down.
Her next move was obvious. Ruby would make contact with them and simply ask if they were there. Having been reasonably good friends with Elizabeth, Will’s name was on the list. And, although he was one of the least likely candidates, Ruby had his number. So, she’d start with him.
She left just before 9pm, climbed back into the car and put the scrap of paper on the passenger seat.
Earbuds in, she scrolled down to Will. Hit call. And, as she pulled away, he answered. She explained the situation for a third time – the account now down to three short, punchy sentences. No pauses, no windows for him to ask the hundred questions he had ready to go on the tip of his tongue.
“No,” Will said, “I wasn’t there.”
“Any thoughts on who else might have been?”
“Well.” He hummed. “I’d be guessing, but I would agree, Frank seems likely. I remember Elizabeth mentioning it too. And Mary and Adam, they got busy in the changing rooms – you remember?”
“I do remember that.” The strange intimacy of adolescent gossip. Back then, sex acts were an arms race. They were neither adults nor children. Still young enough to talk openly about the alluring things they were scarcely old enough to do.
She pulled back out onto the high street, now at the top of the hill, car pointing down towards the coastline. One of the highest points in town.
“But otherwise, no, I’m sorry,” Will added. “I wouldn’t know.”
“OK, thank you, do you have contact details for any of the following—”
Beep. Beep. Her phone lit up, announcing an incoming call in her ear. “Sorry, I have to go.”
Ruby answered, expecting to hear Jay’s voice – she’d give him these names, get them into the system, see if there were any threads to pull. But it was someone else.
“Hey, Ruby, Ruby Shaw?” It was Detective Warren from the Metropolitan Police. She’d been dreading this call all day.
“Speaking.”
He introduced himself again, like she might have forgotten their conversation yesterday. But he’d dropped his sympathetic tone and now sounded professional. Which meant he knew who she was.
Ruby was stationary now, stopped at some more red lights. There were no other cars around. Just her, alone, waiting at the very top of the hill.
Detective Warren went straight to business. “Listen, we’ve just pulled some CCTV footage from near to Alan, to Alfie Rogers’ flat. We’ve got some good images, I’ll send them over.”
Ruby looked up at the traffic lights but, when they turned green, she didn’t move. Instead, she leant forwards, towards the windscreen, squinting at something. A low cloud, emanating from somewhere down the hill. It was glowing behind the orange haze of streetlights level with the car. Beyond, the black ocean stretched out for infinity, a perfect, clean backdrop for what was quite clearly smoke. A huge plume disappearing into the night above.
“Are you there?” he said.
“Yeah, just . . . just a sec . . .”
Ruby climbed out of the car, standing now on the road. Stunned and staring as though facing an apocalyptic vision, like those nameless extras in a film that get out of their vehicles, mouths open, awestruck by some unimaginable sight in the sky.
She took a few steps sideways, arriving on the pavement. Leaning, looking through the skyline, the rooftops and telegraph wires, she followed the smoke down and saw that, yeah, it was coming from South Street. The station building.
“My God,” Ruby said, certain now.
“What?” the detective in her ears seemed concerned.
“The station, the old station building in Missbrook Bay.”
“What about it?”
“It’s . . . on fire.”
“Shit.” He sounded unfazed, like this wasn’t important. Just a coincidence. “Got your hands full there, hey? Anyway, pictures are on their way over to you, sending,” she heard a click, “now.”
Ruby turned, went back to the car, the engine still running. “Thank you.”
“We think there’s more, pulling them together now.” Detective Warren continued talking about cameras and evidence as she drove fast down the hill.
Ruby replied with short, distracted sounds.
The roads were clear and, within a minute, she was approaching the scene, discovering just how big the column of smoke was – daunting now she was below it, looking up at the flames pushing a fierce orange glow into the underside of the cloud.
Coming around the final corner, Ruby drove slowly. She saw silhouettes of cars, people, the rectangle of a fire engine parked out the front. Blue emergency lights lost in the chaos and heat.
“Some great views,” the detective was saying. “Three cameras on the north side.”
Ruby spotted Jay and some uniformed officers on the road. The firefighters unravelling hoses. Pointing, shouting. Gathering onlookers held in place by a line of police, arms spread, herding them all back.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll have a look,” Ruby said, pulling over.
“I’ll call back when we do get a clearer shot,” Detective Warren said. “Once we align the times. To be perfectly honest, it’s not the best at the moment. Pretty blurry.”
She climbed out, the smell of smoke and the roar of fire arriving immediately, like she’d fallen into a warzone. The car door hung open behind her, the station building lit up like a bomb had hit it, tornadoes coming out of the upstairs windows, flames crawling tight around the frames. Ruby walked into the road, still dazed, hypnotised.
