Page 82 of Twisted Lies

He frowned. ‘Would it have been so bad if they had? All boys his age are on social media.’

‘We just need to know if Tommy spent time with anyone in particular?’

Liam crossed his arms across his chest. ‘This is all very cloak and daggery. I’m sure if you explained the secrecy and the reason for the strange questions, I could assist you more.’

‘We have plenty of assistance, thank you, so if you could just answer th—’

‘There are no students I’m aware of that Tommy was particularly matey with. I think they’d all decided to leave him alone. We felt sorry for the lad, to be honest.’

‘We?’ Kim queried.

‘Yeah, me and Jacob, my assistant. I mean, sometimes…’ His words trailed away as something clicked in his head.

‘Please continue,’ Kim urged.

‘Well, sometimes Jacob would call him over if he was alone at lunchtime, to show him some kind of new computer game, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have overstepp—’ He stopped speaking, as though he didn’t want to get into any trouble.

‘You can be sure of that, can you?’

He appeared flustered. ‘Well, no, I wasn’t always around, but I trust Jacob with th—’

‘I think we need to talk to Jacob,’ Kim said, glancing towards the school.

‘He’s not here,’ Liam said, opening his car door. ‘And that’s what the head and I were arguing about. He’s not answering his phone or called in. I want to go check on him and the head is worried about covering my class.’

‘Have you seen him since our visit yesterday?’ Kim asked, feeling a burn in her stomach. He sure had beat a hasty retreat once they’d turned up.

Liam shook his head.

‘Okay, Mr Docherty, I appreciate your concern for your colleague, but I think it might be best if we try and track down Jacob Powell.’

‘He hasn’t done anything wrong,’ the teacher protested.

Kim appreciated his loyalty, but that wasn’t for him to say.

She was about to answer when her phone rang.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, stepping away from the teacher.

‘Go ahead, Penn.’

‘Victim three, boss – we’ve got a positive ID.’

Seventy-One

I am disappointed that she didn’t stay as long today. A light drizzle forced her from the bench earlier than normal.

She has no idea that she is my rock, that I get comfort from watching her absently throw crusts to the ducks. She comes, she sits, she stares and for some reason that simple constant in my life gives me the strength to go on.

I take the few short steps into the bathroom and pause. I look in the mirror and am again confronted with everything I have lost: my friends; family; stability; familiarity; and, in some ways, even myself.

The person who stares back at me is not the vision of myself I have in my mind. When I close my eyes my face is plumper; it has more colour. I am younger and without the dark circles beneath my eyes. My hair is longer, a different colour. Many days I have trouble imprinting the new me on top of the old one. It sounds ridiculous to say that I miss myself, but I do.

I take my toothbrush from the cup and lay it down on the sink, ready to receive the line of toothpaste I squeeze onto the bristles. Some spurts and hits the tap. I put the toothpaste back and turn the tap before picking up the brush. Every task has a rhythm, a process to be considered, a logic that I’d rarely considered before and yet provides me with comfort now. It is a reminder that I am alone and that I must find my own way to survive.

Was it worth it? I ask myself as I leave the bathroom.

My gaze rests on the space to the right of my bed.