In the Woods полностью

I bought coffee for Rosalind and me and a 7-Up for Jessica. Jessica held her glass in both hands and stared, as if hypnotized, at the bubbles floating upwards, while Rosalind and I talked.

Frankly, I hadn't expected to take much pleasure in a teenager's conversation, but Rosalind was an unusual kid. The initial shock of Katy's death had worn off and for the first time I got a chance to see what she was really like: outgoing, bubbly, all sparkle and dash, ridiculously bright and articulate. I wondered where the girls like this had been when I was eighteen. She was naïve, but she knew it; she told jokes on herself with such zest and mischief that-in spite of the context, and my creeping worry that this level of innocence would get her into trouble one day, and Jessica sitting there watching invisible booglies like a cat-my laughter was real.

"What are you going to do when you leave school?" I asked. I was genuinely curious. I couldn't picture this girl in some nine-to-five office.

Rosalind smiled, but a sad little shadow passed across her face. "I'd love to study music. I've been playing the violin since I was nine, and I do a little bit of composing; my teacher says I'm…well, he says I shouldn't have any trouble getting into a good course. But…" She sighed. "It's expensive, and my-my parents don't really approve. They want me to do a secretarial course."

But they had been behind Katy's Royal Ballet School ambitions, all the way. In Domestic Violence I had seen cases like this, where parents choose a favorite or a scapegoat (I made a bit of a pet of her, Jonathan had said, that first day) and siblings grow up in utterly different families. Few of them end well.

"You'll find a way," I said. The idea of her as a secretary was ludicrous; what the hell was Devlin thinking? "A scholarship or something. It sounds like you're good."

She ducked her head modestly. "Well. Last year the National Youth Orchestra performed a sonata I wrote."

I didn't believe her, of course. The lie was transparent-something that size, someone would have mentioned it during the door-to-door-and it went straight to my heart as no sonata ever could have; because I recognized it. That's my twin brother, his name's Peter, he's seven minutes older than me… Children-and Rosalind was little more-don't tell pointless lies unless the reality is too much to bear.

For a moment I almost said as much. Rosalind, I know something's wrong at home; tell me, let me help… But it was too soon; she would just have thrown all her defenses up again, it would have undone everything I had managed to do. "Well done," I said. "That's pretty impressive."

She laughed a little, embarrassed; glanced up at me under her lashes.

"Your friends," she said timidly. "The ones who disappeared. What happened?"

"It's a long story," I said. I had painted myself into this one, and I had no idea how to get out of it. Rosalind's eyes were starting to turn suspicious, and, while there was not a chance in hell that I was going to go into the whole Knocknaree thing, the last thing I wanted was to lose her trust after all this.

Jessica, of all people, saved me: she shifted a little in the armchair, stretched out a finger to Rosalind's arm.

Rosalind didn't seem to notice. "Jessica?" I said.

"Oh-what is it, sweetheart?" Rosalind bent towards her. "Are you ready to tell Detective Ryan about the man?"

Jessica nodded stiffly. "I saw a man," she said, her eyes not on me but on Rosalind. "He talked to Katy."

My heart rate started to pick up. If I had been religious, I would have been lighting candles to every saint in the calendar for this: just one solid lead. "That's great, Jessica. Where was this?"

"On the road. When we were coming back from the shop."

"Just you and Katy?"

"Yes. We're allowed."

"I'm sure you are. What did he say?"

"He said"-Jessica took a deep breath-"he said, 'You're a very good dancer,' and Katy said, 'Thank you.' She likes when people say she's a good dancer."

She looked anxiously up at Rosalind. "You're doing wonderfully, pet," Rosalind said, stroking her hair. "Keep going."

Jessica nodded. Rosalind touched her glass, and Jessica took an obedient sip of her 7-Up. "Then," she said, "then he said, 'And you're a very pretty girl,' and Katy said, 'Thank you.' She likes that, too. And then he said…he said…'My little girl likes dancing, too, but she broke her leg. Do you want to come see her? It would make her very happy.' And Katy said, 'Not now. We have to go home.' So then we went home."

You're a pretty girl… These days, there are very few men who would say something like that to a twelve-year-old. "Do you know who the man was?" I asked. "Had you ever seen him before?"

She shook her head.

"What did he look like?"

Silence; a breath. "Big."

"Big like me? Tall?"