Essential Listening: Liar, Dar Williams
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Grace watched the girl through the glass while she waited for the school administrator to join them. She didn't like to take the woman away from her work, especially when there were parents to soothe – and now the press were onto them, too – but any time spent talking to Odette Moss without Principal Blake hovering in the background like a bad-tempered hornet in a cardigan would be useful.
She was sketching something, the book turned away from the window a little; Grace could just make out a few stray lines. Alone and feeling unobserved, Odette's posture was more relaxed – though she still had a weary slump to her shoulders. As Grace watched, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, carelessly smudging pencil down one cheek.
It made Grace smile, sadly.
"She was close to Piper," said Nancy, who had appeared out of nowhere like Jacob Marley's ghost. "This will hit her hard."
Startled, Grace looked hard at the administrator: like Ms Blake, she was pale and shaken, and she had been crying, too, over the loss of a friend.
"What do you make of her?" Grace asked, nodding into the teacher's lounge.
Nancy looked at the girl for a moment, before sighing.
"A pleasant girl, which can be a bit of a problem in a school like this," she said, simply.
Grace nodded, thinking that her description had said a great deal more than she was probably contractually obliged to put into words. It never failed to astonish her how few schools were prepared to actually do anything actually useful about bullying.
"This is going to be really unpleasant," she said aloud. "Can I count on you to let me get the information I need – and be there for her when she needs it?"
"Of course."
There was a slight pause.
"Why are you focussing on her, might I ask?" the administrator asked, curiously.
"Her name came up a few times," said Grace, vaguely. "And her art coursework bears a striking similarity to the crime scenes."
Nancy Cartwright frowned, but chose to remain silent. Grace filed her reaction under 'interesting' and opened the door. Odette startled, looking around in fear like a wild bird. Her face was quickly engulfed behind her hair.
"Sorry," said Grace, moving purposefully into the room. "Didn't mean to make you jump. May I see?" she added.
Odette paused, halfway through stuffing her sketchbook and pencils out of sight in her bag. She hesitated, glanced behind Grace to Nancy Cartwright, who was closing the door, and changed her mind, holding the book out.
"Thank you," said Grace, sitting down. "Ms Blake is a little busy right now, so I asked Ms Cartwright to sit in, if that's okay?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Odette assess the administrator; her earlier tension was there, but to a lesser degree, which was what Grace had gambled on. She turned her attention to the sketchbook. Unlike the artwork produced for her school project, the contents of the book were less modernist – and less worrying. They were mostly of natural creatures: tiny birds in the trees outside classroom windows; detailed sketches of birds from photographs in books; a particularly mischievous squirrel basking in the sun on a window ledge; her fellow students.
One page was entirely made up of eyes – laughing eyes, sad eyes, happy eyes, narrowed eyes… another page consisted of different shapes of noses.
Odette clearly had an eye for expression – even the smallest of sketches seemed to leap from the pages. She had drawn each character with great affection. The bitterness of the work in the art room was a stark contrast to these sketches. Maybe, Grace reflected, these were closer to the way Odette really felt – the exploration of the natural world, rather than the bleaker, sharply tonal manufactured world she had created for her exam.
It gave her hope for the girl.
"These are beautiful," she said aloud, and meant it. Her eyes rested on a stunning watercolour of a Waxwing for a moment before she closed the book and handed it back to Odette, who blushed.
"Thank you," she said, with a hint of pride.
Grace gave her a small smile, which quickly faded.
"Are you okay to answer a few more questions?"
Odette nodded; this time, Grace noted, there was a degree of openness in her posture that hadn't been there before.
"Great. I need to run by a few things with you – we're trying to establish where everybody was the night before last."
"What time?"
"Any time after dinner," she paused and turned to Nancy Cartwright. "Dinner is about seven, yes?"
"That's correct, Agent Pearce."
"So from dinner until the next morning, if you please."
Odette bit her lip.
"I ate dinner with everybody else, then I went to the art room to work on my coursework – we have to put a portfolio together and write a short piece about each one," she explained.
"Can't you work on that in study group?" Nancy asked, gently.
"No," said Odette and then apparently fought with herself for a moment. She seemed to lose the battle, because her answer wasn't entirely honest. "I can't concentrate in there."
The truth, but none of the detail, Grace thought.
"I stayed there until the curfew," she said.
"Curfew?"
"Our students are expected to be in their beds by half-past ten," the administrator explained.
Odette nodded.
"Lights out is at eleven for the eleventh and twelfth grades," she added. "I read in bed for a little while –"
"After the lights went out?" Grace asked, carefully.
"I – uh – have a torch," Odette admitted, with an embarrassed glance at the administrator. "I got up about six and had a shower. I like to be out of the dormitory before the other girls – I mean – they take so long in the bathroom –"
Grace nodded, ignoring her slip.
"Did you go straight to sleep?"
"Yes, actually," she said, and frowned. "Normally I'm awake for longer, but on Thursdays we have sport first thing and it was soccer practice – I'd been yawning all day."
"Did you hear anything unusual?"
"No – uh – maybe – I don't know." She hesitated and chewed her lower lip for a moment. "I thought I heard the showers – and one of the doors go – but I must have been dreaming. I turned over to see, but all the lights were off."
"And the other girls were all in bed?"
"Yeah – but we share the showers with the other dorm. There's four of us to a room and eight to a bathroom. There's another set of dorms across from us, and their bathroom's right up against ours – it could have been someone in there."
"At about what time was this?" Grace asked, making a note of it.
"Uh – I don't know… I can't see the clock without turning a light on and I didn't want to wake anyone up, so – early morning I think. The safety lights were out in the hall, and it was pretty quiet. I think I probably dreamed it."
"The safety lights all go out at one a.m.," said Nancy, helpfully. "It's partly to help the younger students sleep, and partly so we don't injure ourselves on patrols."
"How bright are they?" Grace asked, interested.
"Not very," Nancy admitted. "I've walked into things more than once."
"It's really spooky at night," Odette agreed. "Sort of a grey light, like something out of a horror movie."
Nancy nodded.
Just the right kind of light to let you slip about almost unnoticed, Grace mused. Or make just enough noise to lure someone out of their office… or commit a crime without having to turn the lights on.
"And all of the girls in your dormitory were where they ought to be?" Grace asked.
"Yeah," said Odette, with absolute certainty. "Two of them snore, and Sarah's between me and the window, so I can see her pretty easily."
"And they were there when you got up for your shower?"
"Yes."
"Anything seem out of place?"
"In a dormitory with four teenage girls?" Odette asked, with a hint of amusement. "There's stuff everywhere – mine included. You probably wouldn't notice if a tornado came through!"
Grace chuckled.
"I was just the same," she admitted. "Clothes and books everywhere."
Odette smiled, properly for a moment, and Grace thought it suited her. Then she remembered why she was there.
"Agent Pearce," she said, quietly, her face falling. "How did Mr Carpenter die?"
"How do you think he died?" Grace asked, carefully.
"You and the other agent – the doctor – you said he was k-killed and it was suspicious," she replied, stumbling a little over the words. "And you're from the FBI, and you wouldn't be asking all these questions if it was an accident – and I heard Lucy Dowler telling Sarah he was m-murdered."
Grace nodded, her face carefully blank.
"I'm afraid so, Odette."
"Oh God," she gaped, aghast.
It seemed, for a moment, as if she were about to cry, but she shook her head as if denying herself the luxury.
"What I said before – about him being kind to me – he was. He was kind to everyone." She shook her head again. "I can't believe it."
Grace watched her carefully while Nancy Cartwright got her a glass of water. Her grief seemed genuine enough, but that was a tricky emotion, and could be all too easy to fake.
"Can I just check," she asked, when Odette had taken a sip of the water. "You said you went to see him on Thursday – remind me what you talked about?"
She caught the evasive motion of the girl's eyes. Odette took another sip, giving herself time to think.
"The usual stuff," she said, vaguely. "Schoolwork, mostly."
"What about it?"
"It's – uh – it's getting nearer to our submission deadlines in a couple of subjects," she lied. "He wanted to make sure I was coping okay."
Grace nodded, pretending to accept that at face value.
"Thanks." She made a couple more notes and then looked back at Odette. "Did anything seem off to you, during the meeting?"
Odette shook her head, looking troubled.
So that's a lie, too, Grace thought. What are you hiding?
"Nothing at all?"
"Well, like what?" the girl asked.
"Like – was there anything in Mr Carpenter's office that you saw that seemed out of place?"
"No."
"Did he seem stressed or upset to you?"
Odette hesitated just long enough for Grace to read the truth in her face; she shook her head.
"Okay. When you left – did you see anyone hanging around his office?"
"No," said Odette. "There was no-one around. It was about four by then, and he was heading to his drama rehearsal – they're putting a show on at the end of the semester," she explained, in an off-hand manner that suggested she had little interest in it. "He asked me to work on painting the sets when it got closer to the show, but I wasn't sure I wanted to."
"Why?" Grace asked, watching her.
Odette shrugged.
"It's not really my thing."
"Not detailed enough?" Grace asked, thinking of the depth of expression on the birds in Odette's sketchbook.
"Something like that."
"Why couldn't he meet with you on Friday?"
"I told you, he had a staff meeting," said Odette, beginning to sound impatient.
"There aren't any staff meetings on Fridays," said Nancy, slowly.
Grace raised an eyebrow at Odette, who seemed to panic for a moment.
"That's what he told me."
"Why would he lie?" Grace asked.
"I don't know," she said, sullenly.
Grace closed her notebook and folded her hands over it.
"Alright, Odette," she said. "I'm going to need the truth."
"I'm telling you the truth," she said, almost petulantly. Her eyes were fixed on Nancy Cartwright's knees, as if silently pleading for her help.
"Some of it, yes, but not all of it."
Odette's pale green eyes flicked up to her face, surprised.
"Ms Cartwright," said Grace, her eyes not leaving Odette's for a moment. "Am I right in saying that nothing said in the next five minutes will ever leave this room?"
"You have my word, Agent Pearce."
Odette stared between them for a moment.
"Not even – not even Blake?" she said, in a small voice.
"Not even Ms Blake," said Nancy, firmly.
Odette took a gulp of breath.
"Okay, we talked about – about my letters."
"Your letters?" Grace prompted.
"To my family – I've not heard from them in months – and I keep writing. I asked Ms Blake about it and she told me that there just weren't any."
"And you didn't believe her?" asked Grace, as Nancy made a startled tutting noise.
"No – she told me off for asking, said I was being insubordinate."
Nancy huffed again. Clearly, this was not behaviour she was prepared to tolerate in her Principal.
"When was this?" Grace asked.
"Months ago now – around Christmas," Odette explained. "I had to stay here because Aunt Paula was sick – that was the last I heard from any of them."
"Have you spoken to Mr Carpenter about this before?"
"A couple of times, but this time it made him really angry."
"I'll bet it did," said Nancy. "I handle the mail, Miss Moss, and I have seen letters addressed to you."
Odette stared at the administrator, stunned.
"Come to me in future and I'll see that you get them – I can't imagine what's been happening," she said, though Grace suspected she now had a fair idea. "Once the FBI have finished here I'll go through the office to see where the others have got to – and if you have anything you want to send, you can bring it directly to me."
"Th-thank you," said Odette, clearly surprised. Even through her grief at losing her one ally in Fairview, a startled sort of hope had kindled behind her eyes.
"What did Mr Carpenter say he was going to do?" Grace asked, bringing them back to task.
"He didn't, exactly," said Odette. "He just said he was going to fix it for me."
And who would he have taken his concerns to, I wonder?
"Have you been having problems with the other students?" Grace asked, bluntly.
Odette looked momentarily fearful, but Nancy Cartwright had given her word – already things were marginally better.
"Yes," she said, her voice harsh in the still room.
"Who?"
This last admission seemed to have been too much for her, however. She shook her head and looked at her knees.
Grace looked away, thoughtfully, and decided to take a chance.
"The ones that call you 'the Leech'?" she asked, gently.
The hurt was clear on the girl's face, appalled that someone who had only been in the school for a day had already heard that nickname. Grace nodded, and continued before Odette felt compelled to speak:
"Have you spoken to Mr Carpenter about them?"
Odette made a small motion with her head that might have been a nod.
"Right. Thank you for being honest," she said. "I'm afraid there are a couple more questions. What did you do after dinner last night?"
The girl sat up a little from her cowed position, puzzled.
"The same as the night before," she said.
"Exactly the same?"
"Yeah – well, I couldn't concentrate on my work what with Mr Carpenter and everything, so I left the art rooms earlier and went to the library instead," she said, sounding confused. "I returned a book and checked out a new one for biology, and then I went to bed."
"Did you hear the showers again?"
Odette went to shake her head, but then frowned and nodded.
"Yes – yeah, I did… How did you know?"
"While you were in the art room, did you see anyone around – other students, Mrs Bonnell?"
Odette was getting flustered now.
"No – wait, Mrs Bonnell was there for about an hour, working in the back," she said. "She was preparing a still life for the ninth graders. She said goodnight a little while before I gave up and went to the library."
"About what time – do you remember?"
"Uh… it must have been about half past eight," she said; her face changed suddenly and thrust her hand into her backpack. Grace watched her micro-expressions as she extracted a small piece of paper. "You get a ticket from the computer when you take out a book," she explained, and then passed it to Grace. "Here."
Grace looked the ticket over – sure enough, the time stamp at the bottom was 20:47. Just about the right amount of time for someone to get to the library from the art department and find the book they needed.
"Can I keep this?" Grace asked, and thanked her before she could argue. "Was anyone around when you got back to the dorm?"
"Yes," said Odette, a suspicious tone beginning to creep into her voice. "Sarah and Lucy were there, playing cards."
Grace sat back, satisfied – for the moment. Odette had given a creditable account of herself, but there was nothing to say she hadn't waited until her dorm-mates were asleep and crept out.
"Tell me about your coursework," she said, changing tack.
"My – my coursework?" Odette asked, surprised.
"The one you're putting a portfolio together for."
"Uh… okay," she said, with a baffled glance at Nancy Cartwright. "I based it on a medieval triptych – you know, those three-part paintings you get in churches? The topic was 'corporate America', so I made the icons more modern – bankers, socialites, that sort of thing."
"I think I've seen it," said Grace. "Dark settings, bright splashes of colour on the subjects?"
"Yes Ma'am, that's mine," said Odette, with academic pride.
"The crucifixion, Mary and the holy infant, and Christ's ascension."
"Right," said Odette. "It's way darker than the stuff I normally do, but Mrs Bonnell told us that was the kind of thing the examiners wanted – to show we had depth in our work. I – I'm actually quite proud of the way it turned out. What did you think of it?" she asked, almost shyly.
Grace hesitated and chose her next words carefully.
"It's very well-executed," she said, after a moment. "And certainly very striking."
Odette looked quite pleased with that.
"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you, Odette," she said.
Odette froze, her expression suddenly guarded, waiting for the inevitable fall.
"You asked how Mr Carpenter died," she began, as delicately as she could. "It seems he was crucified."
Odette's eyes became two near-perfect circles. Her hands rose involuntarily to her mouth.
"He was suspended at the end of the corridor by the drama studio, with a crown of thorns on his head and a stage light on him," she said, brutally. Odette seemed to sway for a moment. "Which was also rather striking."
"Oh my God," said Odette, weakly. "Oh my God! Like my painting…"
"Like your painting," Grace agreed. "The similarity was difficult to miss."
Odette's expression changed again as shock became suspicion and anger.
"And you think I…?" she gasped. "That's why you're talking to me, isn't it? Oh my God!"
Grace let her stew for a few moments, brushing her qualms about the girl's feelings aside. They had to be sure.
"That's not all," she said, with a meaningful glance at Nancy Cartwright. "There's been another death."
It looked a bit like Odette's heart might have stopped entirely. She held herself very still.
"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Piper Bonnell was found murdered this morning."
Grace hadn't even got to the end of the sentence before Odette began to shake; it was as if a lightning bolt had gone through her. She burst into stunned, frightened tears. The administrator was by her side in an instant, one arm around her shoulders, muttering soothing things to the girl.
Years of practice had taught Grace when to push it and when not to, and she waited patiently for the storm to subside.
"I'm sorry," she said again, when Odette was calmer. "I understand you were close?"
Odette swallowed and nodded.
"Art – it's my favourite subject – Mrs Bonnell – she let me sit in the art room and w-work," she sobbed.
"Okay, we don't have to do this all now," said Grace, who wasn't without feeling.
Nancy Cartwright gave her a grateful nod.
She had been about to suggest that they take a break when the door to the staff lounge slammed open, banging against the far wall.
Grace sprang to her feet, her instinct putting her between Odette and Nancy and whatever was coming through the door, one hand on the grip of her gun.
Ms Blake filled the doorway, incandescent with rage.
"How dare you speak to one of my students without proper representation!" she shrieked, leaning rather closer into Grace's face than she was happy with.
"Ms Blake –"
"It's a disgrace! I will be putting in a complaint direct to your superior!" She yelled.
Grace felt her Met training kick in. She squared her shoulders and stood her ground.
"Ms Blake –"
"The word of a twisted little bitch will not be held against this school! This is all your fault, Moss!" she added, looking around Grace.
Blake hesitated for a moment when she caught sight of her administrator – looking scandalised, but it was over quickly. She rounded on Odette.
"Anyone can fake tears, my dear – do you honestly think you can fool us all? You might be able to trick these buffoons from the FBI, but –"
"That is quite enough," said Grace, in a ringing voice that seemed to take Ms Blake by the shoulders and shake her slightly. "As you can see, Miss Moss has been answering questions supported by Ms Cartwright, who is a representative of your school. May I ask you to take a step back please, madam?"
The Principal did, which seemed to come as much of a surprise to her as anyone. Behind her, Agent Rossi and Detective Whiteley appeared, a little out of breath. She must have run all the way when she'd figured out what they were up to.
"I'd thank you not to intimidate our witness any further, Ms Blake," said Grace, in a much more normal voice, still with a note of command.
"Witness?" the woman exclaimed, shocked. "You mean suspect!"
"You think I did it?" Odette gasped, in a voice much higher than usual. She stared around at Nancy and Grace, at her Principal, and at the two agents in the doorway, horrified.
Grace turned to find the girl on her feet, shaking with fear, grief and astonishment.
"Of course you di–" Ms Blake began, hotly, but Grace interrupted.
"I don't."
"I think we need to have a little chat," said Rossi, as Odette stared at Grace.
Ms Blake didn't seem able to form sentences anymore, staring hollowly at Grace, so Rossi took one of her arms and gently escorted her out of the room, Detective Whiteley discretely taking the other arm. It had been cheating, she supposed, to use magic to make her back down, but sometimes there wasn't a great deal of choice. Using the Voice had got her out of stickier situations in the past.
"Don't take any notice of her, Odette." Nancy managed, after a moment. "She's under a lot of stress."
I wonder just what it is she'd afraid we'll uncover, Grace wondered. 'This is all your fault…'
"She found Mrs Bonnell," said Grace, watching Odette watch her. "It was a bit of a shock."
Odette sank into her chair, emotionally exhausted.
"You don't think I did it?" she asked, after a moment.
"No," said Grace, with certainty.
"Why?"
"You strike me as a poisoner," she said, off-hand enough to make the girl chuckle wetly. "No, I don't think you'd kill anyone," she said. "You keep your head down as best you can and weather all the abuse. You get it out of your system through some of your art and you keep going."
Odette watched her carefully.
"Thank you," she said, after a moment.
"Ms Cartwright, could I ask you to look after Odette, please?"
"Yes," said the older woman simply, still appalled at her colleague's behaviour.
Grace turned to go.
"Agent Pearce?"
"Yes, Odette?"
"You said Mr Carpenter was – like my painting," she sniffed. "How was – I mean – Mrs Bonnell –?"
Grace looked at the ground for a moment. Really, the girl had been through enough today, but she'd find out one way or the other.
"Mother Mary."