interior of Brotherstone’s house. A huge L-shaped red-fabric sofa took up most of two walls. The majority of the dark laminate flooring was obscured by an enormous orange and yellow circular rug. Unsurprisingly, a flat-screen TV hung on the far wall; below it, a modern-design chrome electric fire. Gray noticed the oversized beanbag in the corner of the room and prayed that he wouldn’t have to sit on it. He couldn’t understand the things. Uncomfortable to sit on, impossible to get back out of, and they made that annoying crunchy noise whenever you moved.
‘Here, I’ll move.’ A tall stringy man in a tight white T-shirt, black lycra tights and bare feet stood up from the sofa and took himself over to the beanbag, where he sat back down with a crunch.
On the other end of the sofa, a girl sat with her legs curled under her, an untouched mug of tea on a small table placed nearby. She looked miserable. Gray suspected there was more than a hint of hangover in the mix.
Gray sat and waited for Kevin Brownlee to come into the room before he spoke.
‘So,’ Gray said, taking out his notepad and pen. ‘Jenny? That’s right, isn’t it?’
The girl nodded.
‘And who’s this?’ Gray asked, looking towards the man sitting uncomfortably on the beanbag.
‘Dave Morriss,’ the man replied. ‘I—’
‘Dave’s the one who helped Jenny up at the Track,’ Kevin Brownlee butted in. ‘I’ve had to put his shoes and socks in the bloody washing machine.’
Jenny made a small choking sound and Gray turned towards her, hoping for some insight.
‘I puked on his shoes,’ Jenny said. She pulled a stand of hair across her mouth and sucked on it to try to hide her smirk. ‘I got a fright.’
Kevin Brownlee stood up. ‘Oh, it’s funny now, eh? Wasn’t that when Mr Morriss kindly brought you back here while you were bubblin’ and greetin’ your wee eyes out, eh?’
Gray heard the crunch as Morriss shifted uncomfortably in the beanbag.
‘Oh really, it was no trouble, I—’
Gray raised a hand. ‘Right. OK. Maybe if I can hear from Jenny first, Mr Morriss? Then you can tell me what you saw. Make sure I’ve got the full picture, eh?’ He turned back to Jenny. ‘In your own time.’
Jenny sighed. The sigh said I’ve already told all this to my dad and he’s pissed off with me for causing trouble and now I suppose I’ve got to say it all again to you now, don’t I? Gray had heard the sigh before. He called it the ‘Teenage Sigh’. It was used regularly by all youths accused of doing something wrong, doing nothing at all, as a first response to a question as innocuous as ‘How are you?’ Teens, it seemed, viewed all attempts at conversation directed at them by an adult as highly suspicious.
‘He was just standing there in the trees.’
‘Did he approach you?’
She frowned. ‘Kind of. He started walking towards me. He … he snapped a stick. It sounds stupid now.’ She turned towards Dave Morriss, who was still sitting awkwardly on the beanbag, and smiled. ‘He saved me,’ she said, pointing at the man, who opened his mouth to say something.
Gray silenced it with a raised hand. Wait your turn, son . He scribbled in his notepad. No physical contact .
‘Did he speak to you? Make any sound at all? Anything you could identify?’
Jenny shook her head again, bit her bottom lip.
Gray changed tack. ‘OK. Can you tell me what he looked like? What he was wearing? Height, build, anything like that?’
Jenny sat up straight on the couch. ‘Well, he was tall … like you. A bit skinnier than you, though. I suppose you’d call him “lanky”. He was in jeans and a black fleece. Nothing unusual. No, like, logos or badges or anything …’
She paused, and Gray nodded at her to continue.
‘I couldn’t see any part of his face or his hair. Because of the balaclava, you know? His head must’ve been boiling.’
The girl seemed more relaxed now, Gray thought. Now that the danger had passed, she
‘Here, I’ll move.’ A tall stringy man in a tight white T-shirt, black lycra tights and bare feet stood up from the sofa and took himself over to the beanbag, where he sat back down with a crunch.
On the other end of the sofa, a girl sat with her legs curled under her, an untouched mug of tea on a small table placed nearby. She looked miserable. Gray suspected there was more than a hint of hangover in the mix.
Gray sat and waited for Kevin Brownlee to come into the room before he spoke.
‘So,’ Gray said, taking out his notepad and pen. ‘Jenny? That’s right, isn’t it?’
The girl nodded.
‘And who’s this?’ Gray asked, looking towards the man sitting uncomfortably on the beanbag.
‘Dave Morriss,’ the man replied. ‘I—’
‘Dave’s the one who helped Jenny up at the Track,’ Kevin Brownlee butted in. ‘I’ve had to put his shoes and socks in the bloody washing machine.’
Jenny made a small choking sound and Gray turned towards her, hoping for some insight.
‘I puked on his shoes,’ Jenny said. She pulled a stand of hair across her mouth and sucked on it to try to hide her smirk. ‘I got a fright.’
Kevin Brownlee stood up. ‘Oh, it’s funny now, eh? Wasn’t that when Mr Morriss kindly brought you back here while you were bubblin’ and greetin’ your wee eyes out, eh?’
Gray heard the crunch as Morriss shifted uncomfortably in the beanbag.
‘Oh really, it was no trouble, I—’
Gray raised a hand. ‘Right. OK. Maybe if I can hear from Jenny first, Mr Morriss? Then you can tell me what you saw. Make sure I’ve got the full picture, eh?’ He turned back to Jenny. ‘In your own time.’
Jenny sighed. The sigh said I’ve already told all this to my dad and he’s pissed off with me for causing trouble and now I suppose I’ve got to say it all again to you now, don’t I? Gray had heard the sigh before. He called it the ‘Teenage Sigh’. It was used regularly by all youths accused of doing something wrong, doing nothing at all, as a first response to a question as innocuous as ‘How are you?’ Teens, it seemed, viewed all attempts at conversation directed at them by an adult as highly suspicious.
‘He was just standing there in the trees.’
‘Did he approach you?’
She frowned. ‘Kind of. He started walking towards me. He … he snapped a stick. It sounds stupid now.’ She turned towards Dave Morriss, who was still sitting awkwardly on the beanbag, and smiled. ‘He saved me,’ she said, pointing at the man, who opened his mouth to say something.
Gray silenced it with a raised hand. Wait your turn, son . He scribbled in his notepad. No physical contact .
‘Did he speak to you? Make any sound at all? Anything you could identify?’
Jenny shook her head again, bit her bottom lip.
Gray changed tack. ‘OK. Can you tell me what he looked like? What he was wearing? Height, build, anything like that?’
Jenny sat up straight on the couch. ‘Well, he was tall … like you. A bit skinnier than you, though. I suppose you’d call him “lanky”. He was in jeans and a black fleece. Nothing unusual. No, like, logos or badges or anything …’
She paused, and Gray nodded at her to continue.
‘I couldn’t see any part of his face or his hair. Because of the balaclava, you know? His head must’ve been boiling.’
The girl seemed more relaxed now, Gray thought. Now that the danger had passed, she
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