Dishonour by Helen Black

his mid-teens, his trainers muddy.
    Mara nodded at the batik dragon. ‘We were just admiring your work, Ryan.’
    Ryan bounced back and forth on his heels. ‘It’s alright, innit?’
    Jack traced the dragon’s tail with his finger. ‘It’s excellent.’
    ‘You can buy it for a tenner,’ said Ryan.
    ‘Don’t you need it for your assessment?’ asked Mara.
    Ryan shrugged. ‘I’d rather have the tenner.’
    ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Jack, ‘do me another just like it and you can have the cash.’
    Ryan watched Jack, his slits of eyes mirroring his dragon. ‘You’re on,’ he said, and headed for the door.
    ‘Don’t you want to know where to find Mr McNally?’ asked Mara.
    Ryan gave her a pitying look. ‘Down the nick, innit?’
    ‘Am I that transparent?’ asked Jack.
    Ryan laughed and closed the door behind him.
    Jack took a last look at the print. The fire and rage seemed even stronger now he had met the artist.
    ‘The boy has a real talent.’
    Mara smiled but there was a sadness to it.
    ‘Problem?’ asked Jack.
    ‘He’s easily our most talented student,’ she said. ‘He should apply for a scholarship to art school.’
    ‘But he won’t?’
    She shook her head. ‘He’s often absent, always scruffy. His attitude will let him down.’
    ‘Teenagers, eh? They’re all cocky little so-and-sos.’
    ‘It’s more than that,’ she said. ‘He’s a very angry young man.’
    ‘What’s the family like?’
    ‘They’ve never set foot in the place, not even for parents’ evening,’ she sighed. ‘I fear it’s going to end badly for Ryan.’
    ‘What a waste.’
    ‘I don’t know what else to do,’ said Mara.
    ‘If you’re worried, I could make a few enquiries,’ said Jack, ‘discreetly, of course.’
    Mara’s face lit up. ‘That’s very, very kind of you.’
    Jack nodded. It was totally beyond his remit, but what was the good of being a copper if you could only stick to the script? Jesus, you may as well work for the Inland Revenue.
    DI Bell’s office was extraordinarily tidy. Lilly wondered how people did that—put things away, kept papers in files. Every office she had ever worked in ended up like a homeless person’s squat. Her old boss, Rupinder, had occasionally ordered a clear-up on the grounds of health and safety.
    Lilly looked down at her scribbled notes. ‘Is that it?’
    DI Bell showed his open palms. ‘What more do you need?’
    ‘How about some evidence?’ she said.
    ‘You’ll find plenty of evidence in what I’ve told you,’ he said.
    She threw her notebook on the table in disgust. ‘You say Yasmeen died from an overdose of OxyContin and Perocet.’
    Bell nodded. ‘The pills were ground down and placed in a can of Coke to hide the taste. The can was found by Yasmeen’s bed. The dregs showed traces of both drugs.’
    ‘Enough to kill her?’
    Bell nodded. ‘Even small amounts can prove fatal. Perocet should never be taken with other drugs and OxyContin should never be ground down.’
    ‘Because?’
    ‘They’re designed for slow release; crushing them makes the effects far too strong.’
    ‘Maybe she did that herself.’
    DI Bell folded his arms. ‘Why on earth would she do that?’
    ‘Maybe she didn’t like the taste. Who knows what goes on in someone’s mind before they take their own life?’
    ‘There was no suicide note and no suggestion that anything was wrong.’ He eyed Lilly coolly. ‘She didn’t kill herself.’
    Lilly waved him away with her hand. ‘Perhaps it was an accident.’
    ‘There’s no evidence she had either drug in her possession,’ said Bell. ‘She wasn’t in receipt of a prescription.’
    ‘I’ll bet you can buy them on the net,’ said Lilly.
    ‘Indeed you can. But there’s no record that Yasmeen ever did that and no packaging was found in her room.’
    Lilly had to admit it didn’t sound like suicide.
    ‘That still doesn’t mean that Raffy had anything to do with it,’ she said.
    ‘There were two sets of